MS Fatigue

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

A raw, darkly funny and unapologetically personal take on living with Multiple Sclerosis. Symptoms, fatigue, mobility, brain fog and the absurdity of everyday MS life.

Chapter One: Congratulations, You've Been Promoted to Professional Liability

Welcome to the blog.

If you're reading this, chances are you've either been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, know somebody who has, or you've accidentally wandered in while looking for recipes.

If it's the latter, the Yorkshire pudding recipe is in another universe.

For the rest of us...

Welcome to the club that nobody wanted to join.

Membership benefits include:

• Randomly falling over for no obvious reason.
• Forgetting what you walked into a room for.
• Being permanently exhausted despite achieving absolutely nothing.
• Discovering that your own immune system has become your full-time stalker.

There are no loyalty points.

There is, however, a lifetime supply of unsolicited advice.

---

Rule Number One

The first thing you'll discover is that everyone suddenly becomes a neurologist.

Your neighbour recommends turmeric.

Your aunt swears by celery juice.

Some bloke on Facebook says crystals cured his cousin's hamster, so clearly they'll repair your spinal cord.

Smile politely.

Then continue taking the medication invented by people who actually went to medical school.

---

Rule Number Two

Never Waste Good Symptoms

MS is incredibly creative.

One day your leg works.

The next day it's merely decorative.

Sometimes your hand forgets it's attached to you.

Occasionally your tongue joins a witness protection programme.

Enjoy the mystery.

It's like opening an advent calendar designed by Satan.

You never know what's behind today's little door.

---

Rule Number Three

Accept That Your Brain Runs on Rural Broadband

People ask...

"What's wrong?"

Nothing.

I'm simply waiting for Windows 98 to finish loading.

My thoughts are arriving one packet at a time.

Estimated completion...

Three to five working days.

---

Rule Number Four

Master the Ancient Art of Looking Fine

You'll hear this sentence approximately 47,000 times.

"But you look so well!"

Thank you.

You also look like someone who hasn't just fought their own nervous system before breakfast.

Appearances can be deceptive.

Like politicians.

Or supermarket sandwiches.

---

Rule Number Five

Become One With Furniture

Experienced MS sufferers know every bench within a five-mile radius.

You don't choose routes by scenery.

You choose them by available seating.

That suspicious-looking wall outside the chemist?

Luxury.

---

Rule Number Six

Your Mobility Scooter is Now a Mythical Beast

This isn't a mobility scooter.

It's a steel horse.

A dragon with indicators.

A noble mechanical steed that bravely carries you into battle...

...at a legally restricted 8 mph.

The Hells Angels nod respectfully.

Mostly because you've blocked the pavement.

---

Rule Number Seven

Never Trust a Good Day

A good day is wonderful.

It is also suspicious.

Don't ask questions.

Simply enjoy it while your nervous system isn't paying attention.

Tomorrow it may remember you're having fun.

---

Final Advice

People often apologise because they don't know what to say.

Don't worry.

Neither do we.

We forget halfway through the sentence anyway.

If there's one thing MS teaches you, it's that life doesn't always make sense.

So laugh anyway.

Laugh because the disease hates it.

Laugh because the alternative is giving it all the best lines.

And if your legs refuse to cooperate...

At least your sense of humour still knows where it's going.

Probably.

wishing everyone peace healing love and light

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

twitter@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Dear Past Me: Here’s What MS Will Actually Be Like

Dear Past Me,

Sit down.

Actually, enjoy being able to do that without calculating whether you'll be able to get back up again.

We need to talk.

You're going to hear two words:

Multiple Sclerosis.

And you're going to be frightened.

You're going to imagine wheelchairs.

You're going to imagine hospitals.

You're going to Google things you absolutely should not Google at two o'clock in the morning.

But here's what nobody will properly explain.

MS won't simply be one enormous dramatic thing.

It will be thousands of tiny ridiculous things.

So I'm writing from the future with some useful information.

You're welcome.

---

YOU THINK FATIGUE MEANS “TIRED”

Oh, sweet summer child.

You think tired means:

"I could do with an early night."

That's adorable.

