Suck it up my darling…

I’ve decided my own blog is becoming a boring rant about the bane of my existence – the peniwhacker and I’m stuck in the predicament for the time being so I guess I just have to suck it up my darling; and plan for a future that is peniewhacker-free.    

So I plan to cease the rants for a while (unless I positively have to via him provoking me) and concentrate on life in general!

So…  Life in general.  A month or so ago, after arising from my near death experience (yes, this is an exaggeration…)  I suffered a series of horrible shocks.  I looked in the mirror.  I looked at my bank account.

Let me explain.  The bank account is an easy answer.  I’m what is loosely termed as a spendthrift.  Wow, that was almost cathartic…  Like standing up and admitting to be an alcoholic (which I’m not but I will admit my wine intake impacts shock 1 and 2)   So, I have decided that I’m not going to be that anymore.  I’m in spending lock down.  I don’t care what passes my by – I’m not buying.

The mirror is a little more dependent on my somewhat unlucky circumstances.  The process of my brain problem is quite simple.  I spend a month or so in total denial that my shunt is going, mainly because the shunts intermittent plunges into a useless piece of junk allow me to have a glimmer of hope that it will correct itself.  You’d think I’d learn by now because it didn’t correct the other fourteen times, so I’m not sure while I continue to clutch at that straw.

During that month of ‘delusion/denial’ things are winding down.  I’m literally like an old wind up clock that is approaching wind up time again so things start to fall by the wayside.  It takes all the effort I possess to get out of bed and go to work, let alone worrying about my nails or if my legs are waxed.

Then we have the five or six weeks in and out of hospital which means all exercise stops and food intake escalates in between days of starvation awaiting surgery.   Your family worries about you and in a family of “puddiepies” like I come from, we cure worry or stress or illness with cooking.  We give.  We love to give; and what better to give one another than tasty little treats.  Every day when Squeeze and my daughter would come to see me, they would bring a handful of lollies.  You may be thinking that no one tied me to the bed and stuffed them down my throat, and you’d be right; but let’s face it.  My will power was as deflated as the rest of me by then.

So let’s get back to the shock of looking in the mirror.

I had to force myself to take stock.  Stare myself down.  It wasn’t pleasant.  I looked like a bloated, aging woman with a bad haircut.

Sometimes that shock is required as it propels you into action.  So I’ve started a six month plan.  I went on the 7/2 diet (2 days a week I am restricted to 500 calories but the rest of the time, I’m supposed to be able to eat what I like.  I’m in the middle of testing that “what I like” theory because the first 3 weeks I lost 3.5 kilos – but I was being ‘careful’ on the 5 days.  This week, I literally ate what I liked and didn’t lose anything.  Having said that, I didn't gain either, so that is okay.

This could be due to that diet plateau around the three week mark but I guess we will see this week!  I feel better after the 3.5 kilo but I’d like to keep going.  I don't need a new look.  I've got oodles of clothes - I just have to teach my body to get back into them!

I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about my hair.  I’ve had it cut, but seriously – there is no hiding a huge hunk shaved out of the back of your head.  Neurosurgeons should have to do a semester in ‘cut and style’ if you ask me; they may have brains as big as a basketball, but they’re seriously crap hair dressers.