[Journal] Good things come!

While I’ve been quiet on my end, this little Miss has been working like a busy little bee πŸ™‚

For the first time in forever, I’m doing the proverbial ‘following my dreams’ with the jewellery course. I’ve spent the last two weekends making things and honing my skills and this Sunday is my ‘final’ for this course where I major a major project using the skills I’ve learned, before going and picking my next course. I am exhausted, so many kinds of sore and can’t brain, so I’ll simply leave this picture of my work here until I have more than two brain cells to rub together ❀

The below two rings on the left are to be finished this weekend and are simply blu-tacked together right now for pics. Brass and sterling silver, all hand cut and textured. The ring on the right is hammered sterling silver with a seamless solder (fuckyeah!) and the pendant in the middle is a hand cut and polished brass pendant.

I made a thing.jpg

Hopefully after this weekend I’ll have more shinies to show off! And if I’m not like… dead tomorrow, I’ll finally have time to catch up on all the blog posts I’m missing. Looking at you, Tony!

❀ Abi



[Journal] All flare and no play make Abi something something…

I’ve had an interesting month. Filled with both ups and downs, some more workable than others. Most notably, the reason I’ve been fairly absent is that I’m now on week 3 of the flare from hell. You know how every now and again you get a flare that blows all the others out of the water and leaves you standing there naked, wondering how you ended up in the middle of an arms testing facility? Yeah, one of those.

Moving in with my mother has come with it’s own stresses – we’re now living in a confined space, an entirely new set of boundaries needs to be established (or, more importantly, adhered to) with my mother and my privacy, I have very little space for work – especially important given that it’s not only how I earn money, but also how I destress! – and a whole kettle of conflict issues when the aforementioned points are brought to a head. What this means forΒ  me is that, given how my body reacts to stress, I’ve been a hot mess for the last few months of living here.

It all started with my body going “you know what we haven’t done in a while? Bled like we’re dying out your reproductive organs”, and so it did. Despite all chemical reasoning not to (contraception for period control is THE best invention of the modern world, hands down, when it works), my uterus went flying full-speed into the glass door, and then spewed a torrent of filthy language that would make German grandmother blush when it realised that I was trying to ignore it.

I thought “fair enough, we can deal with this” and despite me being roughly as amicable as a herniated mako shark’s asshole, we got through it. But the problem was, my fatigue didn’t go away. It just got worse and worse and worse.

Queue now where I’m sleeping for roughly 14 hours a day just to avoid heart palpitations from exhaustion, I’m in constant above-average pain and my mental health is beginning to suffer from it all and you can kind of understand why my blogging has been non-existent despite intentions to keep this updated more regularly. I’m in the process of damage control and I’m hoping that every day that passes is one day closer to when this god-forsaken flare decides to give up and go home, but until then, I’m almost entirely bedridden aside from one low-impact activity a day – today’s was going to my GP.

In regards to that side of things, I’m doing well. I finally have a GP who has taken my issues seriously, isn’t treating me like a drug seeker (a moment’s pause in thanks for whatever god helped with this one) and is actually proactive in the management of my condition. To make things a little more rough, my specialist recommended that we wean me off my anti-anxiety in favour of another antidepressant I’m on for the Fibro and CFS, so that certainly hasn’t been helping my moods at all, but the plus side is that the meds they’ve put me on – Pristiq – have helped my moods like nobody’s business when I first went on them. Today we’ve brought me up from the trial dose to the full standard dose, which should do me absolute wonders and stop me being such a heinous cunt. The only thing I need to keep an eye on is that magical surprise lactation issue one boob seems to favour for this particular class of meds, but if my choice is offering people one squirt or two with their coffee and having amazing moods, or hating everything and everyone and having normal chesticles, I know what I’m going to pick. Besides, there’s probably good money in those sorts of pictures πŸ˜‰

The downside of the doctor’s visit is that it’s confirmed I need to get my weight under control. At the beginning of this year, I was 110kgs. It’s not amazing. I’ve gotten it down to 105 with roughly two months serious work, but I was told that, while I’m not pre-diabetic, if I don’t shed the weight and get down to a manageable size, I’m going to be looking at diabetes in the future. It’s entirely understandable, but it honestly hit me like a bit of a brick to the back of the head, and I couldn’t understand why it was so upsetting beyond the fact that this should be a concern of mine, and then it dawned on me – when you’re chronically sick, you eventually get used to a certain run of fuckery with your body. Things are wrong, but you know what those things are, and they kind of become the neighbours you love to hate. You deal with them every day, but at least you know where you stand with them. When you add something new like this to the mix, it opens the entire cycle of grief all over again because it simply feels nothing short of betrayal from your body.