MS fatigue is more like somebody has quietly removed your batteries, filled your bloodstream with concrete and increased Earth's gravity by approximately 300%.

You can wake up tired.

You can become tired from showering.

You can become tired from getting dressed.

You can even become tired from resting because apparently resting is now an activity.

People will suggest getting more sleep.

Try not to kill them.

---

YOU'RE GOING TO FORGET WORDS

Not complicated words.

Not photosynthesis or existentialism.

Normal words.

Spoon.

One day you'll be standing in the kitchen saying:

"Where's the... you know... food shovel?"

And the terrifying thing is that you'll know exactly what the object is.

Your brain simply won't provide the label.

You'll eventually become fluent in a new language called:

THINGY.

---

YOUR BODY WILL BECOME A HAUNTED HOUSE

Random pain.

Buzzing.

Burning.

Tingling.

Numbness.

Electric shocks.

Muscles moving without permission.

Parts of you feeling freezing when they're warm.

Other parts feeling like they're on fire when they're not.

You'll eventually stop saying:

"What the hell was that?"

You'll just say:

“MS.”

It's quicker.

---

YOUR BLADDER WILL BETRAY YOU

Remember when needing the toilet was merely a suggestion?

Enjoy that memory.

Future bladder communication will occasionally resemble:

YOU HAVE FOUR SECONDS.

You will develop an extraordinary superpower.

Whenever you enter an unfamiliar building you will immediately locate:

1. The toilet.
2. The route to the toilet.
3. Obstacles between yourself and the toilet.
4. Potential witnesses should the mission fail.

Jason Bourne has nothing on you.

---

PEOPLE WILL SAY ASTONISHINGLY STUPID THINGS

"But you look fine."

"Everyone gets tired."

"Have you tried yoga?"

"Maybe you need to think positively."

You'll discover that chronic illness apparently grants random strangers honorary medical degrees.

Do not worry.

Eventually your sarcasm becomes extremely efficient.

---

YOU WILL GRIEVE

This bit isn't funny.

There will be times when you miss the old you.

The person who could simply decide to do something and then...

do it.

Without calculating energy.

Without planning toilets.

Without wondering whether the legs will cooperate.

Without needing recovery time afterwards.

You'll grieve abilities.

Plans.

Freedom.

Spontaneity.

Parts of your old identity.

And that's alright.

Because grief doesn't mean you've surrendered.

It means something mattered.

---

BUT SOMETHING ELSE WILL HAPPEN

You'll change.

Not into one of those inspirational poster people standing heroically on a mountain at sunset.

Fuck that.

You'll become stranger.

Darker.

Funnier.

More adaptable.

You'll learn that independence doesn't necessarily mean doing everything without help.

You'll learn that mobility aids aren't surrender.

You'll learn that cancelling plans isn't a moral failure.

You'll discover people who understand without needing the entire bloody explanation.

You'll become remarkably good at finding humour in situations that objectively shouldn't be funny. Because sometimes the choice really is:

Laugh.

Cry.

Or do both while desperately searching for the nearest accessible toilet.

---

YOU WILL STILL BE YOU

This is the part I wish somebody had told us.

MS will change things.

Some changes will be small.

Some may be enormous.

But diagnosis doesn't suddenly erase the person underneath.

You're still going to laugh.

Still swear.

Still love.

Still get angry.

Still make terrible decisions.

Still have ridiculous ideas.

Still find things beautiful.

Still be interested in things that have absolutely nothing to do with Multiple Sclerosis.

You aren't going to become MS: The Person.

You're still you.

Just with considerably more neurological bullshit.

---

So, Past Me...

When those words finally arrive, you're allowed to be frightened.

You're allowed to be furious.

You're allowed to grieve.

But don't assume the story ends there.

It doesn't.

It simply becomes a much stranger book.

And one day you'll discover something nobody mentioned at diagnosis:

You can take something utterly shit and still laugh directly in its face.

Love,

Future You

(Still here. Still fighting. Still swearing.)

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

twitter@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

**please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it **

The Finger Lives! Unfortunately, So Does the 70-Mile Round trip Home

Well, a very good morning, good afternoon or good evening to whoever happens to be reading this blog, wherever you are in the world.

