Jam and pam

I've been taking my pills, and not taking other pills that don't go so well together. First night - 2 x clonazepam (Pams); second night - 2 Pams and finally relief from the spacticity was forthcoming, Third night - one Pam and one Pam tonight. No Pams tomorrow night, all going to plan, Unless this spasm gets worse... All things in moderation, especially nasty yet unavoidable medications. And gardening, grieving, boozing and eating. After all, some things leave a bad taste in your mouth and grubby hands.

We received bad news the other day, the sort of news that makes you sit down and say "Oh Jesus fucking Christ in a sidecar". Or something. Someone close to us and treasured enormously, someone very lovely, very special has something very, very nasty. And no-one can fix it.

And it makes me frustrated, sad and very fucking angry. It also reaffirms my attention to a frequently ignored little voice that lives inside me, whispering seditious things, things in conflict with my normal beliefs, things like "to get anywhere in this life, you have to be a complete shit". Because that's what it looks like at the moment.

I could rattle off a list of names of decent people, kind people, loving and generous and smart people who have spent at least some of their lives fighting battles in a war they could never win - the war against chronic illness, pain and early check outs.

So I went out in the garden today, driven by my new found ability to walk post-Pam and I dug. I dug and I wheeled and I dug some more in the hope that that voice inside me would stop comparing the lot of the Jude's and Marks, the Riccardos and the Alisons of this world who battle the odds with honesty while the likes of the Tiggers, the Colins and the Wonderboys go through life backstabbing and destroying the people who trust them, give more than is required of them and foolishly honour them.

So I filled the barrow a few times and I emptied it into the new vege tower, and I started planting the little camellias along the front garden and as I laboured I thought to myself, I should become a complete cunt, one of those jammy bastards, and then Life would be a doddle. They make their OWN misery to have something to wave around for attention. But that other voice inside's been reminding me that no-one ever said Life was supposed to be fair. Just as well, innit, or some bastard would be getting one Hell of a kick in the cods, right about now.

Life sux and God's a bastard. He gives the bad stuff to the wrong people.

It's a shame beer and Pams aren't supposed to go together, cos tonight I really don't give a shit. Eh.