Wednesday, July 27, 2016

a good thing

A friend asked me about Danielle last week. So I texted him, and I got back a picture of blue sky blue sea view of the prow of a boat in the South of France where he's on holiday, which has to be a good thing, and he says to say hello to those of you who remember him. I'd put the photo here but I don't think my phone will let me take it out of messages.

I had my wisdom tooth assessment... which ended up being v positive, except, ugh, there can be scary side effects of the op, like nerve damage, which is rarely permanent, and it's going to fuck up my jaw joing big time, which makes me want to cry quite a bit, as does the thought of the surgeon drilling a slice of bone out of my jaw.

I feel quite teary at the thought of all the pain and violence to come. I think I'm going to need to take the sedation option. Yet I still ate cake today, so clearly my craving for sugar outweighs my yearning for teeth that don't need extracting. Did anyone get theirs taken out (lower jaw) with only local anaesthetic, and regret it? The only reason not to do it is because I'l need a person to bring me, wait for me, and bring me home. The sweet graduate student warned against operating heavy machinery after, or online shopping :)

Saturday, July 23, 2016

my life is full of but

So many things that don't go anywhere.

I can write words together in a pleasing configuration (sometimes) but I never have a sustainable idea for anything long form.

I'd love to write children's books but the thought of how much work has to go into them, the promo, the dog work, the perseverance... I don't think I have what it takes.

I'm funny, but I can't see myself being consistent enough to make it into a job.

I want to excercise and eat healthily but I have no will-power, I keep crawling exhaustedly back to bad habits.

I want to make money but I'm lazy and I procrastinate and my lack of confidence drains my energy right out of anything I have to do and at this point I'm convinced I can't do anything well and I shouldn't take anything on.

I love my children, but I fail them all the time... I don't work hard enough for them, myself keeps getting in the way.

I love being social, but it's mostly too much effort to follow through and be giving enough to the people I know.

I want to be positive and strong, but the sense of helplessness I feel a lot ovewhelms that.

It's always but. And I can see how lame these sentences are... but ...

How do you get rid of the but? 

Monday, July 18, 2016

It's so hot! 27 degrees today! Blue skies and total sun. Mary may laugh, but it't too hot for me, unless I'm on holiday with access to water and ice cream and don't need to go anywhere.

It's fabulous but uncomfortable. I wish I lived alone so I could loll around naked. My children wouldn't appreciate that, but I miss the days... though I confess I'm doing just that now, in the privacy of my boudoir, and feeling slightly anxious at the thought of putting the lightest of duvets over me to sleep.

I had a beautiful day yesterday, with a writer friend, who's finally visited. We went to Glendalough (everyone should go) and walked further than I usually do and found the waterfall. Other friends of mine posted a photo of themselves at the top of the mountain - you can see where I was far, far, far below, it's funny :)

Then we went to luch and sat in the shade in the lovely garden at the Avoca Handweavers, and then walked the sea front looking at the summery stuff that's going on at the moment, had a gelato, and repaired to the Harbour bar for a pint. Such a lovely day.

I had a heat blip, when my friend's husband asked me what Tabairne an Cuain meant. Well, I knew tabhairne was pub, but I didn't remember cuain. It took me a few seconds to realise exactly what it meant... duh. Can you work it out?

Friday, July 15, 2016


I procured the number of the aforementioned Mark McK, messaged him and invited him to tea, because he owed me a hug cos a Pixies gig isn't a Pixies gig without on from him. And also, we're practically neighbours, he only lives down the road, why do not we stir ourselves to have a chat now and again?

And he texted back that he wasn't there as he was working, but he always has a hug in reserve for me.


The sweetpea.

God, it undoes me when people are nice to me. Say something kind, and I'm done.


Thursday, July 14, 2016

Oh, France.

I have to confess, that as I stood at the back of the gig last night, having my dinner and dancing to the songs that I love and feeling the swelling burst of love for it all, I did something bad.

For the last few songs, I started to think about the Paris massacre - a packed indoor venue, and the confusion and terror of being hemmed in with guns going off, bodies on the floor, screaming, running panic. The peace and beauty and camaraderie of a good gig lost to horror.

I was angry with myself for putting myself in that place, for allowing myself to imagine that scene being visited on the goodness of the evening. It made me anxious to go, upset me with 'why there and not here?' questions. Thoughts about how fast everything could shatter, how illusive our sense of safety is.

And now I'm reading about Nice... which I saw mention of briefly last night, but didn't realise it was a terrorist attack. I thought it was an accident.

Massacring families on a celebration day... it's repulsive. What is there to say? What to do? 

I am sweetly weary. Pixies, Pixies. I am spoilt. From now on I wish to only attend gigs in settings where there are mature, tall trees that wave in the light and there is soft, sweet grass underfoot.

No more sweaty clubs for me.

Ubiquitous sighting of Glen Hansard Up The Front, check. Raucous, melodic, classic songs? Oh, oh. Such beauty, and fun.

