writing

I have come to the conclusion that my brain is not balanced. Not as in, mentally unbalanced, per se, though that is what it is, I suppose, but I've been reading about left/right brain alignment - specifically its influence on OCD.

Then I mentioned it to my homoeopath, who asked about my babyhood and said that my 70s hip dyspasia treatment (multiple nappies as cure) would have hindered my cross crawling opportunities (hmm, hsades of dsyspraxia?) and therefore my left/right brain attunement. She said her dyslexic daughter did Brain Gym excercises and went up 2 years reading age in months.

Which is all very interesting, and needs more research on my part.

UPDATE: ok yes, I have some work to do. Who can do this? Can anyone not?

But, that's not really what I was thinking of. Of late, the words, they stick. There are times when I feel a little trickle, then a flow of ideas that meld with the words I need to express them and they pour out of my fingers and I don't stop til they're there, and then, if it's a good day I fix the typos ( at some point), and people say startlingly nice things, and maybe cry, if I'm lucky and all is wonderful.

But that doesn't happen very often these days. Right now I have a story sitting in pieces in a Word file, in a real life A4 pad, in my mind, but it's not all coming together (deadline tomorrow!). Instead it runs dialogue and forms a little bit by bit but slooowly, and when I sit down to try and push it out and pin it down it retreats and recedes and hides and I fumble it and... aghghgh, facebookfacebookgmailfacebookmeh.

Same with this post, I thought of a good one today, it started nicely, and I thought, ooo, that will work and then I forgot, and now I'm writing this one instead, which, believe me, wasn't the original intention, and damn, I should be correcting mocks, you know.

If you're peering in the window to my mind, you'll need to wipe the green stuff and condensation off the glass first, I don't think your sleeve will do it. Bring a scraper.

How do you make the words gush and tumble out, birth them, let them free of you to breathe on their own? Or failing that even, get on with working?

Got Hotmilk?

I have to admit, I heart this. I wonder if people will come and tell me why I shouldn't?



I just get sick of the sappy drippy soft tone portrayals of pregnancy that are out there. Why not be sexy and gorgeous in nice lingerie if you can!

I know it may just be an automatic response to the guy snapping the tape measure, but I just think this is the bizness. Funky not frumpy :)

precedented!

Oh der. I saw the word finalists on the Irish Blog Award list and failed to notice that was not for all categories. Blush*

Shortlisted, I am, of course. So no dancing yet :)

Sorr-ee for the premature excitement! Silly me!

mommyblogging

I'm glad my period is here. I ate three Kinder Buenos on Saturday.

That's all I have to say so far, today.

Ireland. We have a bankrupt economy, corrupt politicians, a history of ingrained child abuse, emigration and so on. Lots of rain.

But we've no big spiders or volvanos or floods (well, there's a certain amount of flooding) or earthquakes.

Laughykate is asking for help for her friends and family and everyone in Christchurch, here's a place to donate if you feel like donating.

spring, sprung

Today was bright, blue skied, suny and warrrrrrmmmmmm. Warm! We went to the homoeopath. Then we crossed the road and went to the beach, soaked in some sun, collected stones, threw stones in the water, drew on the sand, and Bodhi got to work off some of his surplus of boy-energy and ran around throwing big rocks and shouting Raa!

AND as we walked onto the sand, I looked down, and there was a fiver, no owner in sight.

Breathe out the the stressssss, breath in the calmmmmm....

illustration

I was just reading Go Fug Yourself, it's funny.

And something that has always bothered me was illustrated.

I've always had trouble with these sort of bodices - baha, not personally, because that would just be ridiculous - but the lowness of the cut, even if it's straight across as opposed to this bra cup look. They always look like someone's standing behind the celeb, pulling down slowly on the top of the dress. I think it makes women look weirdly cut, too long on top, all wrong, yet everyone accepts it as normal .It weirds me out.

And at last - and illustration of what's wrong in the extreme!

 Not only does this girl look too young to be out at an award show, in a dress like this, but oh my god, how ruined is her night? Go Fug Yourself suggested that here is why you should always raise your arms above your head and spin around and test your outfit out before you buy it and spend a night stressed out and humiliated to the point of tears... I think this says a lot about how women shouldn't be paraded around in duct tape and heels and support underwear and clothes designed to make them look just about naked too, but, ach, well, we do it to ourselves, it's true, and that's what really hurts...

cupcakes

I was asked to make thank you cupcakes for campaigners for Dylan Haskins. I like his video.




