With so many hugs and wise words about, it’s hard to stay quite so down for too long. I’ve had a nice girlie night out with an old friend, ate far too much pizza (sod the jaw and sod the bloody diet too) and have decided black humour is the only way forward. So, here’s some random thoughts to show you I’m back in the land of the living  :

1. I realised this morning what has kept me going over the last couple of months : a decidedly dodgy combination of pre-migraine drugs, prescription painkillers, coke (the drink) because the migraine tablets and painkillers make me drowsy so I need the caffeine, and tranquillisers to help me wind down after a Mum episode. Thrown in the ocasional Pro-Plus, and if I were a Z list celeb, surely I’d be in The Priory by now? Could this be the way to finally engineer a meeting with Robbie Williams?

2. I’m a Christian, albeit not a very good one. I therefore believe in life after death. When my Mum does eventually shuffle off this mortal coil, she’s going to haunt the hell out of me for everything I’ve said about her!

3. Oh. I can’t think of a 3. *Goes off to find more mind altering drugs*

Thanks you guys. It might not read like sane, but you’ve no idea just how much support I’m getting from you all right now.

xx

I’m a bit wobbly blogging this - I’ve already soaked Chris’ shoulder in person, and Paul’s down the phone. And Sarah’s (Southampton’s really copping it this evening). I need to write this to try and make some sense of it in my head.

I have had pretty much the worst Mum day to date. In a nutshell, I have discovered she has lain for the best part of the day in the resulting mess of a bed she wet badly in the night. There’s more, but I can’t, just can’t go into it. It’s too awful.

I think it’s time to seriously consider full time care, and I think Mum knows that too, but wants me to make the decision. If she can’t or won’t look after herself in the most basic hygeinic fashion, if she’s hellbent on self destruction, what else can I do? If I make that decision for her, and she hates it, then guess who gets the blame?

I need to speak to her psychiatric nurse tomorrow, at the very least her day to day care in the immediate term needs a real boost. Then perhaps, time to start doing some serious homework.

God I miss my Dad. He’d tell me what to do.

Poor Stu’s leaking ceiling blog struck a chord with me - about two weeks after I moved into my little house, I was awoken at about stupid o’clock by an odd noise :

bop - bop - bop - bop - bop

- so I got up to investigate. Just as I wandered intothe spare room, the noise changed :

bopbopbopbopbopbopbopbopbopbop

I looked upwards, and there was a dirty great crack in the ceiling - I looked downwards, and there was a dirty great puddle on the carpet where all the water that was dripping through the ceiling was ending up.

Sensible Jen lasted about thirty seconds, just about long enough to empty the contents of the bahroom bin all over the floor, and reposition it under the drip.

I should point out at this juncture, that when I moved into this house, it was - shamefully at the ripe old age of 33 - the first time I had ever lived alone. So you’ll perhaps forgive the fact that I then panicked.

Fortunately at that moment, bopbopbopbop, slowed back to bop - bop - bop - bop, and then calmed iself right donwn to bop (talk amongst yourselves) bop (talk etc) bop.

I still spent a very long night, huddled in my dressing gown, sat in the spare room trying to convince myself that the entire roof wasn’t going to cave in. I wasn’t completely alone I have to admit - dear old Titch was there - but after the initial drama, and a quick crafty drink out of the bin, he curled up and went to sleep, so not such great company!

I did have one advantage over Stu’s calamity though - at that point I was renting, so first thing the next morning I was on the phone to the agency, and to give them their due, it was fixed pretty damn quick. Although when I say fixed - that’s not the word used in the homebuyer’s report I commissioned some two years later when I came to buy my little house - bodged and in need of new roof was more like it - but hey. Oh the joys of home ownership - you have my sympathy Stu.

This song was playing in the gym tonight - singularly appropriate for the kind of day I’ve had. All sorts of things - people, events, circumstances - seem to be conspiring to bring me down, and I’m torn between letting them, and feeling like shit, or fighting back. The song made me feel like fighting back.

To summarise :

1. I am sinking at work. My immediate boss is off sick for an unknown length of time, and I keep uncovering cock ups she’s had a hand in - and various other problems as well. For every one mistake I unravel (and believe me, we’re talking major detective work here), I have another 2 or 3 dumped on me. I am going backwards and getting behind with other work.

