Today has been a long day but less pain. I slept better last night. I waited most of today for a telephone health appointment (non fibro related) and I had a gut feeling that I would not be called - sadly, I was right. 

I rang about 3pm and was told that they had forgot and were short staffed (I knew that) and they offered to get someone to ring me tomorrow but I declined as I already have two appointments tomorrow, both of which will take a lot of my energy and are important and the appointment today had no set time or even time window.

I am very fatigued right now. I wrote a poem today as I awaited my call that never came. It’s below.
I went for a walk to clear my head and get some fresh air which I don’t regret despite the fact that I am drained tonight (steps counter pic on my ancient but beloved mobile today’s Blip).

I got my monthly beauty subscription box today, which I won last year in a competition. I was home when it arrived but unfortunately the courier was too quick for me and left it with a neighbour - thankfully the nicest neighbour I have. I didn’t get a chance to snap a pic yet - maybe for tomorrow’s Blip.

I decided to take out a Blip membership today as it’s my 150th Blipversary and it’s so affordable. I really love Blip, I find it so therapeutic and supportive. Much better than Facebook and other social media platforms.

My asthma has been bothering me today. I need to rebook in for my asthma nurse review as my fibromyalgia has held me back from attending.  

I had some sad news that a friend of mine, G, has been diagnosed with cancer. She is a fellow fibromyalgia fighter and only thirty years old. I feel heart sorry for her. She is such a lovely person. She’s in hospital.


Here is the poem I wrote today, a rough draft. It’s about a childhood memory of my deceased, abusive father:


What’s the DSS, Daddy?

Standing on the steps waiting
I ask, “What’s the DSS, Daddy?”
Irritated, he pauses, looks.
“It’s adult business, hen.”
I push for an answer.
“Yeah but what does it stand for?”
A deep, exasperated sigh. He shifts from leg to leg
his breathing slower
and more laboured in the December chill.
Breaks into a fit of coughing, choking.
“The Department of Social Security, okay?”
Partially satisfied, my brow furrowed, my thoughts racing.
“What are we waiting for?”
“Better days, I hope. Shower of bastard pen-pushers!”
His mood shifts and I become uneasy,
fidget with the buckle of my shoe,
Daddy is in a mood. Again. 
But I always can make him laugh
so it will all be alright in the end.
Clarks. My shoes. My Mummy won’t have us in cheap shoes
and my wide feet have cost her a small fortune,
People judge you on your shoes, she says.
“What’s a pen-pusher?”
I might have overstepped the mark but he replies,
“An office worker with an attitude problem. I’m voting Tory next time.”
“What’s a Tory?”
His anger finally flips and I cower, ready for a clip.
Only he does not raise his hand this time, looks sad, broken.
“It’s the opposite of what I started out as, Emma.
Stop asking so many bloody questions!”
I huff. Pout. Sulk. Cross my arms across my chest, twirl my hair around my finger.
“Well, I’m not going to be standing on these bloody steps for anyone when I am big lady! I’m going to get a career like Mummy. My teacher says she is the breadwinner.”
A vitriolic flash of anger across his face and then,
“She’s not got a bloody career, she’s got a crummy job. And don’t said bloody!”
“Sorry! You did though. Say bloody. 
Why would you vote Tory if you don’t like the waiting steps too, Daddy? 
The job pays the pennies, Mummy said so.”

No reply. Still bloody waiting.


I will catch up with comments, stars and hearts between my appointments tomorrow :) xx