Me: I think Simon is looking a little overweight, what kind of stuff is he eating when he's with you?
Pat: Well, I can't complain. The other day he ate a double-decker [a sandwich constructed of 3 slices of buttered bread, 2 fried eggs and 4 strips of fried bacon] and then had some bran flakes.
Me: A double-decker is hardly low-fat, is it?
Pat: What do you mean? It's got eggs in it.
Me: Yes, fried eggs!
Pat: No, there wasn't any fat. I fried them in sunflower oil.

Woo-hoo, I'm 33 ;o)

My team had a whip-round and bought me a George Foreman grill! a big jumbo sized one so I can get plenty on it. They gave me this on Friday as half of them aren't in today. So since then I've cooked steak, burgers and bacon on it. I was going to cook the rest of the steak yesterday, but there was an unfortunate fridge-door related incident which meant the steak went in the bin along with half a dozen eggs and the remains of an apple pie :-\

Haven't opened any other cards or pressies yet, although currently the only package I have is from Moggy as Mum's hasn't arrived yet, oh well. Not sure if Patrick has taken Simon out to get me anything, either. I have the feeling he was planning to do that today, and is probably now too ill.

I had to take him to the hospital yesterday evening as he had a high temperature and his face was all swollen out. Luckily the walk-in centre was open at the Hallamshire and he managed to get seen in about 2 hours. He has a really nasty abscess at the back of his mouth, so they've given him some amoxycillin and told him to make a dentist appointment tomorrow, which he probably won't.

( Something disgusting. )

So that's about it, I shall be finishing work in an hour or so and deciding where to spend the birthday money that Mum sent me, which is a saga in itself, but not one that's entertaining enough to be worth explaining.

OK, it's actually evening.

Update... I have had to private-ise some stuff as Pat is very touchy around confidentiality issues, so here's a bare bones update.

Pat and I are undergoing a trial separation.
We are still living in the same house, because I have promised Simon I will not leave him.
I have moved into the spare bedroom, and Pat has moved his computer stuff into the double bedroom, where he is sleeping (and smoking - which won't be doing his asthma any good at all.) I have retained my separate office downstairs.
Money situation hasn't really changed as I am still supporting the household, seeing as I earn 80% of the household income.
We are still going on holiday next month... I told Pat I would prefer it since otherwise I fear the attentions of the beer-swilling sad sacks who'll be thinking "Fat single mum on her own, bet she's gagging for it, eh lads?"

That's basically it in a nutshell. We have had a couple of absolute screaming matches but (touching wood) it's been all okay and civilised for the last week or so.

And now a poem for Poetry Month.

Timer
Gold survives the fire that's hot enough
to make you ashes in a standard urn.
An envelope of coarse official buff
contains your wedding ring which wouldn't burn.

Dad told me I'd to tell that at St. James's
that the ring should go in the incinerator.
That 'eternity' inscribed with both their names is
his surety they'd be together, 'later'.

I signed for the parcelled clothing as the son,
the cardy, apron, pants, bra, dress -

the clerk phoned down: 6-8-8-3-1?
Has she still her ring on? (Slight pause) Yes!

It's on my warm palm now, your burnished ring!

I feel your ashes, head, arms, breasts, womb, legs,
sift through its circle slowly, like that thing
you used to let me hold to time the eggs.

Tony Harrison

This poem still makes me cry when I get to the end. The voicing is perfect in the transition from reflective, to the indulgent affection for the father's request, the clerk's voice (which I always hear in my head as Sybil Fawlty), to the breakdown at the end where the emotion overtakes the search for the correct name for "that thing". Also worth noting is the change from "mumsy" clothing items in the third stanza to more ageless feminine elements in the last. Add the hourglass theme to the evocation of the body parts and, well, you can't ask for much more from a poem, can you?

I've always loved Harrison since I first read him and having recently picked up a secondhand copy of his Selected Poems edition, I have another in mind to post tomorrow, if I get a chance.

