Feral Musings / Lifestyle

Life Lately: Chaos, Crying, and Character Breakfasts

If you’re wondering where I’ve been — same. Honestly. I blinked and it went from January to August in what felt like a single stress nap.

Let’s catch up, shall we?

Fibro + Perimenopause = Send Help

Let’s start with the body stuff because mine has gone rogue.

My fibromyalgia has been steadily spiralling, and just to make things more fun, peri-menopause decided to join the party. I’m now a glorious mix of unpredictable rage, brain fog so thick I forget what I’m saying mid-sentence, and fatigue that hits like a bus I didn’t see coming. I’ve cried over cereal. I’ve considered murder over someone cutting me off. And I’m a proud card carrying member of the “We Do Not Care Club” over on IG with @justbeingmelani. She’s amazing, go follow her.

I’m on hormone patches (when I remember to actually use them), and they do help. I’ve been on them for nearly a year now, and when they’re stuck on properly and not hiding somewhere on the bathroom floor, I feel almost like a functioning human.

Almost.

The Foster Dogs (Because Of Course There’s More)

Obviously, we’ve still been fostering — because why not pile emotional chaos on top of physical?

Let’s see…

Alfie — a Lassa Apso Dalmatian cross who came in just after boxing day, stayed with us for 5 days, and was heartbreakingly PTS in the New Year.

Binky — a teeny tiny Pom from a hoarding situation. She was adopted in February after turning my house into her palace, having us both wait on her hand and foot all whilst supervising from the comfort of her pillow, which is a small square pillow we use on the sofa, not a pillow you sleep on. Yes, she was that small.

Marley — a Beagle cross puppy. Pure chaos. He came in like a tornado and was adopted in under two weeks — my fastest turnaround ever. Not going to lie, I was shocked, relieved, and ecstatic in equal measures – I am not puppy people, and I am seriously questioning the sanity of people who are beagle puppy people. Like, who hurt you?

Penny — another Beagle who was meant to be rehomed… and then was, and then she wasn’t. In a twist I did not see coming, she ended up being returned from her adopted family despite being the most perfect beagle ever and went on to be reunited with her original owner. A sad start with a happy ending.

Rosie — a Chihuahua who came in with Jim the Shih Tzu. They were separated after a week. Rosie stayed with us for eight weeks, and we said goodbye to her in July when she was PTS. I still hear her tiny tantrum cries as I’m sitting at my desk working, as she refused to let me sit here unless I was holding her! I think she rivalled me in the dramatics seriously!

We’re on a break now. Again. Not because we want to be, but because we need to be. The house is too quiet — and somehow still too loud — but emotionally, I’m holding onto what little energy I have left in case the next dog turns up with a suitcase and trauma.

Disneyland Paris: Our First Trip Abroad Alone (No One Cried in Customs)

March brought something magical: our first solo trip abroad — just me and Olivia, for her 19th birthday. We went to Disneyland Paris, and it was as chaotic and brilliant as you’d expect. If you want pics, you can find them in a highlight over on my @onefrazzledfosterdog account.

We stayed at the Newport Bay Club Hotel, which is stunning, even if it took five full minutes just to walk from the lift to our room. Seriously, the step count we racked up just getting around that place…

We did the full Disney experience: character breakfast at Plaza Gardens, matching accessories, autograph books, the parade from the front row. Olivia even got a custom wand for her birthday. We met Thor twice — once while I was wearing a Loki t-shirt — and I can’t lie, I got flustered. He leaned into the whole “rival brothers” thing brilliantly.

We ate too much, spent too much, and I wouldn’t change a second of it. It was the most “us” thing we’ve ever done, and I still scroll through the photos when I need a reminder that magic is real — even if your feet are killing you and you’ve not slept properly in days.

Back to the Gym (Kind Of)

After physio gave me the all-clear (thank you, frozen shoulder and bicep injury, you’ve been a treat), I’ve started going back to the gym.

Only cardio and mobility work for now — no strength training — because apparently, being a peri-menopausal woman with a busted arm and a dodgy pain disorder means you don’t get to lift things for fun anymore.

Still, it’s something. And “something” is the bar I’m setting these days.

Brain Fog, Background TV, and Murder Podcasts

Writing full-time is still my job, my joy, and my breakdown trigger depending on the day. Most of the time, I have Netflix playing in the background while I type — true crime documentaries, trash TV, or whatever new show has landed this week. It makes the words come easier… until fibro fog shuts the whole operation down like a dodgy Windows update.

I’ve become utterly obsessed with true crime podcasts — Redhanded and Psychopedia are my go-tos. There’s something soothing about hearing someone else’s disaster unfold when I can’t find my own keys.

Haircuts, Highlights, and the “Gorilla Man” Situation

In other news, Olivia is now officially training to be a hairdresser — which makes me feel old, proud, and slightly nervous every time she picks up scissors near my head.

She’s been working at the same salon since Year 11 work experience and just gave me my first proper mum-cut. And I mean mum cut — as in, “Mum, you look like gorilla man, let me fix that” levels of honesty. For anyone who missed that particular fibro fog episode, that was the time I forgot the word Tarzan and told my daughter I looked like a gorilla man. So that’s where we’re at.

To be fair to her, she did a great job. I no longer look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards — now it’s more like I live in the hedge and occasionally stick my head out when there’s a full moon.

I’m also five years into growing out my natural grey — and by “natural grey,” I mean “stubborn brown with a few silver sparkles if you squint in the sunlight.” I was hoping for wise, dignified crone energy by now, but instead I’m stuck somewhere between “washed-out badger” and “freelance librarian.”

I just want to be a little old lady with brilliant grey hair and a sofa full of dogs. Is that so much to ask?

Working. Fostering. Crying. Disneying. Cleaning dog hair off literally everything I own. Forgetting my patches. Remembering them. Crying again. Laughing at things I probably shouldn’t. Lifting dumbbells in my head instead of real life.

It’s been a year. And we’re only halfway through