I’m not sure what my point is either

Item – Did I mention I had acupuncture on Wednesday? I had acupuncture on Wednesday. Between you and me, I don’t shave my underarms quite so often in winter, because I have very sensitive, rash-prone skin, and because the only other person who is going to see them was raised by bears (or hippies. One or the other) and only really notices superfluous hair on women when their mustache is rivalling Friedrich Nietzsche’s. On Wednesday, I was running late, so decided, eh, you know, Nice Earrings the Acupuncturist never ever does points anywhere near my underarms, or in any way that requires me to raise my arms, so I’ll get away with it. I’ve washed. I’m wearing deodorant. There are no escaping tufts… You’ve guessed the rest. Needle in each pit. Because, you see, I had a blockage in my spleen meridian, and that’s where the spleen meridian is. Obviously. The shame. The fuzziness. (She didn’t say a word. Bless her).

Item – We spent the weekend at my Mother’s, Doing Family. Partly because of the ‘no Christmas’ thing. We may as well show Token Willing before we climb into our pyjama bunker.

Item – The main reason why I’d rather *cough* everyone *cough* (hi, Mum!) was honest and just said ‘well, poor May had another miscarriage, and that is why she was unwell and I went to visit her,’ is that then people don’t turn to me in the middle of dinner, half-way through much jolly conversation, and ask me if I’m better now and what was it? Swine flu? No? What then? What was wrong with me? Ordinary flu? What? I resisted the temptation to say ‘Leprosy’. I’m not sure why I bothered.

Item – I shall mention this many times, no doubt, as the years roll on, but I don’t think my sister and her ex-twerp are really getting the whole ‘don’t take your stupid pissy little adolescent issues out on the kid’ thing. Poor Minx.

Item – Minx can read. I sat on the floor with her and she read me a story about dinosaurs. I nearly died of pride. Also, she wants to learn to knit. Guess what Minx is getting for Christmas? Apart from an Auntie with a severe case of the kvells.

Item – Meanwhile, inside Planet May, the temperature is dropping, the vague, dull ache in the uterus is ramping up. Crimson Menace due any time between, oh, right now this minute and tomorrow lunch-time.

Item – This is awkward, because a big horrible tiresome and very very urgent project is going on at work and I am supposed to be supervising part of it. And quite a lot of key colleagues are already off sick or on leave. I wonder/hope/wonder if I’m going to make it through the whole day tomorrow before gently curling up like a dying leaf. I wonder what will happen if I don’t make it through. I wonder what effect co-codamol will have on my ability to supervise my own limbs, let alone a whole project. With a spreadsheet and very carefully numbered crates and seven other people, three of whom don’t speak English.

Item – I am still rather discombobulated by a dream I had last night, in which I, still in my coat and hat, was sitting on the floor of a deserted hospital corridor. There was no one else there, and nothing was happening, but the whole scene had an almost nauseatingly intense feeling of misery and humiliation about it. I didn’t really get back to sleep after that.

Item – I spent today pretty much mentally defective with tiredness. I can’t think in a straight line, I have the attention-span of a goldfish on uppers. Can’t you tell?


7 responses to “I’m not sure what my point is either

  • Ben Warsop

    Nietzsche’s moustache… I never knew. *wipes away tears of laughter*

    And less hilariously, that dream is one of the bleakest things I’ve read or heard about.


  • a

    Somehow, I believe Nice Earrings has seen underarms everywhere in the range from completely smooth to Nietzsche’s moustache. Your stubbly bits are probably of little interest until you don’t wash or partake of deodorant.

    Good luck with your project and the red menace. I’m sorry that your subconscious is sending you awful dreams.

  • twangy

    Hate those dreams that hang around all day, making you feel anxious and sad. BLEAH.
    (Thought transfer to May’s subconscious: Star Trek! Flying like Superman! And, picnics in sunny meadows! – there, some dream ideas for you.)

    Hope the Red Brigadiers decide to devote themselves to peace, and the new drugs do their job. But not make you too out of it. Good luck with all.

  • Valery

    Bears are good. they do the best cuddles. And sleep out the tough times.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    It’s fair to say that the very last place I would have looked for a spleen meridian is in my armpits!
    Co-codamol is fabulous stuff, but it doesn’t enhance the mental processes much – not in a linear fashion, anyway. More of a hippy, abstract way. Duuude.
    That dream sounds absolutely bloody awful; poor May, what a dreadful night. Having the odd few of those myself lately. Whereas John never ever remembers his dreams – except for the one he had last night, when he shadily acquired some rustled cows off his cousin’s farm and ditto a hoover off someone else’s. Those sort are much nicer.

  • Womb For Improvement

    Sure she’s seen worse than a couple of spider-pits.

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