Mind Holiday

For most of my life, I have sat down and read a chapter or two of a book every day. Now I can’t remember the last time I picked up a book that wasn’t for the kids. Life got so full of responsibility and obligation that reading for pleasure suddenly seemed like an unproductive use of my time.

Sometimes, I’d walk past my bookshelf and my fingers would wander over the spines of my favourite worlds. I’d be hit with a pang of twofold guilt; the guilt of neglecting Fitz-Chivalry and his Fool, and the guilt of more important responsibilities that loomed over me while I selfishly contemplated reading.  When did I stop allowing myself to have free time? When did I let mother’s guilt become so all encompassing? I often find myself saying, “I need a holiday from my mind.” But that’s exactly what reading is. It’s brilliant.


A few of my favourite things.

I had a moment in my kitchen today, when I looked around and didn’t know what I was there for.  The laundry was done. Dishes? Done. Beds were made, rooms were tidy, so what was I meant to be doing? A little voice inside me squeaked, “Read a book!” I heard it, it was quiet, but I heard it. I drowned it out with a louder voice that boomed, “DO SOME BAKING! START DINNER NOW! COOK EXTRA FOR THE FREEZER!” So now we have chocolate slice, cinnamon buns and three days worth of dinners. Which is great, but I could have made myself a cup and tea, put my feet up and read a book. How delicious does that sound?!

I’ve decided I’m going to make time to read. I even went to the library and chose three books. It wasn’t until I got home that I realised I’d fucked up. All three books were chosen because they relate to something I want to achieve. I was suppose to get lost in a world of fiction, instead I came away with “Rewire Your Overanxious Brain”, “The Power of Negative Emotion” and “The $50 Weekly Shop”.  Not exactly light reading, but it’s a start.


People Should Not Be Inflated!

Today I had my ‘tubes tied’ or rather clamped. My understanding of the procedure is this: they shove a line in your hand, then pump a wonderous magical potion through it to relax you. I now have a fantasy of laying on the floor under the influence of this magic potion for the rest of my life. Next, they stab you with a straw, inflate you like a balloon with carbon dioxide. Then stab you with a camera stick, shove a couple of clamps down the straw, whack those on your fallopian tubes, out come the stick and straw then they glue your stab-holes shut. Turns out the stabbing is not the worst part, the inflating is. You see, when you deflate, not all of the CO2 comes out, and it becomes trapped against your diaphragm, organs and nerves. This makes breathing difficult and causes sharp pains through your abdomen and shoulders. The pain that comes and goes is enough to nearly make me pass out.


These embroidered lady-parts add a touch of classic country style to any kitchen or living room.

Official advice is to lie flat to help the gas move away from the diaphragm, but for me, laying down has the opposite effect. I attempted to go to bed, but the pain intensified too much to bear. Mr. Flatmate will be relieved, as he wasn’t too keen on sleeping next to me because surgical wounds are “gross”. Mine are particularly gross because they’re purple. I tried to explain that it’s the surgical glue that is purple, but it just wouldn’t sink in.  The river of empathy within him runs extremely shallow. I slept next to him when his face was a smashed up gore-fest, but two little laparoscopic incisions and I’m demoted to plague-corpse status.

So here I am, again, up in the middle of the night, eating codeine like candy and wishing they’d sent me home with the oxycodone that they were giving me in the ward. Good shit, that is. I’m tempted to go and sleep in my car because the seats in there are ideal, but Mum is staying the night and I don’t want her to wake up and think I’ve lost my mind and gone walkabout in the night. Still, no biggie if I don’t get any sleep, the kids are at Ex’s house for the weekend; if I’m a drooling zombie tomorrow, that’s ok.