Propping up a dodgy memory

Too much whining for FB

Mon, 05 Jun 2023 16:55:51 GMT

A FB post was exposed to radiation and became a Kaiju, aka a blog post. So here it is, stashed for the sake of convenience, but public by necessity. I don't care.

After two days of literally insane levels of dangerous and strenuous activity, I have very sensibly been tucked up warm in bed since I got here at about 5am.

But I have been thinking about gutters and flashing and mud and inaccessibility and instability and electrocuting myself and wire and strings and weights and levers and hooks and chopsticks and gaffer and hose fittings and customised tools and a raincoat and a runner (or at least a spare pair of hands) and MORE.

All to fix what a parade of incompetent idiots masquerading as handymen and/or the original equally imaginative DIY owner have wrought over decades. But, I hypothesize, mostly the most recent genius who added flashing to encourage water (and mud and debris) into a nigh-inaccessible section of gutter, but made the damned thing so long it scrapes the base of the gutter, creating a damned dam along a significant length in a really problematic area that has defeated at least a dozen men, including roofers and guttering specialists. It was the first stretch of gutter I ever replaced, because surprise surprise it had rusted through.

And I probably forgot to point this section out to the last dozen people (MEN) whom I paid increasingly large amounts of money to clean, inspect, and REPORT IN WRITING on the state of our roof drainage.
On July 7th, I (and for much of that the bank) will have owned Sector 7 for 20 years. For two decades, drainage or lack thereof has been my constant companion and nightmare.

But now I have an idea that just might be a step in the right direction. I've watched stormfront after stormfront come and go, and in each lull I've thought I really should go out there (after significant preparation) to see if one of the relatively straightforward starting points is even possible. Preferably without causing additional damage as per my many predecessors.

There's not much daylight left, but I foolishly bought work lights some time ago. So I could work outside on summer nights, on the rock garden, I thought. Non-emergency work/play.

But Buffy has sensed my reluctant but increasing desire to abandon this glorious but impractical warmth and rest; she has moved up the bed to pin me down even more firmly.

I really do need to get up for many perfectly mundane reasons, many of them medicinal. I thought today's greatest challenge was going to be grocery shopping, even with a sickly (but neg RAT) Husband to do the driving, but it's a public holiday I'm told, so I'll never make it by closing time.

And ye gods the overdue paperwork and critical prep for NDIS and other meetings/evaluations... Irritating and fiddly at best, terrifying to my very core at 99% probability.

Oh, actual lightning and thunder now. No MacGyvering for me then. It's time to face the NDIS "How fucked up are you really, under all that exhausting masking, stubbornness, and fighting?" prep.

On first reading of the questions I will need to answer briefly and succinctly during a 4 hour evaluation next week, I was floored entirely by one of the mundane items lurking behind the surprise obviously philosophical and existential ones that caught my eye as needing a fair bit of thought.

Buried in one of many long lists I saw "Do you have low motivation? Y/N" At first I laughed and said hell no, I've got truckloads of it. Then paused, thought no, I have truckloads of bullish determination, because I do in fact have low motivation. But I also have no options. But low motivation is up there with the Seven Deadly Sins (Sloth I guess) which makes me a horrible horrible failure of a human being, destined for eternal damnation and suffering (I might be already there). THANKS NUNS.

That's not how I see myself, but it's what I am, at my core. I'm right back to the nightmare phase after diagnosis and relief: So who am I really? The answers were so sickening I was encouraged to abandon the quest and just be me. I miss having counselling or therapy delivered by a professional. I haven't been poked with a stick for *years* so just squished it all down. Not a second since I was accepted into the NDIS. I didn't think I needed it.

Now I have 10? {Ed: only 6] pages of booby traps like that to figure out and prepare responses that are "as brief as possible". In haiku format, perhaps. In less than a week. But also provide my entire medical history "in dot point form" IN ADVANCE.

So here I am, still in bed under a cat, my medication schedule in utter disarray, actively avoiding both tasks because I have absolutely zero motivation to go there.

