Thursday, April 16, 2015

jokes that make me laugh

There's a silly brand of word play riffing that makes me laugh the way you wish you laughed more.

Today in work, someone mentioned a student whose last name is Angermeyer.

I wish that was my name some days. I started giggling.

Me: Angermeyer? Really? That's fabulous.
Colleague: FRAULEIN ANGERMEYER.
Me: Frownline Angermeyer.
Other colleague: Turn that frown upsidedown, Angermeyer!

Three women laughing helplessly in the staffroom, two men and one woman looking on confusedly.

I don't know, how is that not funny? :)


Sunday, April 12, 2015

Interaction with my daughter is like a constant comment war at the moment.

I have to cultivate smiling and nodding.

I'm full of pmsy rage at the stupid people of this world. Comments are a no go zone. No one can use hanging as a metaphor anymore because lynching happened to black people in the States? Bitchy insults accompanied by 'lol'? Passive aggressive ill wishes par excellance. One of which followed me home to my facebook pm box the other day.

A cleverer woman would get off the internet. I know, I know. And stop responding to things and then being upset by shit storms of my own making. I know. I'm better than I was, I delete my comments all the time before I post them. Maybe I just need an outlet for the Rage this week. Even if it's a bad idea.


Saturday, April 11, 2015

camelia flowers and a dog





dreams

I woke up uncomfortable this morning, as I often do, which really frustrates me. I lay there feeling sore, and processing the long dream I'd just had. Ran through the mundane stages of it, suburban middle class family things, teaching anxiety moments, weird, a deviant sex interlude (not so much involving me, but the hithertofore suburban parents! and their incongruously working class friends). And then I remembered - the bit where I was on a coach, looking out the window at an urban green space where there where fallen collosal oaks, bleached bone colour (more like beeches, in fact) and as tall as standing trees. Dinosaur trees. And then I was a witch, animated looking, for some reason determined to go back in time, by zooming fast and fiercely though the water until I created a glowing circle of light to travel through, and made a shock wave by screaming that would drown someone (me?) in the past and stop a bad thing happening. I had a lizardy familiar who came with me. And we returned, it worked.

I was ugly, giant, misshapen - but also undoubtedly magic, and determined. I really, really wish I could watch it again on a screen and remember more back story.

It might be coming... 

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

A woman in the town 25 mins away from me went missing Friday. I shared her picture on fb... her body has been found... in the shed of a man I went to school with...

Funny, you hear '38 year old man from Wicklow', and you think, I'm 38... I'm from Wicklow. Bam... he was a classmate.

It's not looking great for him. Sounds like an affair gone bad, she threatened to out them... he has a new baby... or so I hear on the grapevine. I hope it's all wrong, but... damning evidence so far. He hasn't been arrested yet, though, just detained.

I really wish that men would stop killing women. Stop allowing themselves to cross that line. This one sounds born out of desperation, rather than psychosis or deviancy, but still... women are not expendable. If you find yourself thinking you might murder someone, think again. Step back. Don't decide that your problems or your perversions or you rage are worth more than someone's life. Because, they aren't.

I know that men are frequent victims of violence too. It's not like that isn't all over the news as well. I wish that would stop too. But I want to stop seeing missing posters and wondering what the hell happened... who snapped this time. Who took the plunge. Awful, awful.


Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Ugh. I hate everything. The news is shit today. A two year old got run over and killed in Dublin, in the park, by some boy racer type, it seems. Lots of complaints made about him prior to the accident. He fled the scene, but they've arrested him. 

A missing woman from Wicklow has been found dead. They've arrested someone. Christ. How many murderers are there on the East Coast? If you thought about it, you'd never talk to anyone again.

My friend's son is so sick. His treatment is horrific. It's just not fair. She says it feels like things will never be normal again. Maybe they won't be? 

My daughter still won't wash. I think she's sneaking solid food now, though. 

People on the internet are irking me, but it's just because I'm in a bad mood. It really doesn't matter. It's not like I don't know there are stupid sexist people out there, for example. Stop reading. Stop reacting. I swear, I delete as many comments as I write, some days. Progress. 



Monday, April 6, 2015

strangers

You go walk with your dog, and your dog makes friends, not always with ease, and you get to know first the dogs' names, their personalities, then the owners' names, because it gets silly not knowing what the humans are called. And you meet often, and you talk about allsorts, and the dogs. You laugh, and you slowly let out personal information, truths and situations, and without ever having sat down with those people, or knowing where they live, you learn about their parents, their children, their childhoods, their divorces, their pain. It's a little magic when you turn up at the same time, or meet half way round. The dogs are delighted, they frolic and tussle. You meet other dogwalkers, you know them, or they know the person you're walking with, and then you know them too.

You share things, you tell dog stories, you comfort, they reassure. You wish them well. You might even get a hug, one day, when you realise you have similar stories of autistic children, a generation apart. You stand in the car park and reveal that you're on an anti-depressant and they are surprised and half delighted to realise it's the same one as theirs and you both grin ruefully at the Americanness of the whole thing. And talk about what anxiety feels like - and a gigantic, sweet, laughing, strong man says that there are some days when he's terrified to walk out his door.

And all this without anyone knowing each other's last name. 

Saturday, April 4, 2015

I made meatballs last night! First time in a long time. And ... I confess, I bought ingredients and sauce for them about a month ago, but then got struck down with that particular dread of domestic effort I seem to excell at, and never did 'em.

I really hate that.

I am avoiding Easter, and nobody here seems to care that not an egg is decorated. So, feck it. I'll make Easter Chick cookies, though, as Bodhi and myself will be venturing to my godparents' on Monday, and they all make a big effort to be Eastery, with egg hunts and lunch, bless 'em all.

I want dyed eggs and an Easter tree. I want to feel the joy of Spring moving me and igniting my kids in sweet and ancient ways. But I don't got it. 

Friday, April 3, 2015

Ahh, have had first nap of the long weekend. Just thought I'd announce that. Lazy family refuse to walk the dog with me. They suck. 

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

God help me I am struck down with exhaustion and dread of small chores. I do not want to go to the shop, make gyoza or wash the fox shit off the fucking dog. Stinky.Little.Bastard.

Nor do I want to work. But I have to work. I just want to lie in bed watching tv and snoozing. Forever.