happy impending new year, estwhile readers 30 Dec 2018 4:39 AM (6 years ago)
I miss blogging.
And yet, each time I think of doing it, I am struck with the intense awareness of not knowing how to write. I know how I don't want to, but I've no idea how to create something new, and appropriate.
And so, I never do.
I'd like to take the 'I' out of it, but I haven't a clue how, really. I don't even know what I want to read, other than silly romances, a guilty pleasure which delights and annoys me in equal... measure.
I have zero confidence that any opinion I might have that's longer than a sentence could have any worth, anymore. And in the absence of a blogging community, my posts will just sit here, I know, so they need to be more complete than they used to, when the intention was to create a conversation.
And so... back to a weblog, of sorts, perhaps, with recording and observing, and a view to just ... writing?
Roundup:
Work is stable, though I don't feel any interest in committing to it in a way that would make me feel I was excelling, or competent, and this doesn't feel good. Hovering question: what could I retrain at, at 42/3, that would translate into a profitable, satisfying job, given that I have a very dependent teenager and an 11 year old, no spare money, and a deeply questionable work ethic/energy level?
Hmm. That's an open question.
On the home life front, my mind is more peaceful, as I have released the feeling of how things should be, of what life I should live, and get, and give, as evidenced in the early, frustrated, lonely, anguished years of this blog, to a very great degree. I am much more accepting of a life without an intimate relationship, with few friends, and much of my own company. New Year's Eve doesn't matter any more, and the craving for arms around me lessens all the time. I feel this is a good development, even if the pressure to be optimistic and have expectations still lurks. Those things did not serve me well. This is definitely less painful.
My daughter has retreated ever further, now staying in her room (or talking to her dad and brother on the landing (and more recently, *in* her room! Big development!) because I sneaked in to try and kill the moths (haha, I just wrote 'mothers') it was infested with last summer, and she busted me and was utterly betrayed. It was the final straw, and she refuses to come downstairs anymore, except in the dead of night. I haven't seen her in nearly 6 months. She is happy, in her limited, safe little space, she has cleaned her room very nicely, which is amazing, but it's not really good. We go on, we wait and wonder. I have no answers, and am pretty much constantly tormented with guilt at my mental health induced parenting mistakes, the ghosts of my father's PTSD rage that haunt us all, the massive, massive regrets. I still don't know what to do with this, but I feel it more acutely than I did when I was in the middle of making all the mistakes. Then it felt like it could still get better, now it just feels like irreparable damage, and time slipped by too soon.
My son is doing great, despite anxiety, he's growing up a lot. He's wonderful but needs more friends. I hope secondary school will provide them for him. We need more space. We're spending all our money mentioned in the last post on building an extra outside room for his dad to sleep in and put his stuff in, so Bodhi can have his own room. He's very excited. He might even be able to have a sleepover, now Olivia stays away from all human contact by day.
That's the big update.
Christmas was fine. Nice. Despite two whole weeks off before it, I still didn't manage to transform the house into a minimalist Christmas paradise. Again. But that was to be expected. I bought nice second hand kitchen chairs, after 16 years of embarrassing folding furniture. They're pretty. My kitchen is Blue now, but it's the Wrong Blue and I don't know what to do about that, exactly. Paint it again in another 5 years, probably.
My room has suddenly started smelling of something like mouldering feet, and I have no idea what is making that happen. It's a distracting, disturbing smell. My sense of smell tortures me. I would be tempted to sacrifice the smell of flowers and sunshine and the sea and baking to free myself from the olfactory torment of solvents and 'parfum' and smoke and body odour and mould and all the other bad things, so painful are they, and such a hassle my problems with them are to other people.
Ok, enough of this. The question for now, as suggested last night by a dear old friend is, how to make myself magnetized for the good things I want and need, rather than the opposite?
Does fear of those bad things draw them in and feed them? It is my experience that optimism and hope have been destructive in the past - but I also believe strongly in allowing one's brain to direct one towards good things. I will make the vision board I've been planning for years. But this idea of magnetism is important. How to change our... frequency? Is that the right term? I have no interest in being hit in the face by any more frying pans, 2019. None at all.
And yet, each time I think of doing it, I am struck with the intense awareness of not knowing how to write. I know how I don't want to, but I've no idea how to create something new, and appropriate.
