Wednesday, October 12, 2016

So, today was my mother's birthday. If my calculations are correct, she would have been 71 today. That seems hard to imagine.

Though, I think she would have been an elegant and wise old lady. She was an elegant and wise middle aged woman.

I feel far removed from her these days, I think - as if I don't know her any more. I think I think that, it's hard to know if it's a real thing or just an idea that's popped into my head. The downside of the mellowing of grief is that you lose the person you knew - their voice, their laugh, their immediacy. They fade.

So the idea of her at 71 is ... I don't know: Immaterial? 

Monday, October 3, 2016

Well. I didn't like myself that much in the first place. But, on consideration, I miss the person who thought she'd grow into something better. I was optimistic. Misguidedly optimistic. Of course I would become thinner, get a job, create something, be a good parent, handle a relationship well, stay married, manage.

I miss the young boobs I thought were terrible then, but sure, I wish I'd appreciated them and the rest of myself more. Bits of me were firm and youthful, if nothing else. I miss the hair I've ruined. I miss being un-guilty and un-jealous. I don't remember being terrified, but perhaps I was. I think I was probably just lonely and full of longing.

I'm losing the longing now, which is a relief but so much else has filled up that space, and it's no comfort.

I look at my mother's life - a shit marriage followed by a torturous, soul-crushing one, and eventually being jettisoned out of it, and the home she loved, into a life of stress and illness management with no future, no rest in sight, and then a premature, peaceless death - and I don't know what to do to change that for myself. I miss thinking there would be something more, because of course there had to be.

Friday, September 23, 2016

Switzerland is astonishingly beautiful, it looks just like one might expect it to. Green, clean and very, very expensive. I'm staying on Lake Geneva. Well, above it. Today I saw bears (captive bears, not wild in the mountains bears).

The mountains are HUGE. Tomorrow we go see cows in their coming-down-to-lowland-pastures equinox ritual. Cows have a very good life here. Today I was driven through La Gruyere. You know, like the cheese? Well, the cheese, not like the cheese. I have had lots of  tasty mozzerella.

I'd post photos but I can't get them off the camera, and sadly the battery is fading on my camera so it will have to wait til I get home.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

There is something I would like to post about, but it is my daughter's thing more than mine, and I don't think she would appreciate me talking about it. So I had better not. But I'm so sad and worried over it, and it's something I never imagined in my life could happen before Asperger's and Sensory Processing Disorder. I'm having trouble getting past this is not how it's supposed to be how did this happen? Worried and sorry for myself and inadequate.

I'm going away on Thursday for the weekend, an incredibly generous present from my cousin and his wife, to see them in Switzerland. I fear I have become so habituated to feeling sad and bad that I can't stop and things which make normal people happy fill me with anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. Clothes... packing... getting from A to B. I know it will all be fine, but I don't relish it. It's stupid. It's annoying. I should be all excited. I am. It's just worrying about being ready and procrastinating is my default state. And money. Quite significant not enough money things going on at the moment. So I won't talk about it any more, as I'd rather not give it air.

Sunday, September 18, 2016

bed bed bed

Autumn approaches rapidly, encroaching darkness, brown leaves falling, cold.

Autumn is pretty, but it's already getting harder to get out of bed... my average Snooze time is 45 minutes... that's really more than a snooze, isn't it? Autumn means that the embrace of warm bedding is so much more important, so much harder to leave. I sit up, dazed and bleary, then fling myself back into the snuggle of the duvet for a minute, melodramatically. Oh, bed! It is so hard to leave you!

I love bed - not hugely this one, as I wake up sore mostly - the mattress was never what I needed - but also I seem to sleep with fists clenched, shoulders jammed up to my ears, so I hurt when I wake up.  (We have class observations to suffer next month, the date for mine is my mother's birthday, not that that really matters anymore, but despite the fact that my last two went well, I've just dreamed that it was moments before class and I'd forgotten to write up or hand in my lesson plan. Stupid work anxiety dreams, I hate them.) So this morning I considered how blissful an instant massage would be on waking, to work out the knots and leave me gliding instead of hobbling into the day.  But who am I kidding, I'd never get up if that happened. I'm too addicted to the warmth and comfort and safety of bed as it is.

