I'm still here

I haven't disappeared again, I promise. It's just that I've been signed off work for a while with this whole broken coccyx thing, so I'm stuck at home all day. Nothing happens here, so I have nothing to write about. Although, I did get a fabulous delivery today. The Chameleon sent it to cheer me up.

 Good huh?

Actually, while we're on the topic of deliveries, my grocery shop came today. I ordered six loose yoghurts because they were on offer. One of them was unavailable, so they gave me a six-pack which contained that flavour.....plus the five loose yoghurts I originally ordered. Why not just replace the unavailable flavour with another flavour? Now I have eleven yoghurts. Nobody can eat that much yoghurt!!!!!

Oh, I really need to get back out into the world. I'm clearly going stir crazy if I'm utilising multiple exclamation marks just to bemoan a yoghurt glut.

Really?

Inappropriate Pharmacist: That's a lot of painkillers. What have you done to yourself?
Me: I fractured my coccyx.
Inappropriate Pharmacist: Ouch! Well [winks], if that little lot doesn't sort it out, come back and we'll kiss it better.

To labour the point

Today I travelled into work on the tube, as usual. Less usually, I was perched bolt upright in my seat, trying to protect my fractured coccyx, and occasionally letting out an involuntary whimper or yelp as I was jolted by the movement of the train. After a couple of stops the woman opposite me leaned across the aisle, put her hand on my knee and said the only thing which could have made me more miserable at that moment in time........."Are you OK? Are you in labour?".

A Taxing Problem

If my broken tailbone and codeine intake allow, I may be making a (probably brief and definitely sober) appearance at a Guilty Pleasures themed party this weekend. Initially I struggled to come up with an outfit, standing as I do by the majority of my dodgy tastes, but then I recollected my taxidermy and fur obsession, which I certainly ought to feel moderately ashamed of, even if I don't to any great degree. In deference to my fellow guests, many of whom are veggie hippy types, and my hostess, an ex-museum curator who is far too knowledgeable regarding the little insect stowaways likely to be residing in my deceased friends to fully enjoy them, I decided to make a vegetarian taxidermy get-up involving faux fur and cuddly toys. Ironically though, it has emerged that, while I am hard-hearted enough to fill my house with dead beasties, I can't quite bring myself to take a pair of scissors to a defenceless toy moose. Poor little fella. I wonder what he'd like for his final meal.

Remember me?

Well, I'm back, hopefully. I'm making no promises of staying, but I'm poking my head around the door and waving tentatively at you. It's a start, no?

To update you, I've had a tricky few months of feeling very low, unworthy and insecure. It's a familiar experience, which in one way is rather sad, but at least means I have the advantage these days of recognising the feelings and seeing them for the illogical brain chemical lies that they are. That makes it a lot easier to cope when it feels like you're sinking.

Things were starting to look up a few weeks back, so I headed off to Nowhere with a pretty sunny outlook. It turned out that I was still more vulnerable than I had realised, and I had a few wobbly moments, but that's inevitable when you go into an environment where you take off all the masks and defences you wear in everyday life and allow people to see the real you, for better or worse.

The week was full of fun of all kinds; from the silliness of fighting off invading pirates, to the honour and pleasure of being asked to say a few words at my friend's wedding. I wouldn't have missed a second of it, wobbles and all!

Actually......I take that back. I would like to have missed the second in Barcelona when I decided it would be a good idea to slide down a giant dragon sculpture. Wheeeeeeeeee.........crunch! I am now in bed with what the doctor confirmed yesterday is a fractured coccyx. All I can do is dose myself with codeine and try to minimise the necessity for expeditions away from the bed by gathering books, food and big jugs of squash unto myself in bulk. Of course, I wouldn't have to do this if the cat would just make me a damn sandwich and bring it to me, but thus far she has steadfastly resisted all attempts to convince her to do so. Selfish little beast.