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At the closing of the year

It's New Years Eve and I don't have many plans to stay up until midnight. I have little choice as to when my batteries need charging, but when I go down, I go down.

Resolutions
  • Work to improve my writing
  • Work to improve mine and my Beloved's health
  • Do what I can for MeMum

People who make too many resolutions end up keeping none of them, so I keep it to three.

And there's a story in the third one. Those dear readers who actually follow my personal stories here will know that my Mum and I have... friction. It's no new thing, we've been arguing with each other since before I hit puberty. We're also one hell of a team, when we set our minds to be so.

MeMum taught me how to Hunt for things, way before Google or Amazon were a thing, you had to look for strange things on your own. It's a dying art, now, because the Internet has an app for that. But I still remember the joy of the Hunt. Synchronized stalking along the streets of Brisbane, catching a trail after so many iterations of "Do you know who might sell it?" and finally cornering our inanimate quarry on a dusty shelf in a tiny nook inside one of those poky little shops designed by Escher.

MeMum showed me how to deal with being a Berserker [A "gift" I used exactly once without intent, and have done my utmost not to trigger since] and how to deal with my own inner Dark Side. She taught me how to cope with life until better avenues came along.

She shaped who I am today.

She's also determined to not listen if she's made up her mind about things. And she definitely made up her mind about Keto, or LCHF. She's too old. Her doctor said it would kill her by cholesterol. She just can't do it. It's not for her. The end. Full stop. Don't talk to me if you're going to mention it.

But now we've hit crisis time, and MeMum's showing some early signs of Senior Dementia - a disease that was never so rife before the Health Associations recommended so many damn carbs. I gave her the bad news and...

Well...

MeMum is also a secret Drama Queen. Whenever I tell her about a thing, no matter what it is, she takes the worst possible aspect of it and makes it the only issue to deal with. I told her that she can whittle her mountain of scrattle down piece by piece. She took her most-loved hand-made garment out of said mountain and practically gave it a Viking Funeral. All whilst loudly bemoaning the fact that it was not really useful as a garment.

I told her all kinds of things to try and improve her life, and she instantly turned them into Reasons To Be Depressed. She's a master at it.

And this time, when I told her that we could treat her budding Dementia and potentially return her to her former self? She turned her face to the wall and gave up on life. She wants me to talk to her doctor and get him to explain why she's got to die of Dementia rather than die of Cholesterol, and I have to help her assign her things to various people now. Before things get bad.

I love her, but God Damn, I could strangle her sometimes.

So I have about a centimeter-thick wodge of science that proves: (a) the LCHF diet actually improves cholesterol readings in patients (b) the LCHF diet is great for reversing the effects of Dementia (c) Senior Dementia is actually a type of Diabetes, and (d) the LCHF diet is abso-firkin-lutely great at getting rid of Diabetes in all its forms.

I will give no quarter. I will take no guff. I will swallow no bullshit. I have science on my side and no know-little GP is going to stop me from saving my mother from Death By Doctor.

MeMum also taught me to dig my toes in, put my head down, and bash the everloving fuck out of any problem in my way. This is one of those occasions.

...deep breaths... Calm down.

As you can guess, I am understandably pissed off about this.

Other things that are making me pissed off: I signed up for a Steemit post-scheduling thing called Streemian. I thought I set it to post today while I would be blogging and writing my Instant.

Nope. Turns out the scheduling calendar is completely effed up and working on it's own special timezone. And I can't figure out how to get it to post today at a certain time when it think's it's two weeks ago and fourteen hours later.

I need Beloved, but Beloved is currently fighting a stomach full of phlegm. I've been there before. Not fun. So now that all my jiggery-pokery has come to naught, I have to post them manually. Again. Blargh.

I'll be better off scheduling those shits for tomorrow.