I'm going all kinds of crazy

My head is in a bad place today. It's probably a good thing that Marie is still home with her eye infection, and that I have to take her to the doctor later, because it's giving me structure to my day, and boy oh boy do I need structure today to keep me from eating cakes in bed all day or just staying in bed without eating.



I dreamed all night of horrible things. Babes kept flirting with other women while I was full of growing fungus. Like big mushrooms. Not nice at all. This dream is in my head today and not going anywhere. I found another bit growing on my body yesterday that's not meant to be growing there. Again, it lives under my bra, this time at the back. There is a bit of flesh growing over my spine where there wasn't one before. Combine this with the fact that two of my closest relatives have recently discovered actual real tumours and are battling them with all their might (the second being my curve ball from last week), and you might see where my dream came from.

As for my back, I keep telling myself there's nothing to worry about. Like the good little hypochondriac I am, I'm always running off to the doctor and having her tell me I'm in fact not dying of some horrible disease. I am quite glad to have made that appointment for Marie later, though. I will just have her look at my back at the same time. Until then, I just have to remember to breathe.

It's not surprising that my body is starting to object to this foreign body that is my bra. I wear it for about sixteen hours a day, and for those sixteen hours, it's putting a strain on my ribcage that is neither required, nor - I would guess - very healthy. I'm battling gravity - three pregnancies and breastfeeding are enough strain to take - and I can't bring myself to forsake the bloody thing. And now my spine has decided to build a little cushion to help support the weight. Which is what that thing is, and not a growth, tumour, or whatever. Just a cushion. For support.

I think what might actually be going on is that I'm so worried about my mother (it's an anonymous blog - I suppose I can say that) that I'm putting the worry everywhere but there. Because I cannot, will not, must not think about the surgery and the possibilities and the worry. And I will not fall apart. Not now. Not while I can be of help, or at least be not too much of a hindrance. And not while I'm pregnant and have to take care of the other two darling parasites.

So I'm going crazy, but not as crazy as I might have done. Because I have a doctor's appointment. And gunky eyes to clean out. And swim bags to prepare. And food to cook. And blog posts to write. And thank fuck for all of that.