Days 12 and 13: Pets Control

Yes, you read right. I did not have a dyslexic moment. The major portion of this post is going to be about my friends’ pets, and how furry, feathered, and scaled companions have made lockdown easier for many, including myself.

For those of you that are inclined to have Seriously-Sensitive-Susan moments, a great deal of this post is written tongue-in-cheek. The idea is not to offend, but to bring humour, and hope. Please read (and accept) it in that way.

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Weird-Ass Wednesday

Refusing to put the light on because I didn’t want to be alert enough not to be able to resume the glorious slumber I had been enjoying before, I stumbled to the bathroom to well, expel the demon was causing the stomach cramps that had awoken me. Muttering to myself about the wee hours of a Wednesday morning being a crap time for a bowel movement. I heard a kind of scratchy sound, which I attributed to my medication not being completely absorbed into my system.

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Gracious Old Soul

I have a few photos on my fridge; Happy Memories – Carmen & Ewan’s wedding invitation, Mary and Martin’s too. Sandra in her bikini on the one day years ago in December that I ventured out to the waterpark with her (and learning that I’m not as young as I thought I was!), Jack and I when I still had my braces (at 28!), an outing to a local wildlife ranch ages ago with The Bean and Aunty Carol one Mother’s Day (when The Toppie was still working); Lesley was with us that day, having lost her mother shortly before, so there is a photo of the two of us too, and another photo of Charlie and I, taken last year at the same place.  There are photos too of Aunty Carol, Uncle Barry, The Toppie, The Bean and I taken while we waited to board a passenger liner for a holiday, one of Elizabeth and her two sisters taken at Lesley’s wedding (which was on my 33rd birthday), Emma, Nathan and I at his 40th, and one of my precious little Mouse (which is the nickname I have given to my beautiful godchild, Lily-Rose).

Now, I see these photos every day, but honestly, I don’t notice them anymore. Except this morning I did, and my Mouse’s smiling face transported me back to the day she was christened, December 10th, 2017 – and the message the minister gave that day:  What’s in a Name?  Your Name…

I’ve thought a while about putting my real name here, and for the sake of this entry being authentic, I’ve decided to do so.

Hello World, my name is Priscilla Anne.  If The Bean had had her way I would have been Avril.

I never liked my name, until I realized that its meaning is spot on – Priscilla means “Of Olden Times” and Anne means “Grace”.  Avril means “Opening buds of Spring; born in April”.  The Bean sent my biological father (aka The Sperm Donor) to register me, and he came back telling her, “her name’s Priscilla Anne”.  For the record I was born in September, on the Equinox, so Avril clearly was never meant to be, although I doubt The Sperm Donor had the savvy to research any name meanings.   Avril though to me is worse, because in my warped mind I hear a tinny-airport-announcer-intercom-voice saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts as we prepare our descent.  Thank you for flying Avril airlines.

When I decided to start this blog years ago, Reflections of a Misfit just popped into my head and it stuck.  I still have difficulty sometimes accepting that people see me differently (and I mean that in the most positive sense) than I do when I see my reflection in the mirror.  I’m the piece of the puzzle that doesn’t quite fit, quite literally a Misfit, but my given names are perfectly suited to the person I am – I am an Old Soul, who has Grace with everyone, often at the expense of myself (but I’m working on that as part of my therapy).

Thinking back to Lily-Rose’s christening, the reading was Isaiah 43:1.

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The minister explained that each of us have a name (some of us even the same one), but that our given names have meaning and speak to who we are, and that God knew what our names would be, long before our parents even knew of our existence, referring to Jeremiah 1:5.

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Today when I looked at how happy little Mouse is in the photo on my fridge, it stirred something within me, and that is that this Gracious Old Soul is loved and cared for, not only by the earthly angels that I am surrounded by, but by God too.

There’s comfort in that 🙂

 

 

 

Crazy, Dumb Belle?

I’m starting to feel a bit like a Dumb Belle because it’s been ages since I’ve even held a dumbbell, but I’ve got to start somewhere again, right?

In the words of Alanis Morrisette, Isn’t it Ironic?  I haven’t had (well, I still don’t) an appetite for almost six weeks, yet I’m craving sugar. In the form of cake.  Cheesecake, to be specific.  And carrots – not in a cake, but not raw either. And leeks, so much so that I went to buy some yesterday. And a pepper steak pie – a borderline-food-poisoning-garage-pie.  And no, I’m not pregnant. What I am, is tired.  It’s a damn catch-22 situation because if I drink a full dose of the sleeping tablets the psychiatrist prescribed, I sleep for a good eight hours, but wake up tired because the meds have not entirely worked out of my system and if I drink half, I wake up between three and four AM regardless of what time I lay my head down and fall asleep to the beat of my heart thudding in my ears.

In an attempt to entice some kind of hunger for food within me, I’m going back to the gym, under the watchful eye of my friend (and personal trainer), Steve.  I have my first session with him tonight, in thirty minutes in fact.

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If I don’t post something, even a one-liner, tomorrow, check the local papers for my obituary.  I imagine the headline will read something like Crazy Woman Cardios Herself into Cardiac Arrest with the byline Heavenly Heartrate Reached.

Besides the possibility that I’ll want to fill my stomach with more than just rooibos tea, I’m hoping that physically exhausting myself will allow me to sleep through without the daily aid of the sleeping tablets and that I’ll wake up feeling normal (whatever that is). I’m still a far cry from bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but I’ll get there.

Wish me luck!