All of a sudden, your patched together little world is showing signs of the threads breaking, and you’re not certain how you’re going to sew it together again. It’s one of those things where, at least in my case, I had accepted that I had my conditions and there was a certain security in knowing that my conditions were more or less the way they were going to be, with some minor deviations on a broad scale. But this is another issue left of wing. I suppose it’s a bit of a fire under my arse if nothing else. I was already working towards weight loss and finding the old ‘me’, but this has gone to show that in order to keep my body functioning at what MY level of healthΒ  is, I need to actually work for it. It also really makes me question the whole ‘fat acceptance movement’ thing. I’m a big girl. I’m not going to deny that, but I’m not morbidly obese. Even when I was 65kgs, I still had broader shoulders and larger biceps than my boyfriend. I don’t fit standard women’s size shirts in the shoulder, and when it came to corset fitting, my ribcage was larger than average. But what this doesn’t change is that I am fat for my body type and that’s where my issues are rising. My body is not happy being this big, and so I’m working on fixing this. However, when I see girls almost twice my size promoting their size as being ‘healthy’, I do wonder how that works for them. Is their body simply coping better with their size? Are they simply in denial about the risks to their liver and pancreas with carrying that much weight? Body positivity is a wonderful thing, and I’m slowly learning how to love my broken, bunky little body, but I don’t think I could ever love the idea of putting myself at risk of disease. I don’t know. I feel like this is a kettle of fish probably best brought up in another blog post.

There have been plus sides to all the shenanigans, though. I’ve got the business back up and running. I made two sales in the last fortnight that has given the the “you can do the thing!” feeling again, and I’ve signed up for what I hope is the first of many courses ranging from silversmithing through to enameling, engraving, stone setting and all sorts that should add to my skills nicely. I am a little stressed about the fact that I have to take ‘stationary hobby business’ through to ‘making $180 a week’ in a matter of 3 months, especially when I don’t have a dedicated work space and, for a good portion of it, my desk has been a sheet of MDF across the bed. I’m presently in talks with the mother about getting a caravan or a demountable for the backyard that I can effectively make my office, but it feels a little like pulling teeth right now.

I also do have some kind of secret good news to share, and I figure this is the best note to end my blog on πŸ™‚ Long story short, once this flare is over, I’ll be taking part in a weekly video presentation for spoonies, by spoonies. Covering everything from hobbies and relationships through to dealing with hospitals, mental health and more. I’m a little limited right now given my health and how long it’s taken me to write this blog post (brain-hands relationship has gone on holiday!), but it will be exciting to be involved in a project like this.

I’m going to leave this here and go and get some sleep.

❀ Abi






Well, today is apparently one year since I started According to Abigail. It’s a bit of a milestone for commitment for me, since I’m horrible when it comes to procrastinating about getting a blog post done (in case you haven’t noticed) and find ways to put things off. The last few weeks have been a great example of this what with the pain flare more or less ruling my life.

The last pain flare is what I would describe as the worst one I’ve experienced. Daily highs of 8-9, lows of 6 if I’m lucky. Averaging 2-3 hours sleep a night, can’t stomach food, etc. I’m physically and emotionally worn out from it. Even now that the majority of the flare has packed it’s bags and hauled off, I’m still left feeling like a packet of poo tickets and just want to crawl into bed and sleep the day away.

I’ve also managed to go and bung up my left knee with some kind of soft tissue damage, so sitting at the computer desk for long periods of time is a no-no unless my housemates feel like hearing me do an awesome godzilla impression when I eventually stand up and make poo-face as the muscles and tendons realise they’re being forced to move.

