I had a good day today; I cycled to work for the first time in two months which is also the first bit of exercise I've done in that time so was feeling really pleased with myself. Work is ridiculously hectic but is going well and I'm really enjoying it.

Too good to be true? Of course.

I've been busying myself with work and not being at home much and I thought H and I were getting on pretty OK. And we are, it's just that me and my mess are still really stressing him out and while I'm relaxed at home/in the house (don't think it's my home anymore), he's not.

I don't think I've been in denial but I've definitely been putting off moving out. Why add to my stress levels by moving when I'm feeling really (remarkably) fine? It's just so sad and upsetting packing everything up, and I've got so much stuff to pack. I'm trying to repeat Katie's mantra in my head: "Get rid. Get rid."

But so far, I've packed up one box and can't really cope with packing anything else!

I think I'll take Friday off and start packing everything up properly - it's just too tiring and upsetting to do it in the evenings.

On the plus side, I can still pop by and pick up my mail so I don't have to change my address until I know what my long-term plans are going to be.

The sun's shining, the birds are singing, British Summer Time is here, things are good...


...ish.

As I'm sure you know by now, there's always an ish or a but with me.

The bad thing right now is that I have a rather evil ulcer on my tongue which is making it pretty difficult to eat. Apart from that I'm doing OK. I've been to Newcastle this weekend and have decided it's my new favourite city. (God, I'm so fickle!) It was work-related but there wasn't too much work to do and I'm just so happy that my job also provides me with a social life!

Let's hope I don't suffer toooo much from not sleeping 102 hours this weekend. I'll get some time off in lieu (don't worry mum) but need to take part in a teleconference tomorrow. I'm just very glad I don't have to go to Birmingham for the meeting, as was originally planned. See, all this positiveness? Is it really me?

Still here, still OK...ish. Work is busy and I'm concentrating on that, rather than the other not so fun things that are going on in my life at the moment.

Spoke to my friend Katie tonight and she reminded me that moving out is an excellent opportunity for a big sort out. (Sorting out is something she's very keen on!) Katie's also sad that she lives far away and can't help me, but I think it's a good thing as she'd probably have a panic attack if she saw all the rubbish I keep.

Weirdly, I'm feeling OK today. I'm a bit tired 'cos I had to get up early (for me) but I haven't been upset and even more strangely, I don't feel ill!

Over the past six weeks or so, I've had the odd day when I haven't felt ill (chest/headache/virus thing seem to be taking it in turns to ruin my day) so I'm hoping that this feeling OKness will last more than one day.

And now for something completely different (and less depressing)...

Please tell Oxfam about your wedding dress and HELP MAKE HEADLINE NEWS (and the chance to win Fairtrade jewellery).

Oxfam has ten bridal departments around the country selling new and second hand wedding dresses and is carrying out a survey designed to find out more about weddings and wedding dresses which will be turned into a news story to promote the shops. Go to: http://qnr.surveyshack.co/s/MmHsUnOOjDIDEap to complete the survey.

And don't forget to tell your married female friends about this survey. Thanks!

It's all the tiredness's fault.

Everything.

Looks like H and I are splitting up. :(

Another week has started before I'm ready for it.

I'm not in a good mood.

I went to the hospital today. The consultant told me that my tiredness is nothing to do with cf and I'd be ridiculously tired even if I didn't have cf. Great. What am I meant to do about that then?

I'm so frustrated. I can't cope with this anymore. Too much effort. Too much struggle. Too much pain. For what?

If I couldn't do my job because of cf then that would make sense, it would be difficult to cope with but at least it'd be reasonable. This is just completely unreasonable: cf, depression and stupid-life-ruining-exhaustion.

Luckily, (good positive start) after I wrote my last post, I managed to go back to sleep for an hour and half. I did wake up slightly panicky at 9.00am (I'm meant to be in work for 9.30am) and although I missed my nebs and was a bit late, no one noticed as my boss was even later than me (he was suffering with a man cold). Going back to sleep was fantastic as without it, I wouldn't have been able to survive the day.

The end of last week wasn't too bad and a million times better than last week but then again, I guess it couldn't really be worse. Although my productivity over the last week wasn't as high as I would've liked, I did achieve some good things (see how positive I can be if I try) such as writing press releases which resulted in newspaper articles (hurrah!), cementing those all-important contacts and I even had a good idea to publicise the re-opening of a local shop.

Actually, it's interesting how different a few hours makes as if I'd posted this morning, I would've just complained about how terrible I felt: thanks to waking up drenched (oh the joy of night sweats) which left me feeling like I'd just completed 50 rounds with Mike Tyson.

I'm not sure why I'm in a good mood, maybe it's because I actually left the house and walked in the sun a bit. Apart from that, the afternoon hasn't been that successful as I had to resort to accosting people off the street to attend a fairtrade event I'd organised at a local independent cinema: free fairtrade films, a free tour of the Picture House, and free fairtrade tea, coffee, juice, cake and biscuits. But despite it all being free, free, free and a lovely big article in yesterday's Evening Post promoting the event, only a handful of people showed up. Oh well, at least I've learnt a few lessons for next time. If the Picture House will ever hold an event with me again that is...

