Tag Archives: Craziness

Dear blog

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Dear blog,

I have neglected you. I am sorry. Life got in the way but I promise you that not a day went by that I didn’t think about you.

Things have been a little crazy. I decided, upon becoming a slightly manic confused mess to stop taking my medication. At first I felt fantastic. I took up exercise, started running, obsessed about it and just when I started to think that perhaps I didn’t have anything wrong with me after all I hit a very grim low and I haven’t done a great deal of anything since (you should see the laundry pile… OK piles).  I lost faith in my book and stopped writing. I skipped college for two weeks, I simply couldn’t face people. I even stopped taking cat pictures.

Dearest blog I am sure you will be displeased by my excuses but please, please let me assure you that I am piecing myself back together.

I’m writing again..or trying atleast…

Major charity shop treasure.

and what is life without cat pictures?

Prince, looking not so ‘petit’

So all in all dearest blog I am sorry, forgive me?

Aimes
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Disadvantages to being crazy #2

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Attempting to act normally during an hour-long ordeal at Weight Watchers whilst doing, what your sister accuses you of doing “the risperidone shuffle“.

 

I’m not actually taking risperidone but Abilify is pretty similar. It’s nice when someone who cares for people with dementia recognises that you have similar behaviour.

D Day

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“I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.”

― Sylvia PlathThe Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Wednesday was the big day. D day. D for diagnosis. After years of lying about how I feel I’ve spent some time opening up and jumping through the various NHS hoops, as well as hanging about on their waiting lists, and finally got confirmation (of some sort at least) and some new medication.

4 days in and my head seems clearer already, I’m not sure if this is really the meds or just some crazy placebo effect going on but I’m not going to complain. My attention span is still shot to shit but the fact I have managed for the first time in weeks to sit down and cobble some form of writing together is immense. Part of me wants to steal a car and drive 100 miles an hour into a brick wall. Part of me just wants to go to sleep. This is a new level of calm and normal that I’m not used to.

If most of the people who know me read this they’d probably be surprised and  frankly I feel like an attention whore for writing this drivel but I started this new blog to be honest with anyone reading it and mostly myself. I didn’t intend for it to become a blog about mental illness (shit that’s a bit scary) but I don’t think the odd post about it’s going to hurt… right?

I promise the next post will be about cats!

Advantages to being crazy #2

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Advantages: to impulse buying ridiculous furniture from charity shops that you just NEED but have no use for and nowhere to store it.  

Someone make this into a lolcat. Right now.

Once you’ve taken it home you can make your cat sit on it and take hilarious pictures of them.

Well I think they’re hilarious anyway…

Top 3 things the Demonspawn did today to drive me over the edge

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1) Put an earwig in the bath. Whilst I was in the bath.

I don’t have an actual photo of the event, so here’s a little something I made  to help you picture it.

2) Brought me a mystery box…

I genuinely considered throwing this out of the window, fearing that it contained a dead animal.

…full of Shake’n’Vac.

I can’t help feeling this was some kind of comment on my (pretty poor) housekeeping skills. If this is the case I need to make it clear to her that I refuse to be judged by someone whose latest contribution the house was cleaning the patio doors with faeces.

3) Sent a text message to my driving instructor saying “Gla-j.l4-labist” to my driving instructor. And this picture…

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?

I felt like I should send a follow up text explaining that we’re redecorating and that’s why there’s no wallpaper behind the bed and that I do have the wallpaper (it’s on top of the wardrobe) and Mr Steele says he’ll put it on the wall as soon as I finish stripping the wall (which I started over 6 months ago and he knows I’m a starter not a finisher and maybe he should just accept that about me and finish stripping the god damn wall himself?) but I’ve just been a tad busy lately and I’m not in the mood to drag all the furniture away from the wall because I kind of have a bad back at times and I don’t want to hurt myself.

But I’m not sure that would make me look any less crazy.

Well played Demonspawn, until next time…

Prudence Von Pancaek

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“The only good cat is a dead cat”

This is my dear fathers motto. I’ve no idea what a cat ever did to make him feel this way but he certainly is adamant about it. I must confess I went along with it too (to the extent that I did not care for cats, not that I wanted to see them dead or anything) until the arrival of Dorian Grey.

He was homeless, hopelessly matted and starving to death. I was in love.  6 months on he is unmatted (dematted? less matted?) and a fat healthy cat. Unfortunately I am now desperate for more cats. I imagine this is the way that other women feel about producing copious amounts of children. I long to hear the pitter patter of really tiny feet roaming my house and so, much to Mr Steeles disapproval, I am looking out for moar cats. Two to be precise. A ginger one for the Demonspawn (I’m so sorry in advance Ginger, just remember what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and I totally promise to get some hardcore pet insurance for your inevitable broken legs and dislocated whiskers) and another one; smoky in colour, peculiar in appearance, fat and I shall call her Prudence.

Well folks, today I found her. 

Prudence was once a very attractive young lady but her extremely high standards for suitors have caused her to reach a certain age bereft of companionship. The years have not been kind to her and she is no longer the belle she once was. She needs love, although she may not be prepared to admit that.

I’d like to think in her youth she was a debutante. She can live in my house residing on a velvet cushion, scowling at Mr Grey for being brutish and  uncouth (for the record he is neither but that’s just Prudence for you). I believe they will get along famously.

All that currently stands between me and Prudence, who is rightfully mine and absolutely gorgeous thank you very much, is 60 miles and £175. Inorite? Total bargain! Mr Steele has been, as usual, chronically unhelpful and anyone would think he didn’t want this gorgeous lady residing in our house. Maybe he thinks I’ll get jealous, feel threatened and start to urinate on everything. I can almost guarantee that won’t happen.

If anyone wants to donate to the ‘Help Aimes Get this Fugly Cat’ fund I’d be more than happy to take your money.  Honestly, more than happy. Prudence Von Pancake (European aristocracy of course) you will be mine. Oh yes, you will be mine.