It's not the best photo as I was trying to leave the house to deliver them amidst scenes of dysfunctional family life, but...

He does seem astoundingly young but... the better known faces of authority and senior years don't inspire me with any more confidence.

Yes, I'll take the fresh faced innocence over the self involved cynical corruption at this stage, thank you.

I was listening to the radio, and David O Doherty, the comedian, was on. He said is great grandfather was involved in the Rising, and nationbuilding with the new government. He pointed out that they were all young men, all doing something totally new.

Somehow we became afraid of that, of innovation or change, it made us angry, and instead we put our faith in these patriarchal, conservative, church-kowtowing, narrowminded, parochial, corrupt men (and the women who internalise and support her partiarchal values), like these:

 I think we should be brave enough to start afresh. Call time. Do something new, and hopeful.

My no.1 vote is going to Stephen Donnelly, as I think he embodies the practicality of thinking and enthusiasm, and integrity we need now, to get through this next bit of bad time.



It's hard, I want to vote Green, but the Green party conducted themselves like cowardly babies in government and did not impress me at all. And there's this guy I'll give a mention to:

I don't know, a friend of a friend asked me to spread the word because she likes his values and green politics  -I don't know - the Greens' stint in government has really done the environmental cause harm - peope in this country are less interested than ever, and even I feel it's a slightly naive focus to have at this point, despite the fact that I feel it has to be our primary concern, contradictory as that is. I just don't feel like one wee man can do much good, maybe. Still. Better than Dick Roche...

There ends my political ramble.

faster isn't necessarily better

I was in the video shop (IT'S A DVD SHOP, MOTHER!!) on Friday and The Black Eyed Peas were on the gramophone sound system doing a remix of 'Time of My Life' and I was just too old to tolerate it and the noise of it without suffering extreme irritability, despite the fact that Fergie is older than me (She's older than me, right?).

I mean, I mean, fuck off! Why interrupt someone's Dirty Dancing nostalgie reverie with all that pointless sound pollution.

Sigh. Get out of my garden, you hooligans. No, you can't have your ball back.

blog reading opportunity

Need something to entertain yourself with? Annie Rhiannon is travelling again!

I love her blog, but her travel posts are so sweetly excellent and tender and vulnerable. It was fine when she was in the States (you can buy her beautiful, wonderfully written book about it) but now she's in Asia I feel slightly anxious, when she writes anxiously.

But, loving it nonetheless.

them chillun done made me tired

Well, it was the 3am bedtime and work-still-not-done and the stupid cake exploding, oops, work was due yesterday morning that did it too.

So sitting with Bodhi in the comfy dark, listening to music and his breathing lengthening out and pulling me in with him didn't help the sleepiness. It's so seductive, the fall of a warm little person into sleep, so tempting to snuggle in and cuddle up and follow too.

I resisted and came down to Olivia watching Monster House in the dark, god bless her, and sat with her for a bit because she spends too much time by herself. But despite the scariness of Monster House I could still feel the dark and the duvet tugging at me, so after a little while I had to move and now I'm chilly and yaaaawning.

It's so easy, the slip slide... maybe I should just have an early night so I can work better tomorrow... still lots of time... agh!

As requested, a Bodhi-story, as these have been thin on the ground of late.

Axel and Bodhi, driving to playschool

Bodhi: You know, Axel, polar bears like fish. They eat a lot of fish.
A: they do
Bodhi: yes, they have to eat a lot to get fat for the winter
A: that's right, there's not a lot of food in the wintertime where they live
Bodhi: no, so the more they eat, the fatter they get, and the warmer they are. That's how they stay warm in the winter.
A: that's right, very clever
Bodhi....
.... are you warm?
A laughing : well, yes, yes I am
Bodhi: because you do have a fat tummy...AND a fat bum.
Axel: well, yes, that's right
Bodhi ...
...I'm a little bit cold.

Such timing, the child has.

Google Husband

Google is great. It's saved me often. When I need to know something. Questions, tech stuff, medical info etc. A wealth of support.

But I find myself getting a little bit dependent.