And so, I never do.
I'd like to take the 'I' out of it, but I haven't a clue how, really. I don't even know what I want to read, other than silly romances, a guilty pleasure which delights and annoys me in equal... measure.
I have zero confidence that any opinion I might have that's longer than a sentence could have any worth, anymore. And in the absence of a blogging community, my posts will just sit here, I know, so they need to be more complete than they used to, when the intention was to create a conversation.
And so... back to a weblog, of sorts, perhaps, with recording and observing, and a view to just ... writing?
Roundup:
Work is stable, though I don't feel any interest in committing to it in a way that would make me feel I was excelling, or competent, and this doesn't feel good. Hovering question: what could I retrain at, at 42/3, that would translate into a profitable, satisfying job, given that I have a very dependent teenager and an 11 year old, no spare money, and a deeply questionable work ethic/energy level?
Hmm. That's an open question.
On the home life front, my mind is more peaceful, as I have released the feeling of how things should be, of what life I should live, and get, and give, as evidenced in the early, frustrated, lonely, anguished years of this blog, to a very great degree. I am much more accepting of a life without an intimate relationship, with few friends, and much of my own company. New Year's Eve doesn't matter any more, and the craving for arms around me lessens all the time. I feel this is a good development, even if the pressure to be optimistic and have expectations still lurks. Those things did not serve me well. This is definitely less painful.
My daughter has retreated ever further, now staying in her room (or talking to her dad and brother on the landing (and more recently, *in* her room! Big development!) because I sneaked in to try and kill the moths (haha, I just wrote 'mothers') it was infested with last summer, and she busted me and was utterly betrayed. It was the final straw, and she refuses to come downstairs anymore, except in the dead of night. I haven't seen her in nearly 6 months. She is happy, in her limited, safe little space, she has cleaned her room very nicely, which is amazing, but it's not really good. We go on, we wait and wonder. I have no answers, and am pretty much constantly tormented with guilt at my mental health induced parenting mistakes, the ghosts of my father's PTSD rage that haunt us all, the massive, massive regrets. I still don't know what to do with this, but I feel it more acutely than I did when I was in the middle of making all the mistakes. Then it felt like it could still get better, now it just feels like irreparable damage, and time slipped by too soon.
My son is doing great, despite anxiety, he's growing up a lot. He's wonderful but needs more friends. I hope secondary school will provide them for him. We need more space. We're spending all our money mentioned in the last post on building an extra outside room for his dad to sleep in and put his stuff in, so Bodhi can have his own room. He's very excited. He might even be able to have a sleepover, now Olivia stays away from all human contact by day.
That's the big update.
Christmas was fine. Nice. Despite two whole weeks off before it, I still didn't manage to transform the house into a minimalist Christmas paradise. Again. But that was to be expected. I bought nice second hand kitchen chairs, after 16 years of embarrassing folding furniture. They're pretty. My kitchen is Blue now, but it's the Wrong Blue and I don't know what to do about that, exactly. Paint it again in another 5 years, probably.
My room has suddenly started smelling of something like mouldering feet, and I have no idea what is making that happen. It's a distracting, disturbing smell. My sense of smell tortures me. I would be tempted to sacrifice the smell of flowers and sunshine and the sea and baking to free myself from the olfactory torment of solvents and 'parfum' and smoke and body odour and mould and all the other bad things, so painful are they, and such a hassle my problems with them are to other people.
Ok, enough of this. The question for now, as suggested last night by a dear old friend is, how to make myself magnetized for the good things I want and need, rather than the opposite?
Does fear of those bad things draw them in and feed them? It is my experience that optimism and hope have been destructive in the past - but I also believe strongly in allowing one's brain to direct one towards good things. I will make the vision board I've been planning for years. But this idea of magnetism is important. How to change our... frequency? Is that the right term? I have no interest in being hit in the face by any more frying pans, 2019. None at all.
gratitude 9 Jul 2018 3:25 PM (6 years ago)
For literally years, I procrastinated filling in the form for the carer's allowance grant that's available to people with children with special needs.
Years.
Despite a friend who'd done it giving me her form and family impact statement letter.
Despite being unable to afford basics like health care and mental health care.
