I'm Sorry For the Mess

Yesterday, as things are wont to do, things went completely do-lally because I've been fretting about MeMum's health.

The good news is that Mum's been tested and found not showing any signs of Senior Dementia. Halleluja. I've also seen signs that Mum's Vaguely-Waving-At-the-Mediterranean-From-Very-Far-Away Diet is actually working for her, so far. MeMum and I are keeping a weather eye on her triglyceride levels, and I know what to do to help IF mum wants said help.

We also both forgot to ask about eggs.

Next doctor visit. When I know it's coming, I'll do my champion best to remind Mum to ask about eggs. They're not evil, any more. And after about sixty years of consistently trying and failing to prove that they have any influence on blood cholesterol levels, everyone is allowed to eat them again.

I suppose after another twenty years of trying to prove fats are evil and attempting to sink LCHF, science will finally give in and let people eat what humans have been eating for billions of years before we invented farming. Or diet cola. But that's a rant for another day.

Yesterday was a stresser MeMum didn't need. Her diet is working for her and I am very happy it is. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone else, because MeMum is Queen Statistical Outlier. Don't try it at home.

Meanwhile, I have to fix my truncated Blasts From the Past over at Steemit because Streemian is broken and eating my scheduled posts. Beloved says there's another scheduling site I can use that SHOULD, underline the qualifier, work.

Time will tell.

And after I'm done with that, the kitchen needs a good unfutzing again. As it always does. One cooking spree and everything goes to crap.

And while I was getting reassured, yesterday, Beloved was out fetching my beloved brats little darlings. Which involved fetching Mayhem and waiting on the verandah for Chaos to arrive by bus. Alas, the former half involved staring at Mayhem in confusion as he sat in a shelter and zoned out of reality. Beloved went to actually grab him, and got burns on their bare feet from the hot bitumen.

Summer in Australia doesn't muck about, dear readers.

So my love is convalescing in bed with fuckoff-huge blisters on the balls of their poor feet, I'm in charge of everything for the meanwhile, and I can't organise a fart out of a bean-eating contest.

Which is why today is going to be particularly sideways for me. Everything will get done, just... (a) eventually, and (b) out of order.