Life's a gas

daisy overload

The thing is that there are good days, not so good days and completely shit days. The mistake I keep on repeating is that a good day is not necessarily followed by another good day. In fact, the statistics for this to happen are poor. The man, a retired science teacher, has in all seriousness suggested we track the daily shape of things to evaluate if there's a noticeable trend. While on the one hand that would be a form of occupational therapy and yet another reason to apply the amazing options of an Excel spreadsheet, it would on the other hand give even more space to what already rules far too many aspects of my wonderful life. 

Currently, I am paying too much attention on the long and convoluted path of my intestine, from that bit behind the sternum all the way it winds criss cross behind my abdominal wall based on my breakfast of a bowl of overnight-soaked fine oats of which I microwaved all the fiber to death before I carefully chewed the remaining mush with a bit of low fat milk and sent it on its merry way.  It's a slow process, occasionally I rest my hand on the small bloated lump and whisper encouragements. But mostly I use swear words while I jump up and down, go for long walks, massage clockwise and anticlockwise and take hot showers before I turn to distraction therapy and listen to the Blindboy podcast, watch true crime documentaries or whatever comes my way, all with the trusted heating pad on my belly. The best part is that it will pass even if it takes its fucking time. By when it does, life is bliss.

 

There are times when I wish I was a baby with a tummy ache because I know all about that, spent hours with babies on my arms, tummy side down, or on my shoulder, gently massaging back and front, waiting for that burp. The German term when a baby burps, is "ein Bäuerchen machen" which literally translates to "doing what a little farmer does", which so far has not been identified as a hostile, anti-agricultural practitioner term. Anyway, I would love it if someone could cradle me like a baby with a sore swollen tummy but even with all the recent weightloss, I am still 1.7 m tall and that would make it a bit awkward.

The man, who has been reading about methane emissions in cattle and the impact on climate change and successful remedies using seaweed, is now actively investigating seaweed sources for me.

I am writing this while seated in the cafe of the local wholefood shop, just had a decent cup of coffee, listening to the family at the next table, as you do. The parents switch to speaking English when discussing stuff they don't want their two small kids to hear. (Interesting approach to bilingual language training.) The argument is about carrot juice and whether the kids drink too much of it. Been there, I want to tell them, just let them have it, it's only a phase before they ask for sodas. But it don't think it's wise to get involved especially when they think that speaking English is their clever disguise. Dad is now quoting medical research. Always a moment when I must abstain.

 

And just like that the rain has ceased and I will be on my way home, walking briskly with the odd jumping motion.  Every burb and fart a blessing. I hope nobody is offended by all this reference to digestive motions and gaseous effluents. My aim here is to keep the mood at an even level just above getting desperate.  And if that's offensive to some, tough luck.

A few days ago, I discovered this youtube channel and it has brought me great joy (don't judge me, see for yourself).