Hammered on the Sabbath

When you have ME, it's like somebody took a big complicated computer game into your brain, and said 'Ok, there are about a million ways you are going to be affected by this blooming condition. In the game, a green super elve is gonna shout intructions at you all day, and if you miss them, then, huh, that's you, your energy is depleted to annihilation.'

It goes a bit like this. I slept long and then woke to find my head just mushy with all the energy that got lost during the week. Then I make sure I get my supplements in me with the rice cakes that seem to be the only food in the cupboard. They take a while to kick in. My friend arrives as an hour later I am attempting to make lunch that I can eat in the car, and hang out the washing. he is like, pleeese tell me if you are running late, to which I grumble irrationally 'pleeease help me then.' He and I hang the washing, and we go off to Comet to hand the paper work in for the fridge.

My paper work was left out in the sun by accident, and its all faded, meaning I have to have a very long chat to four different men, to sort out one dead fridge.

Well, our next stop is B&Q, and not too hard to guess, but its a flat NO for employment opportunitites. Fresh paint makes me throw up now. I go round in the scooter, looking all nonchalant coz although the concept of using motability aids has been discussed with my friend, I haven't actually gone wheelabout with him. So, me trying to look like, 'hey, what's a girl got to do with wonky legs' self consciously, and him probably just aware I'm a bit shorter than normal.

Several rounds round, and my driving skills are remarkably good for a girl whose range of allergy responses (am allergic to rather an impressive amount of chemicals in B & Q) range from nausea, to blast in your head sleepiness, to inability to speak proper. No scooter in here goes passed the speed limit of tortoise, so my head touching the wheel style driving is just another glasgow girl out on the razzle dazzle.

I was going to write a rather complicated analysis of the number of substances I am allergic to that I encountered in my day, by ironically - was too sick to do so. Needless to say - if allergies were beer, then today I was a nissed as a pewt.

Grappling

she hesitates to
grasp the haiku,
coz she can't count and create too

haiku's not cool
makes brain feel like at school
missing play the fool

Intermittent blogging.

Intermittent - that's ok if it's rain, only if it complies with smatters, or a smir. It is not ok with faults - then, oh my gosh, you just want the darned on and off offending item to be broken properly, so a nice person in a shop will say, oh, yeah, swap that.
My fridge is in that swapable state - it has a big sticker on it declaring - Write Off. The equivalent of, your fridge is so dead, it's super dead.

Um, yeah, trying to get another job. See, the thing is, this term I have done a lot of things I didn't think I could achieve on my own. Like interviewing, actual people, and then saying, please work for us. Like, being an employer, rather than an employee in my thoughts. Like, shaking a persons hands, and knowing in the first 60 seconds (it is all it takes), whether I'd choose that person or not.

Like, doing an appraisal on my own. In a cafe. It's where we do everything that isn't actually looking after little pixies. And being very brave and saying - is there anything I should change as a manager. Uniforms, was the reply. Is that it? I respond. Yes, I like working here, its a team.

Like, phoning social work so often I think they put me on speaker phone just for the laffs. It's her again! Give her another fax number to phone. Yeah, that's always funny.

Like, shouting at the council. But hey, lots of people do that. You are a pest, they say. Yeah, I am, pleeeease do the repair I need and then I'm outta your hair.

And the result of all that experience? On my job hunting? Er, nowt. Am I tied to forever wishing to work in a building whose roof doesn't leak?

The pixies all leak, but hey, they often do. That's what spare pants for. Though, as one little girl pixie informed me, pants are for peeeing through. Then, you sit down with the damp pants on, and then you pee again. So now you know.