Humanoid, non-human intelligence, confused extraterrestrial, government surveillance operative or somebody who simply clicked the wrong bloody link...

Welcome.

It has been quite a day.

In fact, it has been quite a week in my little corner of reality.

The Continuing Adventures of Albertine's Finger

First, an update on Albertine's finger.

As you may remember, she cut the bloody thing off.

Not nearly cut it off.

Not gave it a nasty little nick while chopping an onion.

No.

She went for the deluxe package.

Fortunately, the rather clever people at the hospital sewed it back on.

Unfortunately, after all that excitement, she developed a pressure sore on the finger where it had been bound and boarded up.

And yes — pressure sore.

Not "precious saw", as my speech-to-text system originally decided.

Apparently my computer thought this story needed an enchanted woodworking tool.

It didn't.

The finger has already provided quite enough entertainment.

The Great Hospital Expedition

This morning we left home at approximately quarter past seven for Albertine's 8:30 appointment.

This was necessary because getting a parking space at a hospital seems to require military planning, satellite reconnaissance and possibly divine intervention.

Arrive at a sensible time?

Don't be ridiculous.

The car park will already resemble the evacuation of a major European city.

So off we went at stupid o'clock.

And then something deeply suspicious happened.

Every traffic light was green.

All the way there.

I don't trust this sort of thing.

When the universe suddenly starts being helpful, I immediately assume it's distracting me while something else prepares to explode.

But no.

We arrived safely.

We found somewhere to park.

And then...

Albertine was actually seen five minutes early.

At a hospital.

Five.

Minutes.

Early.

At this point I began looking around for horsemen of the apocalypse because clearly the normal laws governing space and time had temporarily been suspended.

A Quick Word About Driving and Medication

Because I knew I had to drive today, yesterday I didn't take any of the medication that could affect my ability to drive, in accordance with the medication guidance.

I wanted to make absolutely certain I was safe and okay to drive.

And actually, despite the traffic and inevitable hold-ups, the drive wasn't too bad.

Which brings us to the important bit.

THE FINGER LIVES!

The plastics team examined Albertine's finger and gave us some genuinely brilliant news.

It has made an amazing recovery.

Better still...

It will NOT need to be amputated.

That was bloody wonderful to hear.

The pressure sore that had developed is also sorting itself out and they weren't concerned about it.

So, after everything that has happened, the finger has apparently decided it quite likes being attached to Albertine and intends to remain there.

Excellent decision.

There is still a little bit missing from the very tip and about an inch further down there is...

No.

We're not discussing that.

Absolutely not.

There are certain things my brain does not need to visualise.

My imagination is already far too efficient at producing nightmare fuel without being given additional source material.

Let's just say:

Finger attached.

Finger recovering.

Albertine happy.

Warlock Dark not looking too closely.

Everybody wins.

And Then MS Sent Me the Bill

Of course, getting there and back meant roughly a 70-mile round trip.

About two hours of driving altogether.

And now I'm home...

I can feel the invoice arriving.

The brain fog is beginning to creep in.

My neck is starting to feel decidedly strange.

The energy reserves are disappearing.

Somewhere inside my nervous system a tiny bureaucrat has apparently looked at today's activities and announced:

"Excuse me, sir. You appear to have exceeded your permitted allocation of functioning like a normal human being."

And here comes the penalty.

MS: because apparently driving a car for two hours counts as an extreme sport.

Still...

It wasn't anywhere near as bad as the last time I drove.

And I've been told that the more driving I manage, the easier and more familiar it should become.

From today's experience, I have to agree.

So that's actually another little victory.

I'll take those wherever I can bloody find them.

That's Enough Humaning for One Day

I'm going to keep this one relatively short because my brain has now started quietly packing its belongings.

Soon it will put an "OUT OF OFFICE" sign on my forehead and disappear somewhere behind my left ear until further notice.

But today was a good day.

Albertine's finger survives.

No amputation.

The pressure sore is improving.

I managed the 70-mile hospital expedition.

The van behaved.

The traffic lights apparently worshipped us.

And we even found a hospital parking space.

Frankly, that's enough miracles for one Friday.

So, to everybody reading this blog...