I've got two printers off freecycle since our crappy one decided it could no longer take the pain of printing and just fucked around with the idea endlessly. It's great, one is quite fancy, but it's French, I think, and I've only just noticed it has a 3 pin plug and I have no adaptor.

And the other one looks like it will do ok, but there's no ink in it. And it's 10.30 at night. So I think my printing plans are sunk.

I want to go to google and have it download some ink into the Epson. Or tell me where my other adaptor is and that it will magically be the right voltage for the HP. Why can't it do that? I need it to solve my problems, and right now, I need more that information.

Perhaps what I need is Google Husband. DIY and tech solutions, decisions made for you. It could catch on.

oh thank you!

To my kind and loyal nominator, who didn't even need prompting, I thank you :)

It's hard to find a good curtsying picture, you get some odd stuff.

But, woo!

I am dressed sensibly in the usual grey and black today, but I have to admit that underneath, my underwear is quite ridiculous.

I have on stripy pink and black knee socks, aged pink stripey pants from the Gap and a purple bra with pink embroidery on it.

I sincerely hope this is not the day they have to cut the clothes off me in hospital.

brand new

You know when you know someone newly, still too freshly to have appreciated their bad points, their weaknesses and defensivenesses and insecurities, their foibles and flaws. And all you see is their friendliness, their sweetness and talent, their humour and the comfort or excitement of being better in their company?

It can't last forever, that state, it can't endure much intimacy, much interaction. There will always be a clash that sparks off your own weaknesses and defenses and insecurities - or even more so, your disappointment at the falling pedestals, that this person is just another human person after all, not the standard of perfection you so hoped they'd help you attain.

People don't like to let you exist long in that bubble of fresh liking, do they? They see what's coming, and think they might as well rip the sticking plaster off. But it's a good place to be, that uncynical, accepting, enthusiastic place. Sure, the crash is coming. But enjoy the float while it lasts, I think. Try not to resent the person when you notice their clay feet.

I think there's something to be learned from that open, pure, positive state of simple appreciating of someone. From that hope for a friendship. The untarnished reaching out of one to another. Maybe that's what the bite of the apple did. It spoiled our appreciation of each other and made us annoyed by laughs, and teeth and sniffing, mannerisms and the like. Made us intolerant of baggage, and ... each other. Nearly everyone loves a newborn. Everyone accepts them in their perfect potential. Perhaps that's the value of new friendship, it's a brief brief chance to be unequivocally accepted  and appealing again.

the artist, the director, the cupcake-cake maker

This was a win-win transaction: a girl gone to China on Valentine's Day, her boyfriend at home with the surprise gift of cake, and me a happy cake maker when I see something like this.

yay/boo update

I have a happy plan, and that plan includes passion fruit frosting.

I need to keep writing, and finish a story, but the zeal just won't bite tonight. That makes it crappier.

I have the weirdest headache/throatache combo.

I had no interest in McDonald's tonight, and even though I baked cupcakes today, I didn't eat one (it helped that they were for someone else).

I'm sorry I missed my Chat Opportunity tonight :(

I have Portobello lifestyle envy. Yes, I could live there.

Is it me or does Tori Spelling look eat-your-face-off evil in this photo?

It's nice, to have no one to worry about creating Valentine's Day meaningfulness for, to have no one to wish for Valentine's Day meaningfulness from or worry about them getting it right. The right flowers, the right little poems. A relief, at this stage. Though the kids card are gorgeous - Bodhi: they're LoveBugs!!
 Olivia: I did it all myself, Jamie only helped me with the sparkles!

But Axel started getting Olivia little primroses, and a card from her secret admirer, when she was old enough to appreciate them, so we do that. And it's cute. I was the Last Man Standing this weekend, so I did a quick supermarket sweep - Narcissi in little pots in bud, cards, Lindt mini eggs (which are supremely gorgeous, imho).

I left them to a recovering Axel to organise while I busted ass in another correcting marathon and this morning, Bodhi came down to a card, flowers, with all little eggs encircling the bottom of the pot. I had to briefly remove Olivia's because I noticed he'd eaten his and started on hers. I couldn't blame him, they are fucking gorgeous.

Olivia staggered in, all sore throat (yes, she got it too :() and saw them, and said, 'Oh, cool!' in happy tones. She's chilling out more at the moment. And appreciating the fact that she has a secret-admirer Dad, I'm happy to say.

much better

Just had a delicious pain-free smoothie.