I’m well on the road to sorting my shit out, thankfully. In contrast to this time last year, I now know what my diagnosis is and I’m actually starting to fight back and take control of my illness. Bitch, I’m going to make it work for me, or at least give it a DAMN good run for it’s money. I’ve found a Hydrotherapy place nearby, got my pool floaties (shit yeah!) and got my dr’s clearance form. Now all I need to do is get my ass down to the pool and float around like an angry meat muppet in the pool.

I had a podiatrist’s appointment the other day where I was both horrified and impressed with the amount of dead skin she removed from my feet thanks to my psoriasis (she was also rather cute, so that helped), I’ve seen a dietician recently to help me combat my case of the fatties and I’ll be seeing my exercise physio next week to work out what I can do that won’t kill me or my joints, so to speak. Thankfully all of this is under Medicare for the moment. With the way our government is going, I wanted to try and cram in as may beneficial appointments as I can get on this scheme before they nerf it entirely. As it is, I’ll be paying almost $10 a doctor’s visit (not including scripts or anything else) under the new scheme. For me, it’ll be tight considering how many times I need to see my GP for pain scrips and the like, but I’ll manage. There are others out there that will likely actually die with this new fee because they just can’t damn well afford to see someone. It’s a seriously screwed up situation.

(On a side note, there was a protest in the city today. I couldn’t be there due to mobility issues, but my housemate could so I sent my sign with him. “Gay, disabled, foreign women – still better off under Joffrey”.)

I also have an appointment with a specialist in July that may be able to help me with the big issue of pain management. I love my GP. She had a patient move up from the coast that sees this particular specialist and immediately thought of me when she heard that he does a lot of work in the area of Fibro. Interestingly enough, the ‘new thing’ in pain management is apparently Ketamine infusions. Yes, you heard correctly. They’re going to pump me full of horse tranquilizer. From what I know, it’s a very low dose and it’s administered via a drip over a course of several hours so you’re not likely to get any of the ‘street high’ the drug is commonly used for, rather it tells your nerve endings to calm the fuck down. The added benefit is that you’re also able to perform a perfect trot and have mad cravings for carrots and apples.

Unfortunately, his initial consultation is going to set me back almost $450.00, disregarding any follow ups or how much the actual treatment may cost. I frankly don’t want to think about the cost of the infusions, but you have to do what you have to do I guess. I’m willing to try just about anything at this point if it gives me a chance at having a semi-normal life.

In the mean time, I’ve managed to keep myself busy with a bit of work on my end. This is positive in two ways. Firstly, it allows me to very slowly save up for my medical appointments and whatnot, and it also keeps me focused and busy so that when I’m having a mega poo-brain day, I can still do basic things like sew my squid beanies. I’ve booked myself in for a big market event on the 31st at a fancy-pantsy school so I’m hoping I can cover the $80 stall fee and bust a few sales on the day. I’ve also been doing some business fanciness and have been contacted by a shop in the mountains that’s interested in stocking my gear, a photographer that wants me to be involved in some pretty awesome photo shoots and I’ve been working in the mean time with a client to get a LARP costume together for them.

Candy being a darling and helping me out with the fitting process

Candy being a darling and helping me out with the fitting process

I have to admit, I’m pretty damned proud of the way the outfit turned out. I’ve mentioned a few times now that I run a small business. Part of what I do is costuming and reenactment gear involving both sewing and leather work. In the awesome little image to the left, you can see my housemate/minion Candy being an utter darling and helping me out by holding still and ignoring my mockery while I took a picture of him in the outfit. I needed to make sure it would fit the client and he’s more or less the right size, so it’s a win/win! The client gets to see what his costume looks like and I get to call Candy a hobbit since he’s just a little too tall for the outfit to work properly.

