Faceful of privilege

I finished reading Aubrey Gordon’s What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Fat today.  It was a gut punch of a book.

It had never occurred to me that I had “smaller fat” privilege over fatter people, but the descriptions made it very clear that I do.  The medical anti-fat bias that makes specialist appointments often deeply suck for me, is nothing to what larger people experience.

Here was me thinking cis, white, and male was all I had going for me, as a fat, chronically-ill, bender.

Otherwise not up to much.  Increase in topiramate dose has me a bit dazed.  Hopefully will settle quickly.

It better do something and be worthwhile.

I am glad my GP acknowledged the specialist’s letter made the appointment seem like it hadn’t been productive and that I wasn’t just imagining it.

The power of whinging

By complaining about having not seen friends I manifested Simon suggesting dinner out.  So I got to see him, Joe and Firmin.  Firmin sneakily paid for everyone as it is sort of near his birthday and getting closer to his birthday would make it obviously a dinner for a reason.  He’s tricksy.  He also got to show off that he is the most beloved of all cats.

Friday had some roleplaying.

Saturday had too much family.  And too much indigestion and reflux.  The amount of acid I have after meals with my family may indicate there is a stress factor involved, and that I am broken people.

Sunday, Witchlight featured roleplaying doing amateur theatre within d&d.  Which was a touch meta.  But got us 7th level.

Today I had a GP appointment.  It was long, my GP is good but does not manage to do things within the set appointment times.  And my scripts were expensive but needed now and not next week when they start being full funded by the government…..

I haven’t seen Simon since he left for his holiday.   I have spent three weeks living in his house more recently than I have seen him.

I haven’t seen Firmin in even longer.

I am bad at friends.

Poisoned, poisoned and betrayed.....

On Friday I made Bambi soup.  For three days it was all I ate. It was fine.  Once or twice.  But I tired of it.  It became a chore.  I came to hate it.

Single people living alone should not make big slow cooker meals.  But the economics of them are so good.

In the weekend my family visited so my sister could declare she was borrowing my unicorn hoodie for some early child care centre event.  There was not asking.  I almost decided to be a dick about the complete lack of basic manners but realised it wouldn't achieve anything so didn't bother.

On Monday I went swimming for the first time in a few weeks.  With my new meds and a couple of weeks of not exercising the result was that the next day I could barely move.  It was not good.

Though Monday night I got to try a bit of a boardgame I hadn't played before.  Spirit Island was a lot of fun, even if I had little idea what I was doing and was letting someone slightly annoying (maybe that 'slightly' is doing a lot of work) talk down to me more than would normally be acceptable.

After all yesterday feeling very unwell, mostly muscle pain and weakness but also a tiny bit of hay fever making me briefly concerned I had the germs, today I was semi-functional again.  After a slow start I made it in to town in time to run some errands before  a double therapy session to do paperwork.

Oh paperwork.

I had such hopes for it being bureaucratic enough to not be uncomfortable or judgy.  That was not how it went.  Instead I felt judged by pieces of paper for not being the correct type of damaged, and that I should not be being such a bother when I am unworthy of demanding help.  Because my brain.  And also ACC forms.  If I am not physically attacking strangers or making attempts on my own life then why do I even think I need help?

I got home feeling a bit gross, so ordered delivereasy.  I have had orders go a bit wrong a couple of times, but only a little bit wrong.  Tonight the delivery guy gave me a bag that I got inside and realised was clearly not mine, if had the complete wrong things in it and Laura written on the outside.  After messaging a complaint I caved and ate something that looked sort of safe-ish, a satay chicken and vege thing.  It was not safe, I have had a very unpleasant evening since.  So not IBS friendly, but much less obviously poison than the other option in the bag.

I am a bit grouchy.

Hopefully DeliverEasy gives me a refund of some sort as I am pretty unhappy with them.

Just the introduction to Aubrey Gordon’s What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Fat had me so angry at humanity that I was wishing for the complete extinction of the species.  The way humans treat each other, the best thing for humanity would be to not exist at all.

It would also be a considerable kindness to everything else living on the planet. 