I'm a little scared to start eating again. Not thinking about food/not wanting food (other than soup and tea) is very liberating if you're used to wanting it all the time.

No bread, pasta and sugar is the answer, I suppose.

I have so much to do, now. And I just want to sleeeeeeeeeeeep.

Oh, I just got a big freecycled printer/scanner. I am hoping it works ok, because if it does it is a coup of a freebie. And it means I can kick the non-working one down the lane. Or bash it with a hammer.

Can I write a bitch-post about my mother in law? Or should I really stop that now because it will just make me look like a lesser human? I won't do a poll, but feel free to let me know which way you lean.

misses

I just got 'misses' as word verification.

I think I am being hit hard by this infection because my immune system is shot. Bodhi got over it in two days, loved and healthy as he is.

I am hyper aware of how my mother looked after me when I was sick. She made medical decisions. Treating acute conditions with homeopathy needs means paying acute attention to symptoms and mood etc., sometimes to my dismay; I didn't always want to be quizzed about the exact nature of my headache when I was really looking for a bit of maternal sympathy.

There was fresh squeezed  juice and fresh fruit, and water, and monitoring of my high temperatures and then, when I was back to being able to eat again, easily digested, homemade things.

And drinks and entertainment. In bed. Being sick was grand, in those days.

Right now I need fresh juice and teas and homemade soup, and instead I've Tropicana and weird sugary vegetable soup from a packet that tastes like jelly beans, I swear to god. I may rant about that later. On the plus side, I've lost 5 lbs from not eating for two days (! Seriously, starvation for weight loss, has no one marketed  this as a diet plan yet? evil cackle*). Maybe I should live on soup and honey water for a few days more...

In fairness, Axl has got up every morning the last three days and brought Olivia as well as Bodhi to school, gone to the shop for me and looked after the kids as much as he can, allowing me to sleep all day Tuesday. I have to say, he got Olivia out the door on Tuesday and Wednesday while remaining completely upbeat and cheerful, making me wonder if they'd be better off without me there in the mornings. I'm wondering should I get him a thank you card, or something - or is this just what you do for your unofficially ex wife? I don't really know.

But still. I wish I had my mother to look after me. I wish that feeling would go away.

waily waily

I am reduced to spitting in the sink because I'm too scared to swallow as it hurts so rusty razorblade much :(

No wonder my poor little boy was so distressed and miserable last week.

At least the pressure headache and nausea have subsided, though, now it's just swollen tonsils and glands. Booooo.

I seem to be writing in that way you do when your brain is stuck in a chat box after protracted Chat. Short sentences, individual lines and a deep need to punctuate with emoticons.

bahahahahaha

I ate some salami off the pizza cutter by accident, earlier.

Damn, it was tasty!

Oopsie.

- No, I don't need to eat any more, though.

time

I nearly posted a hysterical tantrum rant about all the things that don't work/are crappy in my house that I'm sick of, but now that I'm not hoovering anymore, the childish resentment has faded so I'll spare you, and just say this:

Universe, I am ready to get a job that pays me enough to live on properly.

I don't know why hoovering fills me with red rage, it virtually always does. Maybe the hoover-noise frequency is the same as the one the anger-centre of my brain vibrates on.

I'm feeling sick, sore throat, maybe headachey. I hope it doesn't develop. I'm fed up with symptoms.

Tomorrow I  go test out Pablo Piquante! Woo!

scared to look at bank account in case all this month's money is already spent and I can't afford a burritto* - this is how I budget. Effective, non?

I will report back soon anyway, re authenticity/tastiness quotient. Not quotient. Can't think of words at the moment. I had great hopes that finishing breastfeeding would mean the return of my thinking faculties, but strangely, that doesn't seem to have happened.

advice

There happened to be an Irish Times in my house today, a rare event, and in it was The Gloss style magazine, that I haven't seen before.

It's all cosmetics and blah blah but it had at its centre this very sweet article by Polly Devlin, which I really appreciated and would like to share.

Here's the start of it:

http://thegloss.ie/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=894&Itemid=1&ed=40

The other points are;

Realise that willpower is a dud - suggesting you manage to change habits and avoid the temptation spots in simple ways instead.