I sighted a McKinney brother, but it was the wrong one, and when I made my way down to where I'd seen him, he was gone. This means nothing to anyone, but I am owed a hug... a Pixies gig isn't right without a Mark McKinney hug. I met a friend from school, and it was her birthday, and what a way to spend it. Oh, and her friend was there, who I know a tiny bit. She didn't remember me, but I asked after her newest baby, and turns out he's called Bodhi for real! Fabulousness. It seems that Wicklow is now ready.

I spent an hour up near the front, which was quite smokey, though some of that smoke was of the fragrant variety and came from the bowl of a little black pipe, so that was nice. The other, not so much. Two very tall men right in front of me? But of course.

A sweet, drunk girl with very curly hair danced and bounced, and at one point approached with arm outstretched and beseeching look on her face - it took me a second, but then I realised from her stroking motions that she wanted to touch my arm because I was wearing my fuzzy purple cardigan. Bodhi strokes me all the time, it's hard not to touch it. She was very cute.

I ate delicious chick pea curry with rice and raita. Excellent dining option. My stomach seems quite happy about it (I sadly often have an IBS sort of reaction when I eat out, but not this evening).

Middle aged people floated about with blissful, beatific smiles on their faces. A conservative looking, tall woman in her forties with a greying bob and two earrings in each ear stopped in front of us, saw her friend and waved while jumping up and down in delight. She was so happy, to be there, to see her friend, it brought tears to my eyes.

The sweetness.

There were many shorn heads, and mighty beards, and everyone a bit scruffy and virtually nobody very young, except the golden, glowing 7 year old being held by his dad at the back of the field, both of the smiling joyously as I walked past. It was so beautiful. We're old and paunchy and oh, my hips and knees and I came home and put my feet in a pot of hot water and epsom salts (and I'm very glad I did, I must do it more often). But, fuck it. These magical people are still making sublime music, and we're still dancing, albeit wearily. I'm so grateful to them.

Axl is a bit sick, throat, headache - I knew he had Solpadeine Sinus in the car and suggested he take one. He did. Later I asked him, 'did the pill work?'
'Heh, yeah', he said. I responded and then he said, 'Oh, ha, I thought you were talking about him,' nodding across at a wild headed man with a pony tail who was dancing progressively foolishly.

My ears are not quite ringing, but they're ... vibrating a little. I'm so tired. It's time for sleep. Good night, all.

Wednesday, July 13, 2016


Today I talked to one of the Asperger Experts in the US. Got some suggestions for managing things with Olivia. Am considering signing up for 3 months of support and advice - it's hugely expensive because they make themselves available daily, whatever you want... but then the psychologist we saw charged €75 an hour, travel time and admin time billed too... I dunno. They do get it. They *are* it, but sweet and balanced and wanting to help people... it's hard to know if it's the right thing to do but a) my father did offer some financial help and b) they offer a partial refund if you feel you've got what you needed, or aren't getting anything out of it.

It's hard to know. I feel like we need to do something. Everyone I know who asks me about things here asks if I'm 'getting some support'.  Oh, the school said, at the end of our horrible diagnosis year - we didn't realise you were going through all this without any support.

What fucking support?? There doesn't seem to be any.

Anyway... despite my bitterness, that was a good thing. It's an avenue, albeit an expenisve one. We'll see.

Tomorrow, I go see the Pixies.

Next week, Belly, with golden voiced Tanya Donnelly.

And, and, and, I've just bought tickets for myself and a friend to go to Kristen Hersh in a small theatre doing songs and stories and chat in November and I'm so blissfully happy about it. From hearing she was playing to front row tickets in an hour... wheeeeeee! Hearts and flowers. Ahh, all the music, coming back to me. I know I should learn new things, but these, these are balm to my soul. And they're making new music. Blessedly. I shall soon be going to Church.

Saturday, July 9, 2016

Some people get annoyed with 'everything happens for a reason' and 'you choose your own happiness' type memes on facebook, which have spawned a million memes like this

They're soothing.

However, my least favourite 'positive' memes are the current crop of them that I suppose could be described as the tough love inspirational meme genre, like the one I saw this morning that said

Now you know I'm the first person to admit I'm a whiny, self-pitying bitch who does not fulfill the saintly special-needs-mom-hero picture I should, but oh, readers, I fucking hate these things. I hate their passive aggression and pseudo- practical enlightenment, and their judgy condemnation-masquerading-as-goodness. I hate the way they make me feel.

I've been reducing my fucking glass for years. I don't expect to be loved by anyone any more. I don't expect to have sex again in my life. I don't expect to get a hug. I don't expect to to go out much at all. I don't expect to have a pension. I don't expect to be able to turn the heat on in Winter because Olivia can't stand the noise. I don't expect to travel or be able to go very far from home on any given day. I don't expect to be a grandparent, because I'm not sure people should be bringing children into this world as it stands today. I don't expect to have holidays again. I don't expect Christmas presents. I don't expect to have a job that pays well. There are lots of things I accept, and while my glass is full compared to many (I have a house, I've never been unable to conceive or lost a child, I have my health so far, I can run a car, I share parenting and bills with another human, I have people who treat me to lunch sometimes etc. etc.), my glass is fairly small. So while yes, I should stop bitching, also, FUCK OFF.

