Well, this weeks vertigo migraine is fast taking up the whole week. If I get a say, it can go fuck itself. It can take its dizziness and nausea and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.
I have neither the time nor patience to put up with this crap. But put up with it I must. It’s not like I can sell my inner ear on Gumtree. There might be a black market in inner ears but who would want to buy a dodgy one? I’m too honest to pretend it works. And knowing my luck, I’d sell my inner ear, make a million, and then discover that this vertigo lives deeper in my brain. What with it being a migraine, most likely. I think to save myself the hassle of finding a doctor willing to extract my inner ear because if I did it I’d probably kill myself, I’ll just have to put up with it.
Unfortunately, this little bout doesn’t want to be ‘put up with’. Oh no, this bout is an attention seeking shit.
I use a cute little kitty to demonstrate my point because these are stress-induced vertigo migraines and having ones riles me up, especially one this bad, and a cute little kitty is calming.
It annoys me that I can’t stand. The nausea fucks me off because VOMIT ALREADY!!! For fucks sake. It’s sat there taking up my whole core, filling it up, all clogged in my throat. It’s irritating. And I can’t stand how my eyes go all underwater and difficult to please. I can’t look at things too far away. I can’t look at things up close. Those things at just the right distance, I can’t look at them because of some bullshit migrainous reason. It’s all bullshit. I can’t stand it.
(I think that kitty worked.)
Please, sit down. Tell me your woes.
I think the stress that’s induced this vertigo is threefold. All last week I was feeling pretty shitty and it’s just got worse. Where most usually feeling pretty shitty is the height of the hardship, something’s come along and fucked up the party.
Well, I can’t blame trains because I don’t travel on them any more. It has to be something different.
There is a stress in travelling long distance by car, especially for the first time as a driver. However familiar we are of a route as a passenger, being the driver is a different experience. For the whole time driving, you’re on the ball for twats, randomness, and not missing your junction. So there is a stress. Added to this, the constant blare of an oil warning when there is no physical oil issue, can only incite stress for those who really don’t understand these types of things.
There is a stress in seeing your mother for the first time in nearly a year and you’re not certain of how that’s going to go down. I’d never say my mother was difficult, she just never takes the easiest routes. Besides, there is a fine line of balance between that which is right and that which is not, and it is me who loses if I stumble unnecessarily. So yeah, there’s a stress here of many words not being said because it would rock the boat cosmetically.
Thirdly, there is a stress in this sense of speeding time.
No time = no control = I don’t know
You wouldn’t know this because it’s not posted, but I’ve been battling with this notion of ‘no time, no control, I don’t know’ in a post. Battling away. I was fighting so hard that I’ve now given up. It’s not going to get written. It seems that I can’t explain myself and make sense at the same time. Damn word. And there’s the stress, right there. Because I do know and there is enough time for control, and I could most certainly explain myself clearly if I had the balls. Or, as Betty White once said, because they take a pounding, a vagina.
To find cause for my no time, no control, I don’t know, my mind is quick to jump to work. I went from part-time to full-time and noticed hardly any difference in hours, and in the beginning, working lots was my own choice until it was required due to continued sickness. That colleague’s sickness coupled with the frustrations of working with tiny little electrical components that I can barely see, and having to deal with a machine that not only errors in French but also unnecessarily, gets my patience flying. With my patience up in the air, all I end up doing is losing my temper. Once my temper is lost, I think ‘I could be doing this, that, or the other.’ I don’t need to explain, I’m sure you’re mind does the same. Unhelpful things. So yes, it’s very easy to blame work.
But take away the truths that I have neither a steady hand nor the patience for English speaking machines let alone French ones, both of which would aid me greatly in the job I do, then what am I left with? My annoyance and frustration for someone who has been, by all rights, seriously ill. Why have I been annoyed? Because their sickness has impacted me, it has taken away my time, this time I so desperately need.
Said that way, I sound callous. They had a stroke! Yes, in May — can’t be backdated to March. “I’m sorry, I’m off sick this week because I’m breaking my leg next Tuesday.” See? Doesn’t work? Although, in their case, I suppose it could. They’ve had headaches since March so those could’ve been a precursor. Well then, my compassion and empathy can’t be backdated. Upon their health update, my viewpoint changed, but I still can’t shake the urge of applauding when I next see them. I would never do it but I’d like to.
Maybe I am just a little callous. To think I had such issue with The Southern Co-op Funeralcare over how they treated me after my cousin’s death, and here I am not that far removed. In my defence, I only found out recently that they were iller than I thought, and maybe Janis couldn’t do her job as my funeral home manager? I find it tough working with niggly little things and that’s made me a callous c**t, could the same be true for her? She found it difficult working with corpses and that made her cold. Maybe she’s died before her time. All those in the chiller have chilled her to the bone.
You see where my mind goes?
Nothing really gets answered. It all comes back to:
No time = no control = I don’t know
Well, I do know and I could have control, and I could even eek out the time because working full-time hours isn’t a tall order. There are hours aplenty when I’m not at work, I could use those.
And yet my mind doesn’t seem to think like that.
It takes my treatment by the Co-op and sees how that has led me to stress-induced vertigo migraines. My mind then recalls all the decisions I made to combat it’s own ill-health, and it’s now tapping its foot impatiently.
I actually don’t mind the work I do. I don’t have any patience for that damn machine and I don’t have the dexterity to manipulate things I can barely see. There’s a big magnifying glass but, again, just ’cause it’s bigger doesn’t mean I can control it. The thing I like most about work is working with Shaun. He has the ability to irritate me to high heaven but he’s my best mate, my brother. I very much like working with him.
There’s no evidence to support my minds assertion that had I had the time then I’d have all this control and knowledge. Rewind the clock and restart anew, I could be sitting here today complaining about the very same thing, just different.
No time = no control = I don’t know.
Well, I do know.
I could have control.
I just need my mind to get onboard with this idea of ‘effective time management’. There are clearly hours when I’m not in work, and work brings in money.
Do you see that happy family?
That could be me and all the me’s in my head.
An unexpected reprieve from vertigo migraines
I actually feel better driving.
This morning, I thought I’d give work a go. I got there and it was the wrong decision. After a little sit down to get myself back together, I drove home and took the long route because of traffic, and it calmed my stomach and I wasn’t dizzy. In fairness, I’m never dizzy sat down so that probably means nothing.
Even twats on the road, and in Portsmouth there are many, only seem to stress me out for the moment their being a twat affects me and no longer. I think my music playing helps.
So although I’ve said that driving is a possible stress that’s caused this bout of vertigo migraines, it’s also its reprieve (should I feel up to it).