March 2013


by Lori Dwyer on March 31, 2013 · 8 comments

My head cold becomes, with very little warning, a perforated eardrum. It’s right up there on the pain scale, with childbirth and wisdom teeth removal. I don’t think I’ve ever been so miserable.

I vacate to my mum’s house, obviously taking my children with me. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I try to remember back Before, when I had life under control and didn’t get sick like this all the time…. and, really, that memory gets harder and harder to sustain. Isn’t ‘normal’, by definition, what happens most of the time? Which means, by default, this is ‘normal’ now. ‘Normal’ encompasses find the littlest things too difficult to deal with. I fall apart so easily.

I compare myself to my own mum and wither in her shadow. She seems to just keep going- she takes care of me, of my kids, she works full time, she helps out my brother and continues to sort out my Gran‘s estate. She makes Easter morning special for my children in a way I just would have never have found the brain-space for- she stays up to track Easter Bunny footprints in talcum powder, to spread tiny bits of cotton ball ‘tail’ in a trail to their Easter presents.

Easter Bunny pawprints. Courtesy of my awesome Mum.

Easter Bunny pawprints. Courtesy of my awesome Mum.

I’m eternally grateful. I don’t know what would happen to us, to me, to my kids, if she wasn’t around. At the same time, the guilt eats at me. I want to fall at her feet and beg forgiveness for being so crap at this, for being so weak. Her reaction, of course, would be tsk, tsk, stop being so ridiculous.  Which might not help anything at all.

Four days of laying in bed, on one side only, trying to drain goop and fluid past the excruciating pain of a punctured eardrum… it’s enough to sink me into a hopeless blackness, where I’m wasting my time, wasting everyone else’s time. I find myself, without a future to focus on, without daily hubris to keep me busy…. I find myself feeling bitter and angry, rolling past events around in my mouth like sour lollies until they coat my tongue in citric acid that I can’t spit out.

Being in a dark place is never nice. I want to shake it off, to emerge from it.

But, of course, the pain is too intense for any kind of sudden movement. I’m too irritated, too uncomfortable, to do much right now except wallow.


Just Another Whinging Blog Post.

by Lori Dwyer on March 27, 2013 · 18 comments

In case anyone’s been wondering where I am…

I’m sick. Again. It’s an incurable virus I believe is known as the ‘common cold’.

You know that moment where you drag your sick, whinging self and your sick, whinging preschooler to the doctor only to hear the words “It’s a virus. Fluids, rest and paracetamol for you!” and your soul wilts a little bit and you wish to god something was infected just so you could get antibiotics and feel better….?

No…? Maybe that’s just me.

Anyway. My head hurts, my nose is so full of neon yellow snot that I woke up this morning with it caked all over my face (too much information…? You haven’t been here long… welcome to RRSAHM); and it’s a bloody good thing I decided to stop corporate whoring last week or I’d really be panicked. ( “I haven’t blogged in a week!” I sob to my mum. “Oh darling,” she replies, “no one cares.” I don’t like to think about how true that statement is. I am nowhere near as big a deal as I like to think I am). I dropped The Chop off at school on Monday and Tuesday sobbing, tears streaming down my face… every school has one crazy, socially-unacceptable mum. That’d be me.

To be completely honest, I’m sick like this more than I ever thought was possible. They- my mum, my shrink, the internet, all the authorities on the subject- assure me that this is common in people with PTSD, not to mention severe grief. Your immune system is impossibly low and you can’t fight off anything. That assurance doesn’t help. Because all my mind can think is that I am self-indulgent, weak, a whinger, and probably deserve this anyway. And I’m afraid to blog, for fear of comments like this one, which has stuck in my mind much deeper than I care to admit.

Whatever. I’m not sure what I’m blogging about here, really. I’m just sick and tired and afraid that everyone will stop reading my blog if I leave it silent for a week or so. I should know better. I don’t. I’m all kinds of f*cked up. I just want to feel a bit better, already- it’s been almost a week, for pity’s sake.


On that note- Happy F*cking Easter, everyone. Beware the bunny.




Absolutley Terrified.

by Lori Dwyer on March 21, 2013 · 11 comments

It’s come to my attention that I’m going overseas in two freaking months.

I am terrified.

Mostly because I have no f*cking idea what I’m doing. I still have not got a passport have only just applied for my passport. I still haven’t even begun preparing myself for a twenty kilometre trek through jungle. I’m almost positive there are injections and things I should be getting. I’m worried about starving to ridiculous skinniness over eight days, being completely unable to find anything I can eat. I’m worried about being sick, hot, bothered, sacred, anxious and exhausted.

I’m currently working my way into a procrastinating, list–making frenzy.

I don’t ask for advice on my blog very often– to be totally honest, advice annoys me a lot of the time (…especially advice about parenting. I’m sure I’m not alone).

But today- I am asking. Lay it on me thick. I need your best overseas travel tips, please. Especially of they concern Indonesia, Borneo, or orangutans. Or injections or planes passports or food. Especially food.

Any and all advice welcome.

Donate to the Lori Is Terrified, Let’s Send Her OverSeas Fund Bloggers To Borneo fund here. Please. (Really, I mean that. In all sincerity).