Since I don’t get to talk about my work very often, the costume is entirely hand made and comprises of a cape/short cloak, a tunic and a pair of pants, all of which I designed myself from the concept stage, all the way through to finished item. What you can see in the picture is only about 80% done. If the client is willing, I may ask for a photo of the finished item on them so you can see how the tunic looks when fully hemmed and with the split up the front. All in all, I’m really god damn proud. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve made a tunic like this and the fact that I’ve still got it all upstairs enough to run a project like this actually makes me feel really pleased with myself. I figure that alone makes this little story worth sharing πŸ™‚

Also, yes, before you ask, that is my LARP sword and it IS Glamdring. Ten internet points for those of you that remember what Glamdring is πŸ˜€ Anyhoo, I figure this post is long enough as it is at this point and you’re all probably greying while reading about it. I’m also in the process of getting my shit together for more comics and a few blog posts as well, so I am active and alive, just a little gimpy right now.

I should also point out that I DO love ideas for new comics. If there’s something you want to see immortalised in the Abigail style of comical shenanigans, let me know and I shall see what I can do!

Well, that’s all for me for now.

Much love, chickadees. Remember, we’re taking over the world for our Overlord Abigail, one day at a time!


Back from outer space: Part 1

After a few days downtime after my big event, I’ve finally reached a point where I can do a big of blogging about my adventures. I’m still damnably sore and stiff and I’ll be fatigued for another week or so, but it was worth it. As it is, it’ll probably take me a few sittings to finish this blog post, so behold! My work and efforts and stuff πŸ˜›

The theme of the event was ‘Life on Mars’. The best way to explain to you all what this event is like is to think of a Ren Faire. Big event, lots of stuff, primarily ‘living history’ stuff and lots of emphasis on people getting dressed up. We had jousters, falconry, canons and tanks, drones and borgs and R2D2 made an appearance. We had stalls and displays, blacksmithing, belly dancers, aerial performers and acrobats, a cosplay contest and so much more. To my knowledge, this is my states biggest event for this kind of thing. For those of you that aren’t aware, I run a small business based off my crafts and hard work. I was lucky enough to have a stall at the event thanks to my adoptive father and his magical ways.

We left on Thursday night as the Friday was a half-day/setup/get your shit together day from about 12pm onwards and the more time I have to sort myself out, the better. As it was, I think it took something like three or so hours for a nice, relaxed setup with me swearing and limping as my knees went full retard on me and Manthing and Candy looked on. But I digress.

Thursday night was fun. I decided to be brave a drive up with Manthing my passenger. I don’t normally drive of a night, so this was both exciting and a little confronting for me since I also had a metric fucktonne of shit in the car. I literally couldn’t see out my back window. I also have a little Lancer wagon, so that kind of gives you an idea of how much stuff I had packed into that little beast. As it was, we played the tetris theme while packing. I also discovered that I am a GOD when it comes to playing car-tetris. Seriously. I’m bloody magical at fitting stuff into small spots. Maybe I should hire myself out as a sex therapist.

We got as far as our dinner stop on the Thursday night when I checked my phone. It turned out that the motel we were staying at had tried to call me. Of course, the number they dialed on was not the number I had to phone to reach them, so gogo digging through to find my paperwork and booking. Upon calling them, I found out that they had decided on the night we were staying with them that my booking was now invalid because their contact for the website that I had booked through had some stick up his arse and hadn’t paid them. Disregard the fact that I booked back in JANUARY with them. First week of January, to be exact. No, it had only come up as a massive issue now that I was on my way to the actual event. So, there I am looking mournfully as my Happy Meal gets cold (yeah, I get them every now and again. Don’t judge me) while I’m on hold to the website customer support and being told that I’d need to repay the $600+ that I payed for the room back in January – motel room for 5 people for 3 days. Not bad when put into perspective – to have somewhere to sleep for the event. Long story short, they sorted their shit out and did some kind of double hop like cancelling my online booking to the motel and, instead of refunding me, they refunded the motel so they technically got their money and we still got our room.

By this point, we were half an hour behind time and needed to get to the motel about an hour’s drive away before reception shut at 9pm. I needed to ask them a few things and we needed to get the keys to the room, so the convoy set off. By convoy, I mean Manthing and I were in one car and Candy was driving his own behind us.

