Today I relaxed my hair with my sister’s help (as always) because it was starting to curl and kink quite badly again. I usually need to do it about twice a year, if I didn’t mention that already. At its worst, my hair curls to a 3a level, usually on the underneath layers and sometimes on my bloomin’ fringe, which is awful. The rest of me is between 2b and 2c depending on the part of the head. I think it just looks awful on me. It doesn’t go with my face shape, and even if I was thin I don’t think it would.
So I relax it. This is something more often associated with African hair, and I would say it was maybe the Arab part of the family that made my natural hair so bouffant, but I honestly think it’s the Breton Celtic side it comes from. Will has quite curly hair when it gets long, so I think our children are going to have very unruly heads.
But yes anyway. Today I got quite bad relaxer burn without actually twigging. I didn’t feel anything unusual but when I was rinsing it out by leaning over the bath, blood washed out with it. It doesn’t feel too bad, but I haven’t bled from a relaxer before so it’s a bit jarring.
Lovely sun in our lovely garden.
I was trying to get photos of Freya in various positions for the charity training guide, and she decided to be silly.
What a beauty though.
Prototyping the wheelchair lead attachment method, as per previous sketch.
Stretch floof on the wonky sofa.
If your shoes are off the rack, they will get butted by the dog.
Originally it looked like my blood test bruise had two needle holes, but now they have blended into one big bruise.
Bad dog selfie.
This is the narrowest wheelchair seat I’ve ever had, and I fit in it, but my figure is atrocious.
I love her.
Trying to reinforce the sofa with parts of an old broken chair.
It looked nice again!
For about 5 minutes . . .
This was really awesome.
It really doesn’t pick up on camera but I have a fairly bad hairline burn. But look how straight my fringe is!
Chupa Chups aren’t normally my thing but I’ve discovered cola ones. They are great.
Our sofa is being a pain and our temporary reinforcements didn’t last long before popping off. It is always cracking and creaking, and it reminds me of me right now. I am just not feeling so good, even by normal standards, and I don’t know why. My “good days” have been getting worse and worse and I’m finding it hard to get simple things done. I feel like I’m wasting away. Unfortunately not literally in terms of figure.
At least I got out of my pyjamas though. I put on some leggings and my Ananas hoody and I’m sitting on the floor with the hood up, wondering when I’m just going to be able to veg out and feel content about life.
I’m worrying about my lifespan. Some people with EDS don’t make it past 30, which I’m getting quite close to. Of course my body isn’t going to be like “Well, it’s midnight on your birthday, time to die!” so it might be happening even now. I’m just feeling so awful without any reprieve, without any of those “good days” to break it up. I’m tired of being in so much pain and having so little energy that my limbs feel hollow.
My sister was saying earlier on that it’s weird Mum is as old as she is when she has the valve prolapse. Maybe I’m just not going to last. Maybe with my liver being silly again, I am finally going to drop off the face of the earth. Or maybe I’m being dramatic because I’m not coping with life.
Will went to a funeral recently and has started thinking about what he wants for his own. I realised I have no idea what I want for mine. I always assumed I’d have a Pagan funeral because that’s how I was raised. I didn’t think about it when I found Judaism.
I’d suggest burial in Israel if it wasn’t so expensive. All funerals have a pretty eye-watering cost though. I guess I’d like a Magen David on my stone if that wasn’t too much. I guess I’d want a Breton translation of everything. I used to be icked-out by the idea of cremation but now I don’t know. At least I could be in a box in a lively room of a home of somebody who loves me, or they could plant me in their garden and grow me into a tree. I like the idea of being a tree. I’d go so far as to have the dog buried with me if she died after me. Maybe that’s super weird though.
On that note, I discovered a new fear while repairing the sofa. Power tools, and also manual saws. Will was left an electric drill and sander by a deceased relative, and as soon as he brought them home I felt uneasy without knowing why. Will was later using a crappy manual saw to split a bit of wood, and I was holding a bit still. For some reason the noise just got louder and louder in my head, and more intense until I asked for a break and before I knew it I was just freaking out.
I think I’m OK with manual drills (I have a little Archimedean drill), but I don’t know where this all came from. I don’t think I’ve ever had a tool injury. For school I had to do some stuff with metal and wood a long time ago, I even made a wooden ring binder for an art project when a normal plastic one would have bloomin’ done the job. I probably got scrapes and cuts. But where has this tool fear come from?
I just have no idea what’s wrong with me right now. I’d call it a quarter-life crisis, but I feel good about the charity and the general direction of that. So it’s not about career. I just feel weird.
