I've got loads of blog postings still lurking around in my draft section. One sentence there and a partial sentence somewhere else. I think the only finished draft is the one blowing in the echoing cavern between my ears.
I've been feeling exhausted for several months now. So much so that I'm struggling to even formulate this blog post. Even with what I thought would perk me up with the acquisition of a new computer that actually works, has made little difference.
A lot changed at the beginning of August, 2014. A new home and a new reality. A new home without my son who is now getting on with his life in his first own home. So much upheaval. So many extreme variations of emotion to contend with. If it wasn't for the sharing of both our homes with our beloved dog, Penny, I would be crying and hiding away under my duvet cover.
I'm finding it difficult to cope with. I reflect in my house without anybody to share directly the mixed sadness and hope that "empty nest syndrome" has cast upon every fibre of being. If it wasn't for the lifelines of my friends and family via phone chats, I'm not sure I could have been able to take it. The lifelines have been a vital support in my ability to move on from this. My gratitude can not be measured in mere words.
On March 10, I have an appointment with my doctor. Day after day, I can barely get out of bed. Day after day of having flu-like symptoms. I think I may have chronic fatigue syndrome. This has left me frustrated and flustered that I've been so much in the background within the blogging world. I hope that with the doctor's help, I can get back on track. Feeling like this and being all alone in my three dimensional reality has left me wondering if I can ever get the momentum back.
Although many have told me they understand about my absence and my lack of commenting, I, nonetheless, feel terribly guilty. Guilt, an unneeded emotion that I must not let fill me with negative energy.
As for the title of this post, "Irritable Blog Syndrome", that's just me being satirical. If I can regain the satire, the tongue-in-cheek and the irony of my writing, then I know I'm on my way back.
Because of the relentless exhaustion, I'm switching the comments off on this post. I would rather attempt to have a go at commenting on other sites. I hope you understand.
Thank you for your time.
Tuesday, 3 March 2015
Tuesday, 10 February 2015
This will be the last post I ever publish on this computer. A computer now so slow that I find myself trying to will the bloody thing to load up by spinning the wheel on my mouse. A mouse as in a computer mouse, although both can be rather fond of wheels.
Trying to get to your site and comment has become a frustrating, flustered futility.
So, for no apparent reason whatsoever, I shall publish one of my coolest posts ever to end the usage of this computer.
I'm sure you have observed that fridges do indeed "talk." I mentioned the uniqueness of each fridge's "voice" in a previous post. The above fridge is my old fridge. The above, old fridge now resides at my son Tristan's new place. The old fridge makes a sound like a squealing pig with a rumbly tummy. That sound can now continue to delight my son.
My new feral frost-free fridge fluctuates flatulence factors forebodingly. Yes, in other turds, in other words, it can sound like a gurgling fart.
It also has this uncanny knack of sounding like Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar in one of her whining moments.
I heard that whining noise the other day. "Are you okay, Penny?" I inquired. Only to suddenly realise that Penny wasn't with me and I was talking to the talking feral fridge.
A Fridge Too Far
How very polar
Fridge on the River Kwai
Um, nice try
A Fridge over Trouble Waters
It never falters
The Fridge of Sighs.