We eventually get to the motel at about 8:20pm and find that reception is locked up tight. Not a peep. There’s a sign on the front door with a poorly spelled rendition of my name, telling me to go to room 27. We head around the back to the room and try the door. Locked. Fair enough. We look inside the breakfast hutch. No key. In fact, we hear voices from inside the room and decide to knock on the door. Lo and behold, it’s actually the wife of a friend and fellow vendor that pops her head out. Her and her family are assigned to that room. It’s clearly not ours.

By this point, I’m more than just a little disgruntled. We walk back around to reception in the pitch black and I scramble through my bag to check my phone. Naturally there’s no reception out there at all. Not even a bit. However, I do have another two missed calls on my phone. Interestingly enough from the same number as before. I check my voicemail and it’s reception calling me to tell me that we’re in room 26. The keys are in the breakfast hutch. I’m somewhere between wanting to curse out these guys and their offspring and just wanting to fall into bed after all the shenanigans. We make our way back to 26, apolgose to 27 for bothering them, and start unpacking the car. About 15 minutes later, Candy shows up. He had managed to take a wrong turn on a road that’s nothing but straight for miles and miles. That’s WITH a GPS. I don’t even.

It also turns out that we’re in the same room we stayed in last year. Nothing has changed. It’s still as crap, but it’s a roof over our head for the weekend. I forgo the shower that night in favour of just flopping into bed. As I go to climb in, however, there’s a bloody great Bull Ant making himself at home under my pillow and is more than a little annoyed that I’ve bothered him. He meets his maker, and I check the rest of the bed before climbing in with more than just a little paranoia. It wasn’t my bed, it wasn’t my pillow and I try not to think about all the potential things that had happened on a bed like that out in the middle of nowhere. Needless to say, I got very little sleep that night.

And now on to the first day of our adventure and ‘part 2’!


This little pig went to market…


Seriously. I leave for my event in just under 5 hours time. I have to pack the car, sort out the shopping, do a last run-through of my inventory, make sure i pack the costumes and enough clothing for three days, do a panic check, make sure I have all my medication (and spares), double check the house and then wait for the housemate to get home. He’ll be following us and then we leave the house sitter with the budgies and hope they don’t maul him to death with cuteness in the mean time. They’re vicious little things. Nobody was saved.

Gringa, I promise I will TRY to get enough sleep this weekend, but if it’s anything like last year, we’ll still be awake because my ginger friend decided he needed to parade about the cabin in nothing but tighty-whities (nasty undies) that were grey from wear. God, I STILL have the scars from that. On the plus side, Manthing, my housemate (who shall henceforth be known as Candy. Yes, he’s a male) and I should have a relatively quiet night tonight and tomorrow is an easy setup from 10 since it’s only a half day event. Ahhhh.

If I can, I’ll try to get some blogging done each night. Just a bit of a recap of the day. From memory, however, the net there is so may kinds of awful, so I may need to either have it saved as a draft and play with it more when I get back home, or just draw lots of comics. Maybe both. I guess it depends on how busy I am. Heck, if you’re all REAL good, I might even take a few pictures for you all πŸ™‚

Anyway, I best be off. My painkillers have kicked in (yeah, it’s one of THOSE days) and no rest for the wicked here. You all have fun and I’ll see you on the other side of the weekend!


A long day’s night

Good lord I am tired. In fact, if there’s something beyond the feeling of tired, then I am that. I am utterly exhaustipated (n): – too tired to give a shit.

Yesterday took it out of me more than I thought. I admit, I was really stupid for taking that market on like I did, but there was a lot of good that came of it all. I made a slight profit (which means I covered petrol and stall fees. This is very good!) by maybe $10, but baby steps. I got to use my new marquee. I got to see old faces and I got to dress manthing up while he fell asleep. The drive home in the rain was crazy and there were too many accidents. I ended up just falling into bed once I saw my friend/stall minion for the day off home.

