Monday, May 24, 2010

The Sound of Inevitability... gravity taking my chest to the floor and boing-ing it back again.

Now I don't know where you are at this point in your life, but me? I'm in the skids. At the stage where it all begins to creak a little. Now I'd never really considered how I'd feel about this. A little sad, maybe, at the passing of the years and that youthful bloom in my pretty lil cheeks. Truth is, I was cushioned by the fact that as a five foot tall smiley little woman with dimples and freckles, people always mistook me for ten years younger than what I actually am.

But machines can see through the freckles. They diss the dimples. You get on that Wii Fit board and there is no mercy. There is no hiding your actual weight. Your BMI flashes before your eyes, orange and bold in that dreaded 'overweight' category. The cellulite on your once flat stomach ain't telling the lie - it's you that is a little delusional!

I suspect I was aware that gravity was taking it's toll, as the scaffolding to hold me up and in becomes ever more weighty. I always had an hourglass figure, fierce bosom, nipped in waist, generous (very generous) hips. But even I have to admit I am beginning to morph more towards the shape of the average British woman who appears to have abandoned the concept of a flat stomach and cinched in middle to resemble that dreaded muffin top, rather than a normal pert female. And I don't think I'm quite ready to give it up just yet, despite the gentle convexing of my once dinky mid section.

So my Wii Fit age. I blame the balance and lack of core strength for the travesty of being seventeen years older on the plastic board than off it (not the cup cakes and lack of exercise, then huh?). But hey! With a little bit of Hula Hooping fun, I can regain some of my youthful zing! I can sit and watch that candle flicker and burn and exterminate moths (don't ask....) and build my core strength with impunity. But can I head a ball? Can I hell (though I did belatedly realise that I had the Wii Fit board pointing in the wrong direction...)!

So I sit here humbled. My doctor pronounced me almost fit on Friday, despite the ME / muscle aches / viral illness / vasovagal syncope. I have no excuses! Not even my misaligned back (tip: don't attempt curved marble steps when you're even half as drunk as I was when i fell down them and spannered my right hand spine alignment....) should really stop me, which is why I'm off to the osteopath's next.

Who knows when the Wii Fit age will come even close to my real age? How long will it take me to lose that four pound that stands between me and 'normal'?!

Hell, I still have the dimples and the freckles so life ain't all bad!

GD: obsessed with the Clockwork Dolls; watching the fishies at her shack (and the frog! I have a frog!); reading yet more Joe Abercrombie!

Monday, May 10, 2010


I believe that in other countries codeine is a prescription only drug, due to it's heroin type characteristics. Synthetic opiate. These laws must have been created by a man who didn't have to spend three days crumpled over their innards, moaning and leaking and positing about how dreadful it is to be a woman. These three days per month would be a write off for me should my drug of choice be removed. For three days I ride it's cloud, surfing through the highs and lows of giving one's self over to something that whacks my brain pretty much into the stratosphere. Having seen my father's reaction to pethidine in hospital last year I suspect it's a family trait, but at least I don't go running about naked, screaming that Nazis are holding me prisoner.

So today I'm on the gentle rise into the blue and it's just beginning to colour my judgement. Everything is peachy in my head. That curl in my womb isn't really happening. Peeling potatoes may be dangerous, but I'll smile benignly at the knife when I slice my finger top off.

Tomorrow we'll reach a peak and the grey matter will become, well grey and matted. I'll meet my mum for lunch and avoid wine, because baby - that combination is just lethal. So parsnip soup and apple juice for me, and I may be allowed caffeine for pudding! She'll tell me how tired and saggy I look, I'll smile vaguely and pop some more pills. Then I'll sleep like a dream (one where clowns become edible and have sausages for fingers) and wake to day three of oblivion - the day I go to work.

I shall attend my annual appraisal in a fug of happiness and contentment whilst the demons gnaw my disintegrating belly. My manager could tell me I was Myra Hindley and I won't notice. Nor will I notice her castigate my customer service skills, my inability to stop saying sorry and the surreptitious increase in my targets for the year ahead. Great.

Day four and reality bites. Sudden withdrawal from nirvana prompts cold shakes and paranoia. It really does happen that swiftly. I dread to think how bad it could be if I took my little panacea for a full week! On the bright side I no longer walk like a constipated baboon.

So the drugs do work. But they pack one fierce punch that I should respect heartily.

Five pm. Time for medication round 2....

GD: slightly stoned; listening to Billy Joel's Innocent Man. Again; reading Joe Abercrombie's The Blade Itself which is jolly good; frightened of the potatoes....