Fat Bunny

  • My Only Real Job…

    Another day of dealing with the seemingly never ending paperwork for my father’s estate. The court needs an occupation to put on my forms, because bureaucracy loves a label, so I just put carer because it’s simpler than trying to summarize the litany of various side hustles and small businesses I’ve shoehorned around the rest of my life. But it was only when I had to say it out loud did it actually sink in, carer has been my job my entire life to varying degrees, and varying levels of success, carer has been my role in every relationship I’ve ever had.

    I should probably be okay with that.

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  • Sure, lets give that a whirl…

    You know what’s annoying? The naturopath giving you medical advice that your doctor should have considered. I’m pretty anti-woo, especially the basis in anything type, but I’m also willing to pick the eyes out of most things. I’m also more likely to believe a naturopath that falls into the more of a dietitian, than I am someone trying to sell me $60 vials of magic herbs.

    After hearing my list of symptoms (but before being told what the tests had found/ruled out) her advice was to cut out gluten for a few months, and see my GP for some tests, including liver scans.

    So I’m going sans gluten for a while. It will be interesting to see how my inflammation levels are at the next fecal test in 6 weeks. obviously I won’t mention this to my Doctor, as I’m seeing the naturopath behind his back, he doesn’t understand my needs.

    Besides if you are going to rely on doctors to fix everything, you are probably going to die.

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  • Two Steps Forward…

    Apparently the prozac was doing something, so stopping cold turkey was a hella bad idea. Who knew? Oh right everyone, and they warned me. I’m now back on a 3/4 dose and I no longer want to peel my face off like that guy at the start of Nightbreed. I still suspect that mainly what the drug is doing is stopping me from getting withdrawals from not taking it. Don’t get me wrong it was 100% helping me from going all Sylvia Plath at various points over the past decade, it’s just not great for my creativity, or engagement with the world.

    I’m frustrated that I couldn’t just stop and ride it out, but it will probably take a while to get my own supply of serotonin firing again, so its a 12 week taper, which towards the end will involve some tiny scales and cutting pills into increasingly tiny amounts.

    I’m going to be really annoyed if I go to all this faffing about and I’m a depressed mess without the SSRIs and don’t get a bump in creativity to go along with my emo-ness. At the moment I’m just trying to manage the change of not taking a pill of an afternoon, cause I’m getting a bit headachy and headkicky by about dinner time. I’m trying to remind myself that even small amounts of progress is still progress.

    It’s only one step back…

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  • Anecdotally of Course…

    I’m not the man I used to be, and I don’t have any science to prove it. One year ago I caught covid, and it knocked me on my butt. It took me months to shake the fatigue, brain fog parts, which might be why it took so long to notice the other changes.

    I’ve got absolutely zero evidence to back up my assertion that I’m not processing things as quickly as I did a year ago, after all I’m getting older and that happens. All I can do is speak of my lived experience, and I don’t feel like my brain is running at the same speed anymore, I mean it seems to get to the same solutions it just takes longer.

    What has come as a bit of shock is the, for want of a better word “personality“ changes, because those are observable by others who know me well. My mind seemed to just reevaluate many things I found important or interesting… and in many cases found them wanting. I simultaneously became more patient with somethings and had no time for others. Its was a weird few months of recovery and flux, and then my father died, and I had no idea what was covid and what was trauma, and no idea what would happen when they mixed themselves up into a cocktail.

    I’m not going to pretend I’ve got this figured out. However I do have a fairly strong belief that the covid got in and moved some stuff around that doesn’t appear to be returning to its original state. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing, but I’m avoiding another dose with everything I can, just incase it moves it around more, or worse back.

    I was listening to a book about depression and PTSD when the author said “it can’t be considered clinical unless it persists everyday for two…” and my head filled in YEARS instantly, turns out it was weeks. I hate it when that stuff happens, because my black sense of humor finds it hilarious and wants to make it into a bit. A bit that very few people find funny.

    My dad always found it funny, and he had proper PTSD with bells on. I probably do to, I’ve definitely soldiered through the 90day window without getting any help and really set up some bad triggers for myself. My amygdala is basically a hand grenade at this point just waiting for someone to accidentally pull the pin.

    I know it’s completely possible to be both better and worse at the same time, and while the brain skittles I got from covid actually slowed down the destructive bits of my brain and made me calmer and less tolerant of manipulative behaviors, the grief and shock has made me an anxious mess.

