Turn off.  Turn on.

It's the simplest damn solution.  Yet so often when faced with an issue I abandon the fundamental rationale of adhering to this basic principle and instead rush head on in trying to fix, fix, fix.

I'm speaking metaphorically of course.   

This morning I awoke and, in the usual routine of my rock star existance, after feeding the animals, clearing the dishwasher and generally tittivating the place, I decided to put on a wash load.   Thirty minutes later the machine had cut out and all manner of displays were flashing onscreen.  (The fact that washing machines now even have screens on which messages are able to flash is in itself a miracle of the "Tomorrow's World" variety and in hindsight rather than being frustrated I would have served myself better to acknowledge the very wonder of said display and duly bask in amazement).  

I digress.   

After several minutes of irritation and "Googling" the fix, I decided to try the old school method. TURN OFF.  TURN ON.

A dog walk ensued and, to my joy, I returned to find washing cycle complete and all error messages disappeared.  Thank you God/Universe/Higher Power to whom I did drop a quick favour request.

It's the most basic resolution and yet I'm guessing, based solely on anecdotal evidence and absolutely zero research, that 50% of the time it works for the majority of circumstances.

I wish it could be applied to humanity.   To relationships.   To marriage specifically.   Turn off (take a break).  Turn on (reconvene with renewed love).

Emotions, or at least mine, don't turn off so easily.   

It's been four months now since my present husband (note, that makes it sound like there could be more - this is highly doubted) and I split.  Four horribly agonising months of pain, recrimination and hurt.  I don't think we can hold people entirely responsible for breaking the vow, the promises, the dreams.  Many of us utter all manner of ludicrous statements when in the midst of a love or lust flurry.  The older we get however, the promises do hold more significance when abandoned.  Starting again at 51 is not the same as when younger.   We've less time to catch up.   But then we also have less time left for it to even matter.

I've gone through all cycles of emotion - guilt, shame, rejection, anger, acceptance, frustration, irritation, sadness, back to frustration.   Just like the washing machine, with it's multiple contradictory and conflicting flashing errors, I feel the need to turn off.   

The right person doesn't leave.  This message is everywhere.  If they leave then it was never right.  This is the consensus of most podcasts and memes.  Safety and security were perhaps never available with this particular person.  Maybe it's not available with any.   Maybe it is correct that it can only ever come from within.

Yet I believe in team.  Everything is better, easier, more bearable, when shared.   Even your favorite desert or a cup of tea.   

So I am working on turning off.   Turning off from the crazy, mixed up messages of the past.  From my own insanity and disappointment.

And when I do turn back on hopefully I'll manage to complete a full cycle.... for this last portion of life.

x

Do you ever feel?...

Yes Katy Perry, probably several hundred times a day in fact.  Not necessarily like a plastic bag but certainly like a human being adrift from intention and failing to meet the expectations she once supposed.

It occurs to me that perhaps all I ever do is feel.  Lacking the structure to place rationale thinking above this psychotic pharmacy of emotion.

I re-opened this blog just now and was surprised to find (this is potentially an indicator of early onset dementia) that only a year ago I drafted several chapters which have remained unpublished, due to their frank discussion of rather taboo topics.  Reading it back I understand why I am where I am today.  I've had a good life.  But I've also had a bad life.   

I recently learned of a concept called "3 Nil Up".....topical as we currently enjoy/experience/depress-over the Euros.   We do not enter this world equal.  Not financially, not emotionally, not physically.   We arrive with our own set of materials and are then launched in to a life where we are encouraged to measure ourselves against various metrics which destroy us. 

Career, possessions, success (whatever the f* that is), we monitor and gauge ourselves continually.  I struggle to believe any person who states otherwise.  Maybe that's my own arrogance.

The Devil incarnate which is Social Media (don't take me literally....Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg are no doubt wonderfully empathetic individuals)   now hugely facilitates the other evil of life, comparison.   A state upon which neither party ever comes out on top.  Supremacy or self flagellation - terrible bed mates /road trip companions.

We arrive on earth and depending upon our arrival point we are either several goals ahead, at a draw or seriously losing.  

What I have realised, for myself, is that  the very thing which brings me the greatest pleasure and accomplishment can also induce the greatest shame and dissatisfaction.  The dichotomy is crucifying at times.

As I face in to the end of another marriage (could there be a pattern.....do you think the pattern may be me?!!!) I am stunned at the consistency of life.   The knowledge that all is cyclical.  Unless it is just I.  Maybe some of us wondrous folk (the happy FaceBook/Instagrammers) manage an upward trajectory.  For me, it seems like a never ending circle.

Whether I am spiraling up or down has yet to be determined.  Fingers crossed there's a spot of yeast in there somewhere.

