as if you're not tired of me prattling about my problems

This weekend I finally came clean with my family about all the problems the Monkey-husband and I have had this year.

For those of you with a mathematical disposition, that conversation has been 4 months in the making (almost to the day); and 2 months since I had my stroke.

It went better than expected. Nobody got nailed to anything, which is always a plus.

But the fact remains that I'm no closer to knowing. Will the Monkey ever come home? How long should I wait, realistically? What is the point of anything without a partner in crime?

Unfortunately the answer to all three questions is, "I don't know."

...loser.

I used to be feminist; not "defined by my man" and all that.

*snort*

See how the mighty have fallen.

I miss my husband.

on the stroke front

Still no news on what caused my stroke.

I've had MRIs and ECGs and ultrasounds and halter monitors. I'm now on three different medications for cholesterol, blood pressure and clotting; but the general consensus is that it was "probably one of those things".

It's certainly been an interesting year, as far as fucked up shit happening to me goes.

The Monkey-husband is gone. My health is apparently questionable. And tonight, a tile fell of the ceiling in the toilet.

Huzzah!

not with a bang but a whimper

It's over.

:(

small and invalid

It's no particular secret that, for some time now, I have been seeing a psychologist.

Partly this is because I am a well-medicated depressive; but mostly it's because I fucked up my life in one fell swoop about 2 years ago and the ripples are still spreading out from the epicentre of Cass-tastrophy.

I'm not really sure what seeing a psychologist is actually supposed to achieve but it's nice to be able to talk things over with an impartial observer who doesn't encourage me to do stupid things like dying my hair black or aquiring 12 cats.

...Not that he discourages me from doing those things - he just gets me to think it over first.*

Yesterday he asked me how I felt about a certain issue in my life. I though for a bit and then remembered what had come to me the night before.

I am small and invalid.

He asked me what I meant by that, and I said:

Small - adj., small·er, small·est.

1. Being below the average in size or magnitude.
2. Limited in importance or significance; trivial: a small matter.
3. Limited in degree or scope: small farm operations.
4. Lacking position, influence, or status; minor: “A crowd of small writers had vainly attempted to rival Addison” (Thomas Macaulay).
5. Having been belittled; humiliated: Their comments made me feel small.
6. Lacking force or volume: a small voice.

Invalid - adj.

1. Not legally or factually valid; null: an invalid license.
2. Falsely based or reasoned; faulty: an invalid argument.
3. Utterly without merit (my definition).

Then something weird happened. He lifted his glasses and smoothed the corner of his eye with his thumb. I didn't think anything of it until he did it again with his index finger a minute later.

I think I made him cry.

*12 cats would certainly have a certain aroma, I think. One I probably don't need in my life.

Dear God, why must my organisational skillz be cactus?

It was mother's day here in AU today.

To mark the occasion, and my mother's birthday last week, we all were invited to lunch at my mum's sister's house.

Let's see... Given the epic dysfunction already inherent in my life at present; what could go wrong?

On Friday night I managed to leave her gift on the train after work. In an ideal world this might not have been such a problem. Since the train terminated at my station and was duly shunted into the yards for the night one may have dared to assume that a phone call might be all that was needed to locate the errant parcel (as it was quite obviously gift-wrapped).

No. Such. Luck.

...and here I was feeling all pleased with my mad organisational skillz.

Never mind, I thought, I'll just have to order another - bring on Sunday lunch!

Luck and I are not speaking of late; so rather than turn up for lunch at my Aunt's house 15 minutes up the road from my house, I ended up at her other house. The one that's 15 minutes up the road from mum's place. The one that is 90 minutes FROM MY HOUSE.

For fuck's sake.

I give up.

Email to my peeps; 14 April 2009

Hi All,

I am going to be back in the office tomorrow, so I figured I should fill you all in on where and what I've been up to since the ambos took me away on 2 April.

I spent 6 nights in the neurology ward of Box Hill Hospital where an MRI revealed that I had experienced a stroke caused by a blood clot at the base of my skull.

The stroke affected the left side of my body, which is not good since I am left-handed! As a result, my handwriting, dexterity, balance and strength were all reduced on that side but slowly came back over the course of a week.

I am now fully recovered as far as I can tell, except that I am experiencing some tiredness.

Also, I am now on anti-clotting medication; so if we could keep the bumper-car riding and chainsaw juggling to a minimum in the office that would be most helpful.

Cheers, Cass.