Humanoid.

Non-human intelligence.

Extraterrestrial.

Interdimensional lurker.

AI wondering why the hell it has been asked to proofread another story involving severed fingers and Multiple Sclerosis.

Or whoever — or whatever — you may be...

I send you all peace, healing, love and light.

May you have a truly magnificent weekend when it finally arrives on your doorstep.

And remember:

Sometimes success isn't climbing a mountain.

Sometimes success is simply getting home after a 70-mile hospital trip with your passenger still possessing roughly the same number of fingers she started the day with.

I'll take that.

Peace, healing, love and light to you all.

Warlock Dark

Written by Warlock Dark. Edited by Brain Fog. Sabotaged by Technology. Approved by one surprisingly resilient finger.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. some AI help

Good afternoon fellow humanoids and N H I , an old post updated slightly..

1. What is MS ?

It’s your immune system going feral and chewing through your own wiring like it found an all-you-can-eat nerve buffet. Not split personalities. Not “just fatigue.” It’s your brain playing Whac-A-Mole with itself… and losing.

2. Can you cure it?

A cure? No. We can barely get a clean read on your lesions on a Friday MRI when the machine’s in a mood. What you get instead is a pharmaceutical roulette wheel. Some help. Some don’t. Some make you question your life choices.

3. What causes it?

Official answer: genes, environment, immune dysfunction. Unofficial answer: cosmic indifference with a sense of humour. We don’t fully know. Anyone claiming certainty is selling something.

4. Is brain fog real?

Completely. It’s like thinking through wet cement while someone throws logic puzzles at your face. You’re not losing intelligence. Your signal just keeps dropping mid-sentence.

5. Will I die from it?

Usually not. But you might feel like you’re dying trying to justify your condition to systems that measure illness in paperwork, not reality.

6. Can I still have sex?

Yes. Bodies still want what they want. But nerves misfire. Sensations go rogue. Some things disappear, others show up uninvited. It becomes less choreography, more improvisation.

7. Is MS the same for everyone?

Not even close. MS behaves like a drunk cartographer drawing new maps on your nervous system every week. No pattern. No fairness. Just custom chaos.

8. What are relapses like?

They arrive unannounced. One day you’re functional. The next, your leg, vision, or bladder has filed for independence. It’s not gradual. It’s a system crash.

9. Why am I so tired?

Because your brain is rerouting signals through damaged circuits 24/7. Fatigue isn’t sleepiness. It’s your internal processor overheating just to keep you upright.

10. Will people understand?

Rarely. Unless they live it, most people reduce it to something smaller, safer, easier to dismiss. You’ll learn quickly who listens and who translates your reality into convenience.

11. Is stress bad for it?

Yes. Stress fuels MS like petrol on a fire. And ironically, managing MS is inherently stressful. That’s the loop.

12. Can I drink alcohol?

You can. Whether your balance, coordination, and dignity agree is another matter. It’s a gamble every time.

13. Is it all in my head?

Yes… in the literal sense. Brain, spine, optic nerves, autonomic systems. It’s all part of the same battlefield. But imaginary? Not even remotely.

14. Will I lose my memory?

Maybe. Cognitive changes happen. Some subtle, some not. You adapt, compensate, and occasionally forget why you walked into a room.

15. Do the drugs help?

Some slow progression. Some reduce relapses. Some come with side effects that feel like their own side quest. It’s not a cure. It’s damage control.

16. How do I explain it to people?

You can try. Or you can conserve energy and let misunderstanding exist without constantly fighting it. Not every ignorance deserves a lecture.

17. Can I still work?

Depends on the day, the job, and how your nervous system feels about cooperating. Some days you function. Some days you simulate functionality well enough to pass.

18. Will I still be me?

Yes. But altered. Hardened. Adapted. Same core, different operating conditions.

19. Does it ever stop?

MS doesn’t follow neat endings. It fluctuates, stalls, surges, retreats. What does change is how you navigate it.

Closing Note

MS isn’t poetic. It isn’t inspirational by default. It’s disruptive, unpredictable, and deeply personal.

But clarity helps. And sometimes the blunt version is the only one that works.

