Animals... · Complaints · December 2016 · Dogs

The Sneezing Hour

Normally I would not consider turning my phone on when I’ve been in bed three hours, especially since I already have a very questionable relationship with it, but I have a cold. I think it’s been a while since I waxed lyrical about the imperfections of my immune system and it’s too late to start, but can I just say that I hope whoever gave me this cold ends up in hell. 

I’m snotty enough to not be sleeping and the one tablet I took has given me a stomachache, but the book I’m reading is mediocre and one of the dogs has been woofing at nothing (I checked and we weren’t being burgled) so I thought I’d come and say hello. Make something useful at 1am instead of pretending to count backwards from 1000. I’m not sure if this qualifies as useful but it has distracted me from the stomachache, so that’s one-nil in Francesca vs Phone Addiction. Phone Wastage. 

At least I’m not scrolling through the popular page on Instagram, basically.

I might put the world service on the radio. I might reattempt the book. I might even get to sleep before sunrise, which would be nice because my shifts in the shop are getting longer in the run up to Sunday, I have vaccinations tomorrow and I have to go out to dinner sometime. Friday? God, Friday’s tomorrow.

I think foxes are waking the dogs up. I can hear both Donnie and foxes yapping. Unless one of the neighbours’ dogs escaped. Weirder shit has happened on my street. I almost wish my ears were even more bunged up because if they keep it up (Don or the foxes) I will have to get up to observe (foxes) and subdue (Donnie). And I have gotten comfortable in the space of this paragraph. Haven’t even sneezed for five minutes.

I think I will chance the book again. I really do need to get some sleep at some point. As I am on my phone I do not have a fun gif to share to emphasise that, but I guess retro/vintage is in fashion. And I have missed popping in to chat whenever I fancy it, not that anything’s really been stopping me lately. Too bad ‘whenever’ has become ‘the witching hour when I’m sharing a bed with a dozen snot-soaked tissues’. Whatever.

See you when it’s light out.

Complaints · February 2016 · Food

Stories From the Bathroom Floor

In my notes about what I could potentially discuss on Indifferent Ignorance is a bullet pointed list called ‘food/exercise’. It’s purple. I think I wrote it last summer. It’s part of a bigger list and it includes the phrase ‘shit no one explains’. It’s a lil in joke with future me, because I’m referring to IBS. I’ve never really talked about it before because nobody wants to read about other people’s digestion issues. I don’t even like to read about my own, and I have kept many a food-related diary over the years. But one of the reasons I haven’t posted this week is that I’ve been dying having a lot of baths and grinding my teeth about a stomachache that won’t fucking go away and when I thought about it, I’ve learnt a lot about IBS and if there’s one thing that distracts me from being unwell, it’s talking about myself under the pretence of helping others. So here is an anecdotal piece of maybe-advice about Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

On Tuesday I ate a salad. It was a really great salad. I am usually a garnish-and-vegan-mayo kind of person whenever someone serves lettuce but I was in a farm shop and salad was the only thing on the menu I could digest anyway, so I ate the lot plain. Because it was fresh from a farm shop and there was cheese with it, I was happy (heads up: I’m not lactose intolerant. My gut has aligned with my tastebuds’ love of smoky cheese.) Within half an hour I was less happy. In fact I was lying on my bed asking God for an implement with which I could remove my stomach. This was because, while dazzled by the farm shop’s cute whitewashed walls and organic produce, I ate the onion that came with the salad and one of those schmancy totally locally-produced apple juices. Which brings me to IBS Lesson Number One:

A large part of living with Irritable Bowl is learning about your trigger foods. Two of mine – wheat and eggs – were helpfully discovered by a pharmacist via a blood test when I was 16 and thought I was a Ceoliac (that is a story for another time). I discover the others by a process of trial, error and vomiting. On Tuesday, ravenous and feeling guilty about the two toffees I ate in the hairdresser’s, I forgot that the reason I leave raw onions on the plate every time I’m served them, and the reason I never drink fruit juice, is that they both give me varying degrees of stomachaches. So I’ve spent the rest of the week taking medicine before I eat, cooking porridge even more than usual and updating my list of stupid things I’ve done in 2016.

woman-lying-bathroom-floor-pain
How did you get into my bathroom??? from ibtimes.com

In the spirit of honesty, I should probably add that ‘stomachaches’ can include but aren’t limited to: stomach cramps, bloating, diarrhoea and/or constipation, puking, flatulence, shaking, excessive sweating, belching and acid reflux. If you’re really lucky, you get more than one in one go!

There is TV to watch and Etsy to attend to, so I will leave this here. Maybe next time I will tell you all about how I spent Super Saturday with my head down a toilet (see above photo for reference) or share a graphic description of the sweats. Do other IBS sufferers get the sweats? Do non-IBS sufferers get the sweats? Is there a technical term for the sweats?!

Let me know.