Christmas, Slug Monkeys, and why I'm in love with Dave Asprey

I was talking to a friend recently, and she said, "You write a blog, don't you?" And I thought, "Shit, I do, yes I do." There's been stuff going on, and time having passed, but I've neglected to tell you about it all my dear Diary. I'm sorry. My head's been a bit clearer of late, and well, I forgot you. Not completely, you understand, more in the way of a friend whose live is going well and needs a bit less support. I can only apologise, and suggest that right now we sit down with a coffee and have a bit of a natter and a catch up. Yes? Brilliant!

So, Christmas... That happened. It was quite civilised, all in. Cattenberg stayed in the spare room on Christmas Eve, so as to be there when the Kittencat awoke - Christmas is all about family, and Kittencat had hers right there. Opening things when you're three is more magical than the things themselves, so, after she had torn the paper off everything, she forlornly, comically, excitedly asked, "What else?" And we had to explain that that was everything, and tidied away the paper so she could examine her haul, but the excitement was so much that she flitted for several days before really playing with much at all. In the afternoon, the unconventional family that we three are all headed across to my folks house, where (drum roll please) over the course of about five hours I did not have a single fight, crossed word or even minor disagreement with my brother. Such a thing has never before occurred, probably, but it did this year, possibly due to changes we are making to our respective attention issues. But more on that later. One of my aunties bought Kittencat a Barbie. Now, 80s Barbie was problematic, but with broad shoulders, triangular torso, small hips, erect implant like bosoms, and reasonably muscular arms, she was an enigma, simultaneously masculine and feminine, in many ways the ultimate in blurred boundaries. Sure her waist was too small, her neck too long, her feet impossibly arched, an image of womanhood no one could ever live up to, but she was at least strong. She wasn't uniformly pink, and there were interesting outfit and career choices, and not all her clothes were designed for maximum flesh exposure.

In contrast, welcome to the Barbie of my daughter's generation. Needless to say I'll likely have more wrath to vent at some point over this, but the comparison is a little sickening. Arms are no longer just slim, they're gaunt. Shoulders and boobs are smaller, making the waist appear less out of proportion, but it's at least as small as it was before. She looks anorexic, her clothes are barely there, and her role in life is to wear pink and play with puppies. And this is me not venting.

Barbie aside, Christmas was largely a successful affair, and the Kittencat has been learning about teasing. My Dad and my nephews call each other slug monkeys, and turnip heads, and KC has started to join in. She plans interactions with glee; "Let's go to see Grandad, and I will call him a biscuit face, and he will call me a turnip head! Won't that be funny!" And we regularly have to call each other slug monkeys, and turnip heads, and pumpkin faces, and monkey bums... Yeah, we're so mature and ladylike.

Over New Year, my lovely Driver came to stay for three days. Kittencat was so excited, and for weeks since has been telling me how Auntie Giurietta does everything. I'm pretty sure that Kittencat would trade me in for Auntie Giuls without a flinch. Lovely times were had, and it was massively overdue to see one of my best mates. Mustn't leave it so long next time!

January has been a quiet month in some respects, and massively busy in others. I missed seeing Raajmahal at Dulcimer because of an incident involving Kittencat's fingernail and my cornea, the damage was pretty impressive, thankfully I heal quickly... Corky's birthday party was next, lovely to see so many people I've not seen for a while. And then there was Desmadrados Soldados de Ventura, also at Dulcimer on the 16th. Not the best set I've seen them play, but still awesome fun. There have been a few arrangements and cancellations throughout January that remind me I'm best making my plans around myself alone, other peoples lives inevitably lead them to break plans, fine in the ordinary way, but organising childcare etc. does not generally work so well with a flexible approach to being social. When my plans are not reliant on other people, just enhanced by them, life is better.

Finally, Dave Asprey. I'm not in love with him in the sexy sex way, or even in the mournful pining of imaginings of soul mates or the kind of twaddle that people talk about with reference to love. But the man is a crazy bastard. (I mean that in a good way.) And an excellent researcher. I found Dave a few weeks ago, in my quest to rid myself of some of the problems I have with attention disorders. I've followed up a lot of research on a lot of the science purported on the Bulletproof website, and the science is always sound. Dave Asprey is one hell of a researcher. And while it's early days, and while I've got a long journey ahead of the path to mental and physical well being, my immune system has never been so good in my entire life as it is right now, I've cured a long standing throat complaint purely by diet, I've lost 10lbs without trying, and plan for another 10lbs over the next 6 weeks, my mental health is significantly improved, my concentration is better, and I can do maths again. I'm going to start documenting the changes I'm making as a reference aid (primarily for myself) on another blog soon. But Dave Asprey, I freaking love you. Over the years I've researched a little into the various issues I suffer from, and it always seemed to come down to mycotoxins, but I've never found a permanent path away from this kind of ill health before.