Grief, ED recovery, Mental Health and all the lovely things that give my Sisyphean rock meaning
I decided to make Welsh cakes during a cluster headache episode with no wooden spoon, minimal cookware, and a frog supervising the operation. This involved a mission to Lidl, a run-in with trauma, questionable amounts of Red Bull, and the very real possibility of producing frozen, burnt pancakes again.
I woke up with one simple goal: put the washing away. Instead, I found myself crying in a pile of clothes while my brain played the “Greatest Hits of My Failures.” Laundry Mountain loomed large, my ribs hurt, and the chaos felt endless. Why is something so small, so hard?
Absurd Universe 