Norm Al, Nonexistent Neighbor

I'm taking back what health I've got these days and working to make it grow.

I post this as a personal kick in the ass.

Mustn't ignore my own pain to alleviate the pain of others.
Mustn't treat myself as lowest and least.
Mustn't let the depression hamsters nibble me into nothing.
Mustn't listen to the berating & hating in my head.

Must get back to my normal. None else but my own funky little version. That Norm Al? He doesn't exist.

Loo Math

1 incontinent
+ 1 irritable bowel
+ 1 Crohn's
------------------------
We NEED another bathroom!!!



This math brought to you by the letter AUGH

*snortlol*

Oh, haiku, my love
Nothing makes me feel like you...
Word innuendo

Saving Syllables

For as long as long,
I have used haiku to calm
myself down when stressed.

Here are a few gems
to brighten a day or two
hatched from my brain bits:

Anger solves nothing
Beating about the bush, though,
kills two birds, not one

That made no real sense
But this one should repair that
Use a wrench, monkey

Now my mouth is curled
Upward, a touch at the ends
Dammit, I'm smiling.

Haikus make me grin
Nothing can be wrong knowing
My brain still makes these.

Too Much!

Too much bitching! Not enough giggling! Therefore, I give you my two favourite bits from the genius that is Malki! at good ol' wondermark.com to brighten the day. Or my day. I don't hear crickets exactly, but I know they're out there.

Fucking Flower

Being constantly sandwiched between negativity, anger, frustration and more anger is not good for my health, or anyone's really.

If not for one fucking person's refusal to help, this would be easier on us. One fucking person. It's been made clear that possessions are far more important to said human, so here we are, getting angry and frustrated and hopeless and said person just doesn't care.

I hate people sometimes.

I hate that it's solely up to the hub and I to be the caretakers here. That we're the ones getting up three and four times per night to check on pater, clean his accidents, make sure he's not face down on the floor (like last night). That Said Person is standing directly in the way of some saving throws for us.

I hate that I'm a delicate fucking flower and unable to be a caretaker.

But mostly, right this minute, I'm kinda hatin on that Said Person and their fucking vanity.

Caretaking

No one really explains how hard it is to be caretakers. Of course, no one explained how to be a caretaker when one is presently being taken care of, either, so there's a whole lotta flailin' going on here of late. Until last week, no one had told us that there is dementia going on but now that we know, much has been explained.

No one sure hasn't been busy.

Now the days are spent keeping pater from falls, illnesses, confusion (when possible) and making sure he eats, takes his meds, checks his blood sugar levels and, of course, keeping his mood elevated. The hub makes his dinners daily, cleans up his accidents, picks him up when he does fall (which is far too often), handles the laundry, works his ass off, takes care of me and the burgeoning menagerie here, handles the household chores that require mobility and has to cuddle with me when we're not exhausted.

I married a superhero.

Luckily, the VA has stepped up their efforts to get his health under control but, with less than one week on the books for that endeavor, it will take more time and obscene amounts of red tape to get things really going in earnest.

There's not much real point to this post; just a record of days. A venting, perhaps, or - dare I say it? A bitch session.

PickitupPickitupPickitup

My sticks keep dropping, figuratively speaking. Very frazzled. Too much, much too young. Stress.

If I could still dance, I'd give all my money to The Specials if they'd come over and sing & dance with me. That'd be an excellent thing. I doubt they, or anyone for that matter, would perform for $16.22.

Ah, well. Cosi cosa.