2. I appear to have offended a friend. I’m not quite sure how - apparently it’s *complicated* (I’m waiting to find out what that means) - but I think it might be to do with trying to stay friends with too many people. Maybe I’m wrong, but until I’m told otherwise, I don’t know what to think. My friendships mean a lot to me, and this has seriously got me down.

3. I had a phone call from the travel agent today - our chosen tour operator has seen fit to advise its customers of *building works* next door to our hotel, which may result in *some noise*. They’re sending us a copy of the letter, together with our (somewhat limited) options. If we do want to move, it’s bound to cost more - which we would be obliged to pay - and as we’re now 100% committed to the dates we’ve booked, I don’t think there will be anything we can do except hope it’s not too bad.

4. Mother. Say no more. The original and best *neg-head*

So I’m feeling distinctly got at. Chris and I - and I don’t think he’d disagree with me here - especially I - really need this holiday. It’s bad enough rushing around like a prat trying to make sure everything’s in place and as organised as it can be without all this other stuff going on. To then find out our dream holiday might not be - well, last straw and all that.

Remedies for a broken camel’s back much appreciated.

And so yet another week has flashed past - this weekly blogging seems to be becomng a bit of a habit, for which I apologise, but confess to it probably not getting much better until after the holiday.

There is so much to DO. I took Mum to the care home where she’ll be staying whilst we’re away at the weekend, and, thank heaven, she didn’t think it was the Den of Satan, (they had a cat, it helped!) and she’s going back for her half day visit this coming Monday. I shan’t list all the other stuff I’m having to arrange/cancel/postpone on her behalf for the time she’s away, but trust me, they are many and varied. I’m beginning to think 7 days isn’t going to be a long enough break! I certainly won’t be able to start unwinding until I’m actually on that plane. 2 weeks, 6 days and counting…

So, what else has happened this last week? Well, I endured a hospital enduced migraine from all the jaw mauling about last week, which hasn’t been much fun, and I have been totally snowed under at work, so in order to get through, I have been hitting the (prescription) drugs quite hard. Quite perversely, I have also felt black dog nipping at my heels, which I think is because I’m rushing round like a headless chicken as described above. Would that I could strike a happy medium… (cue mindless violence jokes).

I think that will about do for now. I will try to blog again before the week is out!

Gosh, I hadn’t realised it was a week since I last blogged. The shame! Let’s play catch up.

Last week carried on being a bit stressfull, especially in the work department, where, for the last three days of the week, when my immediate boss was off, I seemed to do nothing but uncover cock ups that were down to her, and sort them out. On her return this week, she fires out an email asking the entire department - muggins here included - to be more careful, as the number of errors attributed to our section is getting quite high. More than a tad miffed by this, I have since shown said email to her immediate boss - who was there last week, and knows exactly what transpired - and who thankfully is miffed on my behalf. Not quite sure where if anywhere we go from here, but I shall let you know any further developments!

My going to the gym seems to be working pretty well - I haven’t missed a session yet, and have been averaging 3-4 visits/week, which is what they recommend. I think it’s having an effect - I’m sure I actually felt a long since burried under flab ab the other day, and no, it wasn’t trapped wind!! Chances are I won’t lose 2 stone before the holiday - which is just under 4 weeks away - YAY!!! - but it’s a start, and a habit I intend to keep up.

So, what else? Cats all fine and co-habiting nicely, new next door neighbours arrived and seem very nice - their alsation arrives later this week, watch out moggies, next door is no longer your extended playground! Mum - is just Mum, we installed her Christmas present on Sunday (a freeview box) and after yet another lesson tonight, I think she’s finally getting the hang of driving it. Passport duly changed to married name, cat sitter for Mum (and us - we possibly have two sitters fighting over ours!!) organised, and appointment for any necessary jabs made for Monday.