I finally got it done and posted it off in April of this year. I stressed about it, about leaving it so long and losing us money, about not filling it in well enough. About the fact that at the moment it only goes up to 16, and now my daughter is 15...
A couple weeks ago I silently begged for one big, good thing. Something good to happen to us, something encouraging. A lottery win, Olivia coming out of her zone of self-protective self-destruction, the grant being awarded us.
Today, finally, the envelope. A Yes!
With backdating for the maximum of six months, the annual respite grant, and the monthly allowance (including a Christmas bonus). (And free home insulation, after a long wait!) We get a small lump sum, because of the backdating and respite grant. Respite's not an option for us, but oh... we need this so much. There will be dentist visits for myself and Bodhi, and counsellor visits too, for our shitty anxiety and miseries.
The plan was to build a small log cabin house outside for Axl - but he suggested it would make far more sense for it to be Olivia's little apartment. We were going to have to borrow to the max to do it, but now, with this, we can build it, and still borrow a bit to make our shitty bathrooms into normal human people's bathrooms. And we can turn the heat on in the winter, as the boiler hopefully won't bother her, or the heat, and we can clean out her room, and let Bodhi have it a place of his own, space for his stuff, friends to stay over.
And Olivia can have a space of her own, that feels private and safe - we are in the midst of a crisis - she found out I'd been in her room, killing moths (she was lying about a moth infestation). She reacted very badly, and has not been out of her room since - in the great heatwave we're having, with her zero heat tolerance. She's barely eating and drinking and seems to think she can stay in there forever. It's irrational and self-destructive, but she blames it all on me. Her solutions to her problems cause her incredible suffering, yet seem more rational to her than, say, facing the pain of having a shower.
I hope this will bring her joy and a sense of safety again. Nothing is simple, of course, there will be a host of sensory issues to contend with... but it's a good solution.
I am so grateful. Something worked. Perhaps more luck will follow.
Years.
Despite a friend who'd done it giving me her form and family impact statement letter.
Despite being unable to afford basics like health care and mental health care.
I finally got it done and posted it off in April of this year. I stressed about it, about leaving it so long and losing us money, about not filling it in well enough. About the fact that at the moment it only goes up to 16, and now my daughter is 15...
A couple weeks ago I silently begged for one big, good thing. Something good to happen to us, something encouraging. A lottery win, Olivia coming out of her zone of self-protective self-destruction, the grant being awarded us.
Today, finally, the envelope. A Yes!
With backdating for the maximum of six months, the annual respite grant, and the monthly allowance (including a Christmas bonus). (And free home insulation, after a long wait!) We get a small lump sum, because of the backdating and respite grant. Respite's not an option for us, but oh... we need this so much. There will be dentist visits for myself and Bodhi, and counsellor visits too, for our shitty anxiety and miseries.
The plan was to build a small log cabin house outside for Axl - but he suggested it would make far more sense for it to be Olivia's little apartment. We were going to have to borrow to the max to do it, but now, with this, we can build it, and still borrow a bit to make our shitty bathrooms into normal human people's bathrooms. And we can turn the heat on in the winter, as the boiler hopefully won't bother her, or the heat, and we can clean out her room, and let Bodhi have it a place of his own, space for his stuff, friends to stay over.
And Olivia can have a space of her own, that feels private and safe - we are in the midst of a crisis - she found out I'd been in her room, killing moths (she was lying about a moth infestation). She reacted very badly, and has not been out of her room since - in the great heatwave we're having, with her zero heat tolerance. She's barely eating and drinking and seems to think she can stay in there forever. It's irrational and self-destructive, but she blames it all on me. Her solutions to her problems cause her incredible suffering, yet seem more rational to her than, say, facing the pain of having a shower.
I hope this will bring her joy and a sense of safety again. Nothing is simple, of course, there will be a host of sensory issues to contend with... but it's a good solution.
I am so grateful. Something worked. Perhaps more luck will follow.
I just had my mind blown a little bit. By the tweet of a lovely intelligent, educated, cultured woman on twitter who has a great marriage and family and is having a Sunday in bed with tea, told she deserves it because she is an 'excellent wife'. And then her sweet affirming tweet a little later, 'I really am an excellent wife'.
