Warning: May Cause Insomnia

So, I’ve been limping for a few weeks with a sore heel.
It’s been much worse over the past two weeks, when I couldn’t have seen a doctor about it if I tried, unless I went to the emergency room. In my completely non-medical-professional, sucking-it-up-like-a-big-girl opinion, it wasn’t bad enough for that.

Today I saw a doctor.
Turns out it’s acute tendinitis of the Achilles. 

I’m now on medication – anti-inflammatory pain killers and prednisolone – in addition to the DoTerra Deep Blue ointment that I’ve been using on it. That stuff is really good, by the way. I’ve also been told to rest it and be gentle when I do have to walk on it.

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When I opened the package from the pharmacy, the information provided told me that  the medication might cause drowsiness. There was also a sticker on the box that warned me that it could affect mental alertness and/or coordination. With those warnings heeded, I took my medication and went to bed.

At this point, it’s fair to point out that I’ve never been a sound sleeper. Insomnia has been a way of life for me for years. The degree of wakefulness last night, however, was unexpected, even for me.

I looked at the label on the box again this morning. It didn’t tell any lies. It certainly did affect my mental alertness. I was sitting up at 3am writing a story so good, I scared myself.

The saddest part is that I’m not even surprised by any of this. It’s exactly how my luck and my life tend to roll. Prescribed rest, though… that’s not so bad.  Hello, books.




Who Says Gentlemen Don’t Exist Anymore?

Today I took my sister, my brother-in-law and my 86 year old dad shopping. Between my dodgy spine and Fibromyalgia, I generally walk slowly.  Imagine my surprise today, then, when I actually found myself walking faster than someone else in the shopping centre.

Sure, he was 90ish and had a walker, but he was very gracious and let me enjoy my moment.

Who says gentlemen don’t exist anymore?


My New Career… Or Not.

Today I was at a potluck lunch where the guests included a number of my relatives. 

When I walked in, my sister-in-law congratulated me on the award I won this week for my book, Nova. 

“What did you win an award for?” One of the ladies asked, with a time that suggested she was surprised that I could win an award for anything. 

“Pole dancing,” I replied. 

Nobody laughed. It was such a good line, too. 

One lovely young lady, whom I didn’t know, said, “Really? That’s fantastic!”

Seriously, one look at me should have told her I am no pole dancer. Between my decrepit spine and my fibromyalgia, the only thing I can ever climb these days is the pain scale between 1 and 10. 

“No, it was for my book. I write poetry.”

“Oh. That’s… kind of cool.” 

But not as cool as pole dancing. I get it. 

The Hell-Fired Pizza.

I want to establish from the outset that I am not a wimp when it comes to spicy food. Indian, Asian, Mexican… I love it all.

For lunch today, my husband ordered a meat lover’s pizza with chilli. It was delicious – until I bit into the hottest fuelled-by-all-the-power-of-hell piece of chilli I have ever experienced.

What I experienced at that point in time was way beyond taste, pleasure, or delicacy. It was excruciating.

My mouth was on fire.
I lost sensation in my lips, then almost passed out.
My eyes were streaming.
I was using bad words, but slurring them terribly.
My dear man thought I was just being funny. I wasn’t. This was one of the rare moments in my life where being a comic genius was not something I had in mind.

That supercharged little sucker burned my mouth, throat, oesophagus and stomach for at least an hour, only moderately assuaged by milk. I have had a persistent stomach ache for 9 hours, and my mouth and throats are still sore.

And now, the assault continues as the nugget of hellfire works its way through my system.
N e v e r  in my  e n t i r e  l i f e  have I experienced anything like this.

Suffice to say that while the volcano is not erupting hot lava,  it is definitely shooting out dangerous levels of sulphur and brimstone.  It’s probably worthy of an official health and safety warning.

At least there is one thing of which I can be certain: this, too, shall pass.
And that, my friends, is going to hurt.


Edit: On reading this, a friend sent me an article about two guys in New Zealand making someone eat a Fijian Bongo Chilli, which had exactly these after effects. He was suing them for assault.
I don’t blame him. 

Spirit Animals. 

While perusing the Book of Face this morning, I saw a photo of a beautiful horse that has been turned into the closest thing  to a real-life rainbow unicorn that you’re ever going to see. It’s magnificent!