But then I have to create compelling arguments why my mind (not my brain) restricts me from participating in society, without a sniff of physical or medical cause. But only the mind bits on their list, for which I have a documented diagnosis and evidence of impairment due to those things and those things ONLY.

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In the interim I have run through those six pages of probing questions with Husband for bounceoff, and discovered that the answers to 90% of the "Do you have difficulty with...? questions are Yes, once I remembered that I have to pretend/mask/perform or make deliberate choices pretty much any time I go near a human. And I'm failing at that because I'm exhausted doing both performance art and being (shhhhh, don't tell the NDIS) a physical disaster. The performance is slipping more and more, partly because I've had to talk about nothing but my failings, and dare not mention achievements, progress, or ingenuity.

Or have a break, apart from this morning. It was nice.

I'm also being hounded by agencies with long horrible contracts so I can finally get a reliable cleaner, even if they're no good for human company. JFC

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Magpie trust

Mon, 01 Feb 2021 15:27:57 GMT

CW: Long, even by my standards. But just talking about my growing relationship with the local magpies. An anecdote became a history, I'm afraid, but a happy one. Given the detail I thought I'd immortalise this as an actual blog post
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Magpie relations went up a notch this evening. I was feeding one of the older (but not senior) maggies who was shepherding and feeding two younger ones. The babies are having a growth spurt and are entirely out of proportion. They still have stubby beaks and a bit of fluff, but their legs are entirely too long for the rest of them. I've not seen this particular growth stage up close before.

The whole clan is frequently summoned by the leaders to (at a guess) chase crows or ravens out of their territory. As I was feeding this trio I heard the summons of the family song; the guardian responded, but stayed with the babies, suddenly eating much faster. The call rang out again and the other magpies around the place flew past towards a particular tree. Maybe this is their nesting tree, or in the middle or outer edge of their territory, but it's always a rallying point in the end. I say "in the end" because the light pole in our cul-de-sac is also a staging post where they sometimes gather before flying off in formation to that tree.

One of the babies flew off in a completely different direction (possibly its designated safety spot under a shrub - I've seen other youngsters take the same flight path under similar circumstances).

So I was left with one baby and its minder, who--I kid you not--appeared to be wrestling with a decision. It looked back and forth at the remaining food, the baby, and the direction of the summons. It did not look at me, the usual metre or two away. Then it quickly gobbled down a few more small scraps and took off to join the clan.

But here's the thing - the guardian left me with the youngster! It was not entirely vulnerable as it could fly a bit, and I'm pretty sure even a tweenager magpie could rearrange your face quite effectively before tripping over its own feet if it felt the need.

Now here I enter the dangerous territory of anthropomorphism, so I shall tread carefully.

In 16 years or so here I have never witnessed an act of aggression by a magpie towards either residents, cyclists, or pedestrians. It's a cul-de-sac, and the foot traffic is light, but they obviously breed nearby.

Magpies swoop not necessarily to defend their nests, but their pre-fledglings who are pushed out of the nest before they can fly, to be raised on the ground. Eventually (I'm guessing) the babies grow big enough to fly just well enough to not require this level of active swooping defence, but they are constantly supervised by elder siblings.

We know that magpies recognise human faces, so I imagine I was ID'd a long time ago as Mostly Harmless. My Darwinian and holistic eco approach to gardening (particularly as time went on and I was even less hands on) meant there were no pesticides, no manicured lawns, lots of deep natural mulch, plenty of worms, skinks, termites, and sundry yummy bugs around the place, and the pond as a reliable source of drinking water. Good feeding ground, Mostly Harmless human, check. When I was out by the pond for whatever reason, various maggies would use the pergola as a playground, hopping from timber to timber, right above my head. Maybe by that point I'd graduated to Probably Harmless. We frequently made eye contact from less than a metre apart, but I was careful to stay very still.

And then a couple of years ago I found the first mini-maggie lost and exposed in the backyard concrete jungle near the pond. So by then Probably Harmless human and Good feeding ground must have been upgraded to Safe place for the very young, although Mini Maggie had wandered a bit far away and became confused by concrete country.