I am about to ring into work sick for the 4th working day.

I tried to return to work last Friday but had to pull over twice on the way in as I thought I was going to throw up. After going home I got more migraine precursors and more head pain, which continued into Saturday.

Yesterday I felt a little better and Pat commented that my colour was improved.

However this morning I feel awful again. Pat was snoring all fucking night to the point where eventually I just got up and came downstairs at around 5am because I thought I was going to smother him. I reckon I have probably had about 3 hours sleep, tops. I'm at the point where I'm just crying with frustration and exhaustion.

In November last year, I went dahn sahf to visit Mum and Moggy and do some Xmas shopping. On my journey home I picked up a bucket of KFC for us.
Pat bit into a piece and loosened his two bottom front teeth on a bone. (Why he didn't realise it had a bone in it is not a question I'm prepared to tackle.)
After faffing about for a month he finally went to the dentist the week before Xmas and had the two teeth out.
That's when he started snoring. Because his mouth was painful so it was hanging open, I suppose.
Then our bed started falling apart so Pat ended up sleeping on the sofa for a fortnight anyway until we got a new one.
Now we have the new bed, he is coming to bed every night and driving me crazy with his snoring!

What can I do? If he gets false teeth, you can't wear them overnight anyway, so that won't help.
I don't want to relegate him to the sofa every night and we don't have a spare room, so it's not like I can just go and move elsewhere when he starts. And I can't sleep on the sofa because it kills my back.

Let's just look at my woes:
Exhausted; lack of sleep
At least 4 stone overweight
Blood pressure too high
Chronic back pain (medicated)
Carpal tunnel syndrome (medicated)
Intermittent mastalgia
Lost interest in sex
Can't concentrate
Seem to be either crying or losing temper all the time
Infertile
And to top it off, have just discovered what looks like a ringworm patch on my shoulder.

Now, does that all sound it could come under the aegis of "stress-related illnesses"? Yes, I thought so.

When I get headaches, I have to be careful what I take anyway, because of my medications for my back and wrist pain. I'm already on codeine phosphate, amytriptyllin and diclofenac. So I can't take any extra anti-inflammatories. Codeine unfortunately can often cause or worsen headaches in the course of treating the pain it's aimed at, so I've tried skipping that for the last few days but have ended up feeling as if someone replaced my spine with a length of rusty barbed wire. (Naturally this didn't manifest itself until we were in Morrisons yesterday.)

Well, I have phoned in to work and spoken to my mate Oona which at least has cheered me up a bit cos she knows where I'm coming from with the back pain, and with the snoring since her husband is a pain with it too!

Got a doctor's appointment for 3.55 today so will see what s/he says... Never seem to see the same doctor twice at our surgery which is a bit disconcerting... Hope they don't send me for an ECG again...

or, Pat's Back. (I love confusing grammar.)

Well, they let him out of the hospital yesterday after giving him the third degree and making sure he wasn't faking an amazing recovery. He has been given tons of painkillers, spare bandages in case one comes off his wound, lots of info about aftercare, and a stern instruction not to attempt anything remotely approaching strenuous activity for 6 weeks.

This means, of course, that I am stuck with the housework for the next 6 weeks. Big fucking deal to that, but what about shagging??? Well, the consultant said he thought we could try "gentle love-making" in about 2 weeks. Pah! Well, that's me crossing the days off the calendar for the next 6 weeks. Jeeeezus!