    I’m sure there is some solution out there, but at the moment I wouldn’t just mind two good nights sleep in a row.

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  • Desk Cleanse…

    A cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind. I’ve got no idea if that is true, but if my mind is anything like my desk there is definitely a problem.

    After trying to work in a space that looks more like somewhere you would purchase a mogwai than an office, Im ready for a change. I have spent the last two days ruthlessly editing the desk and its surroundings, to achieve clear air.

    Now we will see if it was the environment preventing me from working, or if the problem was 100% me, and not 75%.

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  • Trying…

    I had my first session with the 12 week exercise study at the University today. I get personal training three times a week, and they get my blood and body scans, sounds like a good swap. I chose the 6am slot because it’s is early enough that my brain isn’t working. I’m tricking myself into getting to the gym by making sure I’m too stupid to argue, and also because it’s summer, and I’m sweating enough working out in the cool morning.

    I must remember to take one of those stupid little gym towels next time. There’s a few things I need to do to make things a bit more comfortable, number one on the list was ordering some padded bike pants, because 35mins on the bike has made me realize I need some cushioning in some areas, and some support in others.

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  • Underneath…

    I’m looking at old photos of the farm, trying to locate where things where originally, and where they still might be under all the trees etc.

    It’s also a lot easier to get a mental map of where to put things looking at pictures of the empty space.

    There are definitely areas that need to be fairly seriously cleared out to allow room to actually work and create pleasant spaces.

    All the gardens and out buildings are still there, they are just camouflaged at the moment. Slate walled goat houses have definitely got possibilities, they are incredibly solid and might make a great base for something like a studio, or greenhouse.

    So much potential to get distracted by while trying to focus on the basics.

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  • Message in a Bottle…

    I’m attempting a calming hobby, gardening in confined areas, terrariums mainly.

    After managing keep a peace lily alive for over 6 months I’m feeling confident enough to read a few books about this subject.

    This weekend I’m going to follow one of the recipes in this book and see how it goes.

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  • Swamp of Sadness…

    I can’t see the forest for the trees, literally in the case of the farm. I attempted to take a look down by the creek today and it is more Mirkwood down there at the moment than the green pleasant banks I read books next to in my youth. If nothing else gets done this year I would like to see something happen about that. A waterway on your land should be an asset, not an overgrown marsh pulling unwary travelers to their doom.

    Hopefully a few less trees might let in enough sunlight to dry things out. With some careful waterside cleaning the platypuses might even return. It’s currently the most depressing part of the property because it’s the part I have the best memories of. It was truly idilic in summer, a genuine babbling brook and dragonflies everywhere. It truly was wind in the willows kind of stuff, and there are still glimpses of it.

    Over the next month or two I’ll alternate between risking life and limb with my chainsaw, and throwing some money at professional arborists to try and get it back to point that it was only 10 years ago, maybe I will appreciate autumn and winter this year as with so many deciduous trees I will be able to see areas that are currently to overgrown to get into. The current plan is taking the next 3 years to turn this into a self sustaining property generating a mostly passive income, and a weekend retreat. That should be enough time to find out if that’s possible, and enough time to make it an attractive prospect for somebody else to run if I decide to sell or lease it out.

    Because I still don’t want to be a farmer, even a hobby one.

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  • A Bag of Concrete…

    Is how much weight the doctor wants me to loose before June. That’s 20 kilograms for those 3 countries that don’t use modern measurements (actually only 2 since the UK knows what kilos are). Seems I have a chubby liver and it’s causing some grief, but nothing that can’t be turned around with “lifestyle changes”, which is doctor code for loose some weight and don’t drink.

    This morning I briefly considered starting a relationship with a personal trainer in the hopes of them whipping me into shape, and the thought of dating someone has really motivated me to just take care of my own training. So 6am gym sessions 3 times a week, healthy food deliveries, and all alcohol donated to the needy. Seems the missing motivation puzzle piece was spending 72hrs focused on my own mortality, and while a fatty liver is far better than cancer, I’m really pushing my luck with the health thing.

    The knowledge that I have done this before and gotten to quite an acceptable level of fitness is reassuring, and as long as I don’t get divorced and slip into a long period of chronic depression it should be fine.

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