Had to get the car in for a service today and I haven’t been able to brain since. Woke up at 8:30am, groan, drool, yawn, etc. Drove in, manthing drove me home. I had intended to get about and do stuff, but body went “No, we’re sleeping NOW” and I passed out until 1:30pm. Woke up, yelled at lazy ass hat housemate who didn’t go to work because of excuses (don’t get me started on that bullshit) and had to get my stuff together to feed the two new baby birds in the house. More stuff to do. Can’t brain. My head feels like it’s made out of wet concrete. Massive ow flare, went to get it massaged out (my little treat on a blue moon) and it’s only 7:41pm and I am ready to pass out on the keyboard. I’m in pain, I’m shit-for-brains, I’m irritable and I am so, so, so exhausted. The kind of tired to the point where my hands aren’t coordinating and I can spend a good thirty seconds looking at a digital clock and still not know what the time is. I have to retype every other word at this point, but I haven’t had dinner and manthing won’t let me go to bed on an empty stomach (I love him to bits) so I need to wait another 40 for the oven to do the thing where the food is cooked.

At this point, I’d have a bath, but I’m not even certain I could get in or out wihtout help, and might actually fall asleep in it. That would be bad. Also, thank god for spellcheck or half this would be entirely unreadable.

I’m also really, really not looking forward to tomorrow. It’s my biological mother’s birthday. I very rarely talk about family members on here, but we have a tenacious history at best. I won’t go into detail, but suffice to say there’s about 10 years of child abuse and 18 years of a few other kinds that she’s very much tied to (and could have prevented) but didn’t. I’ve gone my own ways. I can’t forgive her for what she did, or failed to do as the case may be, but I keep contact with her at a comfortable distance. She’s not at a stage with her own mental health where she can accept any of it, so there’s no point in beating my head against a brick wall. The best thing I could have done for our relationship was move out of home, and get my own life on track, and so far it’s worked pretty well. I do my own thing, she does her thing and tells me about it every other day. I keep her updated on my health when I can, she frets and frets and offers silly suggestions but it’ all her way of trying to show she cares.

Point is, my sister has decided she’s going to come back and be family again (after her stint as “I’m an eighteen year old, you can’t tell me what to do!”) and now that I’m living in a decent house, she’s decided that we should do dinner for mum at mine. I appreciate that she wants to do it here so I can be comfortable and don’t have to travel, but when someone says dinner, I think 6-7pm. Apparently that’s not going to happen and I need to expect a full house at 8:30-9pm, and I feel really old in saying this, but those few hours make a hell of a difference. Especially with how I’m feeling today. I’m praying to Odin’s hairy left testicle that I feel better by tomorrow because I sure as hell don’t have the strength to deal with this shit right now.

Anyway, I’m going to not think about it too much and see if I cant just lie down for a bit. Maybe grab one of those smoothie breafast things for dinner and just crash out. I am so tapping out of today.

That sleep thing.

So, it’s 3am. I can’t sleep because of any number of reasons, but the top on my list today are:

  1. That fucking leg pain. The kind that creeps up as a little ache at first and you think “nah, it’s not going to be an issue” so you only take one painkiller and hope for the best, but inevitably, it turns into “Oh fuck, my leg/hip/knee/ankle/etc” and you wish you had added another two painkillers and a sleeping table to the list of ‘shit I put in my mouth’.
  2. My market on Sunday. Due to both the move and then the possibility of dying, I cut out almost all work-related stuff since January. While it is one of the perks of being your own boss, far be it from something that does you any favours on days like today.Β  I need to do this market on Sunday or I run the risk of losing the prime position I was allocated by the very understanding market manager there. I have to remind myself that she also runs a buisness.
  3. My MASSIVE market at the end of this month. Last I checked it was still March. Now, thankfully I did something clever and put together my ‘market pack’. In there is enough stock to get in the car and go to any given market this side of the mountains, however this one coming up at the end of the month is one of those ‘make or break’ deals that you wait the whole year for. Thus far I’ve doubled my profits each year. My hard work has paid off to a degree and I get an excuse to romp around in a fancy dress. This year, however, it’s three days rather than two. You wouldn’t think that extra day would make a massive difference, but it does. And I have expectations to reach this year. Not only those of the people that see me, but my own ones. I am the most asshole boss there can be, sometimes.

