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Despite rumours to the contrary I'm still alive and kicking. Well maybe alive and sitting. Lets go with, alive and breathing. Well except when my body decides that breathing should become tricky. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale......complex stuff apparently. Maybe I should just go with existing, and continuing to swear and shake my fist at the universe.
I'm starting to think the universe is actually one of those mean girls from high school. You know the ones I'm talking about. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, popular, pushes you over in the change room whilst you are getting dressed, so you trip and fall flat on your face wearing nothing but a singlet and your granny undies around your ankles, because it's soooooo funny. Mind you I am kinda hoping that like at my 15 year high school reunion, the universe will get its comeuppance and become a fat, dull women, stuck in a loveless marriages to an obnoxious alcoholic. Not that I'm bitter or anything.
So to sum it all up. Health shit. Brain long gone. Bad attitude continues.
I do apologise to all those who've sent me messages, emails etc and have yet to receive a reply. They were much appreciated but over the last, well forever, about the most I've been able to stretch my brain to do is the occasional one line Facebook status update. Lets face it when you only have three braincells left and two of those are dedicated to remembering to breathe, it puts quite a lot of pressure on that one little neuron. The little fella is doing all he can but he has a lot on his plate at the moment.
I have roughly a bazillion blogs to read thanks to those dedicated bloggers who blog rain, hail, or shine, hardworking bastards. I may just have to start over from now, as I doubt I'll ever get caught up otherwise. Frankly reading well written, entertaining, grammar perfect, prose or poetry is, aside from the lost brain issue, rather disheartening at the moment. Though I must say I have really enjoyed Miss Buckle, whose beautiful pictures are like a little ray of sunshine on my crappy little mind. Cupcakes today, does it get any better?
It's been a bit of hectic time around here, aside from my health. For those who don't live in Australia, you are probably unaware that my fair city of Melbourne experienced it's worst thunderstorm in history the Saturday before last. Hailstones the size of cricket balls decided to hit our house with abandon. This left us with broken windows (any tips on getting glass shards out of toaster will be much appreciated), flooding, shredded carport, nude trees, and a dripping roof. I think we will be playing "who can find glass shards in the weirdest places?", for months to come. Fun for all the family. Actually we got off much better than a lot of our neighbours so can't really complain. I will now suck it up and move on.
My attempts at being a real girl have taken another hit. Whether its Bob or one of his dodgy relatives, neither my cardio or neuro can tell me, but my super sensitive reflexes have put paid to the annoying, but necessary, act of shaving my legs. "Go get your legs waxed you stupid wingy woman", I hear you say. Well bite me. I refuse. Number one, it hurts and I am a wuss. Number two, you have to look at those long fly strips covered in your leg hair. Ick! Number three, that would be giving in and dammit, I may haemorrage or lose a leg thanks to an errant blade flick, but I would rather have be known as Pegleg Michelle than give in. Mind you this logic is coming from a woman who thought that chopping off my own fringe in a fit of pique an hour ago was a good idea. So my reasoning may be questionable.
Note to self: do not cut own fringe you stupid twatt. It never works, and no one is going to buy your story that it's an artsy haircut in honour of Fashion Week.
As any woman knows
