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.

To have and have not.

Everyone, everywhere, this month must have been tuned in to the phenomenon which was the Olympics.  I must confess that I barely watched any of the events....timewise my life is constrained to mere snippets of freedom and, quite honestly, I didn't choose to spend the few seconds I have to myself watching supremely honed women powering along race tracks confirming both how inadequate my life has been and how doughy my thighs are.   I did however see some snapshots and was duly inspired.  And so it is that I have mentally committed to complete a Marathon in May next year (when I say complete this would include being unconscious in the rear of an ambulance for the last ten miles).  Realistically  I understant that I shall never achieve the svelte muscular configuration that these Olympian girls display, but then I doubt their inverted breasts and twelve packs would harbour a healthy baby either.  And I have had four  (Physically healthy but mentally questionable).  The fact that I was doughy before motherhood is, naturally, irrelevant.

So yes, I am going to sign up for the Edinburgh Marathon in May next year.  (Any criminals reading - this  means that our house is easy pickings over that weekend.  The down side being there are very few items of any significant value to be had but feel free to help yourself to a Hot Cross Bun from the freezer as we are desperate to use them up ).

Returning to the title of this epistle.  Having or having not.  Lately life is a real muddle.  I say muddle rather than mess as mess would insinuate something which I am dissatisfied with.  I'm not.  I have come to understand over the last few years that perspective is essentially what predicates our happiness and my expectation of events is realistic at best;  pessimistic more probably.  Nothing....and I really do mean NOTHING surprises or shocks me anymore and I have accepted that I am about as in control of events as I was of the car when trying to race my brother's scalextric at the age of 7.  Sometimes events just have a mind of their own.

What I feel acutely aware of today is.... well  three things.

Firstly, that I belong somewhere other than where I am - attempting to blend in with the myriads of similarly aged folk, aspiring for material greatness and career satisfaction.   I want to join a commune, where ideals are mutually appreciated, music is beloved, resources are pooled (along with a few other things which I can't mention on here for fear my in laws will denounce me) and deep/alternative thinking is welcomed.

Secondly, that I want a facility to eradicate prior error.   Not just to alieviate guilt, but because, as far as I can see, most relationships struggle because parties cannot let go of the past and thus move forward.   I watched a film many years ago (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) and felt total appreciation of the Directors insight into relationships.  The concept is simple....if we could meet our current partner, freshly, with no recollection of past mistakes, we would fall in love with them once again.  In reality love is tainted by recollection of fault.  Sad but true.

And thirdly......that we all focus far too much on the have nots than the haves.  When was the last time you looked at your life and felt satisfied listing all the wonderful attributes it holds?  If you are anything like me then probably not very recently.  Here's where I go all Jerry Springer-like - if only we could all, as human beings, look at the blessings/positives in our lives and ignore the negatives we would find ourselves in a most contented place.

I have laundry to do = I have clothes.  I am overweight = I have food.  I have marital differences = I have a husband.  My husband is always at work = we have an income.  My children are a nightmare = I have children, who are alive and well and healthily rebelling!  I have a messy house = I have a home.  You get the idea.  And it IS cheesy, and trite and all things we hate.  But more importantly it is true.

We all need to start looking at the haves.  Ignoring the have nots.  And finally finding the key to satisfaction.

Amen.  

Everybody.................

It's not often lately that I have the time, urge or inclination to post here but this morning the desire hit me like a wave of nausea and I feel an urgency to spew forth my emotional vomit in this metaphorical sick bowl, so to speak.  I have said it before but writing, for me, provides a catharsis which thinking alone does not.  

On the way in to work I saw several young people, school aged, coupled to their partners, holding hands, smiling adoringly and generally looking like the cares of the world were most certainly no-where near their developing shoulders.  It made me nostalgic for the days when a certain smile or look  from a boy could literally send me heaven bound and being "asked out" by my latest crush felt better then than I imagine winning the lottery would now.  Such simplicity.  I then compared this 'phase' to  it's spectral opposite - a married couple at work, not employees but rather residents, in their twilight days who have moved in together and occupy the rooms across from one another.  Married for something like 57 years, they greet with a kiss each morning, hold hands at the dinner table and speak to one another with such loving concern that my heart skips a beat each time I hear it.  And I wonder, how do we get to that.

I know all marriage is flawed and there is no such thing as perfection.  However it troubles me that perhaps these couples who manage to navigate through the treacherous landscape of coupledom are somehow gifted in a way that others are not.  Have they too had to bridge the many craters created by such impacts as infidelity, illness, financial strain, depression, absence etc.  Are they super beings who have overcome in a way that others can't, or is it simply that they were blessed in a way others aren't?

I haven't got the answer of course, but I can't help thinking it may boil down to one essential element.  Respect.  A small word but with a whole plethora of ramifications if it is missing.