We don't think about that so much today, do we? Or do we? I know Mary does. Why haven't I noticed before, in the same was as I'm thinking about it now? I was a terrible wife. There were extenuating circumstances, but the result was all the same in the end. And the worst part is, I'm not sure I thought so much about it, I was so wrapped up in all the things that were stopping me being a good wife. I'm pretty sure I thought about what kind of husband I wanted my husband to be, though. I thought about me. I bet I didn't stop to think about what I needed to be, and how to take pride in that.
Partly because of all the extenuating circumstances, partly because of immaturity, and that I was probably not being able to be a good wife because I was being... not a bad person, exactly, but a mess of a person. Which maybe comes to the same thing. I really don't know how the scales measure weakness and self-absorbedness over actual evil, if such a thing exists.
I suddenly feel this is a thing we should be learning again, despite it's awful 1950s connotations. How to be a partner. I feel gripped with a fear that I never considered that at all. How awful.
This period is being a bit of a tough one. And I'm dieting, so I can't suppress all the misery with food. In fact, I'm going to lunch shortly, and I'm not having a cooked breakfast (which is cooking now) and that sadness alone is making me want to cry too.
We don't think about that so much today, do we? Or do we? I know Mary does. Why haven't I noticed before, in the same was as I'm thinking about it now? I was a terrible wife. There were extenuating circumstances, but the result was all the same in the end. And the worst part is, I'm not sure I thought so much about it, I was so wrapped up in all the things that were stopping me being a good wife. I'm pretty sure I thought about what kind of husband I wanted my husband to be, though. I thought about me. I bet I didn't stop to think about what I needed to be, and how to take pride in that.
Partly because of all the extenuating circumstances, partly because of immaturity, and that I was probably not being able to be a good wife because I was being... not a bad person, exactly, but a mess of a person. Which maybe comes to the same thing. I really don't know how the scales measure weakness and self-absorbedness over actual evil, if such a thing exists.
I suddenly feel this is a thing we should be learning again, despite it's awful 1950s connotations. How to be a partner. I feel gripped with a fear that I never considered that at all. How awful.
This period is being a bit of a tough one. And I'm dieting, so I can't suppress all the misery with food. In fact, I'm going to lunch shortly, and I'm not having a cooked breakfast (which is cooking now) and that sadness alone is making me want to cry too.
Little things my son does still melt my heart.
Today in the stupidly-expensive, pretty things shop he admired an old fashioned dial phone (in red melamine) with a kind of awe.
I love that he gets the beauty of the design of an old phone without ever having used one, without ever knowing that to be a phone-shape.
I miss them. I've been thinking of buying one, actually, as the cordlessless is far better for us. The only problem is that then I won't be able to have private phone calls on it. Not that I have phone calls often at all, but ... there are still certain subjects that neccessitate a closed door.
Today in the stupidly-expensive, pretty things shop he admired an old fashioned dial phone (in red melamine) with a kind of awe.
I love that he gets the beauty of the design of an old phone without ever having used one, without ever knowing that to be a phone-shape.
I miss them. I've been thinking of buying one, actually, as the cordlessless is far better for us. The only problem is that then I won't be able to have private phone calls on it. Not that I have phone calls often at all, but ... there are still certain subjects that neccessitate a closed door.
I hate my brain part 1,023 6 Dec 2017 6:51 AM (7 years ago)
I was just slicing a tomato, and started to cry because I remembered the bit in Harriet the Spy where everything goes wrong and the kids in school steal her tomato sandwhich because they're bullying her because they read her notebook. She always has one and she's probably on the spectrum, thinking about it now.
I just want to eat a sandwich, brain, just let me do that in peace?
I just want to eat a sandwich, brain, just let me do that in peace?
I have something sweet and fragrant on my fingers, I'm not sure what it is or where it might come from (other than the possibility of maple syrup and fake bacon, though that seems improbable). But it's reminding me of the Christmas that I got a wooden strawberry impregnated with Body Shop strawberry fragrance in my stocking, and my sister carried a giant hardback copy of Anne Rice's The Witching Hour across the Atlantic as her Christmas present to me. And now the memory of that compelling, cloying, strong strawberry smell and the sensuous, evocative descriptions of faded New Orleans grandeur and murderous mystery and magic are forever interlinked. The book reminds me of the strawberry, the idea of the smell reminds me of the book.
