Sunday, December 4, 2016

blorg


You know how I'm frequently sentimental, but I also hate schmaltzy sanctimonious crap off the internet?

Case in point. Fuck off.

Anyone prefer me to make love to them instead of sending them cookies? Show of hands? Ah, alright, I'll stick with the baking, so. Be the light, my arse.

Having said that, I could have listened to that André Rieu version of Hallelujah with the opera singers ten times and wept through it each time today. God.

I survived the baking marathon. My wares sold out. I am tired and I owe myself a weekend, but I had a delicious Indian takeaway for dinner tonight.

Bodhi is cycling, finally and his father promises to start teaching him chords this week.

I'm feeling festive, and have holidays coming, so I can live without this weekend being entirely restful. Tomorrow night, Christmas cards.

I'm going to bed early.

Oh - also, I read Iain Banks' 'The Steep Road to Garbadale' this week and enjoyed it immensely - such bright, clever writing and characters. I went so far as to see if I could find his twitter to tell him so, then remembered with sadness that he died.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

I talk so much. Like a hyper, over-excited child. Not always, but often. It sweeps over and out of meme like a wave, a swell of uninvited, babbled information, opinion, story, joke. When I found out it was a dyspraxic symptom, it made me feel slightly better, but it's still ... humiliating? Shaming? Something a little sicker feeling than embarrassment, I think. Ugh. 

I have a baking marathon to do today, for the school Christmas fair fundraiser. I want to stay in bed and read this great novel by Iain Banks instead - The Steep Approach to Garbadale. It's so well written. Funny, engaging, tender writing. Sometimes a little self-conscious, but that endears me to it all the more. I've spent €50 on ingredients, it's going to be hours of running the oven. Robbing me of my weekend. I feel resentful about it. Childishly, churlishly so. An annual tradition. Other people work harder than I do to organise it, and it's vital if we want the school to be able to keep running the lights and so on. Which is shit. But ... it is what it is. I should be more attractively zen about it. 

My Christmas present to myself and my fingernails arrived yesterday. Nail varnish. Special, water based, peelable, gorgeous nail varnish. I will blog about this soon, if you will allow me to. V v exciting. 

I am feeling shitty today. I have a headache, I don't know why, and things feel too hard to bear. I want to cry and I feel sorry for myself. Blech. Post-menstrual stress? I don't know, but I don't like it. I don't like myself. 

Saturday, November 19, 2016

I woke up at 5 this morning, to the groggy realisation that I'd fallen asleep with the light on, my computer on, my mouth guard not in. I flailed around, worrying I hadn't brought my phone up and so had no alarm. The idea of getting out of bed in the cold and dark to go find it seemed impossible.

Then the knowledge that it was Saturday dropped me back onto the pillow with almost fainting relief. Not only did I not have to go get the phone, I didn't have to get up for work either. It was a glorious, dizzy sensation. If I hadn't been lying down, I might have fallen over with it. 

Sunday, November 13, 2016

I am listening to You Want It Darker in my bed-nest and am loving it. It'd be startling if it weren't... Leonard Cohen - I mean, what is there else to expect?

It's difficult for me to listen to LC because my mother loved him, and was of his era, and I think I heard his songs through her ears and experiences rather than my own. I dissuaded my sister from having House of the Rising Sun played at her funeral (she claimed my mother loved it and she (my sister) was tickled that it was about a whore house) and in exasperation I just put my foot down and suggested a friend would play 'Hey That's No Way to Say Goodbye on the flute, which my mother played and she went for it. My father felt it was horribly inappropriate, but relented when I said it would just be the music. I probably shouldn't have pushed that on him, as it was one of the songs they'd loved together - and now I associate with it her too much to be able to enjoy it any more properly. Ah, for fuck's sake. It's hard having a mammal brain and all these chemicals. Anyway, that's my little jolly Leonard Cohen story.

Nevertheless, this album is a v good thing. 

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Thursday

My son is having a good week.

He got his first pair of Docs, and he loves them, the bounce and security of them.