The weekend was only semi tolerable. The sharpness of the tiny remnant of tooth sticking up out of gum and stabbing at my tongue constantly.  It was not a good Saturday and Sunday was made only tolerable only by my Witchlight game at Claire’s.

Monday I rang dent school right on 8.30, the earliest they were technically open and got booked in for lunch time.  I discovered that their urgent clinic is less generous than it was.  They now charge a fee just to look, and then more for whatever they do.

I got there, I arrived at the exact amount early they told me to which was far too early.  I objectified the beardy receptionist a bit.  Then, a bit later than scheduled, I got in, got assessed, got an X-ray, found out I didn’t have remotely enough tooth left to reattach the crown that came off and also have ‘hyperplastic’ gum overgrown the tooth already suggesting some gum had been growing into a gap as the crown had slowly been working loose.  So I have a temporary cap on it and am on the waiting list to be assessed for a more expensive fix.

And all this only set me back about $100…..

It sucks to be so poor that hurts.

On the way home I went past the sexual health clinic and got a test for everything because I was feeling the need to feed my self hatred by finding something I had done to myself that I could blame myself for,  The fact I have no sex life failed to feature in why this was a failure as an approach.  Clearly the results when they came back on Wednesday were all clear.

I am broken people.

Tuesday was a PJs and sadness day.

Wednesday I had therapy and felt a bit judged for my lack of being able to clearly state what thoughts are related to what feelings, and for some reason had an weird “I’m being attacked” emotional response in spite of the fact I didn’t seem to have any real thoughts on the matter.

Also explained to my therapist that I found my old psychotherapist attractive but do not find him attractive.  It only occurred to me that this was possibly super awkward after I had left.  Telling the conventionally good looking, openly queer, man than he doesn’t do it for me.  I told the very awkward aging straight nerd that I had found him attractive when it came up so I guess the honesty about it is the trend that I am running with.

What is wrong with me that I am pretty much never attracted to conventionally good looking people, much less those who are interested in my gender….

I mean, there was Shitlord, but other people seemed less convinced than me about how conventionally attractive he was.  And in the years since I have realised how much of that relationship was him demonising dying alone to make it seem that staying with him was my only option (for all that I was only ever a backup plan).  Down with humans.

FAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRghkK

I moved home on Wednesday, ahead of Simon and Joe’s return so they couldn’t give me their imported COVID.  or, maybe more importantly, so Simon wouldn’t have to worry that he might.

My flat was very cold, but otherwise fine.

Was nice to get back to my own bed, even if I had forgotten how noisy and smelly my apartment complex is.

Yesterday I was a bit exhausted and did nothing but watch YouTube and entertain Oli for a little while when he dropped by during his lunch break for a catch up.

Today, I broke my gold crown off somehow.  I need my 3,6 or I will have no chewing power on the left. I am running rather low on teeth.  It is a problem.

And the tooth going has left me drowning in a sense of powerlessness, because that is a helpful response for my brain to saddle me with.

Too much family. Too many Robertsons (some of whom are Foords)

In the time since my specialist appointment more and more things have occurred to me that really should have been discussed but weren’t.  Which is annoying me.

And the meds have me feeling ravenously hungry but also kind of nauseated by food.

I am not the happiest sick loser.

On Saturday I roadtripped, with my dad, to Invercargill for my cousin Emma’s 21st.  It was a pretty pleasant night considering how many of my relatives were there.  Some of them are a lot of work, though mostly only the ones who are convinced it is the rest that are hard work which I assume means that I am one of the awful ones.  The ones who seems concerned they are the problem are generally all fine.

I am impressed at the quality of kids Sharon raised, she did well.  And now they are all adults.  Though she seriously overcaters events (and blames Penelope for it, probably fairly).

I got back to Simon and Joe’s at 2am, to a very cranky cat who did not appreciate having been left unloved for 11 hours.  So played the inside outside game and was a giant tosser for the next hour.  Because cats suck.  People should not have pets.

Sunday I dozed.

Yesterday was King’s Birthday, which still sounds like a fake holiday.  It was also my cousin Eleanor’s birthday and she was in Dunedin with her kids so I had another day of family.