If I promise not to kill you, can I have a hug?

So I’m pretty sure this is the worst case of PMT I’ve had for a long time. Possibly since I famously threw a steel boned corset at my poor mum in an angry rage. Or the time I cried because the freezer door wouldn’t shut properly. 

In the last 24 hours I have cried for no reason, I have gotten angry at the world, and I woke up with a horrific migraine. Pissy doesn’t even cover it. Between the physical pain of the migraine and the fact that I probably shouldn’t be around other humans right now, I decided to do us all a kindness and take the day off work. 

So I’ve slept. A lot. Until I woke up around 3pm in a slight panic that I had to make it to the hospital by 3.45. I made it, just and actually it went well – my consultant is pleased with me and doesn’t want to see me again for a year. 

So I have treated myself to some celebratory chicken nuggets (because obv), picked up my 300 prescriptions (including the pill, which I’m hoping will put a stop to all this PMT shit from next month), and also topped up the chocolate milk. Now I just need to try not to kill the world or burst into tears at any given moment, and I think we might be safe to go back to work in the morning.

All hugs and gentle pats on the head are gratefully received.  

Sky high and sleepy

I am currently 37,000 feet in the air, on my way back from Sweden. I am absolutely shattered, I ache from head to toe, and I want nothing more than a scalding hot shower and to curl up in bed. Just another hour to go, a short taxi ride home, and then I’m done.

Despite the tiredness, it’s been a good couple of days. A nice mix of productive and fun – I’ve been away with one of my favourite colleagues who I always have a good natter and catch up with, and we got what we wanted from it, so I can at least go back to work on Monday with what I need. I got to catch up with some Swedish colleagues I rarely see as well, which is always a nice bonus. Oh and I’ve come back with the obligatory shit tonne of salted liquorice, so all is right with the world. 

I like the travel, I like getting out of the office and seeing people face to face, when normally we only ever talk via tcon. People underestimate what a difference it can make to actually get together for a day and share ideas. Even I have to confess to having a different view of a couple of people I normally only talk to by phone now. But it’s hard on me though, physically. Hanging around the airport, queuing to board the plane, carrying my laptop etc. I mostly make it work for me – I’m careful how much I bring, I made work give me a tiny, very lightweight laptop, I always leave plenty of time to be where I need – but somethings I just can’t control. Early starts, long meetings, late flights – they all add up by the end of the day, and by this point, I’m done for.

But I wouldn’t change it. The good outweighs the bad, and I’m mostly travelling with people who know about my lupus and all it’s quirks, so I don’t have to feel too pressured to put on a brave face. And I’m determined not to let it stop me doing everything I want, and I sure as hell won’t let it stop my career. All I ask is that there’s a bed and a hug at the end of it all. If I have that then I have enough to keep me kicking arse all over the world. 

Last minute panic… Again!

One day. One day I won’t leave everything to the last minute. It is 8pm, I have an application to submit, a passport to find, a suitcase to pack, and a meeting to prep for. What am I doing? I’m sat on the sofa watching Saturday’s episode of The Voice. 

I know I’m never going to change. I’ve been this way since I can remember – school, uni, work – and at nearly 30, I’m probably not going to magically become organised. But sometimes, just sometimes, I’d really like to be that girl that has everything under control, who knows where everything is, and who isn’t rushing round like a mad woman at the last minute. I’ve tried all sorts of things over the years – lists, plans, schedules, stern talking tos – but none of them quite seem to work. I don’t know whether it’s pure lack of willpower or if I’m genuinely hard wired to be like this. 

It does have it’s advantages though. I am pretty damn good under pressure, I can wing almost anything at the last minute, and for the most part “it’ll all be fine” has got me through every difficult situation I find myself in. And so that’s what I’ll focus on – one way or another I’ll be on that plane tomorrow, notes written, passport found, and application submitted. Probably. It’ll all be fine, right? 

Life lessons from a pooch

I could learn a lot from the dog. I sat and watched her yesterday as she came back in with the dog walker, waited patiently for a treat (complete with cute paw in the air for added effect), ate said treat, and then proceeded to roll about on a tennis ball for ten minutes. Seriously, I have never seen anything or anyone look so content with life. 

And really, I should be pretty content right now. I had a fun few days off work, work itself has just turned a massive corner that I actually never thought would happen, and some of the things that have been bothering me or niggling at the back of my mind have pretty much fixed themselves.

So this is when I get pissed with my anxiety. I have pretty much zero things to be anxious about at the moment, and if you asked me to put any of it into words, I couldn’t. Yet I’m not sleeping well and when I do, I’m constantly clenching my teeth and jaw, which makes what limited sleep I do get, bloody painful. 

So I’m trying to consciously take note of the little pleasures each day – a funny moment with friends, a well timed text, the first sip of coffee in the morning. If I can piece together each of these little moments at the end of each day, then I’m hoping I can trick my brain into relaxing and believing everything is alright. 

Because god dammit, everything is alright. Everything is more than alright and I could do well to remember that when I’m tired and pissy. I got this. 

Pain has my body, but it doesn’t have my soul

I don’t often do this, but I’m going to write about exactly how bad my body feels. I try to keep this blog pretty positive, and no doubt I can find some humour somewhere along the way this evening, but I haven’t felt this bad in a long time and I think sometimes therapeutically, it’s good to get it out. 

Firstly, I had approximately 3 hours sleep last night. I was tired, but not sleepy,  when I went to bed, and so consequently I lay awake for a long time. Jon was remarkably awake too for a while, so at least I had someone to talk to (other than the dog), but when my alarm went off at 6am, my mind raced through every possible way I could call in sick. I didn’t, if for no other reason than I was getting my much anticipated new laptop today and I wasn’t missing that. 

So I did survive the working day. I was my usual ten minutes late due to not being able to move too quick this morning, but spending five hours or so curled up in the warmth of the IT office meant I made it through in one piece. 

I have however spent most of the day feeling sick. The nausea is one of my most hated symptoms, if only because I know perfectly well that I won’t actually be sick, I’ll just feel sick.  And it’s horrible. It makes my head swim, and then I lose my balance and all sense of depth perception. The amount of times I nearly fell over today was borderline comical. And tomorrow I have to stand in front of a room and give training for 6 hours. God help the trainees…..! 

By the time I got home, I was fit for nothing, and that’s when the pain kicked in. My back, hips, arms, shoulders – they’re all so incredibly achey. Every now and again I get a stabbing pain in my neck or I forget momentarily and lean my elbows on my legs, causing a yelp and inevitable bruising by morning. 

More than anything, I just feel broken. Physically very broken. My head and my mood are actually remarkably good, and I’m grateful – contrary to this little ramble, I’m actually considerably better at dealing with the physical pain than the mental side of things. But walking at snails pace and having to grab hold of things to keep me upright is not a lot of fun either. 

So I’ve done the sensible thing and come to bed. It’s only half 9 and I have a million things I needed to do tonight, but I know it’s not worth it. I said I’d start looking after me, and so I am. Painkillers, pyjamas, and a heated blanket, and with any luck I’ll be at least semi functioning by morning.