One final update, then you can go and have a well earned cup of tea - I had my follow up appointment at Queens Medical Centre this morning for my poor old jaw. The mush diet (which I upgraded to a chomp but don’t chew diet to get a little more variety) has led to a fair improvement, so the concensus is to give it another 3 months with introducing a few more adventurous foods (quick! pass me that 20 oz steak!!) and if by then there’s no further improvement and/or things are worse again, we proceed to Stage Two. Which involves an incission just below my ear, a camera shoved into the joint to have a good old look around, and a flushing out of the joint. Thankfully under a general anaesthetic. Gulp!

…to get over the stress of booking this one. Let’s go back a few days…

I spent a fair proportion of last week trying to confirm what dates the Home of Choice could offer respite care for Mum. Chris and I had decided to brave the travel agents on Saturday, so this was really quite important. I left messages left, right and centre, and by mid afternoon on Friday rang YET AGAIN to try and ascertain Exactly What Was What.

Unfortunately the woman I had been dealing with had gone home ill, but I was assured that Social Services knew all about it, and would be in touch. When I stressed that we really needed to get something booked so we could tell our respective works Exactly What Was What, they suggested I contact Social Services direct. Which I duly did.

Social Services had no idea Exactly What Was What, in fact they had no idea what I was talking about at all. Luckily it was a woman I knew quite well, and when I explained, she jumped at the challenge, and to give her due, called me back inside 10 minutes with the availability, and the number of the home in case I needed to make/check any tweeks before actually booking anything.

Splendid - except it was now 4.45, and on a Friday that means there’s no chance of getting hold of Chris as no-one answers the phones by then. So, I trusted that he’d know Exactly What Was What regarding his current leave situation at the close of play.

Except he didn’t. So all we could do was go to the travel agent on Saturday, check our options and do absolutely everything except say *book it Danno* (or words to that effect) until we’d double checked the dates first thing Monday morning. We found a lovely deal, and got very excited about it for the rest of the weekend.

So, Monday morning rolls around, and Chris, good to his word, barely says *good morning* to anyone before he drags his boss to the office diary, checks the leave, and phones me to say all OK. And I phone the home to say all OK. And I phone the travel agent to say *book it Danno*, and she says *sorry, but it’s gone*

Oh F**K.

So we put her back on the case, has to be same dates, can’t mess the home about, and lo and behold she finds something at the hotel next door (which is actually even nicer) with a different operator. It’s a tad more expensive, but by this time, I’m past caring. *Book it Danno* I shout joyously down the phone, and then call Chris to give him the good news.

You’d think that was it wouldn’t you? But no, there was one final loop in the holiday rollercoaster, and that came this afternoon, when the original woman rang to check for herself Exactly What Was What. *Are you sure this is long enough* she said *4 days isn’t very long for a holiday…* - *4DAYS????!!!!!* yes, the home had written down the wrong dates. There then followed a nail biting 5 minutes while she got back in touch with them and checked the actual dates, and was able to confirm back to me that all was indeed well with the world.

Phew.

So - *Exactly What IS What?* I hear you cry. This, my friends, is what is what :

7 days

Mid March

Sharm el Sheikh (Egypt)

Well posh hotel

All Inclusive (it was a good deal, and we figured we’d go the whole hog for once)

YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!! :-)  :-) 

No, not a *I’ve booked a holiday* blog - I’ve lost my copy of Heat.

I know I bought it on Tuesday - it’s on my Tesco’s receipt, and I remember reading at least some of it.

Now it’s disappeared into thin air.

We’ve looked under the bed, alongside the bed, down the sofa, under the sofa, the recycling bag and the magazine rack, without success.

Any ideas?

I forgot to tell you something last week. I joined the gym.

It was the one where I did the free guest visit, ooh, aaaaages ago, then life and Mothers got complicated, and I never did anything more about it. Well, in the spirit of *2007 is the Year of Getting Things Done*, last week I parted with the necessary, and got a passport to pain in return. Tonight was my induction.

They should really describe it as an initiation, it’s embarassing enough. I have been measured eek), weighed (double eek) and diagnosed with machines. My Body Mass(ive) Index is, and as for my body fat percentage…well, the least said about that the better. I do however have good posture and normal blood pressure - whoop de frigging do!!!

Still, they seem to think that what I want to achieve is realistic, and they’ve worked me out a good programme. I’ve booked my next two sessions, and am DETERMINED to make this work. I’ll update you in a few weeks (if I haven’t passed out by then…)