Sorry folks but the days seem to pass so quickly. I think it may be to do with my new found addiction to drugs.
Let's start with the vagina. So, remember a little while ago I happened to mention that I had seen a whole bunch of vaginas and I thought, in comparison, that mine was quite cute? Well, every rose has its thorn and my rose was no exception.
I'm just going to come out and say it. I had a cyst. I think I may have had this cyst for almost ten years. It began as something very small, hardly noticeable and then I happened to glimpse my post natal notes after my son was born and it said 'Barthalian Cyst' - or something like that.
Suddenly I realised that it wasn't my imagination; others could see it too. I mentioned it to Bushman - who unsurprisingly didn't beat around the bush and simply said.
"Me see dat long time."
A horrible realisation dawned - it was there even when we first slept together. I was pretty mortified and this was tempered only by the fact that it must also mean that he REALLY loved me. I mean you have to really fucking love someone to overlook a genital defect.
Anyway, ten years later and my feet are up in stirrups, legs akimbo and a gynaecological consultant and I are having a conversation through my legs about what I do for a living.
Seconds later the job is done, I have told her everything she needs to know about teaching in a prison and I get one solitary stitch.
"I think your gorgeous." says the consultant, as she is finishing off her work. I take this to mean that I am a gorgeous person and not as a validation of my now near perfect vagina. She says she would like to do something similar when she retires from gynaecology. I stop myself from mentioning that she has great transferable skills as I deal with some real cunts at work too.
I thank her and tell her that I've had a lovely time; which I have. At worst, my time in hospital has been a little chilly but apart from that some great things have happened to me. Three separate people have told me that I look younger than my age. I have READ A BOOK. I have had peace and quiet. My vagina has been fixed and I've been given painkillers. Hello! Only a cocktail bar and a bag of free merchandise could have made this trip any better.
And now we move on to the drugs. I haven't really been in that much pain but I have to stop myself from taking those darn tablets at night because they do make me feel deliciously wonky and I have a great nights sleep. 'These tablets may be addictive' is all I need to read to know that I want to take them. Mmmmmnnn.....with a glass of wine of course. And its OK because the doctor gave them to me so they are 'good drugs'.
I suppose I should spare a line for the transsexual I mentioned in my last post. Sadly for her she is slightly unstable but it is very entertaining to hear the ways in which she chooses to insult me. She seems fixated on my haircut (remember the racist one?) and believes that I am out to destroy her. When it gets too much I just shake my head and say to myself. How many people can say that they were verbally abused by a transsexual today? It beats your average day at the office.
On a serious note however; although I have eased back into working life and am enjoying myself much more than my last return to work post-pregnancy, I have never been so knackered in my life. That daughter of mine still wakes at night, I have more work on my plate than ever and I am just so freaking knackered all of the time. My blog life, which I have become so fond of, is suffering greatly. However; if something's got to give I suppose it's better that it's my virtual life rather than my real one.
In the midst of all this change I have also come to realise that my job can't contain me for much longer. I seem to spend so much of my time plotting what I would do with my millions if I won the lottery or the policies I would change if I became Prime Minister. Then suddenly the other day I had an epiphany. The chances of me winning the lottery or becoming Prime Minster are slim, at best - which means that the odds of me fulfilling some of my ambitions by just being me, are actually more likely. So, I'm currently thinking about the things I want to do, to help the people I want to help.
When I mentioned to Bushman that I was contemplating starting a charity he looked at me as if I had just casually informed him that I had sold our children, gambled away our house and was leaving him for an Orthodox Jew.
He looked horrified as I said the word 'charity' and he actually said to me "You go tell your father dat."
Hello! I'm thirty four. Once we have a roof over our head and the kids are fed I'll do what the fuck I want thanks very much. Actually, Bushman couldn't possibly have chosen anything better to say to me. Patriarchal bullshit is a surefire way to bring out the determined bitch in me.
The other thing which has me fired up is the filthy virus my beautiful new laptop has picked up. I have run every scan known to man and my computer is still infected!!! It is stopping me from connecting to the internet which was actually a big part of the reason I have been away so long. It took me TWO WEEKS to work out that it was a virus as opposed to any other technological problem.
But, before I get too bogged down with such matters and before I leave you gorgeous people, whom I've missed so much, here is a little anecdote to send you on your way:
It was one of those rare occasions when all my children were in sync with their afternoon nap. Rather than racing around my house trying to catch up, I too succumbed. Thirty minutes later my sleepy son came in to bed to join me. He climbed in and gently caressed my face. It was one of those moments that you know you have to savour because one day they will be gone, and then suddenly....
"Errr? Have you had been putting your fingers up your bottom?" I ask.
My internet access has been out for about two weeks.
I feel like someone who has just come out of a coma. When I woke up, I had an Iphone which I didn't know how to work.
In the weeks that have passed I have become addicted to drugs, got myself a new vagina, been verbally abused by a transsexual and have come up with a plan to change the world. (Not necessarily in that order)
All of this is totally true.
Look forward to telling you about it over a glass of wine tomorrow.
Bad blogger, bad parent and all round bad girl.
I'm 33 and living with a Jamaican man of the same age. We have one son and a daughter thanks to some very strong cocktails and bad family planning.
I think our relationship works because he doesn't say much and we don't really understand one another when we do talk.
Despite being a 'mother' I can't remove stains from things, rarely iron and HATE 'playdates'.
I love a good blog but don't get the time much these days. I'm one of those horrible bloggers who almost never replies to your comments. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, come on in......