I also wonder whether a huge part may be expectation - a subject I have mentioned before, but which is such a fundamental element of happiness it deserves further comment.  Something occured to me yesterday (not often that I have epiphanic moments but there it was).   I was putting my make up on (never pleasant because it involves looking at oneself in the mirror for several minutes at a time which invariably leads to self hatred and mockery) anyway I realised that when I look at myself and feel negativity it is usually because in my minds eye I have someone else's face I am comparing it to..... not another naked-hyper-pigmented-had four-children-and-lots-of-stress-battered face, but rather a beautifully decorated, photo-shopped, ten years younger than mine face.  This is not a fair comparison and will inevitably lead to much depression and eating of cake.  In the same way I feel I compare (you compare, maybe we all compare)our relationships to those that we see around us.  What we fail to recongnise always is that these are the "made up" versions.   The real marriage is kept safely behind closed doors.

This isn't a new concept.  I am constantly reminding myself to be realistic and completely understand that what we see of others is never the genuine article.  Furthermore comparisons are futile.  Someone has to come off as the lower party and being on either side of that equation is unpleasant.  

So it's not a new idea or epiphany - more a gentle reminder to myself.  Be grateful, have respect, try not to compare and probably most importantly be forgiving - to myself as well.  

I have a dream

Actually I don't - I just thought as it is Martin's birthday I should pay him some respect.  Personally I do not dream as he did...he had a vision, of a united people sharing mutual respect and harmony.  Perhaps if he had spent a Friday in December 2011 queueing in Asda at peak time he would realise that the prospect of a united people was delusional. In fact an afternoon in the Ford household would also prove his theory wild.  Harmony between most human beings is unfeasible.

Just today I was driving home, along my usual route; and for some reason - probably my lack of concentration whilst fantasising about a lottery win and a full body massage from Eddie Iz, I was slightly inattentive and being a bit of a 'woman' driver.  Hence at a mini roundabout I failed to indicate my intention to turn.  As I completed this manoeuvre I noticed the driver of the car to my left (his responsibility to give way to me)  gesturing, shouting and pulling faces displaying his venomous intent (OK so I don't actually know that's how bad he was feeling but allow me some poetic licence).  He looked so angry I couldn't help but laugh -because somehow in this crazy world people have become internally wound so tight that the slightest inconvenience, mistake or mishap catapults them in to a violent rage.  It isn't amusing of course, I realise this but it is comical.

I nearly entitled my article 'the beast within' - that wouldn't be relevant to MLK's birthday though so  could make me appear less cultured.  There is a beast within all of us (in my humble opinion) - whether it be rage or some other vice, it is definitely there...nesting and waiting to erupt at the moment it's development is complete.  Sometimes I feel my own beast growing -  when I contact British Gas or British Telecom (note the pattern....British) about a service complaint and I am passed from department to department, to Newcastle to Dublin, to Deli and back to the UK only to be told that the 'computer is down' and I will need to try again at a later time.  It makes me feel murderous.  I fantasise about stamping my feet on the inadequate heads of all those who have failed to resolve my issue and whose English lacks the necessary level of comprehension requisite for the task.  I wonder if I am becoming a racist....a closet Nazi opposed to the nations of call centre operatives who answer the phones but fail to answer the problem.  And I wonder is it really a surprise when people flip. 

I'm not surprised.  Not that I am planning to flip myself, but I totally get the mentality of having had enough. Perspective is hard to maintain and occasionally people lose sight of the end game. 

I'm glad Martin Luther had a dream.  I'm glad he managed to set in motion the resolution of a huge social injustice, but I wonder what would people like him make of the world today.  I have no doubt he envisioned something far more beautiful than it has become. 

Personally, I dream of a world with no automated call services, where sentences such as "you are currently in a queue and will be answered as soon as the next operative is available"  are banned and where chocolate is completely calorie free.

Am I asking too much?

My Pink Perspective.

This is not to be confused with a 'Rosy Perspective'.  Those of you who know me understand my perspective is far from Rosy....as remote a prospect in my life as a Saharan Oasis.  Positivity just isn't in me.  No, this story involves stinking clothes a washing machine and a spot of nostalgia. 

On Tuesday I was doing the laundry.  In my house this is no minor task.  Practically every other day I sit there on my kitchen floor with piles of filthy, smelly clothing all around me and contemplate how wonderful it would be to have a maid.  I'm sure i'm not alone in this thought, considering how much easier life would be if someone could come and help with the daily monotonous chores.  I would easily sacrifice electricity, modern plumbing and the female vote for the prospect of rewinding time and returning to a day of Nannies and slave labour.  Anyway this particular morning I decided to put in a pink load.  Not colours, not darks, not whites, but pinks.  This is a load peculiar to those of us who have girls and more specifically to those who have more than one daughter.  I digress.  As I was loading the machine and bewailing my miserable lot in life.....work, clean, cook, referee the boys, work a little more, clean a little more, iron, wash, work again, clean...blah blah blah, I remembered a distinct moment in my previous life.  Just after Charlotte was born, when I put in a 'pink' load....pink babygrows, pink dresses, pink knickers, pink booties, pink blankets....and how I cried, yes sobbed, because finally I had my girl.