It's a really good book. She linked her vampire and witch worlds so well, I feel. Anne Rice was such a part of my childhood. I'm glad I had an older sister, and therefore got to read the vampire novels when I was in my early teens, when their romance was oh, so timely and appreciated.
It's a really good book. She linked her vampire and witch worlds so well, I feel. Anne Rice was such a part of my childhood. I'm glad I had an older sister, and therefore got to read the vampire novels when I was in my early teens, when their romance was oh, so timely and appreciated.
I'm procastinating so deeply and for such duration that I've reached a whole new dimension of paralysis. I'm wasting my summer worrying over but not doing things I should have done months ago.
I did go swimming with Bodhi yesterday though, and it wasn't so cold and we had fun in the waves.
And we just went and played the kind of tennis children and unsporty fat ladies play, if you can picture that. We met a darling beagle puppy who might have been called Maggie, or Meggie, I couldn't tell because her owners were South African. Or possibly from New Zealand. Derry was significantly under-charmed by the puppy and ignored her existence.
I could go visit my ex colleagues in Tenerife in the Autumn. But I don't know if I want to - my anxiety is telling me things about how it might feel awkward and I'll be in the way and I'll talk too much and they'll wish I wasn't there, and my whole travel anxiety makes going away on my own more of a chore than a delight in the long run. So I kind of want to give up on the idea, but then I really need a holiday and I'd love to eat nice tapas and drink cheap tasty wine and be elsewhere. e
I don't know.
This blog post is brought to you by my attempts to at least do something more worthwhile that looking at facebook and commenting on things no one needs me to comment on for ten hours a day.
I did go swimming with Bodhi yesterday though, and it wasn't so cold and we had fun in the waves.
And we just went and played the kind of tennis children and unsporty fat ladies play, if you can picture that. We met a darling beagle puppy who might have been called Maggie, or Meggie, I couldn't tell because her owners were South African. Or possibly from New Zealand. Derry was significantly under-charmed by the puppy and ignored her existence.
I could go visit my ex colleagues in Tenerife in the Autumn. But I don't know if I want to - my anxiety is telling me things about how it might feel awkward and I'll be in the way and I'll talk too much and they'll wish I wasn't there, and my whole travel anxiety makes going away on my own more of a chore than a delight in the long run. So I kind of want to give up on the idea, but then I really need a holiday and I'd love to eat nice tapas and drink cheap tasty wine and be elsewhere. e
I don't know.
This blog post is brought to you by my attempts to at least do something more worthwhile that looking at facebook and commenting on things no one needs me to comment on for ten hours a day.
I fumble to write. I've been driving round, thinking of things I'd like to say here, and yet never quite making it to the page nonetheless. I miss blogging, but at the same time I don't, as the great apathy that overwhelms any urge I might have blankets me in a depressive certainty that I've nothing to say of import, and no energy to say it. Even though I'm aware there are people who'd be happy to read a post I wrote, I still can't imagine stringing words together worth reading.
Here I am though - it might be good to lump something out, de-clog my brain a bit, that's cluttered like this bursting at the seams little laptop I bought without realising it had no storage space.
I had an observation yesterday, in work - we have one bi-annually, from our director, who's a very unimposing, easy-going woman who's younger than me. She's very beautiful, too, red-haired and vulpine, but I think utterly unaware of how attractive she is. I normally stress about observations, and have anxiety dreams about work, but this year, having had two perfectly good ones, I decided to just ... not. And it went excellently. I'm glad - I frequently feel like an inadequate teacher, even if it's only language teaching I do, rather than secondary school teaching. I'm lazy, I don't make massive efforts. I've been doing this too long and I don't care about it enough any more. But it's good to know I've still got the ability to do it right. And it's good to get some feedback that's positive. The rest of the time it's really just me feeling like a failure and my daughter hating me and the relentless jab of memories and regret. Ha! Yeah, I have my period.
I just finished reading Bodhi the last Harry Potter book. Do you know the Limbo scene in the station where Harry talks to a dead Dumbledore and chooses to go back and keep fighting? And a raw, foetal Vodlemort is lying moaning and mewling in a corner? It struck me that that's where Trump is emotionally - without all the trappings of his inherited money and status, he'd be as effective as a bitter, impotent infant Voldemort, trapped and helpless, of use to no-one. Imagine Trump on survival island.What could he contribute? Could you even eat him?