It was then I looked up and realised that there was always at least one magpie on guard from a nearby high vantage point. Fortunately for my eyeballs I'd learned that magpies raise their young on the ground and this one did not require rescuing. So while I was able (and apparently permitted) to get quite close to Mini Maggie, I made no attempt to get *too* close. When Mini Maggie started making hungry noises I stayed inside and watched through the window, and we were both eventually rewarded by the arrival of a young adult who fed the baby. (Side note, the begging posture at that age included vigorous flapping motions, presumably to build up flight muscles. Sensible behaviour.)

Up until this point I hadn't made any attempt to feed any of the wild beasties on my block, but as the hungry cries continued in the long intervals between feeding times, I thought here was an opportunity to cement the bond and assure my future safety from magpie attack, particularly as there were now young ones so near by. The next time an adult came around to feed the baby and make it stfu (it ignored me by this point) I scattered a few bits of cooked chicken on the concrete and backed away.

The older magpie bravely sampled a couple of tiny pieces, fed a few to the baby who was too young to pick them up by themselves, then it stuffed its beak to the brim and flew away with the bounty. Eventually Mini Maggie moved on, but I was reassured by the now *very* familiar ongoing begging sounds, and hoped that meant it had been reunited with the clan rather than hit by a speeding train. After a failed, neglected, or outright rejected offering of cheese left in the same spot I stopped attempting to feed them, figuring out I was probably safe by now, given the liberties I'd been permitted while under guard.

Cut to this summer with no pond, so I put a dish of water out the front, somewhat sheltered by the bushes, but clearly visible from my bedroom window. Enjoyed once again the sight of various birds drinking there. Cut again to bin night, and the assessment of the Best Before date on the near ubiquitous Coles cooked chook in the fridge. Well past the use by date, but by now stored in a vacuum sealed bag and smelled fresh. Not something I'd want to test on Husband, but I reckoned the magpies would be able to cope.

And in a clearly failed attempt to cut this story short, I started to save chicken scraps and took them outside in the late afternoon when the magpies were out feeding. It only took one brave and curious bird to taste test, and then I had a bunch more. Early on one much larger and fully mature bird hopped closer to me (I was on a lower terrace so a lot closer in height than usual) and we eyeballed each other thoroughly. I even slowly turned my head from side to side to let it get a really good look at my face. I threw it some bits of chicken, and while the younger members of the clan withdrew a few steps in response to my movement, this bigger bird not only held its ground, but started catching bits I threw to it mid-air.

I felt I had passed muster with The Boss and the word was sent around that I was a Harmless human. Maybe even a Useful human.

Tempting though it was I did not set up a regular feeding routine (apart from time of day when the worst of the heat had gone, and always around the water dish). Sometimes I left food out and there were no takers, but something always ate it overnight. Sometimes one or half a dozen birds would gather at the feeding spot at dinner time and I deliberately *didn't* feed them. I halted feeding entirely for a while when I witnessed the full fledging/eviction of one of the butcher birds from its family nest next door. I only restarted when I had witnessed the recently evicted youngster successfully forage by itself, and then I lost track of it for a while. I also made sure that the magpies continued to forage for themselves, and was both disappointed and relieved when they failed to show up every time I appeared in the right time and place with now smaller servings. They were clearly not *dependent* on me for food. This is very important to me and I hope to continue on that path. But I found myself with company more and more often when I went outside, even when in a different part of the garden and sans food, and for a decent length of time. I made long eye contact with a few more family members to bolster the imprinting. I am in this relationship for the long haul.

Not sure why, but I haven't seen much of the senior magpies since I was given the apparent royal nod of approval.

And so to today, where I was left alone with one of the youngsters. Not that I took on guard duty until one of the older ones returned - I knew this one could fly - but I do believe that there is at least one wild magpie out there who thinks I am not merely a Harmless and Useful human, but also a Trustworthy human.

