A MONTH OF ABSOLUTE MAYHEM
(Or: Why My Nervous System Has Filed For Divorce)
It’s been one of those months where every single day feels like a new episode in a series I definitely didn’t audition for. My sleep is trash, the heat wave on hot flush medication and then the rain hasn’t stopped, my brain is hotwired, and the house is in renovation mode — which is basically my personal PTSD theme park. Rich taking 400 years to make a decision, and I’m still linking all home‑improvement to emotional collapse. Standard.
And the carpets… Happy to have them. Sad because they’re part of the “fix to sell the family home” storyline. It’s giving Home & Garden Television but make it grief.
(Do you remember the twins with the tool belts) mmmmmmmmmmm
Honestly, it’s been a chain of events. A month of them. Always too much. I keep thinking I’m a superhero, but my body keeps sending me polite little reminders that I’m absolutely not, but sadly my ND brain lacking estrogen doesn't know how to turn off #thebodykeepsscore
Here’s the rundown:
Vegas — where I left my energy, my sleep, and possibly my will to live.
Sinusitis + a perforated eardrum — because why have one head problem when you can have two.
My birthday — cute, chaotic, emotional, all of the above.
Camping — Molly and I, first tent erection (thank you, YouTube) mostly Molly's influence.
Carpets fitted (Part One) — move every piece of furniture known to mankind.
A tattoo — my first in ten years, meaningful as hell, and a big emotional deal.
Carpets fitted (Part Two) — because suffering comes in installments.
Finished my novella — but absolutely no time to sort it because life said “plot twist.”
Need a proofreader — Do I have a journalist son? I here you say.
It’s been a lot. Like… a lot a lot. But here I am, still standing, still swearing, still writing it down so future‑me can look back and say:
“Oh yeah. That was the month I survived by accident.” Barely and now its my stuck mud marmite dip.

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