Nine Feet Underground

I'm back again. My head is still not back to the state which I call normality.  I'm still getting headaches daily.  I'm not sure if it's the bang on my head or SSRI withdrawal or a toxic combination of both.  Next week, I may get a chance to be investigated by my GP, if nothing has changed. In the meantime, I am competing for the record of becoming the largest consumer of paracetamol and ibuprofen. It's not ideal, but there have to be positives. Life goes on, as it must and I've a few big topics on my mind, aside from the above.  Planning for the future and deciding what that will look like is one of these topics. Thankfully, this one takes two to plan and Q and I have had several conversations as we discern a plan emerging from the fog of possibilities. Working out the layout of my new library/music room is another consideration.  The sofa-bed has been delivered and looks good. Sofa-r, so good.  Having the sofa in place calls into question where every...

M'aider! m'aider! m'aider! (The above only fully makes sense on the 1st May, however, for reasons that will unfold below, a post on the first was not possible.) I was feeling positive and optimistic on the 30th April and in this euphoric state managed to hit my head very hard on a metal bar of my new shed.   I've hit my head on many occasions, so I never consider it to be a big deal.  This bit of headbanging was different.  I developed a powerful headache and started feeling nauseous.  Son #1 went through the checklist of things of serious concern, and I didn't really tick any of the boxes. Off to bed after taking some painkillers.  At 4am on May Day, I woke with a helluva headache and feeling distinctly unwell.  I woke son #1 up and we got a taxi to A&E.  Turns out I don't have any obvious signs of brain damage but do have a concussion.  The solution: painkillers and rest.  No caffeine. No alcohol.  No driving. No screen time. ...