Thor sore

We were watching a movie where the Hulk pounded the Asgard out of Thor. theboy thought Thor dead and cried.

I didn't leave the room but I did sit there on the cusp of fight flight because the sound of distress is a trigger when you have PTSD. 

He stopped cryingThor is just sorebut that's what it is to live with a psychological injury; even your child's distress can distress you. 

PTSD flared? Baste in anthems

One of the techniques I use to battle the sads is with battle music; anthems that give both joy and a feeling of "to the barricades!"

After recent unpleasantness I needed some epic basting to counter the dark menace of looming anxiety so I queued up song after song of epic power as a I reminder that I did that and that I survived it.

The "to the barricades!" mix

I Love It” by Icona Pop

The Nosebleed Section” by Hilltop Hoods

"Danger! High Voltage" by Electric Six

Get Back” by Ludacris (from the Tropic Thunder end credits)

The Old Landmark” performed by James Brown (from The Blues Brothers)

Tubthumping (I get knocked down)” by Chumbawamba

Some Nights” by Fun.

(later that day...)

Sabotage” by the Beastie Boys


A howling no from my body

My PTSD flared with anxiety, bad dreams, bad guts and body pain the result.

My body gave a howling no but I gritted teeth and pushed forward to get some needed nasty work done.

Now all I hope is that my body and brain knows it's over—stupid subconscious and its impact on the body prime.

That's what it is to live with a psychological injury; normal seeming tasks come littered with psychological mines that can shred the psyche on detonation.


Showbags are an Ozzer institutionI still remember my fucking awesome Batman showbag from the Royal Easter Show circa '80; and that's the Adam West version of BM and, like Roger Moore as Bond, the best actor to have done that gig.

theboy wants to get an Assassins Creedshowbag ... then use the weapons from that to assassinate characters from other showbags and loot their stuff.

I have to admit, that was pretty funny.

Black cat thunder thigh

The black cat was on my lap when a bolt of lightning struck close by. I had a moment to register the flash before the thunder peal shocked through us.

The cat was startled and fled and in the process dug in its claws for her thunder-stricken panic leap. Claws that dug into the meat of my thigh.

I think the sudden pain of the claw dig flooded my brain and prevented fight flight kicking in from the monstrous peal that blew through my head.

And they say a black cat is unlucky.

But, fuck me, while it didn't draw blood the claw dig hurt; I am wearing the thinnest of pants---ladies PJ pants---and it was just that thin slip of fabric that prevented blood dimpling forth.

What a lovely early afternoon present brought to me by the Mother N.

And nearly the number three from a one plus two.