Rise Up x

To be or not to be.. a Duck

I've commented before that every now and then I feel an incredible urge to write - to verbalise the anxiety and trouble within my mind and perhaps somehow purge it in the same instance.   Right now I am having one of these episodes.  There may come a time, in the future, when we understand this as some dreadful mental condition, but for now I choose to believe it is a singularly creative impulse and fantasise that the same was shared by such greats as Tolstoy, Hardy and Joan Collins' Sister (I forget her name).

Today has been a markedly terrible day.  Shamefully I cannot attribute this to the onset of an apocalyptic event, World War III or the discovery that Bradley Cooper is gay and thus my chances with him have sunk from -21 to -36.   No, today simply marked the annual Ford Family holiday, which for the first time, this particular Ford was not party to.  I say this with no malice nor expectation - of course I was not a part of the event.  Chris and I have gone our separate ways....he is now with a new love and she is naturally the person attending in my place.  Well perhaps not in my place but in her own new, Carly-esq place all of its very own.

What I am struggling with, beyond my own understanding is how painful it is to have these two separate existences in relation to the children.  I feel like they are my life's work.....my every day thought and action goes in to attempting to provide something further for them, be it a dinner, entertainment, lift, words of wisdom (rare but occasional), cuddles, commiserations, reassurance etc (caviat - the etc includes berating, bawling out, chastising and generally losing temper with).  The list of requisites as a mother is unending.  Yet now I find myself childless for ten whole days......and it is excruciating.  In reality they will be having a fabulous time but I feel like the heart and soul of my life is missing - melodrama?  Admittedly yes, but indulge me please.

So have I not left them before?  Again yes.  This is the silly part.  I have left them for an entire week before - although I must confess that by day five I was chewing my finger nails and counting down the hours.  Somehow though this feels different.  Perhaps because they are away from me rather than vice verse and also because it re-enforces how far and significantly our lives have changed.   The family unit we once were is no more.  And it hurts.  More than I can explain.

This is not a request for sympathy.  Indeed I am not convinced that any person actually reads this blog much nowadays.  I just like to say it out loud.  To no one inparticular and yet to the entire world.  To get it off my chest and then hopefully find some peace and movement in a positive direction.

On a completely aside note, I am currently sitting in a foreign bed - not foreign as in exotic, international  and thus holiday destination bed, but rather foreign as in not my own.  Whilst I would love to say it is the bed of a 6'1 hunk of a man, devoted, handsome, kind, intelligent, humorous and willing to take me on in all my irrational glory, not so.  This is my friends' bed and I am house sitting, or rather dog sitting for the night.  Unfortunately I have a further visitor - a big fat nasty green (also covered in dust?) mammoth frog, which I discovered in the hall earlier today and which I unsuccessfully attempted to remove but rather drove in to hiding beneath the stairs.   I remember as a little girl reading the fairytale 'Princess and the Frog' and wondering what her issue was - why not just kiss the darn creature or play with him (was that what he wanted?  I can't recall) - how difficult could it be.  Well, now I have empathy for her plight (Karma surely does exist).  I tried to help Mr Frog but actually as soon as he began to jump - hearing the noise of his long floppy yellow-green legs slapping against the quarry tiles,  I began to feel physically sick.  No wonder she didn't snog the nasty thing.  

Anyhow.  It's been a day.  But that, fundamentally, is the point of my post.  It has JUST been a day. Just one of many.  Some good, some bad, some indifferent.   "For there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so" - Hamlet.  I believe he may have a point.

Subway Surf - a Metaphor for life

It's not often that I give credit to downloadable Apps and Games (to those of you less technologically minded I would suggest at this point you watch a few re-runs of Tommorrow's World) usually tending toward thinking they are all essentially generic time-consuming nonsense (although the majority of the Game App playing world would undoubtedly disagree).  Today however, thanks to Charlotte and her insightful assessment of "Subway Surf", I concede that they do indeed teach life concepts.  She was sat in the car playing away on her Ipod touch/shuffle/multiplex cinema or whatever it is and I asked her if she was winning - to which she responded "no Mum, you can't actually win at this game - the aim is simply to stay alive!".

This statement couldn't have been made at a more apt juncture.  With every day that passes this is exactly my challenge.  No religion could convey more deeply the sentiment that was summaried in those 13 words - the main aim of our existence- not to win, but to merely survive.  To continue to inhale despite the fact that all around you has turned to chaos.

One of my greatest faults - one of the many - is that I have a rather idealistic view of  life.  That's not to say I am generally happy - although I may manage mostly to have a positive countenance on the outside (those that live with me know this to be a facade) within I am rarely content.  However I do, or did until about 12 months ago, believe that life is generally something great which can turn out well and does not necessarily have to contain unending sadness or disappointment.