I walked out of work into a sea mist and a gentle drizzle today and the smell of salt hit me in the face as if I was playing in the waves. Such nostalgia for holidays and swimming and cold and fun in the water. It hasn't rained here in a long time and the earth and trees are throwing out such smells. It's grey but utterly lovely, evocative and sensuous.
I'm so glad it's Friday. I've to drive for hours to return the dog we fostered to the shelter tomorrow - I don't want to but I need rid of her, I can't take it any more. We've done our accidental bit, and I've well and truly learned my lesson. She rolled in horrible poo today on her walk, and I had to drag her into the shower and well and truly traumatise her by washing her. That made me feel bad, but ... roll in shit and pay the price. There was no way to do it gently as I had to just force her to stay there with all my strength. Yeesh. Derry loves the shower. He's a pain in the ass, but we got so lucky with him.
Here I am though - it might be good to lump something out, de-clog my brain a bit, that's cluttered like this bursting at the seams little laptop I bought without realising it had no storage space.
I had an observation yesterday, in work - we have one bi-annually, from our director, who's a very unimposing, easy-going woman who's younger than me. She's very beautiful, too, red-haired and vulpine, but I think utterly unaware of how attractive she is. I normally stress about observations, and have anxiety dreams about work, but this year, having had two perfectly good ones, I decided to just ... not. And it went excellently. I'm glad - I frequently feel like an inadequate teacher, even if it's only language teaching I do, rather than secondary school teaching. I'm lazy, I don't make massive efforts. I've been doing this too long and I don't care about it enough any more. But it's good to know I've still got the ability to do it right. And it's good to get some feedback that's positive. The rest of the time it's really just me feeling like a failure and my daughter hating me and the relentless jab of memories and regret. Ha! Yeah, I have my period.
I just finished reading Bodhi the last Harry Potter book. Do you know the Limbo scene in the station where Harry talks to a dead Dumbledore and chooses to go back and keep fighting? And a raw, foetal Vodlemort is lying moaning and mewling in a corner? It struck me that that's where Trump is emotionally - without all the trappings of his inherited money and status, he'd be as effective as a bitter, impotent infant Voldemort, trapped and helpless, of use to no-one. Imagine Trump on survival island.What could he contribute? Could you even eat him?
I walked out of work into a sea mist and a gentle drizzle today and the smell of salt hit me in the face as if I was playing in the waves. Such nostalgia for holidays and swimming and cold and fun in the water. It hasn't rained here in a long time and the earth and trees are throwing out such smells. It's grey but utterly lovely, evocative and sensuous.
I'm so glad it's Friday. I've to drive for hours to return the dog we fostered to the shelter tomorrow - I don't want to but I need rid of her, I can't take it any more. We've done our accidental bit, and I've well and truly learned my lesson. She rolled in horrible poo today on her walk, and I had to drag her into the shower and well and truly traumatise her by washing her. That made me feel bad, but ... roll in shit and pay the price. There was no way to do it gently as I had to just force her to stay there with all my strength. Yeesh. Derry loves the shower. He's a pain in the ass, but we got so lucky with him.
She's out of practice (she showed me a far better one from some time ago). I know this is just a study of her own sweet hand, but it's hard not to see a fist pump.
bookmark 27 Mar 2017 3:27 PM (7 years ago)
My daughter has been an artist since she was very small, and she and her dad would paint in the mornings while I was at work. She would embark on pictures with the utmost confidence - 'I'm going to draw a tiger' - and then she would draw a tiger, and paint it too, and boom: tiger.
A while back she stopped, angrily insisting that she couldn't draw any more, it didn't work, to stop telling her she was good at art because she wasn't anymore, if she ever was. And there was no point practising as much as she'd need to to be good because she wasn't interested anyway.
For those who don't know, she has Asperger's and extreme sensory processing disorder, and is in a very stuck, locked down state - she has had no education for three years now, pretty much, other than what she finds herself. She's been stuck at home for two years, unable to wash or change while her clothes disintegrate on her.
