I’m a bit weird, in that I seem to celebrate my own personal New Year around the time of my birthday.
Which, I hasten to add, isn’t for three whole weeks.
Anyway, this time last year I could still be found in dark corners, lamenting my fate.
I mean, really?
Sure, I had MS, was fat, single, wrong side of 40.
And today?
I have MS, am fat, single and the wrong side of 40.
So, what’s changed?
Well, I think I have finally found some backbone, even though my spine is yet to be MRI’d. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
I’ve been trucking along, picking up the pace when MS allows, making sure The Teenager is ok, ensuring our household is running smoothly and the kitten is fed, yet all the time in the background there’s been certain people hovering, just waiting to see me trip up and make a spectacular fool of myself (I wish I was making this up).
And it would have been so easy. Almost too easy.
I’ve often wondered what drives people to make other people utterly miserable. What possible enjoyment do they derive from it?
And there’s the nub. I’ve spent far too long thinking about this. A very tragic, very long year. Years probably.
I watched an excellent programme the other day, ‘Before I Kick the Bucket’ on BBC ( I urge you to download it and follow her on Twitter – @B4IKTB). A woman explains she will probably die soon from breast cancer. Puts life into perspective, Big Time.
I can sort my weight out. I can join Tinder (lol). I can accept a third course of Campath. But I will never be able to change other people’s perceptions of how I am failing miserably at being … me.
And if that’s not enough to get my soggy brain around, I don’t know what is.