Yes, this is an ENTIRE post about Iced Biscuit lattes, and how they've given my life meaning recently. One must imagine Sisyphus drinking Iced Biscuit lattes. There's a recipe if you want to make one too.
Category: Recovery Updates
A Pandora’s Vault of a Week
It’s been a week of exhaustion, strange half-awake thoughts, and doing life anyway. Somewhere between a musical electrician, a trolley upgrade, and a film I didn’t expect to love, things still happened. Not how I planned, not how I wanted - but I somehow survived and lived anyway.
Entropy, Burnt Welsh Cakes and a Broken Suitcase
I tried to restore order to my life after gastritis and during cluster headaches. Instead, I burnt Welsh cakes, broke a suitcase, and nearly lost my sanity. Somewhere between entropy, Biscoff, and questionable decisions, I managed to get back on track - slightly more stable, still chaotic, and fully entering my Welsh nan era.
Restricting the Ways I Punish My Body
I didn’t realise I was hurting myself, because it didn’t look like harm. It looked like doing the right thing. Pushing through. Not restricting. Carrying on. But my body felt it. The consequences were real. Recovery, for me, isn’t doing everything. It’s learning when stopping is the kinder choice.
The Week I Defeated Optimus Amazon Prime and Also Hugged Bread
This week has been a strange mix of gastritis, scaffolding noise, and small victories. I defeated Optimus Amazon Prime (a mountain of cardboard boxes), accidentally fell into the TikTok illusion dimension, and hugged a loaf of bread. Survival, it turns out, is mostly made of small, ridiculous victories.
The Paradox of Urgent Rhio and Scared Rhio
For months I thought nothing was happening because I was too scared to move. But writing this made me realise something uncomfortable: Scared Rhio wasn't completely stalling. She kept going while terrified. Maybe recovery isn’t waiting for Urgent Rhio to fix everything. Maybe it’s learning to collapse one wave function at a time.
Oh the IRON-y
Day four of my surplus wasn't to be... Again. I had the audacity to take iron to help my anaemia. Iron stops play. Oh the IRON-y
Corrupted Copilot vs. Pistachio Foam and Women’s Clothes Sizes.
On Tuesday, I chose the leggings. I chose the pistachio foam. I chose the surplus. My body is loud, the systems louder, but we carried each other anyway. Temporary clothes, temporary afflictions. The commitment however is permanent. Tuesday stood on its own.
The Knee Sleeves and the Burning Building of Recovery
On my son’s birthday, my knee sleeves stopped fitting, and something inside me caught fire. Muscle I worked for felt like betrayal. Recovery stopped being theoretical and started burning. Ambivalence isn’t neutral ground - it’s standing in a doorway, one foot in the flames, afraid to move either way.
The Audacity of Ice to Be Slippery
Four hours of sleep, a pigeon in my coat, birthday presents in a paper bag, and the BBC cutting away from a gold medal performance. The ice was slippery in more ways than one. Depression didn’t cancel the day - it just made everything louder. But the good bits were still there.
Absurd Universe 