Recently she found some old pictures in notebooks, and started showing them to me. And then she started adding to them; the miracle of Pokemon. It continues, this spark of interest.
This is not quite the gratitude I felt watching her run down a hill with her friend in the sun after two months at home unable to wear clothes several years ago - but it is deep, nonetheless, and layered.
A while back she stopped, angrily insisting that she couldn't draw any more, it didn't work, to stop telling her she was good at art because she wasn't anymore, if she ever was. And there was no point practising as much as she'd need to to be good because she wasn't interested anyway.
For those who don't know, she has Asperger's and extreme sensory processing disorder, and is in a very stuck, locked down state - she has had no education for three years now, pretty much, other than what she finds herself. She's been stuck at home for two years, unable to wash or change while her clothes disintegrate on her.
Recently she found some old pictures in notebooks, and started showing them to me. And then she started adding to them; the miracle of Pokemon. It continues, this spark of interest.
This is not quite the gratitude I felt watching her run down a hill with her friend in the sun after two months at home unable to wear clothes several years ago - but it is deep, nonetheless, and layered.
I've been off work, as I may have mentioned, and it's been brilliant. Except I'm doing the staying up half the night and sleeping in thing, which has to stop tonight. Bodhi and his dad are on holiday too, so we've been eating a lot and going to do things. I am a bit scared to look at my bank account, as I won't get paid again til the 23rd.
Yesterday we went to see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and it was a total joy. A delight. Like drinking pink champagne from a champagne saucer. Everything about it I found utterly lovely.
Today we went to see the Turner watercolours in the National Gallery, as I've never been. They're good, like, but they're not really my thing, to be honest. But we went in to see a European exhibition, and oh, my. There was a Vermeer. Seeing a Vermeer close up is something special. A wonderful, quiet space envelopes you when you see a truly great painting.
There was a Monet too. Monet, Monet.
Google reminds me that it had to be restored, as some *person* (I'm trying to curse less, it's frustrating) 'fell' into it and damaged it and it had to be restored. I don't know how they do it, tbh.
The Goose girl is there too, it's really beautiful. And big.
But, but, oh, the Van Gogh. I'd never even heard of it before. I could have looked at this for days. It's in a really beautiful black frame, but I can't find a good photo of it with it.
The further away you get from it the more detailed it seems. I love it. I would like this in my house, quite a lot.
Oh, and there was, in the corner, a very plain bust onto which was projected a photograph of a face - so you just see the light shining the face onto the blank head. It was remarkable - I've never seen anything like it before. I wanted to see it shining onto the back of Axl's head, so it would look like Voldemort in The Philosopher's Stone, but our messing around with it attracted the attention of another woman, who like me, would have walked past it, and Axl got a bit embarrassed.
We had a burrito too. It was lovely to see Bodhi looking at paintings. A good day.
Yesterday we went to see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and it was a total joy. A delight. Like drinking pink champagne from a champagne saucer. Everything about it I found utterly lovely.
Today we went to see the Turner watercolours in the National Gallery, as I've never been. They're good, like, but they're not really my thing, to be honest. But we went in to see a European exhibition, and oh, my. There was a Vermeer. Seeing a Vermeer close up is something special. A wonderful, quiet space envelopes you when you see a truly great painting.
There was a Monet too. Monet, Monet.
Google reminds me that it had to be restored, as some *person* (I'm trying to curse less, it's frustrating) 'fell' into it and damaged it and it had to be restored. I don't know how they do it, tbh.
The Goose girl is there too, it's really beautiful. And big.
But, but, oh, the Van Gogh. I'd never even heard of it before. I could have looked at this for days. It's in a really beautiful black frame, but I can't find a good photo of it with it.
The further away you get from it the more detailed it seems. I love it. I would like this in my house, quite a lot.
Oh, and there was, in the corner, a very plain bust onto which was projected a photograph of a face - so you just see the light shining the face onto the blank head. It was remarkable - I've never seen anything like it before. I wanted to see it shining onto the back of Axl's head, so it would look like Voldemort in The Philosopher's Stone, but our messing around with it attracted the attention of another woman, who like me, would have walked past it, and Axl got a bit embarrassed.