Yet just a few years later that same pink load was causing me grief and resentment.

And it occured to me that life isn't the thing that has changed....it is me, or rather my outlook.  What I once saw as a privelidge and a blessing has gradually become a burden and a chore.  It's still the same pink clothes entering that machine, only now I have begun to take for granted these little females I so longed for and thus forget to stop and see the wonder and joy of them being here.

So to go a bit Jerry-Springer-like, I had one of those Epiphanic moments, realising that the main issue with mine, yours and probably many people's lives is we lack the perspective we used to own, when the brighter times were here.  I've said it before (as did Ronan) and I'll say it again, life is a roller coaster...the carriage doesn't change, the harness stays in place and the tracks are solid but the view is forever altering.  Sometimes I feel I shall be glad simply to get to the end and remain still for a while, but in the meantime I really have got to learn to enjoy the ride.

Great Expectations.

Charles Dickens, the Queen's speech, an over-expanded stomach and the latest X Factor finalist at number one...these are some of the things I associate with Christmas time.  That and disappointment.  Utterly self inflicted might I add - prior to the 25th I completely buy in to the illusions of a family Christmas reminiscent of the seasonal M&S advert.  I picture my family gathered around the fire (which we don't have) opening presents, love in our eyes and gratitude magnified upon all faces - the scent of turkey and parsnips roasting in the oven and the smell of magical wonder in the air.  I envisage my darling husband turning to me and handing over the present I never requested but secretly wished for and then us kissing and looking at each other with that deep understanding which comes from traversing 17 years of marriage, the births of four children and a critical illness to boot.

The reality varies slightly.  Mostly.  Completely.

The disillusionment started on Christmas Eve with an incident  involving a wall, an ugly car, some disastrous male driving and several ugly wife expressions to follow.  Part of me was trying to be pleasant and kind and forgiving because it was Christmas Eve and only a really nasty wife falls out with her husband for reversing in to a wall on such a significant date.....but then the other part of me, the ungrateful martyr-type victim of self pity part, was bewailing the fact this had happened on CHRISTMAS EVE, because truly nothing bad should happen on the 24th December....because it's the night before Christmas.  Didn't the car, or the wall or fate or Chris realise this?  Bad things are even badder at Christmas and simply aren't supposed to occur.

Which is ridiculous and makes me think of the Band Aid song "Do they Know it's Christmas Time Atall?" (I think I may have shared my feelings on this topic once before).   As a child I really took that message on board and fretted about the poor people of Africa not having a Christmas.  Since then I have realised what nonsense it was - why would a starving mother, watching her children die stop to think to herself  that this is made any worse by the fact it is Christmas?  But we do.  When we hear of an accident, injury, divorce, job loss, affair or any other tragedy throughout December, most people's reaction is that it is made sadder because of the season.  We expect something wonderful at Christmas and when it is spoiled our disappointment is even more acute.  (Incidentally I do appreciate that the track hugely raised awareness of the plight in Ethiopia and was a great tool but the concept was purely for the Western Nations).

Following on from the car Chris then lost his wallet.  In itself nothing major but yet another niggle in our bag of troubles.  Thus I woke up Christmas Day struggling to maintain a facade of excitement, enhanced by the attitude of our teenage boys who made no secret of the fact they did not wish to get up and share in the fun.  At 14+ all a boy wants to do is sleep (and perhaps a few other unmentionable things) so trying to drag them out of bed and pretend to be happy for the sake of their little sisters who have wholeheartedly embraced the magic of Santa, is nigh on impossible.   On top of this the day was somewhat marred by the moans and groans of children, who justifiably, wished to remain at home and play with their games/toys, whilst we adults had arranged family visits.  Somehow next year we need to work on a compromise.

And my final disappointment is discovering our hamster, which I had bought as the girls' Christmas gift, is sick and so had to be returned from whence it came.    It basically sat in its cage for two days not moving much atall so yesterday I forced it out so to give it the once over and discovered it has wet tail....a stress related illness.  Quite frankly in this household I am not surprised.  Maybe she overheard about the smashed car and the lost wallet and all of my other woes.

I suppose I should be just grateful I am not a Hamster.

Handle with care.

I'm not sure whether I have told you this or not, and in perfect honesty I can't stand to re-read previous posts and find out (in the cringe department this falls second only to listening to your own voice on the answer machine) but Chris is now a Postman.  A far cry from his former roll as IT Consultant but, not surprisingly, on the whole,  a genuinely satisfying job - what man wouldn't want to hand their packages to several women each day?   Might I add that he makes a hugely handsome Postie, when compared to the Shrekish creature delivering my mail at least.  Should I be worried.....probably.  I take comfort though in the fact that were he to succomb to any attractive female it would be shortlived as he would've forgotten about it by teatime.