So he is ensconsed on the sofa and I'm keeping him supplied with coffee and biccies, but still making him get up for a fag and go into his office, haha. Anyway it's good for him to move about every so often. Thankfully the previous tenants put disabled handrails in the toilet and on the stairs, so he is able to get upstairs and use the loo. I was dreading having to get him a commode :-p

Tonight I thought for a moment I was going to have to take Simon up to hospital... He managed to crack his head a real good'un against the base of his bed, causing a huuuuge swelling on his forehead. Honestly, it looked like something out of Tom and Jerry... you know, when Tom gets whacked on the head with a hammer and this lump just grows out of his head. And he was saying he felt sick and drowsy, so I was like "Oh no, not another trip to casualty with suspected concussion and a night on the plastic chairs in the obs room." But I sat with him and held some ice on it for an hour, and then he seemed to feel better and perk up, so I've left him to sleep. I'll go and check on him before I turn in...

Pat is sleeping downstairs on the sofa as a) it's easier for him to get up and walk around if he needs to, and can go for a fag/take more painkillers/get drink etc, and b) he's paranoid that I'll end up pulling out his surgical staples in the night. And he's got a point, to be fair, I do have a history of injuring him in my sleep! (And selfishly, it's better for me because I'm not waking and mithering every time he turns over and cries out in pain. I just remember what it was like sleeping with Paul after he dislocated his hip. God it was awful. I'd be waking five, six times a night because he'd be crying out, yet he wouldn't wake himself because he was so doped up.)

I was going to write something about the London bombings, but I just ran out of energy, especially after dealing with some pricks on Renderosity who have seized this opportunity to grind their tired old political axes. I will try and make sense of it tomorrow, perhaps.

Shocked to realise that I haven't made a meaningful entry in 3 months! This is due to a variety of things... some of which I don't want to visit right now, but mainly because I am just more busy, having accepted a testing position for the Renderosity store, so on top of "normal" work (which gets less normal by the day) time is at a premium.

Well, right now Patrick is in hospital, having had his spine operation at long last. We've been waiting for this for around 18 months since it was first suggested, and it's been 7 months since he was officially put on the waiting list. In fact we were starting to think it would never happen, and then Pat got a call last Tuesday from them asking him to come in the pre-op that Friday! So it's been a bit of a scramble to get organised, and of course I'd had the previous week off work since I was fed up of saving my leave in case of it happening, bit shit happens, eh.

So he had the operation, a micro-discectomy, yesterday morning and Simon and I went up to see him yesterday teatime. He was quite bright when we got there but then he started getting some pain as the aneasthetic was wearing off, and he demanded coffee and then was sick when he drank it. So they had to give him a painkiller injection into the big muscle of the thigh, which apparently hurts like a mad bastard. He was very proud of not swearing LOL. (Good thing I'm not in there, I'd be turning the fuckin air blue!) He's also had to have a catheter in as he hasn't been able to pee normally. He has got movement okay in his legs though, so they haven't cut anything vital!

Well, I'm off to the shops for a bit, I need some new trainers and shorts for Simon... so off to Matalan... yes it's Chavsville but you can get some fairly decent stuff there too!

Just realised I haven't made a proper update for about a month :-o

I've been working hard on the artwork for the new Psychophile album and have finished the cover work. Still need to do a shot for the interior but I'm having trouble getting it rendered at sufficient resolution. I'm taking the cover work down to Lucy on a CD.

Pat got the results of his myelogram and the specialist has offered him an operation to relieve the sciatic pain. HOORAY! Pat isn't totally sure on what he's having done because he's very squeamish and prefers not to know, and I wasn't at the consultation so didn't get the info. But it seems Pat will be an inpatient for at least 4 days, and I'm guessing at least a week of recovery time after, so it looks like I'll need two weeks off work. I might need to take a week paid and a week unpaid. Pat is on the cancellations list so I've warned Debz that I might need to start leave with 24 hours notice :-\

I suppose if it does come up short notice, I could do a couple of days of dropping Simon at school and then going into work for a few hours to handover to someone else. But that would depend on the admission falling in the week (and in termtime), which isn't bound to happen.

Simon broke up from school on Wednesday and has been driving Pat nuts all day yesterday with overexcitement! They seemed to all break up very late up here, I think other authorities have let them go earlier. I don't think they seem to get as long off school at Christmas as we did when I was a child. I'm sure we used to break up at least a week before the big day. Still, it's good in many ways as it's stopped Simon from going into hyperdrive until yesterday.