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I am no Fibro Warrior

Fri, 01 Jun 2018 12:43:34 GMT

For those not on Facebook. I did eventually go to the fuss of submitting it to The Mighty, but then learned some disturbing things about the way the site was headed, so I withdrew it.
--

Maybe this will explain my life a little more clearly. Having worn myself out writing it as a first draft, the plan to submit it to The Mighty as a contributor article is now beyond me. Maybe one day I'll find the spoons to tidy it up, go through their submission process, write a bio, find a photo, deal with their editors... but maybe not. It got this far. It is enough.

eta: This entry will change a bit over time as I make small edits but will not change substantially.

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I am a Fibro Gladiator

People with fibromyalgia/ME, chronic fatigue syndrome, and related disorders and complications often refer to themselves as “Fibro Warriors”. I get that – every day is a battle, but warriors have some choice in the matter. They may have been conscripted as soldiers, but you don’t make it to warrior status without training and dedication and a degree of choice. Warriors can even retire. I have yet to encounter a fibro person who has dedicated and trained themselves to be where they are today. Both have fought and survived many battles to be alive today, but that’s not the only way to fight.

I am not a Fibro Warrior: I am a Fibro Gladiator. I am a slave with no hope of release except through defeat and death in one of my daily battles. (For argument’s sake I’m a political prisoner who will never earn my release, ok, historians?). Every day I am forced out into the hot sand or icy cold of the arena, armed with a random and inadequate supply of weapons and armour, to face an unknown opponent or opponents. The To-Do list, the shopping, cooking, endless decisions, basic self care, paying the bills, dealing with government websites or the tax office, the disappointment of constantly turning down invitations from friends, unavoidable family gatherings, doctor’s appointments, unwanted advice, actively harmful advice, deaths, house maintenance, laundry, crime, storm damage, random injuries or viral infections, physiotherapy, disbelief, pet care… and the minor issues of pain, fatigue, stiffness, loss of balance, brain fog, unregulated temperature, anxiety, depression, doubt, fear, guilt, grief, loss, rage, tears, and whatever else the world decides to throw at me that day.

If I am lucky my weapons will include a net, so I can subdue at least one of my opponents for a time, but they always return.

Some days the odds are in my favour and I can spare some energy on flair to entertain the crowd. I like that.

Somehow I’ve survived every match I’ve been forced to fight so far, but every day I'm injured and worn down that much more. As in ancient Rome, I have many supporters in the crowd who want to see me win every day and come back for more. They shower me with love, cheering, and rose petals, but they are all distant dots behind the barricades. I am not the only Fibro Gladiator by any means, but we must all fight our own battles as individuals. When we are returned to our cells under the arena we might exchange tips and tricks, but with every battle and every day being unique, it’s rare that any of these has practical value. The camaraderie helps a little, but only a little.

And so to my cell, which is at least surprisingly comfortable, with lots of cushions and books and a laptop. There I do my best to recover for the unknowns of the following day. There is no bed, because sleep is a foreign concept. I have attendants, a few familiar faces I see regularly, but I have to always tell them what to do – they care, but they have no initiative. All the emotional labour is mine to bear.

And that is my world, day after day after day until I fall: the battles in the arena; the heartfelt but distant support of the crowd; the voices of my fellow gladiators through the walls who sometimes don’t make it back; and my lonely cell.

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No Swancon for you

Thu, 22 Feb 2018 14:43:16 GMT

A quick note to the handful of Swancon folk who are here but not on Facebook: I won't be able to make it this year. Membership transfer went through tonight.

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Hello Yaris, soon goodbye Catmobile

Sun, 18 Jun 2017 02:32:04 GMT

There is a strange car in our driveway. That would be the new Yaris! It looks impossibly small for Husband's gear, but it tested positive so here it is. First time the household has ever had a New new car.
( Read more... )

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This is a test

Tue, 02 May 2017 00:39:49 GMT

It's not an experiment.

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Oh hell

Mon, 15 Sep 2014 13:31:40 GMT

That thing I'm not supposed to talk about has just become much much worse.