Yesterday however Chris had the absolute worse day in his working history; consdering this is the man who has previously worked on the bins, at a shampoo factory and as a gigolo in a male prison, this is really saying something.  Finishing the round at 7pm after a day spent in the lashing rain and freezing cold, he returned to the Delivery Office to find that everyone else had gone home - in itself not a problem except for the fact his car keys were in his locker inside.  So at half past eight he returned to our house, deflated, bedraggled and questioning his vocation in life.  On the upside he did collect a whopping two pounds in tips making his pain completely worthwhile.

This isn't however the "handle with care" I wished to discuss.  Yesterday in my spam I found an email from "Babycentre.com" - American so possibly the only explanation I need, and yes I am completely racist believing that the majority of American's are ridiculous.  My distaste however does not extend to such methods as a final solution, only a de-cheesing ritual and a plan to remove all upper intonation at the end of sentences.  The article was entitled "Your pre-schooler and you - how to survive the holidays".   Have I missed something?  Survive 9/11 yes, or the Holocaust, or earthquakes in Japan , but the 'holidays'...really?

First things first.......'Holidays?' - a new way of describing the Christmas period derived to cause zero offence to non-christian denominations.  No, no, no, no, no.  Christmas is Christmas, plain and simple.  If people find this offensive perhaps they need to question their own motivation....and the Christian in me says shoot them all.   Secondly, what is there about a 'pre-schooler' that is so utterly terrifying, detestable and fear invoking that we require a survival guide?  The last time I checked my youngest was the only child I didn't fear....an angel who patters in to my bed at 2am each morning, throwing her arms around my neck and reassuring me that I am indeed loved beyond measure.  What possibly can people have to fear from their little ones? Teenagers on the other hand....now that is a guide I would like to see.  How to navigate through the disdain they show at the fact you, their mother, is still breathing - this I need help with.

Sometimes I look at these articles and realise the world is mad - madder than mad - and I wonder when it all began.  Certainly it came about in our life time.  I can still recall when adults were in charge, when asking why' was a no go, teachers were scary, ADHD was just 'naughty' and the only time kids got to go to Disneyland Florida was when Jim fixed it for them.  The world has come so far and then turned back on itself.  

No wonder it is so hard for us all to keep a handle on things - when craziness rules.  Talking of which Chris is insisting I surrender the laptop - apparently he needs it for work related duties.  Since when has Facebook been part of Royal Mail?

X X

Could we start again please?

It's slightly awkward trying to restart this once again....like the feeling you get when attempting to reconvene a relationship with someone after several years apart.  What once felt like second nature now seems gawky and self conscious but this is convincingly outweighed by the gratification it gives me to write and the appreciation of how much I loved keeping a blog before.  So here's hoping you are all still out there somewhere in the recesses of cyber world, and willing to listen anew.  I shall of course be anxious for the next few days worrying whether or not you still find me an attractive proposition....if not all I ask is that you let me down gently.

I should probably begin by saying that nothing has changed.  (Actually that's a lie.  All women of my age know that with each passing month there are measurable changes in several areas....my boobs for one are possibly another 5mm closer to my toes now, the bright side of which being I estimate it will only be approximately five more years before I can ditch the discomfort of bras and simply tuck my bust into my tights).  So, rather, many changes have occurred but fundamentally  not a lot is different.  I am still pursuing my endless goal of achieving the unachievable...which I fear nowadays is more the goal than the goal itself.  Setting ridiculous targets with seemingly no possibility of success appears to have become my life's undertaking leading me to believe that Freud really did have a point with his concept "Becoming happy is unachievable as a goal, yet cannot be abandoned" (cultured?me? wot wot wot.)  Was Freud married?  I don't know the answer to that but I am guessing from his idea "life is made up of pain and disillusionment" he probably was.  No-one understands disappointment more than a wife who has spent her Saturday cleaning, cooking, plucking, shaving, dyeing, moisturising and making over in anticipation of romance, only to have a husband come in and put on MOTD.   And no-one understands more about pain than a man who has done the above.

So Christmas is almost upon us.  In six more sleeps it will be here and I must confess that despite the fact I detest all the hype I do truly love Christmas.  I love the thought of giving my children things they will love, of spending time with my family, albeit dysfunctional, but mostly the atmosphere that surrounds everything and everyone.  Somehow in this dark and dreary world the Christmas Spirit pervades and continues to remain regardless.  People are always that little bit nicer, happier, kinder. thoughtful and more appreciative at Christmas. Oh and drunk.  Maybe that's the connection.  The key to happiness Freud......Baileys and Vodka.  If only Freud had lived to experience alcopops.

