Ink Blot!

There are these posts that I put off writing because I never want someone who knows me in real life to look me in the eye and quote any part of it and while I could start this post different ways, here’s how it is.

You know those days a friend off loads all their shit and drama on you within five minutes of walking in the door? No? Just me then?

Well, I’m just warning people the next time this happens, I may cut them off with this. If you get through the day and you didn’t end up in your ensuite with your pants down around your ankles, your Thundies around your knees with poo (You heard me) on them and your face on the floor in the corner.

Oh, both shoes off, your AFO still half on (Being the reason you fell off the toilet in the first place) and this is the clincher. An ink blot poo stain on your floor and poo on the wall (still not sure how that got there), then you have what we call first world problems. Sometimes a friend will tell me, ‘Oh Helen, everyone has problems.’

From now on I will direct them to the above highlighting ‘ink blot’. It’s a great image, isn’t it? If you’re not sure what it is, it’s the weird prints on the wall in a shrinks’ office walls, clients (sorry) ask “what is that anyway?” and the shrink returns, “It’s whatever you think it is.”

Usual answers

“Oh! It’s 2 people making love”
Or “It’s a butterfly”
Or “2 cows”
Lol.

There’s nothing worse than being on the floor in a compromising position and having to work through what you must do in order to get up. That’s that!

I need to eventually roll over onto my right, straight onto my ass, naked ass, I will add, knowing exactly how cold that would be and then wriggle over to the hand basin. More wriggling, onto my knees, right elbow on hand basin then after pulling the second strap off my AFO, try to wiggle my left foot behind me and lever myself up.

Mostly, my right side leads on these adventures and I demand my left leg eventually pulls some weight. Add Pine O’ Clean, toilet cleaner/Napisan and Sard stain treatment, clean Thundies and pants and some serious cleaning in Aisle 2 (Don’t overthink it!) and I’m upright and ready to face the day.

Yeah! This happens to be the best of us and if someone tells you this kind of story, don’t pardon the pun – It’s pretty shitty.

I once had a carer arrive on a Saturday morning and when she saw my ensuite she asked, “What happened here?”

I’m telling you, I cleaned the bathroom, so there was no evidence of what had transpired in there the night before. I explained and to say it was of some similarity to the above and she asked, “Did you just sit on the floor and cry?”

I’m not saying you don’t want to, but it doesn’t help. You gotta plan your attack, do what you have to do to get up/get cleaned up/clean up the bathroom and get dressed.

If all you can do is get into bed to sleep off the trauma, you should. But sitting on the floor in self-pity doesn’t help.

Next!