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Restraint is Hard

Tue, 05 Aug 2014 18:29:26 GMT

A Bad Thing has occurred which I am not at liberty to discuss on social media. That's fine, but it's sparked off a lot of Thoughts and Feelings that I'd normally work out online. I'm finding there's a huge difference between musing online and deliberately choosing someone to talk to about difficult things. I have many friends who I'm sure would be more than willing to chat, but it seems like a terrible imposition to pick someone specific to unload on in lieu of spreading the load as widely as possible.

Yes, Bad News is all about me (it isn't), but since I can't talk about the actual Bad News, nor the direct implications of Bad News, I can only mention (in a less public way than usual on DW) how bothersome it is to not be able to talk about Bad News.

If I were someone else I'd probably recommend (a) talking to someone without feeling so damned guilty about it because that's what friends are for, and/or (b) Write about it but just don't post about it (and try not to get withdrawal because there won't be any comments).

--
(Public, but not cross posted anywhere.)

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Wildlife: Kicking up a skink

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 05:44:36 GMT

I was happy to spot a baby skink in my bathroom this morning, but immediately discounted any chance of photographing it. They're fast little beasties.

( Read more... )

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Dad update

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 14:04:36 GMT

As reported in Facebook this evening:

I'm not sure I'm up to writing a proper post about this. Dad has taken a turn for the worse and his liver is failing. We're now looking at days or weeks, but definitely not months. In other words, no-one really knows. Much depends on whether he is able to eat and drink. He is very sleepy but still himself and can hear us quite well, and managed to communicate with a few words here and there, or with hand squeezes and crooked smiles. He is still at home and surrounded by loving family

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Dad

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 15:16:09 GMT

(I don't usually post here in DW, but LJ is down and I had to get this out. There may be technical difficulties. If you're reading this in LJ, a miracle has occurred, and/or it's tomorrow. Hello from the past.)

--

Some of you know that my Dad has been unwell for a while and that he was recently admitted to hospital for pain management and tests. With his permission I can now tell you the whole situation.

( Read more... )

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One is becoming sorely tempted

Tue, 12 Apr 2011 03:45:53 GMT

I am a paying livejournal user, and the constant downtime is getting me down. Will I be pushed out here to dw? I've invested a lost in my flist, and have a strong attraction to the familiar in lj. All those cat photos!

I don't even know if anyone on DW will see this. Am more lonely than usual :-(

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Sisters untie

Wed, 21 Jul 2010 16:07:08 GMT

I'm not generally inclined to cross-post to both lj and dw, so I've done it back to front. I've put this here as well because I wanted to catch as many cool feminist friends as possible with this post, because frankly I need the help.

--

Got one of those odd e-mails out of the blue today, asking if I would address the ACS Women's group (ACS-W) in August as a fill-in speaker. It appears I am being hoist on my own petard for insisting that such gatherings have a speaker at all, but I'm struggling to come up with a topic that will be entertaining, informative and skewed to the female demographic. I am unaccustomed to making that distinction in a speaking engagement.

( Read more... )

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Third time's the charm

Tue, 18 May 2010 15:53:22 GMT

Nothing to see.

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I had so much fun the last time...

Tue, 18 May 2010 15:51:04 GMT

I think I'll try that again.

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This is a test

Tue, 18 May 2010 15:47:41 GMT

Oh, the excitement.

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Social networking overload

Mon, 17 May 2010 15:47:17 GMT

Hello DW readers! I have a reading filter for people who only post on Dreamwidth (that is, they don't cross post to lj), but I fear I'm getting behind and missing some posts. If you post some or all content exclusively on DW, please drop a comment so I make sure I'm seeing your DW entries.

TIA

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Hello Dreamwidth

Sun, 17 May 2009 15:44:19 GMT

Do I plan on creating a new persona here? I find it unlikely, but I did come to visit to comment on a friend's post.

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Hello world

Fri, 01 May 2009 07:42:32 GMT

Testing... testing. Is this thing on?

I am the same stephbg as in http://stephbg.livejournal.com

I'm not entirely sure what I'll do with this account, but I couldn't just let my username go, could I? Not after the Twitter fiasco of 2009.

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