giorge thomas

my uterus thanks you

Why hello!

Currently, I am suffering through the bloody mess which is my period.

Yes, that’s right. I just mentioned the ‘p’ word. As a woman, we’re not supposed to, right?

Yet, as a woman who bleeds like a murder victim several times a month (yup, you heard me right), it’s part of my life, and so I shall discuss.

You would think being a depression anxiety sufferer would be hard enough to deal with, but, oh no, I have the added joy of dealing with the dreaded endometriosis.

And I know a lot of people are talking about having endometriosis. It’s all the rage right now. But hey, I had it before it was cool.

Sixteen years old and wondering to self if your monthly visitor is really supposed to be this painful. And should you really bleed this much?

I think not. Visit to doctors. The pill was prescribed. This was 1996 people. In a country town. Male doctors didn’t know what endometriosis was. Thought we were a punch of pussy women who couldn’t handle a few little ‘cramps.’

Cramps. What an innocuous term. Is like a cough. Nothing serious, just something you must suffer.

They’re not cramps, okay? They are fucking knife-turning, bent-over-in-pain, bowel-twisting contractions of agony which can barely be described. The kind of sensation you get when, I don’t know, you are about to DIE! The kind of pain which leaves you vomiting. Which leaves you bent down on the kitchen floor, unable to get up because you can’t bloody move for the pain. (This actually happened. Mr Thomas found me hanging out on the kitchen floor over the weekend. In truth, it was kind of nice down there. Was the most comfortable I’ve been all week.)

But anyway, I digress. I went to the doctor as a sixteen year old, and prescribed the pill. Went home, coy, worried my catholic father would have a heart attack knowing his sixteen year old daughter was on the pain. But, instead, an unemotional shrug and the question of whether it will help.

We’ll see Dad, we’ll see.

And it did. For a while. Fast forward a lifetime later, with a few surgeries under my belt and gallons of blood, and I’m no better.

I’m probably worse. And debating with myself whether or not going back for more surgery will actually be worth it. In truth, can’t be arsed with the weeks of convalescing, and then there’s the whole bowel prep before hand.

Which is a nightmare in itself. But am not really up for thinking about it at the moment. Cannot be arsed.

So that’s my current tale of woe. Which may not be current as I’m going to schedule this post to fit in around Kool-Aid.

What I really wanted to come here to say was thank you to all of you who came and saw, liked and commented on my Kool-Aid posts. Is much appreciated.

My uterus thanks you.

my cat, my life, my kool-aid

You poor, patient bastards.

Yes, thanks for hanging on.

The next instalment of Almost Drank the Kool-Aid is coming. I promise.

I don’t even have the excuse of not writing. Because all of it is done. Well. The ones I’m going to post on giorgethomas.com are done (insert winking emoji here).

So they’re coming, they’re coming.

Not caught up with Kool-Aid? Then make sure you’re up to date! Is quite easy. Look up. No, not to the ceiling. Cripes. To the top menu. Yes, yes, that’s it. You’ll see all that malarky there. You can buy my books (please do), ready my poetry (I’m a poet, you know), and also, yes, catch up on Almost Drank the Kool-Aid. For those of you who need extra direction, it’s the menu titled Kool-Aid.

Right then. So, catch up, and then you’ll be all up to date, ready for my next post. And you know it’s going to get juicy. Really juicy.

Apologies for not being around. Life. Depression. All that shit. But I’m here, and I’ve missed you guys.

I’d love to say I’d promise to stick around, but let’s face it, I’m not really good at the whole commitment thing. Actually, no, that is a lie. Me and Mr Thomas have been together thirteen years. If that’s not commitment, I don’t know what is.

In other news, my sole-surviving cat, Martini, turns nineteen this week. She’s the one you can see in my header image. Let’s hope I’m not jinxing the poor thing by posting this. She’s only got a couple of days to go. But nineteen. Shit, man, that’s an innings, don’t you think? I’ve known this moody bitch of a cat longer than most people. She still doesn’t like me, but I must be doing something right. I was nineteen when I got her (you do the maths) and she’s been through all the bullshit with me. ALL the bullshit. So, you know, it’s a bit of an achievement we’ve both survived it all, to be honest.

So anyway, yes. Back to Kool-Aid. It’s coming at you this week. If you’re not subscribed, do it now, and that way you won’t miss out.

Also — I know when I’m posting stories there’s not much to comment on, but I do love hearing from you all, so even if it’s just a ‘hey’, feel free to comment. It gives me a special tingle every time I see one of your comments pop up.

Right then. See you back here tomorrow with another instalment of Almost Drank the Kool-Aid!

Happy Easter everyone! I am currently eating my way through various types of chocolate eggs, which Easter Bunny kindly left for me.

