feeling the buzz again

After months of busyness and exhaustion, I’m beginning to recover. Maybe it’s the prospect of long days in the middle of nowhere, or family time with Nana and Grandad. Or maybe it’s dancing free weeks ahead. Whatever the reason, I’m chuffed to feel the space, to consider that I can use that, to feel that all my energy isn’t being subsumed by just keeping going.

Today, tasks seem like a bit of work, rather than enormous, shapeless mounds which defeat me as soon as I think of them. I’m going to apply for a part time job. I don’t expect to be considered for it, But I’m going to apply anyway, because I think I’d be great for the organisation. (Where did that confidence come from? I hope it stays.)

I’m going to figure out how to be organised. Rumour has it that nifty apps make that easier than I’d think. I just need to learn how …

I’ve had plans, for far too long, to add all sorts of patient information and rare disease information to the blog, so I know where I can find it. That would teach me how to curate content, which is apparently a good thing. I can do that.

I even applied for a bursary to go back to the summer school I was at a few years ago. Memoir, poetry, talks, drama- how exciting would that be?

Our book club recently read Station Eleven, by Emily St John Mandel. There’s a lot to like about this book- don’t let it’s partially post apocalyptic setting put you off- but I particularly enjoyed how Shakespeare and music continue to survive and enhance lives. There is humour and empathy, murder and broken hearts. There are lists of what’s lost and a museum of the pre apocalypse mundane. There is a wonderful reference to Star Trek Voyager, as the motto of the Travelling Symphony is ‘Because survival is insufficient.’

I like that sentiment. I want to do more than simply survive. I want to have fun and be inspired. I want to connect and challenge. I want to learn new things, and share the things I already know. I want to laugh on beaches and cry in chapels and snuggle on sofas (or any variation on those). I want to spend time with my people and have little adventures together.

We know that my ME means that my grand plans may stay as simply plans, but we know also that I like to mark the good moments, to remember that behind the added weight, the pyjamas, and all the snoring there are times I feel like myself. That’s always worth celebrating.

the hungry eye sees far

When something is on your mind, you see variations of it everywhere. If you have a wee notion for someone, you’ll spot them the instant you walk into a crowded bar; if you are broken hearted due to miscarriage, all you’ll see are babies and toddlers, swarming about the park, giggling and beautiful. We’re preoccupied, and our mind focusses on that theme.

It should be no surprise that I clicked on three links on the same topic the other day- two of them were connected to Module 1 of my #SHCR experience (it feels like a different thing than a course). The other was on Marie’s blog- a regular read, full of good thoughts and challenging thinking. Well, it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but my head exploded.

Link #1- Brené Brown: The power of vulnerability. Brown talks about connection giving meaning and purpose to our lives, and that vulnerability is vital in making those connections. Allowing ourselves to be vulnerable means we can be joyful, whole hearted, and kinder to ourselves and others. She also tells us about the nervous breakdown she had on the way to believing that for herself… It’s a very entertaining, persuasive talk.

Link #2 – Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer. We know that Marie’s blog is always worth reading, but this post chimed- reflections on blogging, life and health- storytelling, connection, vulnerability.

Link #3- just in case I wasn’t getting the message, I clicked on this post by LeadershipFreak The Most Powerful way to Enhance Influence. By this stage, you’ll not be surprised that I found the message Connect by gently stepping toward people with an open heart. And, in the comments, a thought that summed up all of the messages I’d been getting that day Vulnerability is like a hug. You can’t embrace anything without first being OPEN.


We spend much of our lives protecting ourselves. This may not be the way to get things done, and, counter intuitively, it actually damages us. Life is easier when we have support. But we have to acknowledge that need first. It’s not a failing: it’s our humanity.

Feel the love, people. Go and hug someone (dogs & pillows count). Let’s all try being openly imperfect humans. No need to pretend we know what we’re doing. Muddling through, together, trying and failing and trying again- that’s grand. That’s how it works best.



a sense of enormous well being

I spend most of my time at home, resting. I have plans that I can’t quite follow through on. I don’t have to do a lot to feel very busy & the littlest things wear me out.

So I take great joy from the odd time I can feel like a normal person, when a plan comes together, when I can just go and do.

I wasn’t looking forward to the day out. It had involved organising and gathering  and missed deliveries. There was a handover in a wet car park at night, while Girl1 danced a jig inside. The weather was horrible, the drive would be long. Getting there and being sociable would be challenging enough, but then I’d have to drive home again.

Imagine Spurs Fan’s surprise when I floated into the house after the return trip. Delayed by road works and heavy traffic, I’d missed being able to lift Girl2. They were expecting grumpy-don’t-speak-to-me Speccy, but I was bouncy and buoyed. Nothing like a bit of unpredictability to keep my loved ones guessing.

It had been a fine, bright day. The journey west contrasted sharply with the last time I’d made it on my own, in the middle of the night, willing my mother not to f****** die until I got there. (Unusually biddable, Herself stayed with us another 10 days, giving us all time to get there, to be with her and enjoy each other’s company.) Yesterday I could see for miles, the trees still had some beauty, and my heart lifted as I saw the town from the top of a hill.

I spent some time with HH, dropping off the t shirts, the big bucket, leaflets, a pull up banner and the freshly stickered brand new collection tubs. Tonight, she is celebrating, and taking donations for NIRDP. Isn’t that a wonderful, generous thing to do? We only know each other through social media, we share stories of dodgy health, much missed mothers and supportive families, and she thought of sharing her event with our charity. Properly awesome.

collection boxes

I stayed chatting longer than I’d intended, and probably longer than was good for either of us, and I went exploring the new road. All sorts of major archaeological discoveries were unearthed by the road building, but I saw the mundane roundabouts, cut aways and bridges- and look, our house! Reader, I went home.

I drove up the hill and paused outside where we’d all lived for years. Where The Old Man and Herself were so very happy and where the Brother, Mutt and I grew up. I had a wee moment of ‘ahhh’, and then- yes, there’s even more normality-I called in to visit a neighbour. More chatting and catching up, many smiles and surprises, more loss.

The journey home wasn’t so fine. Long delays and random road works. My happy cosy adrenaline buzz kept me going.


Today is another story. It’s 3pm and I’ve just been able to get up. It may not last. It could be days before I leave the house again.

It was well worth it.