Self-agency

I guess I wanted to have a little rave about the colourful pad I got at Paperchase the other day. Of course I already use a planner, and I love organising what I’m going to be doing with my time, but my current planner has specific hourly timeslots, so if something isn’t a precise appointment but just something that needs to go on a to-do list, I have a bit of trouble deciding where to put it. This pad though, allows me to scribble a lot of stuff down.

Sadly there isn’t much else going on. I’m just very tired and fed-up and not even doing any Cities at the moment. Wheelchair ramp project has totally stalled. On the one hand, at least we have the materials in the house, but on the other hand, it’s even more frustrating that nobody wants to make the damn thing. Even Will doesn’t understand why it’s so important to me. He at least gets to go out once a day, even if it’s only to the newsagent. He can get up and do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He could sit up one day and decide to jog to London if he wanted to. He is free.

I really fear losing my Canine Partners application. I have waited for so long already, and they are getting bloody tired of me when, as far as they can see, I can’t be bothered to put a ramp up and be able to leave the house with a dog independently. There is no sense of urgency about it from anybody else, even though it may cost me the rest of my life.

I’ve applied for a job that I really want to get, but I will also be very screwed about that if nobody does my ramp in the next week.

I’m very tired of not being in charge of my own destiny. Everything I need to do relies on permission from somebody else. Whether I get a ramp, whether I am employed, hobbies I want to have or places I want to go. They all come down to another person saying “Yes, you can do that thing.”
The charity is the only thing I have any semblance of control over, and even then, somebody at the Charity Commission has to say yes to whatever I’m doing. I am at the mercy of so many different agencies and I hate living like this.

I had to box-up more things to make some extra money and make ends meet. Some more books we found, but also some old DVDs and games, like Project Zero II and Forbidden Siren (I know I have the first Project Zero and No. 3 around here somewhere, too). It’s sad to get rid of them, but as with books I’m probably not going to read again, I have always been too scaredy to get to the very end of any PZ game, and I don’t think I got past day 1 of Forbidden Siren, because dear God, the horror. I do still use the PS2 a lot, usually for Tomb Raider marathons every summer with my sister, but thinking that I will actually get to go back and re-play an entire cupboard full of games, is a pipe dream.
I know I’ll miss my games, but I can always aim to get an emulated version if I actually find myself with an opportunity to play one of them.

The cheap slug pellets I got last week have made quite a difference. It looks like some of the sunflowers might be starting to grow back, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. I didn’t realise how much gastropod traffic the garden actually got, until I started going out in the morning to see a mollusc graveyard.

This was day 3 of using slug pellets. The slugs are harder to spot than the snails.

Freya in the grass. We need to mow the lawn.

Dead slug.

They eventually dissolve like this.

Admiring my own backpack for some reason.

I’ve started monitoring my food again with something other than MFP, on the recommendation of my sister. MFP is dull as all hell. This new one seems a lot more intuitive to use.

It doesn’t matter what you think. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand why I want thinness or think it’s ridiculous to. It’s my body. It’s not yours.
If I said, oh, so-and-so, don’t get a tattoo, or do this thing, I don’t understand it, I think it’s harmful to your body, you would rightfully say “How fucking dare you, I’ll do whatever I want with my own damn body, it doesn’t matter what you understand, it’s not for you.” It doesn’t matter if you think I’m better off as a fat person, because I don’t.

I got a thigh gap when I lost 4 stone a couple of years, ago, even though I was still way overweight for my height, and nobody felt the need to bollock me for it then. Nobody cared when I had thin thighs before I was a chair user and had ever gained weight. It wasn’t wrong for me then. Nobody cared when I wrote openly about taking a dangerous weight-loss drug and actually risking my life. Nearly dying is fine, as long as I don’t actually get thin doing it. Nobody cared about how long I’ve had disordered eating and nobody batted an eye when I was given an NHS dietician. Nobody had any worries about me abusing laxatives so much that I couldn’t move the core of my body properly for a day at a time. So I don’t think finally wanting to get to grips with real thinness makes me a ridiculous asshole. I can’t replace my fat with muscle either. I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

My profile is here if anyone else is on Lose it! or wants to join.

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