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“Hey!” I said to my office buddy, who is always cheerful, positive and full of energy, “I found your spirit animal!”

I showed her the picture and explained,  “I’m sure your spirit animal is a rainbow unicorn!”

She laughed and then asked, “What do you think yours is?”

“Probably a pissed-off squirrel,” I answered.

Then we laughed, because we both knew I was right.

No Wonder I’m Confused.

Today I was talking with LMC about why it is good to learn French, and where people speak French around the world. I told her that she would need to speak French if she wanted to go to Canada. 

“Can we just not go to Gettysburg?” she asked. 

“Gettysburg isn’t in Canada!” I said.

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s in America. It’s where there was a really decisive battle in the American Civil War, and where Abraham Lincoln delivered an important speech called the Gettysburg address.”

“Abraham Lincoln. Wasn’t he the guy on a coin?” 

“The guy on a coin…”

“Yeah, and if you’re under a bridge and it falls down on you, it’s good luck.”

“Dude, if you’re under a bridge and it falls on you, it’s not good luck.”

“No, I mean if the coin falls on you…”

“The coin with Abraham Lincoln on it.”


The Importance Of Listening. 

We had a family afternoon today. Because it’s a school night, I had sent LMC for a shower so that she could wash her hair. Sitting around the table after dinner, LMC was playing with the dragonfly pendant hanging on the chain around her neck. 

LMC’s mother said to her, “Make sure you change your necklace before school tomorrow.”

Indignant, LMC said, “I already changed them!”

We laughed hard, and LMC just looked at us oddly. 

“Necklace, honey. Not nickers.”

“Ooooohhhhhhhh!” she said. Then she laughed, too.

Fun times.

There’s a Bear in There…

Some months ago, I was driving in town with LMC in the car. 

We passed a big blue house that I pass every day on my way to work. 

“That’s where the bear lives,” I said.

“What bear?” LMC asked.

This surprised me, as she watches a fair bit of TV and I thought she’d get the joke. 

“You know… the bear in the big blue house? Like the TV show?”

“Never heard of it,” she said. 

Typical. All was silent in the car except for the sad sound of a great joke falling over and dying.
I didn’t think any more of it. In fact, I had entirely forgotten about it until last Sunday when we were all having dinner together. 

“Hey,” she said, “I told my friends about the big blue house in Warrnambool, and they didn’t even know that’s where it was. They thought it was in America somewhere.”

“What?”‘I asked. 

“You know… that TV show. You showed me the house…”

Trying not to laugh, I looked at her and said, “You do realise I was joking? It’s just A big blue house… not THE Big Blue House.”

“But I told my friends! And they wanted autographs.”

“Which you were going to ask me to call in and ask for?”

“Well… yeah.”
This kid never misses an opportunity. I’m just lucky it ends in laughter most of the time. 


LMC is at our place tonight. The weather has cooled down this week, so she’s discovered that the clothes and pyjamas she has here aren’t sufficient to keep her warm.

My husband said he’d lend her a pair of pyjamas, and walked away to get them.

Her teenage mind instantly went into overdrive.

“Then what will HE wear?” she asked me with a mischievous grin. Then she said, ”
Oh, never mind…”

I rolled my eyes, as I do so enjoy doing.

“He’s got more than one pair, you know!” I said.

“Oh.” Her laughter was a definite giveaway that she had immediately jumped to a rather bare conclusion.

So, he gives her a lovely newish pair of flannel pyjamas that he hasn’t worn since he was in hospital about 18 months ago.

“Oh,” I said, “those are the nice ones I bought for when you were in hospital.”

“Eeeerrrrrr!” she grunted. “I don’t want to wear them!”

“They’ve been washed since, you know!” I said.

“Oh. That’s okay, then.” And with that, she picked them up and took them to her room to get changed.

When she came out, she said, “It’s a good thing I’m not a boy. Although if I was, it would be okay cos these have got that awkward hole thingy in them.”

“If you don’t need the awkward hole thingy, can’t you just ignore it and wear them anyway?”

“Well yes… I was just saying.”

“Well, I’m just telling you to change the subject,” I said firmly.

And then we found something for her to do so that she has something else to think about.

I wonder if she has these conversations with her mother, or if she just saves them up for me.