I know I shouldn’t be blogging (yes, manthing, this is directed at you, you bum head <3) at 3am, but what else can I do. I’m too bloody tired to get my head together to make a comic (though I do have a few sitting pretty for tomorrow) and I’ve beat another gym and raised my pokemon all to level 45. My Charizard kicks some serious arse, by the way. I thought you should know.

Anyway, I’m going to try and go back to sleep, or at least lie there and tickle manthing and see how long it takes him to roll over and snuggle me (or elbow me in the nose. Either or.) while I give my best sloth impression. By the way, if you read this before I get up in the morning, for the love of all things holy and purple, DO NOT WAKE ME UP! Just let me get up, because chances are the rear-end of a camel will have a better disposition than me tomorrow.

On the down swing

Today is one of those very unkind days where you wake up with big plans to get stuff done, but your body has decided otherwise in your sleep. I had planned to finish cleaning the office and getting my business stuff back in order with the biggest event of the year coming up in less than 2 months, but I’m instead sitting at a 7 on the pain scale with most of it located in my shoulders as luck would have it.

If the pain had been anywhere beneath my navel, I could more or less deal with it. After all, that’s what computer chairs are for (see: wheels!) and I could just push myself about the room as needed, or just suck it up. However, shoulder pain is one of those things that floors me every time. It’s not a simple matter of an achy joint, but more feels like I’ve been shoulder barging a wall for the better part of 6 hours, and the pain tends to spread down my arms into my elbows, wrists and hands. What this means is that I’m effectively useless. Typing hurts, getting my medication is tricky and even using the bathroom on my own can prove difficult, which immediately rules out anything else I could need my hands for (see you later, craft work!).

The worst part is that I had a really good productive day yesterday. I guess I should have seen it coming, but when I have good days, I often forget the predicament my body is in and expect to be able to get back to doing things the way I used to before I got sick. While the expectations are unrealistic, the problem is when I run into this issue and hope to be able to ‘push past’ it all and keep going. I get sore and I get angry, and the more sore I get, the more angry I get until I’m mopping the entire house out of sheer frustration. When I finally decide to give myself a break, the damage is already done and I feel angry and defeated mentally, and physically… well, I keep forgetting to catch the numberplate of the truck that hit me.

Anyway, I’ve got a cuppa tea calling my name and a nice warm seat in the loungeroom on my bean bag. Mass Effect is the latest thing I’ve been playing through on the console and, thus far, I’m really enjoying it. It also gets me out of the office where I’d be inclined to start more projects.

Does anyone else have these shitty days? Perhaps you get days where you forget you’re sick for a while? What do you usually spend it doing?

I’d love to know.

– Abi

This weekend was a big one. Saturday was spent dealing with hellspawn and their parents at a face painting gig. I got hired by a local shopping centre to help promote a little event they were hosting – some kind of card swap event. It ended up being a massive free-for-all with parents literally wrestling children for silly animal cards, to the point where both the parents and kids were jumping, climbing and wrestling their way across my table. If I could have gotten away with mauling someone, even Odin’s left testicle couldn’t have saved the victim.

There is nothing quite like the slow-boil rage of a 24-year old who’s had her medication switched, hates people and who’s painkillers aren’t working when she’s shoved into a corner and told to deal with the noisy, ill-trained parasites from vaginas she’s not familiar with.

English: inflatable blow up doll (sex doll) De...

English: inflatable blow up doll (sex doll) Deutsch: aufblasbare Gummipuppe (Sexpuppe) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The worst bit had to be the self-entitled parents who decided that my painting table was there purely for them to put their crap on while they crowdsurfed the throng of 8-year-olds fighting over the card for a common ringtailed possum. I’d like to point out that the cards aren’t even worth anything. They’re some promo nonsense started by the store to attract more customers. I suppose they worked.