I am of course on another diet.  Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without me trying to live on five carrots two slices of ham and a glass of stewed prunes and senna for the entire week before.  I think I decided about four months ago that I needed to do something about my weight (note the very loose use of the word 'decided' considering this my 403rd attempt) and calculated that if I lost two pounds a week, every week I could be in a size twelve by New Year.   I then proceeded to scoff myself stupid until two weeks ago when I realised I had three weeks to lose 30 pounds and that drastic action was necessary.   I am not yet sure why I need to lose 30 pounds by Christmas.  Subliminally I think maybe I was told as a child that Santa does not deliver to fat children; that and the fact all of the magazines I read (which I trust with my entire well being)  have informed me I need to wear a little black dress at Christmas and I believe them.  If my dress is not little I will cease to exist.  It is that simple.

Fingers crossed then that I can stick to my starvation plan and fit in to some kind of party outfit this year....even if it is with the aid of a miracle body suit, spandex leggings and several rolls of duct tape.

For now though I shall say goodnight and hope that we can meet again soon.

Call me?

x x x x

On the pull.

Marriage.  Monty Python managed an entire epilogue on the subject,  most of us spend the majority of our lives trying to make sense of it....and finally I think I have.  It came to me the other day whilst a gorgeous lady friend of mine was regaling me with the tragedy which is her wedded un-bliss .......I say that with the utmost respect for her, and him, understanding that for most of us marital relationships = a case of hanging on by the skin of our teeth (in itself a bizarre statement....I, for one, have no skin on my teeth and even if I did I seriously doubt it would be strong enough to support my body weight). 

I think I could almost surmise the entire concept by inviting you to look up the word "Marriage" on 'Dictionary.com'.  Contrary to the idea (of single people) that the definitions are something like "blissful union with your lust partner" or "convenient way to combine two incomes"  the first thing that comes up is, would you believe, "Want a divorce?".    Well yes....but as all long term marrieds understand...it really isn't that simple.

Marriage is not a partnering of two people who love each other.   I know that may be a bombshell for many of you,  however I would ask at this point "don't shoot the messenger"  I can't help it if the truth hurts.  Life is crap....deal with it.  Maybe they do (love each other) but that I feel is incidental to the event....what it really is, is a throwing in of your load with someone else.  I like to think of it as yoked ox.  Two people who consider themselves equally endowed - physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually (and usually financially, although occasionally there is a miracle Cinderella story) and realise that to get through this life, multiply and prosper, one is far better off yoking up to another.  So we seek for a partner who meets up to our own abilities and will therefore pull their fair share of the load.

So far so good. 

What the fairy tales don't bother to tell you is that invariably the duo's ability to walk harmoniously is interrupted.  At some point throughout the journey one of the Oxen will begin to pull harder than the other.   Sometimes they pull in different directions.   Occasionally one will look over at another pair and feel that they would be happier and more suited to that coupling.  Sometimes a rogue Ox will decide he is tired of pulling his load, hates the restrictive yoke he's chosen and decides to freelance for a while.  And then there is the Ox who just drops down dead and can't pull at all. 

Challenging times and how then to make it work.  Obviously if I had the answer to that I'd be a multi millionaire.  I do believe most of us want to make it work - which is admirable and something worth celebrating and why anniversaries are so special.........like medals of honour gained in the bloodiest battles. 

Interestingly, carrying the metaphor further;  in farming the male oxes are castrated to make them more tractable (I'm liking this).  Whilst the females are usually used as breeding stock and then turn in to cows (I'm not sure how this occurs but having bred four times now I can confirm this is a fact).

Keep ploughing people.

x x

Smile.

A friend of mine has recently started a public blog and I have to say it is beautiful.  Uplifting, wise, encouraging and insightful.   Polar opposite to this infact,  and so it is that I feel the time has come for a little positivity, and luckily this has been just the week to herald it.

So yes, this Wednesday brought us riches in the Euro-Millions lottery, a pioneering face transplant for myself, (which has taken wonderfully although I'm not convinced Natalie Portman is overjoyed at the outcome of the exchange) and a complete brain reprogramming for Chris and the children.  Who wouldn't be happy with that?   Okay so I may not be telling the absolute truth,  but I do however feel that this week my life has become enriched significantly, and all because of two simple words.

Comic Relief.  Or red nose day as it is commonly referred to by us Brits.  A day of 'wacky' antics, Lenny Henry and a spot of introspection.

I didn't infact manage to see any of the actual programme on the day, but did watch a documentary two or three days earlier which has made me rethink my attitude towards many things.  And yes I have seen similar reports from Africa in years past and undoubtedly resolved to change my selfish ways then too, but hopefully this has penetrated a little deeper. 

