[insert expletive here] angry!
First of all, I must apologise for the swearing that's about to follow. I have a need to vent and I'm hoping that by writing it all down, it will allow me to get it out of my system. At times go off on a tangent too as my mind is somewhat frazzled due to a constant lack of sleep.
It's been roughly 10 months since my last blog entry. I had promised myself to start afresh and start writing again as over the years it was something I enjoyed. I had also promised myself only to write events which were positive. However, as you can see, it's been roughly ten months since my last blog entry. The thing is I had an operation in October 2007, a cholecystectomy, my gall bladder removed. I was told that it was a routine operation and that once recovered, I could resume eating anything I liked. Well the surgeon was FUCKING wrong! Turns out that as a result of the trauma involved in having surgery on my digestion system that I now have Irritable -Fucking- Bowel Syndrome. Over the past two years I've tried a number of things to address my I-F-BS (with a D bias - points awarded for those of you who guess what "D" is). I've consulted my doctors surgery a few times, done my best to address my dietary habits which no easy thing as I love food. I even saw a dietician, though that was a fucking waste of time. The irony of course is that I hated food as a child. In fact I made my parents sick with worry because I simply wouldn't eat. If you saw me now with my rather stocky waistline, would any body guess the issues I had with food as child? I doubt it. And that's another thing that makes me fucking angry. My relatives would constantly comment on my lack of weight as a child. Now they think they're fucking smart, commenting that I've put too much fucking weight on. Seriously, these comments would fuck with most peoples' heads. I should point out that my parents and siblings aren't included in that list of relatives. Not long after my surgery my two colleagues at work left for new pastures. Considering there was only three of us, this came as a huge fucking blow to me. I don't blame them and in fact I tried to leave myself. Coming second in a job interview didn't get me the fuck anywhere, but it did boost my confidence slightly. However, things at work have been fucking mediocre at best. I am now a team of one. The sole member of the Web Team and the least technical one at that. I'm also not part of "the gang" within the rest of the organisation, which basically means my career development has stagnated these past two years. I should count myself fucking lucky as I have a job and one that pays okay. Actually it's not that great, but it's keeping me and my significant other above the parapet. Fucking recession. Fucking Labour Government. Fucking Gordon Brown. Thank Christ we have an election this year. Hopefully all the apathetic people who are eligible, me included, use their right to vote and send a big "FUCK YOU" to the current Government. No doubt men with black suits will be knocking on my door not too soon after posting this. See, tangent. IBS to the state of the English Government. In the grand scheme of things, it hasn't been that bad since my last post. My other half and I have bought a pair of motorcycles. We've made some new biker friends. Our relationship is the strongest and best it's ever been. Indiana (our dog) continues to be a great source of fun and comfort. And although there are stress factors at home, they're external (work, finances etc). Unfortunately the things in my life that should be making me happy are being affected by my lack of sleep. I don't know what the cause is, but since my operation my sleeping pattern has been pretty lousy. In fact, it's been fucking awful. Coupled with my I-F-BS it's left me constantly drained, in discomforted and at times in pain or very sick. When I go out, I have to be careful of what I'm eating and drinking or at least be popping an anti-diarrhoea capsule or two. Stress also kicks it off and because I dropped my brand new CBF600 twice within a week of buying it I find myself going to the toilet several times within the hour before getting on it to go for a ride. Motorway routes have the same effect. It's a good job my other half always rides up front. I saw myself in the mirror last year realised how much this had all fucking aged me. I had my mid life fucking crisis early and wanted to get on a motorbike. It was a "now or never" moment should be bringing me fun and adventures. Instead, my constant feeling of being drained and the need to be close to a toilet has left me less than thrilled at the prospect of riding out. Fucking Irritable -Fucking- Bowel Syndrome. Under another guise I used to podcast. I really enjoyed it and I truly miss recording my thoughts with my partner in crime on the latest sci-fi/horror movie. We would have a laugh with it and it was well received. I keep the website running, but it's hard work and unfortunately the podcasting much like my blogging has fallen to the wayside too. I can't be amusing while feeling so crappy. I tweet, but not as often as I used to. I tend to follow timeline and dip in now and again. Funnily enough I've seen headlines pertaining to the death of blogging due to micro blogs like Twitter and Facebook status updates. I've certainly seen a number of my Twitter peeps stating that they've been remiss in posting to their blogs. Work is also proving to be a huge cause of irritation. Having been left to pick up the pieces of the loss of my team members, recent events have been causing me more stress. I can't go into detail yet. I'm sure you've heard of past bloggers who've got themselves into deep shit publishing work related posts only to be found out. Suffice it to say, there is some "toing and froing" and a whole lot of politics. I'm hopeful that once all sorted, it'll be to my benefit. I'm sick and tired of being tired and sick. Last week was a particularly difficult week. On the Saturday I had a severe attack of the squits, which cleared me out thoroughly. I apologise for the rather graphic imagery just presented there. My life these past two years have pretty much revolved around my bowel and its movements... The following day I cooked a rather tasty chilli last Sunday using Quorn mince. Low in fat and lots of vegetables, it was a very healthy meal. This had the rather rare and surprising effect of bunging me up. Of course, after Saturday's sojourn on the toilet I didn't realise the effect my chilli had until Tuesday evening and another helping of my pretty damned good cooking. I suddenly realised I hadn't been to the loo for 48 hours. By Wednesday night however, the world had fallen out of my arse and I spent the next four days very unwell. Yesterday I went to my doctors surgery and was glad to be seen by the GP who originally diagnosed me with gall stones back in the summer of 2007. I think he's a locum and I hadn't seen him since that first appointment. He listened to me as a I spoke of my two years of life without a gallbladder and the lack of sleep. He said it was unacceptable that I should frequent the toilet as often as I do and prescribed me Spasmonal, an anti-spasmodic drug which relaxes the smooth muscle in the colon. He hopes that by treating the IBS, my sleeping pattern will improve. And while I'm grateful to be on medication to sort this out, why the fuck did it take two years to prescribe it!? The surgery made the diagnosis two fucking years ago. Every time I've made an appointment to see a GP I've told them the rough time I was having and not one of them suggested trying an anti-spasmodic medication. God it makes me so fucking angry... Last night was another bad night for me. I woke up at 1am and not long after I heard Indiana go out through his dog flap. Moments later he was pawing at the kitchen door and so I got up. He's a funny little soul, only wanting to do a number two out the front of the property, so I went out with him and lo and behold he squatted down to business. I stayed up for the next hour, couldn't sleep, reading a magazine with Indiana curled on the sofa next to me. Not long after, the reason why I was awake presented itself and my I-F-BS kicked in - twice. Feeling tired and drained, I tried putting Indiana back to bed so that I could get some sleep but he started crying. Last time Indian awoke during the night, I spent most of it trying to get him to sleep in his own bed. He cried, he barked, all night. Not wanting a repeat of the same, I let him sleep with me for the remainder of the night.Today, I'm tired and fucking irritable. I'm hopeful that this medication will work for me and I have four weeks worth to try out. It's a shame one of the side effects doesn't include drowsiness or euphoria... One last thing, another apology. This entry isn't very insightful, probably jumps around a bit and most likely is just plain uninteresting. However, it is a means to get some of my fucking stresses of my chest. If I can get my I-F-BS under control and then hopefully my sleep, then this year will be the year I start blogging positively again.
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