I also dreamed I was a wife of Mick Jagger (I'm not really au fait enough with the many wives of Mick Jagger to really know which one) and we were clearing our ...shed... for our children's enterprise endeavours. The shed was a sort of dug out building the size of an airplane hangar, able to fit many storeys (stories!), filled with skips and junk and the detritus of their childhoods and our lives. We were scooping downwards, excavating more enormous space, and also considering how to get rid of the skips and old bicycles  and photos, etc. It's an obvious metaphor, of course, but I have no idea why we were the Jaggers.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016


The moon is amazing tonight. Not quite full, but copper and huge. I would like to sit on a hillside and look at the moon with someone, possibly someone I could lean against.

I wish I was more content to experience things on my own and not need to share that sense of wonder I feel when I encounter the world.

I turned on the radio as I drove to work and my drive was strangely clear, even though I left a bit late, and then they played THE NEW PIXIES SONG and I was so happy - that there is a new Pixies song, and sat in the car after I got to work and finished it. It was a good thing, I can't quite explain well. It just felt like things were good in the world. 

Monday, September 12, 2016

scenes from a shopping centre

We're going up the escalator and on the other side, a mother and her maybe seven year old son are coming down. He's got huge eyes, a cute, handsome, square face and thick brown hair. I can't see her because she's bending over him, kissing his head, mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah and as they pass he's smiling a shy smile that stops short of embarrassment even though I'm beaming right at him, because he's happy and loved, and it's the sweetest thing. 

Sunday, September 11, 2016

I just dreamed of lots of things - but lastly that the pregnant Polish prostitute I'd met on the street while trying to get a taxi, and her pale Polish boyfriend I'd seen in a photo-postcard he'd written her documenting their meeting on Christian Mingle, had appeared in my house, smiling strangely, and advanced on me in my kitchen, making me fear they were vampires.

They assured me they weren't, and then I realised that Olivia was still downstairs - because it was a dream, she didn't seem worried about it, Instead she was worried I'd be angry she'd painted the cardboard box she was standing in purple.

What Does That Mean?

Anyway, I didn't get to find out as Bodhi came to wake me up by telling me the dog had puked on the rug. Second morning puke in a row the dog has done - hmm. I have no idea what's wrong with him.

Axl came home last night and regaled Olivia and me with hilarious tales of his shop in a way I haven't really seen him do in a while. He was being really funny, like making me laugh out loud in a perfomative way, which was nostalgic. One of the things I loved about him was how funny he was, how he could make everybody laugh.

I want to tell you, but I have a feeling it wouldn't translate so well. Also, it would need lots of back story, and I've only just woken up. Somewhere in the house is a puked-on rug, but I cleaned puke up yesterday, and this is in Axl's bedroom, so I feel it's his turn to look after it.

Fittingly, we're going to see the Secret Life of Pets today, at 12.30... the Kids' Club show, god help us. I hope it's old enough that there won't actually be any other kids there... toddlers, munching so loudly you can't hear the film... we'll see.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

Ugh. I'm tempted to say the uninterested lads who work in the schoolbook shop are useless fuckers for writing my name down and Joan not Jo, and being unable to find the book + insiting it hadn't come in despite the fact that we got a call to collect it - but I have to face the fact that I too am a useless fucker for dropping the docket under the kitchen table and only finding it now. One frustrating visit and one frustrating phone call later, they still can't find it but say I can have one off the shelf... but I had to order it because it was out of stock.

So... now when I go down, docket clenched in pudgy, frustrated fist, they won't have one on the shelf and will they be able to find it? I do not know... but I'm feeling quite fucked off about it.

And this is all because I ordered the wrong book (Second year in a row, I'm told) - it's Modern Handwriting 3, not Modern Handwriting 3A (ffs).

So, who writes much these days? How much does my son really need to learn to write anyway?


Friday, September 9, 2016

I would like to share this on my facebook page but it will fill up with angry accusations and dismissals, angry patronising, offensive comments about scientific proof and google searching morons.

The sentence that rings loudest to me is the doctor's statement about the mother not understanding 'politics in Ireland'. We know what that means. It's ... disgusting. These children and their parents being thrown under the slowly mangling tracks, so 'politics' can roll on with all of the profit.

I'm so full of disgust I don't even know what to say.

Google side effects of Risperdal.

I don't know.