Love youself - stop believing that pain is valuable and using negative language (poiling/inudlging yourself) about doing what is nice for yourself.

Stop being a perfectionist - I'm so not, so I kinda skipped that one.

Make eating a joyous affair - no tv, no reading, lay the fork down in between each bite and drink water before and often, but not while eating.

She recommends a book - 'Addiction to Perfection' by Marion Woodman. Recognise the difference between real hunger and accute emptiness. Find spiritual food for spiritual hunger.

But the one that really stood out to me was something I keep forgetting about. She calls it 'One Small Excercise' and it is about your inner child. It's hard to discuss this without being embarrassed or cynical but it's because we need to do it so much, and it's such a fragile, lacking thing in our lives, well for many of us.

She asks if we had a nickname as a small child, and suggests we use that to identify the 'small person that you once were' who 'still lives with you, ignored, hidden and often in a glass coffin, sad but immensely helpful and utterly on your side. You ask him/her, before you repeat a depressed or harmful thought about yourself, if she.he wants this. If it's bad for you or will hurt your self image, the answer will imvariably be no and you find you do not do it in order to protect her. In other words, you become a loving mother to yourself. (or parent, Reg!) Try this. It might put a stop to your divided life.

And it is true. I think most of us are taught to be cruel to ourselves. Put ourselves down, pull ourselves up by the bootstraps. But if you think, 'I'm useless' and then imagine saying it to your three year old self, you immediately replace the thought with something far more compassionate, and positive and helpful, I find.

It's painful, though, the process. Deeply.

Still, I liked this article, her tone and collection of thoughts. nice.

is it time?

I just noticed someone had streamlined their blogroll and I was part of the cull. Which is fine, and all, I don't believe in uncomfortable blogging beholden-ness (I can't think of the word I need here. It begins with S I think), but it still feels a little bit crushing. I mean, I know people have stopped reading, and I stopped reading other blogs, the world turns on. Still... faillllllll.

SO: as I've been wondering this anyway, there's a wee poll to the right of this, at the top, that you might consider voting on. Partly because I'd just like to do a poll, and also cos I'd like to see if anyone's here, other than the faithful commenters, and what they think.
What do you think?

women's safey and dating

I just read this post.

It's about why it's difficult for men to approach women they don't know, essentially because all women are terrified of being raped and murdered.

Because of how high rape statistics are.

I don't quite know how to react to it. All the comments seem to be in total agreement with her sentiments.

I don't think like this. I never did, thinking back. But then, I suppose I was still so young, when I was single, that my peers were too young to be creepy or intimidating. In the main.

And then I was cloistered in a serious relationship, and so not so much approached. For a long time.

And now, I'm not out and about by myself, or, to be honest, out and about at all. So maybe that's the only reason why.

I'm still not sure I'd think like this. That men are to be feared because they're potential rapists. I just don't know. Safety is good, yes, I can't deny that. But this post saddened me.

I'd like to know how men respond to it.

sunshiney

It's St Brigid's day, the first day of Spring, officially.The sun is shining. It's not cold. I left my beautiful scarf in the Welfare office, but I hope it will still be there for me when I go back. I was stressed and nervous about the appointment, but it went better than I expected, and the same guy who was a bit of an obtuse prick last time, actaully listened to me this time, and seemed to understand my pitiful attempts at communicating in the English Language. I swear, last time it was like I was speaking BeebleFrog.

Then I came home to Bodhi, who is suffering mightily with a sore throat - I've had him drugged up on Calpol for the last 24 hours, but I need to take him off to see if the new remedies are working. I arrived home expecting more wailing misery but he seems to be not in pain and cheerful! Fingers crossed. I also got Mannukah honey at half price, whee. I may get some back-pay on my claim, and Bodhi is feeling better. I also finally got a new wheel for my car yesterday, in good time, as the re-test is tomorrow so I feel a weight lifted off me.

Phew. Things are better now than they were a few hours ago.

I was reading this post last night. It's so pretty, I can't imagine writing anything like that at the moment. I can't quite imagine that feeling of optimism and happiness I tapped into then. Plus, I was so wrong. Extra wrong!
And yet, something tells me that if I wrote that for you, then you should be glad, in some way, on some level. Even if the optimism was misplaced.