Why am I writing this? Because I just saw this.

And I love it because it's a lot more realistic and positive than the 'stop bitching' one above. But also because she wouldn't be as smiley and content if her bucket was half the fucking size it is.

Thursday, July 7, 2016

Both my children are keen to visit the States. Olivia wants to see certain things she likes from TV and the internet. She thinks America is the place to be. Ireland is boring. Bodhi just wants the experience, of somewhere we see and hear so much from.

God knows Ireland has its massive issues. Our parliament has just near-unanimously voted down a bill to allow abortion of foetuses with fatal foetal abnormalities. At the moment, parents of such children have to travel, grief-stricken, to London, and carry their baby's remains home with them in secret, or have them delivered in the post. Can you imagine? And our parliament thinks this should continue.

Anyway... America. I've been several times now. I love a lot about it. It doesn't feel like home, but it feels familiar - the smell of coffee shops and sunshine on the street, the scale, the beauty.

And, yet, dear god. I think I'd be frightened to take my kids  there. What if? In case? I'd be frightened to call the police if I needed them, in case my call resulted in some one's death. I'd be afraid to send my kids to school there, because even if they never experienced a school attack, they'd still have to practise hiding in bathrooms and under tables in the event of one. I might have to purchase a special bullet proof blanket for them to hide under.

Is it just that there are too many people in the world? Have fear and anger taken over? Is it too much to expect of a police force to embrace alternatives to knee jerk shoot-to-kill policies? To not be racist?


Saturday, July 2, 2016

Is it all over when bloggers blog about tv? I kind of like it when other people do it. After all, it's not just about tv, it's about humanity, right? What they reveal, and what our responses reveal about us.

So... Naked and Afraid. Or rather, Butts and Whining, as I have renamed it. It's a survival show where two would-be amateur survivalists are dumped in some inhospitable tropical location where they strip, greet each other naked, and bring one item to help them survive (naked) for 21 days. In the beginning, they boast with all-American health and optimism, about how great their survival skills and personal resilience are.

Then they, to a man/woman, go to the said location which is more hellish than paradisical, get cut feet/infections, are savaged by biting bugs, can't light a fire in the monsoon, mostly fail to find stuff to eat and grow emaciated because they're living off not-enough coconuts. They bitch and whinge at each other a lot and cry about how horrible it is, and how they want to go home.

Now, my beef is not exactly with the whinging. It's a natural response to being in the situation. I too would whine, cry, and fail to kill things. I too would want to go home. The thing is, I know this, and subsequently not go on the show.

Last night took the biscuit. It featured a Californian girl who had PTSD because her friend had been killed in a robbery while she was abroad, and she wanted to ... well, survive something as therapy, I guess. She actually did pretty well, and I liked her overview - 'it's not that women can't do this, it's that you have to be a strong enough woman to do it'. Nice.

Her naked counterpart, on the other hand, was a Texan firefighter and hunter (he told us that a lot) who liked killin' things. He told us both of these things a lot, then failed to kill anything, until he beat a python to death with big stick right at the end of the experience. The primitive hunting skills of which he was so proud weren't hugely apparent, and to make matters worse, he bitched about needing to be the provider, because he was a man (And a firefighter) and that's how it's done in Texas. Women stay home and men kill stuff for them.

Which, you know, would have been ok, if he hadn't had massive tantrums about it. He dug for crabs and didn't find one. She had a go, caught one, whooped in triumph, and rather than share in it, he actually said 'Whatever. It's no big deal' in a sulky voice, and looked disgusted and near to tears. Later on, she (apparently) lost the firestarted he'd brought, so they had to tend a fire full time. She looked after it while he went to find food, but came back empty handed. Then she had a go, while he complained about having to tend the fire like a woman, while she was off 'having fun'. She came back with a fish, and he was furious, and refused to eat it.


She sat and talked to him, and took him to task about it, and he was quite humble. She asked him if he'd lied about his 'primitive hunting skills', he said no, and that was that - he was a little subdued after that.

But, Jesus. It was painful.

And some poor people have to go through each frame and blur out their genitals (and her breasts) in each one. For each show. Because beating a python to death is all good, but penises are scarring.

So his chauvinism was extreme, it's not always that bad (there's usually equal opportunity bluster and whining) but the outcome is pretty much the same. Demoralisation, mutual blame, emaciation and butts.

I'd love to see one where people actually made a go of it, and managed to get on better. It might restore my faith in humanity a bit.

But then, seeing as my skills are baking (when not under pressure), facebook and procrastination, I guess no one wants to watch my version of the show. I can do whining, though!