We live off on an arterial road and it means we get traffic noise.In Oz, and indeed in many places, there appear to be those that re-tool their vehicle so they become louder.We call them "cock-spanks on patrol" because they drive or ride their vehicles about to inflict noise because it makes them feel better.Unfortunately to someone whose shed backs onto the road it means I enjoy their presence more than most.I wasn't even in the shed when the chopped motorbike or de-muffled ute went past but
Articles from Harrangue Man
With my not being in a normal, high-stress job means my dairy allergy has passed; I can eat cheese again.Pizza is a thing I missed since it is basically a cheese-delivery vehicle and therefore I enjoy pizza now.That is, when I can pick up a slice and transfer it to a plate or my mouth.My anxiety was up so my PTSD was up and my hand tremours were up.That's how it came to be I lost a slice of the meat pizza to the kitchen floor.
I was yelling in a conference room when I woke, but I had been yelling about the horror I had to deal with. I woke, the bed sheet damp with anger sweat, got up and had a shower.I didn't dream just about the horror, there was a mix of personalities and predicaments including, bizarrely, a trip home via Dubbo. That last bit didn't make me mad, though. It was an add on.My psych said I'd be rubbery for at least a week after I finished with the horror and she was right.
I woke angry from mad dreaming and stomped around ranting until logic Mikey pulled me up and made me do things like let all the chickens out, bigs and smalls, into the garden and throw them chunks of a corn cob.I sat and used CBT mindfulness to be aware of my present surrounds, my breathing and the sounds of food-blissed clucking.My mood stabilised. This week off is supposed to be about not thinking about past or future.
A BYB ride using the power assist at setting one is about the same as an exercise bike set to medium resistance. It's at "not fun" where your heart pumps hard because your legs do.I did a horseshoe ride on setting one---around the lake until I reached McDonald's. Then I got lunch, then went to power setting three to zip home o watch TV while I ate it.I saw some things.A woman, seated, with casts on her legs feeding the birds at her feet on the path.
I had a series of ghastly dreams that fused story lines of childhood and work. I was copping it from both ends. Dream me was frustrated by the stress and real me woke with the after-glow of nightmares. I've lost recall of what it was about but I was revving on the crap my dream used as source material and was muttering in the shower. I nearly went to pick my face until I stopped it with a fresh dressing which I had not put on right away on getting out of the shower.
logic Mikey—the one who is normally in charge—has to deal with mentally ill Mikey and mentally ill Mikey has to listen to logic Mikey. logic Mikey had a bad day yesterday; it should have been glorious but it was a bad, steaming heap of shit.
All the horror got to a point where it left my hands. My body then felt like it was in a bar fight the night before where I got smashed across the legs, head and body.My anxiety was releasing the yuck now it was safe to do so. That means more sleep which is more disturbed and feeling like I've had a damned good thrashing.This is my normal; it will happen again.
It's been two weeks since I've had to put a bin bag on my lower left leg to protect a wound site. Getting a bag on on was unpleasant; getting the rubber band off a wet thin garbage bag was not fun. Throwing the wet bag in the bin; fun not.Now I am not doing that. I am having normal showers. I'm still savouring the satisfaction of that experience—and that I live in a place where hot and cold clean running water is the norm.After every hell event—and during—showers made me feel better.