Six Glasses in a Bottle

I didn't think it was that much, but apparently livers don’t like it if you drink a double shot of scotch most nights – two on the others... I had some blood tests three weeks ago, one of which - without my knowledge - was liver function. Bad. So since getting the results, and a polite telling off from my GP, I've had a glass of wine on two occasions and that’s it, until tonight. I’m not in a scotch mood, really I’d like a good red wine, but there’s none in the house and I’m in my pyjamas with no intention of getting dressed today. I've had a bottle of Moёt in the cupboard for a few months, until last night when with great foresight I put it in the fridge. Now to drink the whole bottle before the fizz dies. Sorry liver. 

Driving Away

It is quite possible that tomorrow (well later today, but after I sleep) my car, a 1997 Ford Falcon which looks something like this

will be replaced with a Honda Jazz. I was grateful to my mother, who recently decided to buy my brother and I replacement cars for the death traps we are currently driving. But now that the reality is looming I’m having second thoughts. My current car is a moving testament to my dad’s impulsiveness; one day he decided that a great replacement for my old, but reliable grandma-mobile was a 6 cylinder family car and went out and bought it without consulting anyone. I must admit it was a blessing at the time, since I was spending 98.9736% of my time in the Dandenongs and quite enjoyed getting up the hill without a struggle. But really, what single woman in her 20s drives a thing like that. The car is definitely not road worthy, and I would like something smaller and newer, but it’s another memory of Dad gone. I don’t know if it’s deliberate or just thoughtless efficiency, but my Mum has purged the house of most things which suggest Dad once walked the earth, and the car is soon to be another one to leave. Also, the Jazz is blue.

I Can Fly

Day two not on any antidepressant and I haven't killed myself yet. That pretty much makes me a superhero. I assume it's still in my system though, we'll see how the next week goes.

Just out of boredom and because it helps my memory I was reading through my blog a few nights ago and discovered this gem written May 25th last year:
"My doctor (G) came to see me this evening and he had some interesting news, my genetic medication test finally came back. I think I wrote about it but I'll refresh you; it's a test to see how I metabolise drugs, whether I hyper metabolise, don't at all or if I'm normal. There are several categories the drugs fall into, I metabolise all but one normally, the other category I can't metabolise and lucky me - Cymbalta is in that. G said that explains why I'm having side effects even at a very low dose and that he'd like to take me off it and start me on another one as soon as possible."
Cymbalta is the drug I've just quit - again! He put me back on it a few months ago during my last admission, obviously forgetting about the testing and of course I didn't remember, thanks to ECT I'm lucky I can remember my own name, no no it's not that bad, my name's Maureen, right?

Next Time You're in a Womb Don't Try to be Different - Just Grow Normally

PAIN! Do you think if euthanasia was legal in Australia hip dysplasia would be a qualifying condition? Oh fuck it hurts right now. My kind physiotherapist and GP have both blessed me with the news that this is only going to get slowly worse over many years, eventuating in a hip replacement, and if I’m lucky it will only be the left side. Today I got to experience two other types of pain also. I had my breasts squeezed in a torturous instrument commonly known as a mammography unit, but I think it should be re-named mammary pancake maker. That was followed by a very long ultrasound, which kind of made up for the pain, as it was sort of like a massage, only sticky. To accompany the hip and boob pain I’ve also been enjoying the normal every day emotional pain, the knowledge that I am merely a hollow pile of skin bone blood and fat. On the fat front, I’m trying a new tactic, only mandarins after 4pm – since I get up at 12, that should work.

I sung at church last night for the first time since fish decided to walk. I also beed nice to people.

I’m going to find somewhere warm and soft where I can sob in pain now. Maybe I could have it cut off...