How Tickled High Ham

What a blessed relief, after a long weekend of being immobilised by pain which was further exacerbated by being quite depressed about the levels of pain I was in, what a blessed relief (I’ve said this already but the bit between the commas went on a while so I’ve reiterated it in case you’d forgotten) what a blessed relief – repeated again for the same reasons as the commas stuff but this time because of the bracketed subclause – what a blessed relief to not be immobilised as much, to not be in quite so much pain and to not feel as fuckdamnshit depressed about it for a while.

I managed a decent amount of being out of the house today: I got to therapy, socialised a while, bought a few groceries and even had energy for a home visit from Si. You know Si, he and I plotted your downfall so be afraid, be very afraid. And we talked about testicles.

Therapy was productive. I’d felt that because I’ve spent much of the last week in physical pain and thus didn’t quite get into the swing of the be nice to myself one day then be critical the next routine that it might be worth extending it another week. But on reflection and in discussion it became clear that the most important thing to learn from it is how rotten it is to be so hyper critical of oneself and the fact that I’d not wanted to do it on the ‘nasty’ days because I already felt awful due to physical crap means I am reasonably good at recognising there are times to show myself the sort of compassion I’d show others.

So homework is different this week and I’m not telling you about it because you’ll only tell Facebook and then Facebook will tell the Russians and then the Russians will tell an orange man on an American golf course and he’ll send nuclear devices to blow up my face.

I’m in bed now. Naked save for the clothes I’m wearing. What a blessed relief.


About S

“an extraordinary repository of cultural knowledge”
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