Yes, Easter Bunny still visits me. Just because am in my late thirties does not mean I can’t have Easter Bunny come and see me.

Soon Mr Thomas and I will be off to Mama and Papa Thomas’s, where we will be fed a full-blown Italian Easter lunch. I am very excited by it.

For me, Easter is much like Christmas: it’s all about food and family. So I hope you all have a lovely weekend eating good food and spending time with family. Love you all, and look out for another instalment of Almost Drank the Kool-Aid later today.

 

Right. So I’ve just come up wth the best. Game. Ever.

You can thank me later.

Actually, no, you can thank me now…

You’re welcome.

The game is called ‘Guess the Mutual Friend’ and all you need to play is a Facebook account. Now, let’s face it. We all have one of those. Am sure is now a prerequisite to being human; having a Facebook account. You will also need one of those friends lists full of far-flung acquaintances. Yes, yes, we all have them. A long list of vague acquaintances. Friends from that job you had five years ago and will never, in any normal circumstance, see again in your ‘real’ life.

Maybe it’s the ex-girlfriend of your second cousin. Maybe it’s your second cousin. That bloke you went to school with, who you were never friends with, but got caught up in the novelty of Facebook in its infancy, so added him anyway. The girl you met at the pub, decided was your soul sister and added her on Facebook then and there. Next morning, of course, you realised she is not your should sister; you were just drunk.

Those folks you endured a monotonously long conference with, where you all thought you’d die of tedium and therefore bonded, adding each other on Facebook so you can share your mutual announce by way of funny memes, making fun of the guest speaker.

Am sure any of you who have been on a cruise will have that couple you sat next to at dinner as a Facebook friend.

Yes, cruises. Word to the wise — don’t go on a cruise! Is like school. You’re told when you can eat and are forced to sit at a table with a bunch of people you know know. Yes, you have the option of not going to dinner. But then you’re stuck with the buffet and, if you’re anything like me, the buffet is a dangerous place if you have absolutely no willpower.

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Cruises are weird. You think they are going to be so wonderful. Like you’ll be off to some exotic location when in reality you’re stuck on a moving prison, full of organised fun with the oh-so-obviously-mass-produced food. Plus, there’s that constant ringing of steel drums from the calypso band always playing at the pool who you can’t avoid because the pool is next door to the mass-produced food buffet. And, well, I obviously don’t have the willpower to prevent self from going to buffet. Even with the maddening calypso music.

(I hate steel drums. HATE them. There was a bloke playing them at the end of Millennium bridge in London and Mr Thomas literally had to prevent me from punching him out.)

So you’re on the cruise, comfort-eating, and you befriend the folks you’re forced to sit next to at dinner for the entire trip because at the end of the day they seem normal compared to the over-enthusiastic cruise directors.

If the above is familiar to you, your Facebook friends list is probably full of mere acquaintances rather than actual friends. Which makes Guess the Mutual Friend game so much fun!

You can play on your own, or with friends. Would probably make for a great drinking game. If you drink. Am not much of a drinker myself. Regardless of whether you play it with friends or alone, it’s still super fun.

 

How to play

Head to the ‘people you may know’ section of Facebook. Search those faces. Below, it will tell you how many mutual friends you have in common. Which might give you some clues on who your mutual friends are. Say, if there’s a large number, it might be the mutual friend of an old work. Or even your school. A smaller number might mean they are a mutual friend of a family or couple you know.

When you play this game you get to learn a lot about your Facebook friends. See, for example, I have discovered when playing this game that one of my friends and their partner are closet bicycle riders. All of the mutual friends that popped up on my feed have pictures of bicycles! WTF? Have they joined some cult?

Another un-named friend is seemingly only friends with twenty-something blondes with full-faced makeup and duck-lip poses. Creepy.

So if you find yourself bored this weekend, or perhaps you’re looking for something to pass the time while you wait patiently at the doctors surgery, or while you’re waiting in line at the next ‘it’ food truck, have a go at the Guess Your Mutual Friend game. If you find it as hilarious as I have done, and want to share with your friends, remember to hashtag #giorgethomas

That is all. Will be back shortly with the next instalment of Koolaid!

Whatever it may be. You might be interested in my poetry, which can be at times disastrously dark, but always poignantly human. You may be interested in my thoughts. My random seizing on small moments which may seem insignificant, and probably are, yet will be noted all the same.

You may have no interest at all. Which is fine. It is what it is. But what will be will be, and my words will continue to flourish. Sometimes here, sometimes in my mind, sometimes in print.

Old friends, I welcome you back. New friends, I look forward to meeting you. Just as much as I look froward to the journey.

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