Usually I am riddled with guilt and remorse when I see the footage of starving children, unsanitary living conditions, disease, unnecessary death and abject poverty.  Inevitably it leads me to a sense of hopelessness at this world and the evils which inhabit it.  How can it be that anyone has to live like that, and why aren't those who have direct access to these people making a difference and changing lives?.  This time however I managed to see things differently.

And all thanks to one man.  One smiling African father who slaves each day to provide for his seven hungry children.  Living in cramped accommodation and having already experienced the premature departure of a child from this earth, he continues to smile, day in, day out - smiling constantly and remaining undefeated.  When asked why he smiled, for what could he possibly have to smile about, he simply replied "If I don't smile, then what will my children think??".

And that was it.  Nothing outlandishly profound or poetic.  Nothing self indulgent or self pitying.  Simply, "what will my children think?". Unbelievable. 

This led me to consider.....what do MY children think.  What do they think when they see me angry or in tears, despondent or screaming and shouting sometimes because I feel frustrated at the way things have turned out .  What do they think when I moan incessantly about my weight, my face, my hair, my life and the many chores I have to get through each day.  And how are they supposed to learn what a gift this existance is unless I display a semblance of gladness at being here.

Ultimately when it comes to the crunch, compared to these people (in Kibera) what do I really have to complain about?   I appreciate that happiness doesn't come simply from understanding that there is always someone worse off than yourself, but I am now of the firm belief that smiling is possible no matter what.  I have often (morbidly) pondered what my response would be were my children and I to be on a failing aircraft.  I have pictured placing my arms around the younger ones and providing reassurance that everything would be okay despite knowing otherwise.  I am sure most mothers think in a similar way;  that, faced with impending doom, we would never pass on our anxiety or fear to our children because we would want their final moments to be filled with love not fear.  And if that's the case then why should my day to day attitude be any different?.  Our  plane may well be headed south without a runway, but hopefully this is one smiling passenger from now on.

And since making that decision, not surprisingly life seems brighter.  On Friday it was Danny's 12th birthday and I basked in the glow of his excitement and joy at the fuss my wonderful family and friends made over him.  On Saturday he and his brother visited the LDS Temple, which in our religion is quite a significant event, and as they left in the early hours of the morning, suited and booted and looking in the words of Jamie Oliver "Pukka", I felt immensly proud and honoured to have two such fabulous young men in my life.  So much so that I decided to document my feelings before they became a distant memory, and left a short missive in each of their rooms, to read upon their return.

Later that evening at another family gathering, during the singing of Happy Birthday for Grandma's 60th, I felt a pair of arms encircle me and someone placing a huge kiss upon my lips.....followed by a whisper in my ear of "I found the letter Mum and I love you too".

And that my friends, is hands down better than any lottery prize, and definitely worth smiling for.

x x

Pick of the day.

I have a problem.  "Just one?" you ask not a little surprised at my lack of self-insight.  Well obviously not - just one which is currently impacting upon my life and leading me to conclude that I have some kind of unsavoury mental condition.

Dermatillomania is what I am referring to.....hard to take seriously when it sounds like a board game you'd get for Christmas (one of those obligatory 'family' presents purchased by relatives trying to spend as little as possible on a non-nuclear 6 man household).  But getting back to the issue - Dermatillomania - in laymans terms 'obsessive picking of the skin'.  I may have already touched upon the subject in past dialogues and more specifically mentioned the furore created by my facial self massacring when encountering my mother following a heavy session.  She is constantly telling me I must stop it but I am finding that after so many years of indulging, it just isn't easy to cease.  Lately I feel the problem is deepening though - spurred on by stress and agitation - like I have some magnetic force emanating from my head, sucking my hands towards its' surface and begging for a bit of topographical surveying.  On finding a lump, bump or indeed anything which doesn't seem to belong there  I have a compulsive urge to seek out the nearest reflective surface and eradicate said crator.  And I joke not about the compelling nature of this desire.  It has gotten to the point where I feel it is as out of hand as my hourly weigh ins -  I will even pick in public if the urge is bad enough.....which is not what the bathroom accessories display in John Lewis was designed for.  And so now I lay claim to two utterly obsessive behaviours.  Surely it is time for me to be sectioned, or perhaps voluntarily have my eyes gauged out.....If I can't look in the mirror, see the scales or indeed any enticing foods I would be fine.  Although blind.

Additionally without the (wonderful) gift of sight it would eradicate a further useless habit; spending gratuitous hours browsing symptom checkers in an attempt to diagnose myself with some obscure condition or other.   Usually by the end of which it is clear that unless I dial 999 immediately and pray for the miracle of an ambulance arriving within sixty minutes, I shan't make it to the following day.  Amazing then that I have survived thus far.  On realisation that my condition is terminal I  begin contemplating my departure from this world, decide that if I go the children will end up as metaphorical hippos, happy with their Dad allowing them to wallow in their own filth, but looking like raggedy urchins with unironed clothes, bad personal hygiene and no packed lunches for school - so perhaps I should hang on a while longer.  And so I return to the symptom checker and celebrate the news that although it may be late stage pancreatic cancer it could equally just be the effects of a particularly virile vindaloo last night.