“Fatigue isn’t sleepiness. It’s system failure.”

so I'm sending you all out there peace-healing love and light, no matter whom or whatever you are, or wherever you are in this world,or even in other realities

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. no AI written content

A deeply personal story about life with multiple sclerosis, resilience, and why awareness must go beyond a single week.

Good afternoon fellow humanoids and nhi. It appears I have been living under a stone. It is MS Awareness Week. Indeed, yes it is. There is a problem though. It should be awareness all year round and not for one week of a year. Yeah? I think many of you would agree that there should be awareness about MS and all illnesses and all chronic illnesses. Not just for one week or just one day of a year. People should care all year. Why just for one week? It doesn't make any sense whatsoever does it really?

It's all very well. Some people who have MS, like myself, find it difficult to go on all these activities that everybody else seems to be able to go and do. I for one just don't have the energy anymore and I'm in a power chair and why would I want to go and do archery of all things. Now I couldn't even pull the string bow back. That's how bad things are with me and hell I'm retired now as well. My body is completely fucked. Why would I want to go doing things to make myself feel worse? No I don't.

So yes, I can appreciate some people with MS can do these activities, but there are a lot who can't. And I think probably we feel maybe a little bit left out somehow, because there's no MS groups anymore anywhere. People with MS don't go to meet anywhere. And does the MS nurse say, "Oh, I know, let's start an MS group up for people to go and meet once a month." You know, that would be a nice thing, but those sorts of things don't happen, do they? I think people would like to meet up and have a bit of fun, have a chat and just generally have a couple of hours of unabashed fun. Why not? You know, not just being stuck at home 24/7 doing nothing and being left to rot. But that's only my personal opinion.

There are many things I have had to give up because of multiple sclerosis, some of the things I dearly loved doing So yes, I tried to live on the edge up until I retired. I suppose I was a bit of a rebel. I was a bit of an outlaw. I did things my way. I always have. I'm not one of the sheep. I'm not one of the crowd. I'm an individual. I have a voice. Yes, and I'm different and I'm eccentric and I am very proud of that fact. I ripped my blinkers off many years ago.

I am still learning many many things. Yes, I am and I'm having a great deal of fun learning. I'm using my mind. Yes, I have severe brain fogs and yes, I have severe tinnitus and it is very challenging indeed for me, but I'm never going to give up, even if I can only do ten minutes in a day or even an hour in a day. That is an achievement. Doing a blog post is also an achievement for me as well. Going out, just the local shop, is an achievement for me as well. So yeah, things for me are pretty bad having progressive MS and also this autoimmune dysfunction, which means I can't go out in the summer now because of the histamine from the flowers etc... Well, the hay fever stuff. So there we go. I can't win.

But what I am doing, I am constantly evolving and changing my life around, so as my multiple sclerosis progresses, I progress in ways of trying to make my life better. So it may take away my motorcycle riding at the age of 65. Yeah, now that was a complete blast, I can tell you. Yeah, ha ha. But it was an 1100 trike I had specially built. and I managed to stay on the road with that for about 20 years. So that was a way of staying on a motorcycle. And yes, I even joined a few motorcycle trike clubs as well and got involved in clubs and all sorts of different weird things. But there we go. I did not let my illness stop me. In fact, my illness spurred me on further and further to be more than I was even.

So now, it's the computer and doing all the other things that I like doing as well. And I'm still learning and that makes me happy. So yeah, as long as I take it steady and don't overdo it, I think things might be okay. But I don't know the meaning of take it easy, so I always end up overdoing it or hurting myself. You know, that's just one of the things when you have in bought up like me, when you see something that might need doing, you do it. And well, when you're say 20, 25, 30, easy job, but when you're 66, Yeah, it's easier said than done.

So my words to everybody is, having a chronic illness, for me, has changed my life, perversely, for the better in some ways, but I will say, I'm never giving up, I'm gonna carry on fighting 'til the bitter end. And yeah, I'm not gonna let it beat me.

Still wishing everybody that reads this blog, peace, healing, love and light, no matter whomever or whatever you are, in the world or universe or multiverses even.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

Myself and Albertine braved the outside world this morning. It’s been some time since I’ve actually wanted to go out—so naturally, the universe decided to make it weird.

