Cos it's gettin' better

I wish could report that my back troubles are behind me (there's a pun in there somewhere), but there's still quite a bit of residual pain and weakness in my lower limbs - they being my legs.

But enough of woes and worries, life is good.  Observing my parents over the years, I've learnt that you can't dwell on things that are wrong; you have to appreciate the things that are great, and I'm so fortunate to so many things that are fantastic:

• My job
• The healthy state of my finances
• My lovely little dog who provides me with such joy

... hang on a minute

There, I automatically concentrate on the things that cause me anxiety.  I must stop doing this and break down the things that cause me anxiety and turn them into positives.

• My job is relatively well paid and relatively secure.  I work for a really good employer, get great holidays and have a good pension.  The work is flexible and I am privileged to work with some of the most academically brilliant people you could meet.  The fact that I am high up on the autistic spectrum makes it ideal for me in many ways, what with all the spreadsheets and that.

• My finances are not and will never be in a healthy state.  I don't have any credit card debt, but my overdraft suffers as a result. I should be rolling in it, but I'm not.  I don't know where my money goes.  I'm too scared of money to look at where it goes.  I've tried; every time I think I'm sorted, I try really hard to keep track, but then it gradually drifts into the red again and I get scared to look.  I'm a grown-up, for goodness' sake - I should be able to deal with money.  At work, I deal with accounts worth more than I'll earn in a lifetime, and I can account for every single penny in them, but at home, it just doesn't work for me.

• My little dog has never, and will never be well behaved.  I've come to the conclusion that he's just not wired right.  I can control certain aspects of his behaviour - every afternoon when I get in from work, I raise my head to the skies and start howling and he joins in - but I've learned that he is predictably unpredictable.  It's just the way he is, and I love him all the same.  I love him for the way he greets me with his entire body when he's not seen me for a while.  Even though it's mildly irritating and painful having him rake his claws on me as he jumps all over me, I know that this type of unconditional love and joy (and relief) cannot be bought with all the money in the world. 

Even the most negative aspects of my life have huge positives.  The simplest things that most take for granted bring me so much pleasure.  And the most wonderful parts of my life make me feel like I'm the wealthiest person on this planet.

And I love cocodamol and diclofenac.


Vegone
My flirtation with the vegan diet is very much on the wane.  It's one of those things that's observed with so many things, but especially things like taking medicines: compliance is so much better when there's an obvious benefit.

• I take diclofenac for pain relief - my pain is relieved - diclofenac is effective for pain relief
• I take cocodamol as a recreational drug because I don't drink or take other drugs - cocodamol makes me a bit squiffy - cocodamol is OK if you fancy getting off your tits
• I tried a vegan diet to lose weight, it meant changing my entire eating habits and depriving me of pasta and sausages - I stuck to it and didn't lose weight - a vegan diet makes you depressed

I need to come up with a healthy eating plan that's easier for me to stick to (or get depressed and start smoking again).  I'm sure the vegan thing would have been more effective had I given up sugar and reduced my portion sizes to just half a kilo of rice a day, but I don't have the patience to stick to something like that unless the results are better.


Stairway to the top of my stairs
Here's a thing.  I take photos... LOTS of photos.  I'm not quite as bad as Rainman, or in need of a memento of all my movements ("remember Sammy Jenkis"), but I do document my life on camera.  I rarely show my photos to anybody;  I think they're shit.  I have on my computer thousands of images, amounting to nearly 60GB disk space, that I've captured over the years, yet I've struggled to find sufficient to do this:

I wanted to have a display that journals some events and travels with my girlfriend.  My life before her can go shit off for all I care - well, my life with the other one can, that's for sure.  Anyway, I think they look pretty cool (with varying degrees of help from photoshop... and cocodamol).  I must learn to be less self-critical, to see the photograph within the image.  Out of all of them, my favourites are:

So, that's two photos out of thousands.

I am awesome.


I'll be back again soon with some venomous ranting.  I'm storing quite a few subjects up and top of my hitlist are Salford City Council and car headlamps.  Oh, and students, motorcyclists, supermarkets... and Scottish Power meter readers... idiot colleagues.

CAAAAAALM

Sooooooo, anyway......

Crikey, I've been crap at this.  Have we had winter and Christmas yet? 

Yes, well, anyway (:@) I only popped in to check on things, but it might be nice to regale you all (two of you) with stories of skiing exploits (twice) and other stuff that hasn't really happened.

Sniffy, what are you doing?
The words echoed around my head for weeks after my first encounter with alpine skiing in France in January.  Poor Noel, my instructor.  Poor, poor Noel.  I'd be taking a rest, or being unsuccessful at what I was trying to make my skis do, or falling over and his words would ring out through the crisp January air: "What are you dooeeeeng?"

I never really had an answer for him, so I just smiled, hoping that the pain would go away at some point.  Because it hurts, you see, skiing.  Everything really, really hurts.  Mainly shins and knees, but also arms (from using poles), feet, head (from concentrating), lungs (through lack of oxygen), stomach (from overeating).

But yes, skiing: it's actually fun.  I never thought I'd find myself admitting it, or even trying it in the first place, but it's great fun.  And nothing can beat the fresh air, the wonderful views, the feeling of achievement in actually being able to do something physical rather than intellectual.  And that feeling of cruising along, with only the sound of crisp snow shooshing beneath you (because you're on a spaz slope that accomplished skiers wouldn't be seen dead on apart from the end of the day on their last run into the village).  But you find yourself at peace.... until you inexplicably lose it and have to figure out how to get up.

So that's skiing for you.  Painful, but fun, and every ache and pain is worth it when you consider the boutique catered chalet life that you enjoy for the week.  My word.  Spoilt.


Falling apart at the seams
Life is blissfully dull, although my 41st year has brought with it the onset, or aggravation, of a number of persistent niggles that are achy and annoying and ridiculous.  I recently gave myself a stomach ulcer from prolonged use of ibuprofen (back); I can't walk more than a couple of miles without my feet giving me crippling pain; I'm having blood tests "for my glands".

But life's great.  The sun, it shines, and with it I am filled with happiness.  I still detest people  (hateful, selfish morons), but my shouty episodes are soon forgotten and I find it very easy to appreciate that I'm very wealthy and terms of love, contentment, and shiny things that make it all better. 


Hot water
One thing that I really appreciate is hot water.  Nothing is more soothing than being able to take a hot shower whenever I like; washing my hands under hot water with nice soap - an absolute luxury.  Just think about it, washing your hands in cold water, or not being able to at all.  *shudders*

And people are whinging because they have to wait for a bit until they can have their next gadget or a new car.  Get a fucking grip.


Vegan
I'll come back to this one.