I am going to work this morning from 9am-12pm and then Pat's coming to meet me in the car and we're away off down to Mum's. We're stopping in a Travelodge for 3 days as Mum just hasn't got enough room and can't cope with us all cluttering up her flat. Lucy (and Rhandolph?) are coming up to Mum's tonight for a couple of hours to do present giving and festivity, as they are going to Cliff & Deb's on the 25th for food and booze.

My major concern is to keep Simon from exploding when he wakes us up on Christmas morning before we get to Mum's to open presents! I think we will have to take all the presents to Mum's tonight and leave them there, so he isn't tempted when he wakes up.

UGH! We had really high winds here yesterday and the night before, to the extent of not being able to get the front door open without heaving and pushing and swearing, so Pat was smoking in the toilet instead of going outside. It fucking hums!

OK, I had better go and get ready, as I have to pack my stuff up before Pat takes me to work... and need to wake little man up... and have breakfast... etc!

...apparently, is the fact that Pat's niece has invited us to a fancy dress 40th birthday party next weekend, and I've expressed my repugnance for going.

Now I've never been what you might call a party person, not since I was a child. The idea of grown adults spending hours making uninteresting small talk with people who they'd never pass the time with, should they meet them outside of this enforced situation, the shrill harridan who gets pissed too early and gets her saggy old tits out, the 15 year old nephew who gets into the beer and is sick all over the stereo, the lecherous old fart who dribbles into your ear while trying to cop a grope, the brothers who get rat-arsed and then ressurrect a 20 year feud and start fighting, the couple having an argument who both try and co-opt you to their side, the couple who get caught fucking in the cloakroom by their respective spouses, the woman dragged along by her husband, grin plastered to her face which resembles rigor mortis who ends up headbutting someone or biting their nose off (that would be me)... strangely enough, I don't really enjoy these things.

Add fancy dress to that mix and the horror is just simply too huge to be borne.

But according to Pat, my natural disinclination to attend these vomit-fests is simply a sign that I don't want to be seen in public with him. This, despite the fact that he is unable to name any other occasion when I have declined a social invitation that included him. And despite the fact that I was able to enumerate plenty of occasions where we have gone out together. Apparently, my attendance at Psychophile's recent Sheffield gig is proof positive of this, despite yet another fact: I asked him to come with me, but he couldn't be bothered to find a babysitter; also taking into account the lack of hideous cake, wrinkled balloons, lecherous family members &c &c would make this a gig and not a party.

I told Pat that he was behaving like a sulky, mardy-arsed child and he threw the ashtray across the room and kicked the coffee table. Would have served him right if he'd broken his stupid foot. He then declared that he's never leaving the house again except to take Simon to school and pick him up again. Simon piped up "What about going to the doctors?" so Pat responded by saying that he didn't care, there was no point, he'd just stay in the house and rot. Simon asked, "So you'll just stay here and die then?" and Pat said, "I should be so fucking lucky."

God, he's so melodramatic.

So, I've been shopping with Simon and taken Simon to the fair. And frankly, both outings were less stressful without Pat in tow.

I admit my actions in the past haven't exactly helped Pat's feelings of insecurity, but I'm fucked if I'm going to pander to his tantrum tactics.

What happened to the man I married? The man who was capable of having a rational discussion about his emotions, thoughts and feelings, and reach a compromise? Is this something I do to men? Maybe before I moved in, even Paul was capable of acting like an adult instead of sitting on the sofa with his arms folded on his beer belly and his lower lip stuck out when things didn't go his way. Is my adoption into mum-hood making Pat revert to a 6 year old? Do I give off some kind of chemical that turns men into jibbering wrecks?

Or could Pat be going through the menopause? Maybe this could be solved by slipping some oil of evening primrose into his food...