Greetings from a couch potato

Don’t you forget about me 🇬🇧

Somebody loves me.
I know. I know it because I am told so, and because I am told so through gestures. A loving nose lick from a dog. A healing hug. Text messages. A hot cup of coffee, even though I didn’t ask for it. I know.

Still, I have days with a knot in my stomach. A plethora of diseases makes me self declared second hand, the kind that sometimes has to be repaired. My body doesn’t work properly. CFS, Fibromyalgia, Migraine, Endometriosis, Eating disorders, IBS and several allergies… The list is exhausting. But it is not that what I want to talk about. It’s the “the knot”-feeling.

My energy level is reduced about  80%. The remaining 20% have to be used carefully. The couch is my best buddy and my worst enemy. I’m spending most of my time there. Most of my day I charge up energy; either I’m charging up for events to come or I recharge after events. Make some coffee, do the laundry, go grocery shopping, meet up with friends, visit my family. I schedule events, and rest to be prepared.

At times, when I have to recover; sometimes for a long period of time, I get bitten by the Couch Potato Blues. During these periods of restitution, I ask what if… What if they exclude me because I probably won’t be able to make it anyway? What if they think I just don’t bother? What if I one day have refused so many offers that they’ll stop contacting me? What if they bit by bit starts to forget me? What if…

I pay attention to my surroundings. Read or listen to the news.  Log on to Facebook. I doesn’t always have the energy to answer when the phone calls, or when people text me. But I notice when you do. I haven’t forgotten about you. Don’t you forget about me.

Greetings from a couch potato

A magical moment 🇬🇧

The following post is about my first dog. When I describe our first meeting, you’ll probably think that I project human feelings onto the animal. You know what? I really don’t care. The fact that I over read her reaction is actually the reason why I ended up with her in the first place.

Ella

For several years I suffered from social anxiety. Suffocating, paralysing anxiety that made it difficult for me to go to public places. Big crowds was unbearable. At the time I met Ella, I had barely been out of my apartment on my own for over a year. One magic moment was going to change my life forever.

I have always liked animals, but was never the kind of person that had to pet all dogs I could find. Neither did I have any plans of getting a dog. I met a woman who called her self a temporary foster parent to this dog. She was looking out for a permanent home for her. Ella had a rough start of her life. She was neglected and had been abandoned several times. The first time we met, was in a big crowd of strangers. We were both nervous, and just wanted to get out of there. Our next meeting turned out quite different. I was invited to their home. To Ella’s safe place.

When I arrived, she kept herself in the background, and wouldn’t greet me. Though, after a while she came over to me and looked at me. I became numb. Not from fear, but from recognition. I got goose bumps. She stared at me, and I stared at her. Her eyes were like mirrors to my soul. Anxiety and sadness over behaviour from cruel people. The scepticism toward others. Two broken souls met, and bonded. She laid her head in my lap, and made a satisfying sigh. I gave her a back rub and a massage. She stood up, and licked my face. Me, who couldn’t stand the saliva from dogs. Usually I wouldn’t even let a dog lick my hand… Six months later, she moved in with me. Together we became stronger, Ella and I.

Latterdøra

A late bloomer

Jeg anser meg sjøl for å være rimelig frisinnet. Så lenge folk holder seg unna barn, dyr og lik; og så sant alle parter samtykker, ja da kan de ha sex med hvem de vil. Det er meg revnende likegyldig hva eller med hvem de gjør det. Som heterofil kvinne har jeg sjelden vært nødt til å forsvare min legning. Dessverre er det folk som fortsatt – i Norge anno 2017, må forsvare sin rett til å elske den de vil. Derfor stiller jeg opp, og feirer Pride Parade hver sommer når den går av stabelen i Oslo.

For  et par år siden var det strålende vær når paraden gikk av stabelen. Dro dit sammen med ei venninne. Vi kom oss inn på festivalområdet. Jeg fikk ikke ha med vannflaska mi, så min venninne stilte seg opp i kø for å kjøpe noe å drikke till oss, imens jeg sto og ventet.

Gradvis ble jeg overopphetet. Dette, kombinert med at jeg følte meg altfor edru midt i en bøling med feststemte folk som ikke nødvendigvis var helt nyktre. Ikke kjente jeg noen der heller… Panikkken kom krypende, og en dundrende hodepine vippet meg helt av pinnen.

Da venninnen min noe senere kom tilbake med en brus til meg, sto jeg og skalv som en geleklump. Hun skjønte kjapt tegninga; tok hånda mi, og geleidet meg bort fra det verste bråket. Vi begynte å lete etter et sted hvor jeg kunne sette meg ned. På den ene siden av festivalområdet var det slått opp flere telt. Vi gikk mot disse i håp om at vi skulle finne et førstehjelpstelt.

Desperat på jakt etter et sted hvor jeg kunne roe meg ned, fant vi til slutt et egnet telt. Det  var noe med blomster på logoen utenfor teltet, og da jeg kom inn var det kun kvinner der. Lesbiske gartnere? Samma kunne det være. Jeg sank sammen i en stol, fikk hivd i meg en smertestillende tablett, og pustet ut.

De andre kvinnene i teltet skjønte åpenbart at jeg ikke var kontaktsøkende, og lot oss være i fred. På den annen side; smilene jeg fikk fra flere hold tydet på at de så at jeg red meg gjennom et panikkanfall, og at de viste sympati.

Jeg kom meg sakte, men sikkert til hektene. Så flaks at vi fant en rolig oase her inne! På vei ut av festivalområdet, snudde jeg meg og så tilbake mot teltet. “Late bloomers” sto det på en plakat. Vi må jo ha passet perfekt til beskrivelsen! To middelaldrende damer; hvorav en av dem får et panikkanfall over å vise seg offentlig med kjæresten sin…

Jøye meg, så glad jeg var for at jeg ikke visste hvilket telt jeg hadde gått inn i. Kunne ha funnet på å lire ut av meg kleine utsagn som “Jeg er hetero altså!” Eller enda verre, begynt å prate med noen i den tro at de som var der faktisk var gartnere. Kunne blitt duket for tidenes “Goddag mann, økseskaft”-samtale…