I always keep meaning to return to regular posting, but each time I mean to do anything these days my health seems to poke its proverbial tongue at me and say “Haha, not today, loser”. To be frank, I’m tired of all of it: the seizures; the panic attacks; post-menopause issues (which, it turns out, do not go away when you’ve had the plumbing yoinked out). The outpatient appointments seem to become more and more regular, and the gym and my other hobbies less so.
But still, she rises. Or something. I am, after all, a fighter. All of the women in my family are; we’ve had to be.
At least I’ve managed not to break any more bones this year, or find myself an inpatient at Broomfield yet again. I swear they might as well just reserve a bed for me in orthopaedics – but the prosthetic joints are holding up well and I’ve just passed two years since my shoulder replacement.
I’ve grown lazy with my fitness, though. My gym became an unpleasant place after a new owner took over and fired all the existing staff, and I never felt comfortable at the next gym I tried and so I only went when I was having a session with my PT. I’m at a new gym now, and was starting to establish a routine until I had a flurry of outpatient appointments to attend in a massive cluster.
Then there were the three weeks that I didn’t have a bathroom because I had a wet room fitted. Finally! If I’d known I could self-refer I would have had it done long ago: I’ve found it to be such a saviour, as in I can shower myself and take a seat if I need to – and there’s plenty of space for Dom to assist me if needed.
After years of sitting on a bath shelf, being terrified of falling over the bath rim when sliding off, and having restricted space for years, I think we both feel liberated by this – and so the chaos of the work (see below) was worth the inconvenience of having no bathroom at all for a while!
We also have a new living room layout (someone who owned Tribble Towers before we did thought it was a good idea to put a step between the living and dining area, so they could claim split level, or something: all they achieved was a safety hazard and I’m prone to fainting seizures and vertigo). The step is gone, the back door has been brought down to patio level, and we’ve got new patio doors that I can simply open – as opposed to attempting to slide the old (heavy) sliding door open with my operated arm. So I have easier, safer access to the garden, too!
Which leads me to… my accidental mugwort farm.
What can I say? I had a plant already, and I developed some sort of strange affinity with her (I named her Mhara). Then friends asked if I could maybe get my greenwitch fingers into some dirt and grow some from seed for them. My summer happy place is “up to the elbows in potting soil” so I was hardly going to say no!
Using the entire pack was my mistake. The seedlings took over my house: every windowsill was covered in little seedlings! When they were large enough I sent out the plants my friends wanted… and still had dozens, so I gave them away locally. I might have kept a few, though… oh dear 🤣🤣
So now I spend my summers pruning, drying, and storing mugwort/bagging it up for anyone who wants it. It’s a nice thing for my mental health, but not so good for my hayfever. It’s worth it, though; I drink so much of it because of its thujone (a fabulous tonic for anxiety and insomnia). When I’m not drinking it, I’m making oils and antiseptic creams out of it or using it in an oil burner as incense.
So how’s your year been so far? I hope it’s been as groovy as one of my garden hedgehogs seems to think he is!
An Accident In Space And Time 