Yes there will be no getting rid of this duck easily.  I no doubt will keep going until our financial troubles are over, the kids have grown and we are about to embark on the adventures of a lifetime.....then I shall not too discreetly keel over at the airport and take my last breath. 

Please Lord may I depart this planet happy and having recently eaten a very large donut or even better a whole bag full.

x x

That richly woven tapestry called life....

Sadly mine consists mostly of hues in the black to crappy brown shades.  Oh I know I am always complaining...but isn't that why you tune in though? to reassure yourself, that placed next to mine, your existance is far more satisfying, fulfilling and purposeful than you previously understood.  I like to hope this is the case as it brings me great solace to believe my suffering gives joy to others.  And yes I really am on one today.

Twelve months down the line and another L'anniversaire D'Amour has passed (Valentines Day in other words).  After almost sixteen years of sharing a bed with the same man one would assume that the need for mindless tokens of affection would or should have faded by now, along with our sex drive, but not so.  I find myself needing reassurances of his unfailing devotion more than ever of late which is fairly unfortunate.  Unfortunate because of all the things Chris struggles with, remembering that he loves me seems to be right down there at the bottom of the pile together with remembering who he is, where he lives and what he is there for.  In fairness to him he is trying his best to recall most of these things but fate it seems has looked down upon him (and I) and pretty much projectiled. 

So no, he did not remember to post me a card, give me a call or send me flowers.   Despite my best efforts to remind him (by presenting his gift two days early in order to allow time to rectify the oversight I knew was inevitably heading my way) it just didn't appear to register.  Admittedly I am resigned to it of course having learnt over these past three years that when I need a pick me up it is unlikely to come from anyone other than myself, hence the battering my credit card has been subjected to.  I love you  Tesco Mastercard, and probably don't tell you that nearly enough.

But actually it isn't the lack of love trash that's getting me down.   No, today's camel straw is that Chris has lost his job.  Previously he's managed to lose many items ranging from keys, to wallet, to the car and Maisey even, but nothing as yet quite on this scale.  And so it feels hard to stay positive (am I ever?) when life just seems to be headed down a one way street to shitesville.  If I'm honest we both questioned his ability to manage in this role.....a massive leap from his first post-injury helpdesk job in Telford returning to hardcore IT back in Dublin.  Like I said last time though, money is the motivation behind just about all things we do in life and not least of all in this case.  In reality the stress, confusion and sense of inadequacy it has wrought in the poor man was not worth any amount.......well I say that but in truth it would depend how large a figure was on the table.  Truly everything does have it's price and yes I would sleep with Robert Redford for £1000,000.   Infact I'd do it for a fiver if I'm honest....and perhaps a pot noodle if he's feeling generous.

Ah well.  C'est la Vie and all that jazz. 

On a more positive note, I not long ago returned from 'Fat Club' where I learnt my total weight loss to date is 9.5lbs (over the last 5 weeks).  Sad that it has come to this, where the only motivation for not gorging myself on a daily basis stems from the thought of ritualistic humiliation at my public weigh in, but it was either that or stomache staples.  Based on the fact the latter is expensive and potentially fatal I figured plan A was advisable.   Admittedly I started off five weeks ago at my fattest ever and whilst writing this blog have already consumed two Dairy Milks and a Redbull in celebration of my success (logical), but honestly if I can keep this level of commitment up I should be back in a size 10 by about 2013.  Just in time for my 40th birthday celebrations.  Bargain.

I don't however want this era of my blog to be based solely about losing girth. 

What kind of a woman woud I be if my only interests consist of attempting weight loss and bewailing my marital disharmony........hmmmmm.......the average married woman perhaps?

x x

Return of the Jedi (the fat duck-like one).

So I did say I'd given up this extremely indulgent practice, but for purely selfish reasons I feel compelled to recommence.  There is something wholly cathartic about airing one's laundry on the world wide web, for all and sundry to see, which in a sadistic fashion brings soothes to my soul.  And so why not.  Aside from the fact my previous dialogues managed to single handedly offend practically every person I have had the dis/pleasure of knowing or being related to, I think on the whole it was a productive venture, and something I miss dreadfully.

So this is me, beginning again, although this time writing about my friend -  ccoincidentally also named Bambi, but for legal, social, emotional and inheritance reasons, NOT actually me.

Newsworthy items.  This friend of mine with the same name, same marital situation and same socio-economic circumstances as myself has now moved back to her home town of Leicester.  And what brought this about - well let me ask you, what is the motivating factor for most changes in life?  Yes that's right - Money.  We all pretend that it doesn't govern us but honestly, in my meek opinion, it does.  You are foolish to believe otherwise.  At least in the western world anyhow. 

