LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Hair Straighteners – An OCD Nightmare!

Alternative title: Messy hair don’t care! … Oh wait no, I do care … I care a flaming lot as it happens! Because it may avert a bitch-fest, I say may I’m 99.999999% sure it won’t. 

“Are you sure the straighteners are unplugged?” my brain mutters as we shuffle down the M6.

“Pretty sure … In fact, I didn’t even use the straighteners this morning!” I mutter back.

“Are you sure? I remember you straightening your hair this morning” my brain clearly hasn’t noticed that my hair is in a very messy bun that is probably harbouring pigeons and squirrels “you know they’ll set the house on fire right? They’ll start with the carpet and then the wallpaper and then the -”

“Brain … No … We didn’t use the straighteners, they are not on, they are not even plugged in, they are-” I may as well be shouting at a wall at this point.

“Is that a fire engine?! Shit, THE HOUSE! Turn around, TURN ROUND RIGHT NOW! Oh geez, my Stephen King collection! TURN AROUND DAMNIT!”

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Doctor Google and the Stomach Ulcer

Alternative title (aka Spoiler alert): It’s not a stomach ulcer … Well … I don’t think it’s a stomach ulcer! I mean, Doctor Google says “heck yeah” whereas my GP says “we need to stick a camera somewhere unpleasant” … Maybe Doctor Google is playing devil’s advocate, maybe my GP just likes to scare my guts into behaving (or likes to stick cameras in – or rather up – people’s jacksies), who knows! All I know is that gut ache is rubbish and I don’t like this diet plan it’s imposed on me (for goodness sake, I just want a chocolate orange cupcake sprinkled with custard creams with a cuppa tea, that’s no reason for my stomach to be annoyed, right? RIGHT?!).  

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Gym Bunny Rue

Alternative title : I officially suck at pull ups … I’m more likely to bust a blood vessel in my noggin a la “Stressed Eric” than manage one of those! Yet here I am, scheduled in for 3 gym session a week, in which pull ups are involved (so says my training plan) … Or rather, holding onto the bars, legs kicking about in effort and trying to move upwards while I make an odd “meeeeehhhhhhhhh” sound but not really accomplishing much more than like a centimetre! Urgh! 

Since losing both my dad and my uncle in the space of 6 months my brain has suddenly become focused on the fact that I haven’t been taking particularly good care of my own health … Skip a thyroid tablet, eh I’ll remember tomorrow! (Not the best of ideas given how forgetful I can be in the mornings). Skip a meal, eh I’ll eat later! (Or not). Skip meditation, eh I’ll be fine I’m not that stressed! (While chewing my way through all my nails … Well, except toe nails, not quite as flexible anymore what with skipping some Yoga classes).

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A Rather Conventional Funeral

Alternative title : It seemed like a bad dream … The pews were the same, the funeral directors ushering people to their seats were the same, the air was as musty as all those months ago, a coffin on a stand, roses atop … But it wasn’t a dream … We were back at the crematorium. Saying goodbye to another.  

Where my dad had the scent of petrol and the roar of scooters, punk music blaring over the sound system as his coffin was walked into the crematorium, glistening fresh snow and a celebrant with tales of mischief, my uncle had rainfall (in typical Lancashire style), a sombre silence as the pall bearers lifted him over the threshold, and prayers sung in broken voices.

It seemed so strange … Yet so familiar. 

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