#WeekendCoffeeShare (March 5, 2022)

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone on this beautiful Saturday afternoon. I’m joining #WeekendCoffeeShare again today. Sorry I missed out on it last week. I just finished my afternoon coffee and I’m pretty sure there’s still some left, so let’s have a cup of coffee (or tea) and let’s catch up.

If we were having coffee, firstly I’d share with the #WeekendCoffeeShare community that I caught COVID after all. Thankfully, I’m out of quarantine as of last Tuesday. I’m still horribly exhausted and easily out of breath. Things are slowly improving though. I mean, today I had an easier time of it walking around the day center than I did on Thursday.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that the weather here is truly beautiful. It’s cold. Okay, when will I stop saying that? Probably when it’s 25°C. Seriously though, in the morning, the temperature can easily get below zero. All that being said, it’s sunny and it doesn’t even feel as cold as it used to in the middle of winter when it was as cold as it is now.

If we were having coffee, I’d say that I’m looking forward to sitting on my balcony again. Unfortunately, the door won’t open. We discovered this yesterday when some men came to repair the blinds and they wanted to go see them from outside. The door to my balcony is locked, but the staff do have a key. It wouldn’t give way though. I’m hoping it can be repaired soon, because, while it is too cold to sit on my balcony right now, it won’t be for long.

If we were having coffee, I’d share that quarantine meant I haven’t been as crafty as I would’ve wanted to be, but I made up for it over this week. I haven’t finished most of the things I’ve created. However, I did finish one piece of polymer clay work and VoiceOver guessed correctly what it’s supposed to be: a sea shell.

Polymer Clay Shell

I used dolphin gray Fimo for the shell itself and colored it using chalk pastels in dark brown (if I remember correctly) for the hole and an orangey brown for the shell itself. I am so disappointed that my chalk pastel set doesn’t come with a list of what the colors are supposed to be called. I mean, I saw one on the site I purchased it from, but then I can’t pair the names with the actual colors.

If we were having coffee, lastly I’d tell you that I’ll be getting a new one-on-one support staff soon. He’s been orienting a few times already. Because he’s a man, I felt kind of distrustful of him at first. That’s in part my prejudice talking. I’m hopeful it’s going to work out though.

How have you been?

Illness or Injury

Posted on by Astrid

Today’s topic for Throwback Thursday is, as Lauren describes it, “Ouchies, owies and boo boos”. In other words, we’re asked to share our experiences of illness or injury when we were growing up. Now is an interesting time for this, as I’ve just recovered from the worst symptoms of COVID. Even though I had a mild case of it, I am tempted to take back my assertion that it’s “just a bad cold” even in my case. I’m still exhausted by 9PM, or at least was yesterday, and today just a walk around the day center had me horribly out of breath. Forget the elliptical, which I told my husband yesterday that I’d try to go onto today. Anyway, that’s as far as my current state of illness is concerned. Now, let me share about my childhood illnesses and injuries.

As a young child, until I had my tonsils and adenoids out as a Kindergartner, I was prone to colds and the flu. I can’t remember whether my parents let me stay home for most of these illnesses. Later though, we clearly had the rule that, if I ran a fever, I was sick and had to stay home. Otherwise, I wasn’t sick and had to go to school. Not that I remember ever “playing sick”.

I don’t think I was ever given medicine, such as painkillers, unless it was obvious from outward signs that I was sick either. I mean, I do remember having to take paracetamol as a child, but not for a headache or toothache. We did have a licorice-flavored cough syrup, but I only took it when my parents directed me to. In fact, it wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I first learned to ask for medication myself. For the brief time that I lived independently and could take over-the-counter medications when I felt like it, I didn’t either unless a support worker directed me to. In fact, I remember buying a talking thermometer back then because I was feeling weak often and, relying on my parents’ rule that you had to have a fever to be sick, I wanted to know my body temp.

Similarly, I wasn’t taken to the doctor for minor illnesses or injuries usually, unless my parents decided they were enough of an outward abnormality to be taken seriously. I remember my father took me to the doctor one day when I was about fourteen because I had bad eczema on my neck. I didn’t see the need, but apparently it was so ugly that my father wanted me to get treated.

When I was about seventeen, I made my first appointment to see my GP by myself. I had a horrible earache, which turned out nothing to be the doctor could do much about, by the way. However, my parents said I also had to ask about getting treatment for my toenail fungus, which I didn’t consider particularly bothersome at the time. To be fair, I do now see they were right to be worried about my toenail fungus, even though it took me fifteen more years to finally get it treated properly. However, overall, I’d had it with their message that my outward appearance alone dictates when I should get help (medical or otherwise) and this was probably my first small act of rebellion. I never quite learned to gauge when I can trust my body’s signals (or my mind’s interpretation of them) and when I can’t. I’m finding that, for this reason, even up till this day, I rely mostly on other people’s judgment.

#IWSG: Feeling Conflicted About Writing

Posted on by Astrid

IWSG

Hi everyone. It’s the first Wednesday of the month and this means it’s time for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group (#IWSG) to meet. I didn’t do as well on my writing in February as I’d hoped. In part, I blame COVID, because over the last week of the month, I felt too blah to write much. I’m still not feeling 100%. Truthfully though, that’s not all. I’ve also just not felt as inspired as I’d hoped.

I’m feeling really disappointed in myself with the fact that I didn’t complete #Write28Days. I know the idea of keeping a landing page was frustrating me from the get-go, but I could have written the posts and not linked them up, I guess. Instead, I gave up after three or four days only.

With this being the case, I’m feeling kind of conflicted about whether to sign up for the A to Z Challenge in April. It was a huge success in both 2020 and 2021 and I know from those years that I can make it work. That being said, I’m so scared of yet another failure and disappointment.

This gets me to this month’s optional question, which is about feeling conflicted about adding a scene to a story or writing a story at all. Since I write autobiographical non-fiction, I feel this sense of conflict all the time. When I was younger, I didn’t feel it much at all, but this led to extreme oversharing. For instance, I remember in 2007, when I’d been in the psych hospital for a month, posting the graphic details of my suicidal crisis to my blog. I later felt the need to erase the most triggering aspects.

Other than that, I’ve not felt conflict about adding scenes into stories or writing a story at all. I mean, my fiction, which I also wrote during my teens and early twenties mostly, was also hugely personal. However, at the time, like I said, I wasn’t really concerned with this.

If you write personal stories, how do you find the right balance between oversharing and not sharing enough?