His sister is being unusually nice, less Aspie and more herself, calm and friendly towards him. They're enjoying each other's company, or they have been, and he can relax a bit.

He got Pokemon cards.

He put himself forward for the student council, and he won today, so he's excited and proud of himself. I'm so glad - he tried something and it came through. It's bolstering. Plus, he'll be great.

In this week of fear and awfulness, he's ok.

Since the election results, I have felt a craving to read people's reactions and opinions and to feel connected - I've really, really wanted to hide in bed and read and share those thoughts. But I had to get up and go to work. Real life intrudes. I feel horrified by so many people's violence and lack of understanding and I feel heartened and touched by others' beautiful comprehension of humanity. There are many aware, empathic, brave, clever people out there. I don't know that I believe they can save us, but that's no reason not to keep trying.

Friday

Today was less triumphant - he's worried his docs look too big and he had a fight with his best friend. But we sail on.

I lit a fire and it was insanely windy out, and the fire basically blew back into the room and smoked up the recently painted wall above the fireplace and when I cleaned it I made it far worse. Oops. New paint will be needed.

Which is bad because it's Axl's birthday today, and he has to drive to the farthest county in the country to play at his bass player's cousin's wedding and then drive home and get back at 4 am and go to work tomorrow. We'll celebrate on Sunday, but he may also have to paint a wall... :/

Saturday

Spent money! On a dental check up for Bodhi, on soap, on the supermarket. I'm feeling greedy and consumerist at the moment. I want Petite Odille nail varnish for my new, grown up human nails (though I bit one yesterday - agh! Still better than in times past, though) and manicures. I want a handbag and a new phone (an ethical one I don't have to feel guilty about that costs €500 hahahaha!) I want my ears repierced so I can wear earrings again. I want more than one pair of shoes. I want osteopaths appointments and dentistry. I want music and pretty Christmas things and books and a refurb for this falling down house - a silent boiler, new bathrooms, insulation, new carpeting. I want to donate to homeless charities and dog charities and Syria and Yemen and anything that stops Trump hurting people and and and. Anyway, I went and checked my account and I have minus money til Friday, so... sigh.

If I don't post this now I should really delete it, and I wanted to post the bit about Bodhi's Good Day, so, publish I will.




Friday, November 4, 2016

I thought I'd got away with not providing a small sibling for Bodhi, who is the lovingest, sweetest child and would dote on a cute baby, be a big brother to his little sister or brother in the kindest of ways. I saw him as a toddler filled with ecstatic delight at new babies and felt so guilty - it was assuaged a bit as he got older, met his friends' demon-little-siblings and said that maybe it was just as well.

But today in the shopping centre he talked about how utterly adorable kiddies' shoes were, how any foot could be so tiny amazes him and is totally adorable. I said how magical I found the tiny, untrodden button heels of his and his sister's feet were when they were small, he asked did I press them, and sighed quite a lot at having missed out on having a little sister. He agreed that it would have been good if he'd been the big brother.

In truth, things would have been so very different if it had worked that way.

So I'm torn between feeling horrible guilt at ever having had children and guilt at only having had two, and denying him a little brother or sister to love. Right at the same time.

This week is weird - I went to a gig on Wednesday that was quite intense, an intimate performance of just one woman reading and singing very personal songs, and it messed me up a bit, to be honest - and I was hoping to go for a drink/talk/food with my friend afterwards but she had to leave straight away, and she got there at the last minute, and these days I feel so paranoid about other people, and how bearable I am to be around, and if not that then I just needed the buffer of a chat about the gig to de-intensify it all a bit. But that was not to be.

 I'm not sure I get panic attacks - maybe? But maybe they're more just attacks of grieving, but ones where I'm consumed with terror about the future and my ability to tolerate it and provide for the kids, and what if I die early and how will they be looked after and what about Olivia. So...

It's been a weird week. Like PMS but after my period. Is it going to be post MS now too? Aiee.