Thanks everyone for your lovely comments - they made me feel much better and less alone :). After that horrendous day last Friday, I didn't think I'd be able to function at all on Saturday because I was just so exhausted from being ridiculously upset and sleeping badly, but I just about managed to do some tidying up (which was muchly needed) and have never been so happy to be able to tidy up before! And when I was less tired things didn't look so bad - less mountains, more molehills.

But this was a mega busy week, would it be too much for me? I worked half a day on Monday and immediately started feeling ill again (maybe I'm just allergic to work) but on Tuesday, I felt better and was able to go to Newcastle for the day. Although it made me realise that I was v lucky in that I was out of the house for no longer than a normal day. Job problems 1, 2 and 3 have materialised: too much travelling and too many early starts and too much out-of-hours working.

And then there's problem 4: stress. I was meant to be sleeping yesterday morning to recover from travelling and to keep me well for the busyness of this week but I woke up early because I was all agitated. When I got to work I was fine but I just get so worked up about things that I'm making myself ill. Last night I went to a meeting and half way through realised that I had ANOTHER sore throat. Cue sudden panic. "This means I'll get a chest infection tomorrow. I always get a sore throat first. I'll have to have IVs now because I finish my Cipro today for my last infection. Panic, panic, panic. Stress, stress, stress."

Both Henry and my mum are sick of me crying IV wolf. Every time I have the slightest cough I say: "I'll be in hospital tomorrow or I won't be able to do anything this weekend because I'm in hospital." And yet I never am. Why is it that whenever you think you need to go to hospital you never do but when you just absent-mindedly turn up at the clinic without a cf care in the world (OK, never going to happen but you feel that things are sort of going well), they whisk you to a bed before you've got a chance to think?

So what are the chances of me being ill today? Well, any eagle-eyed types among you might have noticed the ridiculously early hour that I'm writing this. Yep after waking up at 4.30am and failing not only to get back to sleep but not to stress either, I decided to get up. Seeing as sleep, and ample amounts of it, is vital for me to function - things are not boding well. Especially as I have to work today and this evening.

I realise that I can't go on like this and although I *hate* playing the cf disability card, I am going to have to ask my boss to make some allowances for it/me. Even though the last few weeks have been really tough, I've been pleased with my work and for, this moment at least, have confidence in my abilities, so will try and negotiate rather than just leave.

And if I need IVs? Yep, I'm still crying IV wolf. Ironically because I haven't had IVs since I've been in Leeds, I'll have to stay in hospital for a few days to start them but I'm looking on the bright side. If you'd told me six years ago (after having two courses of IVs in a month) that I wouldn't need them for this long, I wouldn't have thought it possible. I would have been ecstatic. So if I have to go to hospital, work will just have to wait (this thought is a revelation for me) and I'm trying to be optimistic and block out any thoughts that my great chest years have been wasted by depression...

Last Friday when I wrote the previous exceedingly positive post, I thought I was all better. I even went to a conference on Saturday in York although now I'm not sure why I bothered. I realised my cough hadn't gone and I felt so exhausted on Saturday evening that I couldn't stop crying my eyes out even though I knew I was only upset because I was so tired.

But then, I didn't want to spend another weekend in bed so I'm not berating myself too much for going out. It's just that I wanted to have a life, a life away from work. Something which seems an impossible luxury. And now as I face my third weekend with plans for as much sleep as possible, I just think that I can't do it anymore, that it's too much, it's not fair and it's always me that's suffering.

So, I've reached the end of another hard, hard week. Despite having Monday off, I still wasn't better and I couldn't really cope with another week of feeling ill and forcing myself to go to work. By Tuesday, my chest was much improved but I'd started feeling all sick and head-achy. I was only doing a half day on Wednesday and said I'd work from home. But that didn't really help so I had Thursday morning off and came in yesterday afternoon but that was a waste of time. Today I was a bit late but have managed to do some stuff and after a telephone consultation with the hospital yesterday am feeling less stressed about my health. I've got an appointment Monday week so I'll get properly checked over then but the doctor thought my chest infection has pretty much gone and now I'm just contending with an opportune virus.

However, the whole episode has made me realise that I'm one of the rubbish people with cf. Even the smallest chest infection or virus knocks me out for days and that's with a pretty amazing lung function. If I get more ill then I just won't be able to do anything. As it is there is no balance in my life. I've got a part-time job but no social life. When was the last time I phoned or emailed a friend, nevermind met up with someone? I don't know how everyone else with cf manages. I've hardly even got cf. It almost embarrasses me to say how many years it's been since I last had IVs.

So, Hobson's Choice. Have a job and feel OK (sometimes) but get frustrated at the effort it requires and the sacrifices I have to make and really suffer to keep my head above the water when I'm feeling ill. Live in a house that's a complete tip and rely on Henry to do pretty much everything.

Or don't work and be depressed. Not much choice. It just seems that whatever I do, me and life are destined not to get on.

Is it worth it? No I don't think it is. It just seems that however hard I try it's never hard enough, that however many mountains I climb there's always another one waiting for me. Next week is busy, busy, busy. If I'm not better, it'll finish me off and I'll have to seriously think about quitting.