The 8th & 9th; The terror.

June 10, 2018 — Leave a comment

The 8th of June.

All the kittens are gone!

Had a slightly stressful but then great start to the day. Janelle Monae is playing The Roundhouse in September and tickets went on sale at 9am. Christine and I both wanted to go, so she was going to book, but was having trouble. I immediately got on the phone and remarkably got through to someone very quickly. I asked about booking an accessible seat with a companion, and it seemed like she couldn’t sell me one, as if they weren’t available. I was not on board with this, so got her to inquire further. She went to talk to the ticketing people, and when she returned, a seat was miraculously available! So now Christine and I are going to scream our lungs out to Americans in September. So excited!

Rest of the day has been kitty paperwork and adoptions. Dot went first, about half two, amazingly without too much fuss. I have been sent photos of her on the sofa of her new home already. Then Dusty and Daphne have just left, off to an enormous cat tree, such I am sure they will absolutely love.

I just hope Dolly isn’t too sad now.

The 9th of June.

Today just seemed to get away from me.

This morning, I got up and dressed for the gym, because nothing was particularly painful. Well, no more than usual. I ended up having my breakfast a little late, and then by the time I’d finished my coffee it was eleven o’clock and I don’t know how that happened.

I did a little bit of crochet before lunch, which we ate while watching Trooping the Colour. It always reminds me of “Be Prepared” from The Lion King, when all the hyenas march past Scar and salute.

The gym was hard today. I had a really scary moment after my second set of squats, which is the first thing I do. I normally do sets of eight, which take my heart rate up to about 158. Two minutes of recovery, start again. I thought I’d try to do nine, and it was just one squat too many. I wouldn’t say I had a panic attack, but I think briefly I knew how one feels. I was frighteningly breathless, and my mind started racing with bad possibilities. My breath not coming back, or having to move, or what if I need oxygen I don’t have any oxygen. I don’t think I can put into words the terror that spreads through me when I am shaking, doubled over, squeezing whatever is in my hands, trying to concentrate only on breathing, not hyperventilating. I started to think I was going to have to text someone to come and get me, because I couldn’t see myself carrying on today, definitely not climbing the stairs. But the breathing came back, and I talked myself down, giving myself time before starting the next set and I got to the end of my routine. Climbed the stairs. Just have to breathe.

 

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