I bought Bodhi his first pair of Docs today. It's so amazing - I'm so jealous. Adult docs are so expensive now, and my calves and ankles are fat, I just don't feel like I can do them justice anymore, and not look like... heifer dressed as mutton, maybe. I was a size five til after I had kids (that's smaller than a US size five, maybe a four?) Now I'm a six, and sometimes I miss my feet being littler. The boots I've got are a bit too big, but the five's too small and no one does half sizes. It's faintly alienating to look down at them, but they're nice, so, it's also ok. I'm just a little surprised by it.

Soon Bodhi will be fabulous - he's getting interested in music, he's getting docs, he's higher than my shoulder... I wish Olivia was the one but she never liked 'em, and with the SPD, there was never really ever any enjoying any of it. Still, Dade loves fashion, loves himself in clothes and shoes and takes great joy in it all, in his hair, he's proud of himself. It's good. He *nearly* went for the shiny red ones, but realised he wasn't ready yet. A bridge too far.

Ach.

I dreamed yesterday, while I was sleeping in because I hit off instead of snooze, that everyone was telling me about their cancer. Including Danielle's butler, as he was taking pizzas out of the Aga. 'Does Danielle have a butler?' my friend asked, when I told her this. No, just in my dream.
I know the cancer thing is just because I met someone who is at stage 4 with it in England and talked to her a lot about it, but it was unsettling nonetheless.


Monday, October 31, 2016

We watched The Jungle Book in its newest incarnation tonight.

There are many glorious aspects to it - the animation is astonishing and delightful. The reworking of two old famous songs is gleeful and a wonderful homage to the Disney Jungle Book. The care shared between Baloo, Bagheera and Mowgli is well done.

I didn't mind that Kaa is now female as her part in the story is really well done - and if you count the number of female characters in the original main story, you  only have to use one finger, so... yeah. Olivia had read that she was all seduction, and Mowgli was a nine year old boy, and ew... but the connection between sex and death is something that she (and clearly, large swathes of the internet) doesn't understand yet.

They mess with the story, but honestly, they pull it back together into a good film plot pretty well. I won't complain. I miss the real Book I know and love so deeply, but ... I don't think they're ever going to make that one the way I want them too. And it sits very firm in my head and heart. I think it might be my most favourite ever book,

Do you know some people have never read it? For them, the Jungle Book is the Disney cartoon, silly songs and cartoon vultures. For me, it introduced me to romance and daring and conflict and death and friendship bonds and sacrifice.., so many human experiences put together in such a beautiful way. I think this film scrapes at that quite masterfully, even though I balk at it not being 'right' - the story is taken apart and stitched together but I think it works pretty well to redeliver the message. And the cast is fantastic, the animation is a tour de force. It's beautiful to be able to live in the world so visually. I wish they'd make one based on the original book and not the Disney cartoon just for me though, but that might be asking too much. 

Sunday, October 30, 2016

I dreamed that there was a huge party in my father's house and that I suddenly realised that Olivia had washed her hair (for the first time in 18 months - I haven't really been writing about this, but in case you don't know, my daughter who is on the spectrum and was high functioning, has SPD to the degree that washing herself or changing her clothes has turned into such a paranoia that we haven't been able to get her to do so in nearly two years. As a result, she won't see anyone or leave the house.)

Anyway, I dreamed that I suddenly realised her long hair was thick, blond, and flowing again and that she was wearing a dress. I asked her how she'd done it, and she said my mother had had a chat with her about it, and she'd just run a pencil through it and got the tangles out herself. Then she ran off and played with the child of someone I'd known in school for hours.

My father and his wife were having a house party, and there was a special dinner for a select group of people, but it was in the bathroom - which was hugely, bizarrely extended.

I decided to check on my mother who I thought was in her bedroom, and take her a glass of water, but the upstairs of the house was huge, and totally unfamiliar to me. It was filled with party-goers in victorian dress and tables of food and drink were everywhere. I couldn't find her room and no one knew where she was. The glass of water disappeared.

I could really do with some supernatural intervention, I have to say.

Also, my wrists are hurting when I put any pressure on them - it was just one, suddenly it's both. Have I given myself RSI with my constant typing? worryworry

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.