Archive | 09:09

Born To Blog

23 Jun

Post Colour-Coded For Ease Of Reference

As you know – and if you do know, why am I telling you that you know?  I really don’t know – I had an itch in my arm

This was when I had difficulty giving blood; nothing to do with RSI. I use it to illustrate what my mind feels like after a week of not blogging.

and, being a stayathomemum*, and therefore the nearest thing to a doctor without actually having a medical degree**, I diagnosed early onset Repetitive Strain Injury and opted to take some time away from blogging.

Sort of.

I didn’t write any posts but I visited many of you with my left hand, leaving a ‘like’ instead of a comment.  The result is that now I have RSI in my left shoulder as well as my right.

Stuff it. 

I need to write or I’ll burst.  And I’ve eaten a lot this week to fill the void that is not-blogging, so a bursting Tilly is not to be recommended.

*You have to rush it out as one word so people don’t hear properly enough to judge you for your anti-Cherie Blair choice.  Choice, incidentally, was what I always thought feminism was about but, hey-ho, what do I know?  I’m only a stay at home mum letting down the side by not going out to work and daring to allow myself to be supported by a man who might leave me, die, or get sick, which he did and at which point I did not leave but stayed to support him, instead (morally, not financially, but what do you expect from a stay at home mum who allowed herself to be supported by a man?)***

***Cherie Blair…I’m not a fan.  Mostly because I don’t agree that I was wrong to be ‘happy to put [my] children first before a satisfying and rewarding career.’  Read it here.  But I’ll admit to not being a yummy mummy; I’m more of a tummy mummy.

**You have a cold, a virus, or wind, as my son’s nearly burst appendix will refuse to attest.

My voluntary respite from blogging has been a week of torture, not being able to write or write or write, interspersed with chocolate, foot massages and poem trails.  I will tell you all about it over the next few days.  Not the chocolate, because there’s not a lot that hasn’t been said about chocolate in this blog, is there?  But definitely the foot massage and the poem trail.

As typing with my left hand isn’t working for me****,  I have to go back to being a normal person, which means using the hand my brain favours.  I will have to ease myself in so I may not comment on your posts just yet, or answer as many comments as I usually do on mine, but I will still visit, and I will continue to hit ‘like’ to let you know I’ve been: that’s why I have a small nose – perfect for hitting ‘like’ buttons.

**** if I had used only my left hand to type that last sentence, it would read, but. as tyopng weith my ledt ganf isn;’t working foitr mr

…I rest my casr/

Thank you all for staying with me through my horrendous, blog-deprived week, and for continuing to comment when I did not return the favour.  I will repay you the only way I know how: by taking it as a compliment.  You know how good I am at accepting those.

I won’t be replying to your week’s worth of comments because I don’t want to lose the use of my left and right feet as well, but I assure you I read them all, and laughed at many.  Now I need to get back to doing what Tilly do love best: spilling the secrets of her mind. 

Blogging: cheaper than psychiatry.

Come here, my pretty little German keyboard; I’ve missed you.   Let me throw in every trick I can think of to make this post attractive, and a visualisation of my mustblognow state of mind.

If someone starts a Bloggers Anonymous, I’ll be the first to sign up.

My name is Tilly, and I am a blogger.

Joke 457

23 Jun


Wheelbarrow icon

Wheelbarrow icon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


A young man at a construction site was bragging that he could outdo anyone, based on his strength.  He especially made fun of one of the older workman. After several minutes, the older worker had had enough.

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?” he said.  “I’ll bet a week’s wages that I can haul something in a wheelbarrow over to the other building that you won’t be able to wheel back.”

“You’re on, old man,” the young man replied. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The old man reached out and grabbed the wheelbarrow by the handles.  Then nodding to the young man, he said with a smile, “All right. Get in.”



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