I dragged myself to the WAV. A WAV? Oh, just a terrifying machine of fraud and deception. It’s a van with a ramp. You know, so us wheelchair folk can daringly leave the house. But sure, call the cops. A disabled person going outside must be running a benefits racket.

Albertine, ever observant, pointed out a sad little scene nearby: a VW Transporter clamped and stickered with a huge “NO TAX PAID” label slapped across it like the scarlet letter. I thought, poor bastard—he's not going to have a good day. Judy Tzuke came on the radio, and I promptly drifted off into a cloud of melancholy '80s nostalgia. Classic distraction technique.

We were off early to dodge the traffic. That failed. We ended up 15 miles down the road to drop off a parcel at a UPS pickup point. We had all the paperwork—like law-abiding goblins—but of course, they wouldn't accept it. Apparently, logic has been abolished. Albertine was not amused. Neither was I.

So off we went in search of a broom and some blood, fish and bone (don’t ask). Jim’s store was next—where they usually stock everything including the Ark of the Covenant and possibly a spare Dalek. Staff there? Absolute legends. Cheerful, helpful, and oddly rock-and-roll. I’m convinced the guy who served me was in The Cult.

By this point, the heat was medieval, and my legs started their traditional performance of “Jelly in a Wind Tunnel.” We turned back for home—well, 15 miles back, as you do. I wasn't driving by then. I felt like death but with worse skin.

We spent the journey dodging speed cameras and holiday invaders. Then came the ambulance incident: some driver got scared, panicked at a crossing with one of those traffic bollards, pulled over, and the ambulance ended up overtaking on our side. Straight at us. We’ve got it on dash cam. Lovely.

And then... ah yes. The infamous chemist.

I rolled up to the giant vending machine of doom, typed in my little code, and the robot began its business. Fun fact: My local chemist now has a drug-dispensing robot. It quietly hands out morphine with a beep and a spin. But god forbid I need pain relief—then it’s forms, suspicion, and a full background check. The machine is trusted. I am not.

Anyway, the carousel spun, made strange noises, and then freaked out. Loud grinding, beeping, flashing lights—like R2-D2 on crack. The pharmacist shouted, “You’ve broken my machine!”

I just looked at her. And laughed. Of course I did. The Goblin strikes again.

To round off the day, I had to fork out £325 (no VAT, lucky me!) for a new wheelchair battery—yes, that’s to replace Albertine’s. Still no word from wheelchair services. I’m stuck. I’m pissed off. And this heat can do one.

I’m totally drained—every spoon spent. Now to hydrate, spark a joint, and marvel at how Windows 11 didn’t crash today. Small victories.

Rock star Jim’s guy, if you’re reading this—your secret’s safe.

But seriously—what a bloody day.

     “The views in this post are based on my personal  
        experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

            “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                     By storm and silence, I survive.”

                          🧌✨ @goblinbloggeruk ✨🧌

Today’s spoon count? Absolutely fuck all.

I woke up, blinked twice, and that used up three spoons I didn’t have. Got dressed? Minus five spoons. Made herbal tea? Minus ten spoons. Drank the herbal tea while contemplating the futility of existence? Surprisingly only minus two spoons.

By midday I was down to minus one hundred spoons, but hey, who’s counting? Me. I’m counting. Because if I don’t count them, my body will – usually with a dramatic collapse somewhere inconvenient, like Tesco’s freezer aisle, next to the frozen peas.

So here I am, writing this with negative spoons, like some overdraft I’ll never pay off, drifting through the day with my trademark goblin biker glare that says: “If you ask me to smile, I’ll eat your soul.”

But yeah, I’m fine, thanks for asking.

P.S. What’s a Spoonie?

A “spoonie” is someone living with a chronic illness or disability who uses the Spoon Theory to explain daily life. Spoons = units of energy. Every task uses spoons, and when you’re out, that’s it – game over for the day. It’s a way to explain invisible exhaustion to those blissfully unaware of it.

             “  The views in this post are based on my personal     
              experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

                “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                       By storm and silence, I survive.”

                           🧌✨ @goblinbloggeruk ✨🧌