Hmmmmm.

Never one to overly exclaim about my personal misery, it's sad to confess that I am finding it continually more and more difficult to maintain said facade of pleasure with this mortality.  If I am honest, with this divorce milarky,  I realise I have merely traded one form of unhappiness for another......only this version is less familar, slightly more terrifying and much more emotionally charged. 

Perhaps I shouldn't share this intimate information here.....but if you have followed this far you understand that essentially I have always tried to maintain an honest account of my perceived reality so it would be cheating to not now tell you how it feels to have made the decision I contemplated for so long.  I know, from speaking to several of you, that you have had similar concerns with your own marriage situations.  Marriage is difficult, incredibly so, but I do believe divorce is soemthing even uglier.    At the end of the day if you are miserably married for 30 years people will still admire you....because most don't manage it and so appreciate the level of sacrifice required at times.  You may occasionally hate the sight of each other, sleep in separate rooms, be grateful when one has to work away and pray for the day you wake to find you are in bed with only a corpse....but at least if you have stayed faithful to your vows there is a certain element of pride you can take.  In Divorce there are no winners.  No runners up.  Just losers all round.    

The worst part for me is the meaningless of it all.  The realisation that a person with whom you have shared your entire life, body and soul can almost overnight become a stranger - in fact as less than that.  It is the most irrational and odd experience.  And yet a necessary evil to create a boundary over which neither party any longer steps.  How else can you go from 100% intimacy to nothingness?  To me it has been a revelation and realisation.  That EVERYTHING is temporary.  That nothing really lasts beyond the moment it occurs in and that eternity only exists in memories.

Am I regretting my decision?  Well that would have to be a question of which one.  To marry in the first place or to end it 18 years later?  I am trying to regret none of it.  It's been my life and has created the best parts of it along with some of the worst.  What I am trying to believe is that the happiest times are not over and that the future will be brighter than the past.

For those of you wondering about your own relationship though - my advice would be, naturally, that if it can be fixed then fix it.   Remember, the name of the game is not necessarily to win and coming last still counts as taking part......x x x

Ups and downs of a waddling duck: Our Book.

Ups and downs of a waddling duck: Our Book.

Our Book.

Those of you who know me, or have read sufficient of my posts, will understand that writing, for me, is deeply therapeutic.  These last few weeks have been extremely difficult and yet I have felt unable to document my feelings for fear of reprisal from those who perhaps consider that I have brought my misfortune upon myself.  I hope that anyone sharing that opinion will halt right here and exit without comment.

For my friends, family, followers and those just comforted by truthful accounts of life, I hope that sharing my sadness can help you somehow in your own situations.

So, after seventeen and a half years of being together, the last five of which have been post Brain Injury, I have called time on our marriage.  It was not an easy decision to come to.  How could it ever be except in the most extreme of circumstances?  but for me at least I feel it is the right path to follow.  Not the path some would have chosen, but here, right now, in my shoes, with my history, my weaknesses, my imperfections and my limitations, it is the path I need to travel.

I am, understandably, highly distressed that it is ended.  I feel bereaved in many ways.  The person who has shared my thoughts, dreams, love, longings, anger, sorrow, passion and pain, is gone.  I hope not out of my life entirely but his role in my story has changed and that hurts deeply.  In truth, the man who I married left five years ago, and whilst the new version is wonderful  in many ways, the pressure and strain of the last five years have taken their toll.

What saddens me, more than anything, has been the attitude of others.  For some reason people feel a need to take a side .  I guess for many people the concept of change is terrifying and perhaps needing to blame one party is understandable.  Life is much easier to bear if we can convince ourselves relationships fail only when someone does something terrible or brings about their own destruction.  Accepting that sometimes fate deals a bad hand, that can result in overloading and collapse - well if we accept that, we also have to accept (frighteningly) that we may be next.

Am I excusing my own failure?  perhaps.

Going back to the title of this entry though - the book.  I recently tried to explain to Chris that in my opinion marital relationships can be more easily understood if we liken them to being as a novel.   Some people manage to create epics - hearty volumes which fill the pages and go down in history as being inspirational and something to aspire to.  Just as the literary greats make it on to lists of 100 must reads, these marriages, by being the exception rather than the rule, stand out.  The marital equivalents to Tolstoy's War and Peace - how apt.  My relationship had it managed to survive much longer would have be entitled War, War, more War and finally Armageddon.