Yesterday was the first Sunday of the month. As per usual, I was at the markets and trying to sell my wares. The mountains are a lovely place, but it would be so much better if I wasn’t godforsakenly cold. The night before was one of those horrid nights where I was in too much pain to sleep, and the more exhausted I was, the more my body complained by putting me in pain. It makes perfect sense. If I could move, I would have raged hard enough to destroy my bucket entirely last night. Unfortunately, I kind of just lay there like a sex doll for those on the stranger end of the fetish spectrum and resisted the urge to bite my partner every time I had a pain spike. I like to think that I did fairly well, all things considered.

Point is, I went to the market. After being in pain for over 24 hours straight and hot having slept, it took all my self control and stubborn streak to kick my own butt into sucking it up the get to the mountains. Fortunately I had played a game of tetris earlier and had managed to condense an entire two-table stall into two boxes, the tables, two chairs and a box for lunch. For a chronically messy organiser, this is a gold star achievement.I set up with manthing’s help (which is impressive in itself) and spent the time from 7am to 2pm trying to keep myself warm. I was wearing two jumpers, a shirt, stockings and the warmest track pants I had and I was still sitting there shivering. All the locals looked at me like I was some kind of amusement and all the children stared because of my purple hair. I felt quite the spectacle. I got through the day on adrenaline and the hope that I’d walk away with some money in my pockets. Unfortunately, I only ended up selling three items on the day – a leather cuff, a framed picture and a hand made card – and it covered my market stall costs, but not petrol or anything else. At least it was better than last month where I didn’t sell a thing.

On the upside, I did learn a very valuable lesson. If you take painkillers and have a sensitivity to them and then have an energy drink before driving home to keep you away, you WILL be sick. No maybe. No ‘there’s a chance’. You will feel like woofing your cookies. Paying homage to the porcelain god. Having a lumpy chuckle. You WILL want to puke. In hindsight, it is rather entertaining. I imagined I looked like quite a sight on the way home. Once we pulled into the driveway, I almost ran from the car to dive headlong into bed. Yup, poor manthing got stuck with unloading the car, but I was in no state to do anything more than play roadkill. I’m sure I even had the smell right at that point.

On the way home I also found out that my best friend/sister/adopted family had finally managed to babycannon a little Miss out of her cooter. I’ve seen some pretty damn adorable things in my life, but this sproglet just takes the cake. She has her mum’s nose and is cuter than a pink dumptruck filled with kittens and ducklings being driven by a Jack Russel in a sailor’s outfit. I can’t wait to finally meet the little bugger that punched and kicked me every other time I rubbed mum’s belly πŸ˜€

I forgot what else I was going to type. As you may have noticed, I’m rather… out of it. My body isn’t playing ball with the drop in medication and I have no real choice about it all, so the universe can suck my proverbial right now. I’m going to sod off and go play with some leather.

To end this journal, I figure I’ll share something that’s highly entertaining right now. Even better, because it’s about tea.




A nice quick vent and update

I barely slept, I’m dealing with a fuck of a pain flare, I’m angry because I just found out there’s about 2k of repairs on a car I paid 3k for, because the salesman was a lying scumbag and I have to juggle paperwork for warranty in the event that they consider covering it. I now owe close to about $8,000 to various parties for all the recent shit, my office is completely trashed, it’s too hot to sleep and my painkillers aren’t fucking working. I’m annoyed as all hell at the hospital staff my best friend/sister and her incredible husband have to put up with, and I’m upset that she’s still in pain. I’m rubbed the wrong way because Kieran is cranky as shit. I’m up for a new Xbox 360 console I can’t afford, since this one is now on it’s last legs and freezes every 10 minutes I try to play, if not more often. I just tried to break a toe by walking into a chair. The allergic reaction on the bottom of my foot is itching like Satan’s wrinkly balls, my hands are on fire with pain and my deadline for having a self-sufficient business that makes at least $200 a week so I can cover rent, food and bills is now in 3 months and I’m going nowhere. Fuckyeah for being completely stressed out of my brain, facing being broke again after working so hard to climb out of the hole and having my body just pack it in on me.

I hate everyone, everything and everywhere and I want to cry, but I have my mother doing her thing around the house today so locking myself away from the world isn’t even an option in my own god damn house.