Guilty Secret

I had a heart attack, this June (that's not the secret).

45, relatively fit (although I smoked), female (evidently), I was not what you could call a high risk.

The infarction was practically a secondary event, as the blockage was outside the heart on a main artery, at the point where spasm occurs; a (normal) stress reaction that pinches a wide artery nearly shut. When normal, however, it also undoes in the blink of an eye, in fact blinking is a fairly decent analogy. I apologise for this boring stuff.

Anyhow, the Consultant was thoroughly confused, because if you compare the blood vessels to roads, then if there's enough porridge in your system to block one of the biggest motorways, it makes sense that smaller blockages should also be showing up in the side roads and back alleys, where a little gloop could do a lot more damage. Not in my case. They couldn't see any other problems at all, not even during two full angiograms. They knocked me out for the second one, and I got my stent simply because the damn thing stayed clamped shut. It seems it was stressed and determined to stay that way.

So, there we are. Since this somewhat earth shattering, life changing period, I have put a lot of thought to how I would change, what I have put off too long, etc etc. Quite a bit of growing up. I have also gone through a period of mourning, of sorts, with attendant anger and frustration.

However, whilst my major concern has been what I might have done (and/or could still do) with my life, what I could change in my attitudes, my dealings with my children etc etc, as an aside I find I have become quite pushy and domineering, quite intolerant and abrupt.

Here's the guilty secret - I go around apologising, telling people I think it must be the tablets I am on, but, really? Really I suspect its simply that I no longer have the time or the be-bothered to afford the luxury of putting up with fools and weirdos.

If someone behaves like an arsehole, I'll probably tell them straight, where before I would tippytoe, apologise for them and find excuses. If they cross the line into actually being a total arsehole then now I have no problem with walking off and never looking back, where before I would pour angst and guilt and what-ifs over my conscience until I felt it was suitably wounded.

I stressed myself into a heart attack, that much it obvious. I have nothing against people who choose to be bloody minded or callous or ignorant, I simply choose, now, not to have them in my field of vision. I've done my time as far as dealing with arseholes goes.

Fair, then, wouldn't you say?

So my suggestion is this; fuck New Years Resolutions which are (and should be) a mere symptom, of (forgive the corn) New Year's Revelations.

If you find yourself staring out at the sky tonight and contemplating what the year was for; how you grew or what you learned, then I would love to hear your discovery.

Wishing you all a very happy 2007.

Keeping Up With The Joneses.

It seems that simply everyone is flashing their credentials these days.

That's my excuse, anyway.

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Countess Cheryl the Scintillating of Bumpstead under Carpet Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

UK Autism Exchange

Through the darkest months I have had help and reassurance from a wonderful woman, Kate, who has built me up and helped me stick to my guns, all by telephone and at some pretty strange hours.

The woman is a life-saver.

Now she and a likeminded friend, whom she met on a training course run by the National Autistic Society, have set up the Autism Exchange - a forum and depository for useful info and articles on parenting a child on the autistic spectrum.

Its brand new, but if it reflects her warm heart and intelligent mind its going to blossom and become a huge force for good.

So, if you are one of my friends with the spectrum in the family, then please get on over there, swell the numbers and say your piece.
And pass the word.

Thanks!

Bear Buggrin' Off

Life is too short and I just can't be fucked with any of this. Can you?

Sometimes we need life simple. Sometimes we need people around us who understand - who know our core, who trust on our essential principles and who hear our words based on who we are.

Thats hard enough in the real world. It takes shedloads of time and effort and even then nobody gets it right all the time.

Still, sometimes we just dont have the strength, empathy or wit to guard what our words might sound (or worse, look) like, to watch out for the chance that people might misunderstand, particularly in this world of blogs where all of us wear virtual burkas.

The only thing to do then is to hide amongst family.

I see a lot of you have been doing this for over a month now - becoming stuck for words in the blog world. Me? I opened another blog just for spitting bile instead, although right now thats all exhausted in me and I dont have the energy to engage in exploration - in the delicate negotiations and 'getting to know you' process that establishes, from a myriad different opinions, what exactly is 'acceptable' bile. I hope others keep mouthing off in there, no holds barred. I especially hope that the issues are big ones, or ones that affect every woman if not everybody, and that it doesnt become entirely a mommy blog. They are necessary and valid, but this is a granny blog - time to set the world to rights, not just the kitchen.

Love you all, bucket loads, I just need to do the whole hibernating bear thing. The growling and the big teeth? Thats just the sleep of winter sweeping over me and closing down the higher brain functions. I'm still me, honestly, just groggy and confused and temporarily, lets face it, socially retarded. Best if I go through that in private, amongst family who know which grunt means what and who are actually in the same situation.

Merry Christmas, OK?

xxx

Taxidermy

That's a skin disease from using dirty hire cars, yes?

Caspar

Caspar awarded me a prize, over at Michele's!

I am a very happy bunny. Not a stuffed one.

Oh, well, possibly, but not THAT way.

Sod it, you'll have to go see what where, here.

I would link to Caspar's blog (I'd be there myself now) but his signatures lead only to an email.

For that he would remind me of Caspar the friendly ghost, but as a child I had a toy (speaking) one of those with a tiny body and a very large head, with the catchphrase "Boo! Oh I scared myself!". Not the sort of utterance that goes with the sort of sense of humour that allowed me to be very rude and win a competition.

That's one enigmatic caption compere.

Yup.