These 'books' come in all manner of genres....there are romances, tragedies, mysteries, comedies - more often than not the genres merge throughout confusing both the characters involved within, and those who look on  from the outside.  No two novels are ever the same.....some mirror others at times but essentially the style of writing, the intensity, the depiction can never be identical.  This is why it is painful when others try to compare- to determine whose book is more favourable......and who is the villain in each.

Some believe that a book must never end......that even if the pages are blank, or filled with drivel,  meaningless nonsense or painful tales they must continue until an epic has been created.....not understanding that the length of a book is not the determining factor for greatness, rather the content and the way it enables others to feel as they read.

I would imagine as an author, part of the talent of creating is also  knowing when enough has been written; when to add more would simply spoil what already exists.

As a book lover myself It upsets me when I feel I need to let go of my books, for want of space usually.  Regardless of whether they are here on my shelves though or deep in my mind I will always treasure the reading experience that a great book has provided.  It would be ludicrous to think that once I am finished I would destroy the book out of contempt,  simply because it is over.  That is no way to treat something which once gave you such pleasure.

This is one of my greatest sadness's.  That at the end of so many years, so much metaphorical writing, I feel we are encouraged to view our stories with disdain.....to try to forget them altogether, to learn to dislike the tale, to disregard rather than cherish the memory of it.  I have read hundreds and hundreds of books in my life and I can safely say that to appreciate a great story I do not need to remove or lower  my admiration of any other great book.  Each is entirely different and able to be appreciated in it's own way.  They cannot always be compared and to love one does not mean you cannot have loved another before it.

Of all the sadness that exists in divorcing this is the saddest part.  The thought that one day, the person who once meant your whole world, whom you have created new life with, is no longer there.  That the aspirations you both had have fallen by the wayside and now it would seem, or so people say, that there is no room for even a friendship to exist.  I struggle with this.  Relationships fail, for a multitude of reasons; infidelity, intolerance, lack of respect,  selfishness, aggression, arrogance - many reasons why couples lose faith in one another - many human frailties which we all share.

Ultimately no-one can judge.  And when it comes to understanding why I am ending our tale,  the crux of it, for me, is simply this.....that the book Chris and I have written has become so sad I do not wish my children to grow up believing that this is what a story should be.   They deserve better than to watch as two people destroy each other in the name of love. 

I hope my friends that you can understand.....but more importantly that whatever chapter you find yourself in right now it is a happy one. x x

The Reading Festival.

Not to be confused with a sophisticated celebration of the literary arts ......where boden clothed women and blazer clad men discuss the merits of Tolstoy, Austen, Woolf, Orwell and Shakespeare.  THE READING FESTIVAL is a celebration of musical talent, INCREDIBLE talent yet marred by the presence in the audience of the largest chav conglomeration I have ever seen in one place.  Not wishing to appear all aged and unhip, yet probably about to do precisely that,  I felt my experience of the event was tainted by the witnessing of children (technically adults but in my minds eye far from that) attired in what can only be described as threads of fabric......girls in denim shorts cut so high and tight  that I considered it necessary to provide free samples of Canestan and topless boys routinely whipping out their tackle in what I can only assume was an attempt to impress but which inspired in me only my gag reflex.

And then there were the toilets.  These, I believe were indicative of the problems in the world today.  When I was younger, attending various festivals, I distinctly remember there being an unspoken comprehension that the boys toilets were naturally foul but the girls at least had the decency and decorum to wipe, flush and clean as necessary.  You just knew that in the ladies you would be greeted by fresh loo roll, pleasant smells and a dry toilet seat.  Somehow over the last 20 years though girls have ceased being female and have joined the men in becoming neanderthol animalistic dirt bags.  We saw toilet seats smeared with faeces, used tampons discarded on the floor, urine in the sinks and women doing stuff in cubicles which should only be saved for the most intimate venues.  It occured to me that I would prefer my daughters to come home and confess to murder rather than turn in to one of these cretinous creatures.  When did we girls get so equal we turned in to men?

And furthermore the litter.....my mother raised me never to ditch my rubbish anywhere other than a bin, so I have to admit to feeling traumatised at the sight of 90,000 people discarding their waste wherever the fancy took them.  There were moments when the urge to scoop it all up was overwhelming and I almost donned a high viz vest grabbed a roll of black bags and started my one woman mission to preach the 'bin it' message.   In the end I abandoned my urges and satisfied myself with fantasies of public executions for the main culprits. 

Aside from the general debauchery, drug taking, nudity, foul language, moronic behaviour, crass speaking and filthy personal hygiene, I did witness some of the most incredible musical talent I have ever seen.  I was moved to tears on a few occasions and really did feel that the perfect life for me would be one where materialism was done with and music reigned free. 

Also one where anyone with an IQ less than 100 is automatically euthanised.