Alongside that, Chris (the other Bambi's husband - which is rather a shame as it would have been far more preferable were this Bambi to have a husband named say Brad or George or Eddie) has now relocated to Ireland for work purposes;  the children are all in new schools and she lives in the middle of nowhere in a building which perhaps used to be some kind of fridge freezer in a previous life.  It is practically arctic. 

What astounds, depresses and particularly frustrates Bambi number 2 is the fact that although environmental changes have occurred, emotionally she - oh sod it, I mean I am no further on than before.  I am still living with the fantasy of regaining my pre-Euan-Dan-Charlotte-Maisey figure, of being married to the man of my dreams and having a steady supply of wealth,  hence then the notable feeling of dissatisfaction with just about everything around me.  The fact of the matter is, in this drudgery called life, nothing ever really changes.  I have and will always crave a slender body, a happy marriage and an easy existence, which is pretty futile and therefore matters will continue in the same vein until I'm lucky enough to be walking beneath a ladder and a piano drops on my head, flattening my brain and sending me packing to that great big 5 star all inclusive holiday paradise in the sky.  And in a further twist of fate you can bet your backside my angel body is fat too.

No, I'm guessing this is me and I am stuck with it.  Disappointing after all the books I've read where it always comes good for the heroine (is that what I think I am??)...... and maybe that's the problem.... I exist in fantasy land, where problems are always resolved, the girl always gets the boy and they always live happily ever after.  In reality life is mostly spent just riding the wheel.

Anyway enough of my negativity.  Surely I have some positives.  Well yes of course......just need a day or so to think of them......aren't you so glad I'm back!

Doom and Gloom rule.

x x x

Not a pretty picture.

I think I have decided, or at least I am partly sure, fairly certain, almost definitely convinced and every other contradictory statement possible that I need to draw my Blog to its conclusion.  Sadly due to my present state of mind it won't be the conclusion I had once hoped for.  Being able to inform you that I have finally achieved my goals, am the epitome of everything gorgeous and feel that not only my physical but my emotional, social and spiritual development are all complete, would be at the very least a gross exaggeration of the truth.  In reality I couldn't be further away.

Weight wise I am practically as heavy as the day I began, emotionally I feel depleted, socially I am defunct and spiritually, let's just say that were I to exit this life right now Peter and the pearly gates are not one of the sights I would be taking in for quite some time (during which I would presumably be a  guest at the worst kind of B-B-Q).  Nothing feels like it should.  Not a pretty picture as the title says -   think 'Star Wars' scene where the heroes are stuck in a sewage disposal room, the walls are closing in and there's a mighty great man-eating trash maggot lurking beneath the sludge trying to suck them under and drown them in a mire of filth.  Well that's analogical of my current mental health.  Only I'm no hero, and most definitely not a hottie like Princess Leia.

Chris and I are barely speaking.  This in itself is nothing unusual and so isn't directly responsible for my mood......but the fact that he came in last night after being out for the evening with his friends and decided to wake me up by shouting in my face because he'd put his hand in some mayonnaise (which was on a plate I left on the bed).... well that perhaps isn't helping.  At 37 years old I am tired of being spoken to like a child, especially by a man who needs me to sort out the simplest of tasks and never has any gratitude in return.  And yes this is all extremely one sided and no doubt from his perspective his attitude was justified but that doesn't help me feel any better.  And so I'm back to the old chestnut.  How much unhappiness are you supposed to endure before you decide that actually you think you're worth more than that?  And would life be any better with someone else, or alone?  Answers on a postcard please. 

I would love to say that I have reached a conclusion, on any of the issues I raised throughout the last nine months of writing, but that would also be a lie.  I guess the one conclusion to it all is that there is no one solution.  Every situation is different, just as we are.  What works for one won't necessarily have the same effect on the next person and happiness is not something you can ever fully achieve on a permanent basis.  There are glimpses of it, temporary flashes that burst before your eyes like fireworks in the night reminding you that life is beautiful, even if just for a second.   Inevitably though the darkness always returns leaving you with just your recollection of the colours and the sparks and the sounds and smells and the way it made you feel......and that's what you cling to until the next time.

Damn this is morose.  Maybe I should try to end with some comedy.  Albeit I have come to realise, again through the wonderful medium of bloggery, that what I find amusing is not necessarily amusing to all.  

In any case I thank you for having read with me and followed my various exploits.  Thank you too for all your comments and feedback which has helped me through some difficult times.   Suffice to say I will continue in my quest for slenderness and marital bliss, and should I attain one or other or both I shall most certainly update the Blog, simply to prove to you agnostics and atheists that God does exist and still performs the occasional miracle.

For now though, Aurevoir. x x