We had a burrito too. It was lovely to see Bodhi looking at paintings. A good day.
happywishes for 2017 1 Jan 2017 2:50 AM (8 years ago)
I used to be all about the New Year's posts. Mostly because I was sat sadly by myself, I guess, listening to Long December and crying about the State of Things. Now, I confess, I no longer feel that confidence, or hope, that led me to search out pictures of glowing sparkler years or anything pretty or motivating. I no longer feel that I have words to say that mean anything much - I'm very aware that maybe they never did, but it's the attitude change that counts. I used to feel very sure that I knew stuff, and that I needed to communicate it somehow. That that was possible. Now I feel a lot more... I don't even know the word.
I certainly felt very teary last night, as I have done recently, but especially because I saw a picture of Olivia's teacher, who has been dealing with cancer for years now, diagnosed even before Olivia got her Autism diagnosis, I guess, dressed up with her family, but on oxygen in the hospital, and her husband saying it's the last time they'll all send wishes together.
Excuse the run on sentence. My life is like a run on sentence I can't pull together and control either...
It's not death I'm scared of so much as grief, I think. Death is a natural, inevitable thing. The ripples of grief spill out into the world - I never managed to deal with it, to be honest, and it's left me in fear of the next time. And then I feel it for everyone else, too. This year of loss of greats has been tough.
I want to wish improvement, and happiness and sustainable energy to the world for next year, but there's so much war, and Trump and Trump-voter mentality. There's all the people sneering at those who claim to be vaccine injured, and ignoring their identical stories and heaping shame on them. There's my daughter who is being taught by the internet that feminism and political correctness are the root of all fun-spoiling and her father who agrees with her. There's my own personal whirlpool of self-doubt and my daughter's situation that's ongoing and pushes me further down the funnel each time I let my thoughts rest on it, and how I'm still not finding the solutions needed in a burst of brave resilience and parental heroism.
I've lost friend I thought would always be a friend, and along with all of the other people and family member it highlights how well I'm not doing. But I'm not sure I have the energy to be more upset about it, or feel like I can fix it.
So what will 2017 bring? How to invite good change in?
I don't know, but I do know that I wish good things, good health, firm relationships that bring strength and peace to you all. Resilience and self-belief. Laughter and love and the bravery to fight back against all the wrongness.
I certainly felt very teary last night, as I have done recently, but especially because I saw a picture of Olivia's teacher, who has been dealing with cancer for years now, diagnosed even before Olivia got her Autism diagnosis, I guess, dressed up with her family, but on oxygen in the hospital, and her husband saying it's the last time they'll all send wishes together.
Excuse the run on sentence. My life is like a run on sentence I can't pull together and control either...
It's not death I'm scared of so much as grief, I think. Death is a natural, inevitable thing. The ripples of grief spill out into the world - I never managed to deal with it, to be honest, and it's left me in fear of the next time. And then I feel it for everyone else, too. This year of loss of greats has been tough.
I want to wish improvement, and happiness and sustainable energy to the world for next year, but there's so much war, and Trump and Trump-voter mentality. There's all the people sneering at those who claim to be vaccine injured, and ignoring their identical stories and heaping shame on them. There's my daughter who is being taught by the internet that feminism and political correctness are the root of all fun-spoiling and her father who agrees with her. There's my own personal whirlpool of self-doubt and my daughter's situation that's ongoing and pushes me further down the funnel each time I let my thoughts rest on it, and how I'm still not finding the solutions needed in a burst of brave resilience and parental heroism.
I've lost friend I thought would always be a friend, and along with all of the other people and family member it highlights how well I'm not doing. But I'm not sure I have the energy to be more upset about it, or feel like I can fix it.
So what will 2017 bring? How to invite good change in?
I don't know, but I do know that I wish good things, good health, firm relationships that bring strength and peace to you all. Resilience and self-belief. Laughter and love and the bravery to fight back against all the wrongness.
christmas week 19 Dec 2016 2:22 PM (8 years ago)
Monday.
I breakfasted on coffee and a Guinness chocolate cupcake. With Bailey's frosting. Best cupcake recipe *ever*. It's insanely nice. Breakfast of champions, needless to say. Try 'em. In all truth, I make amazing, rich, delicious cupcakes, and these are the best of all.
I'm on holiday for the first time in a year and a half. It's great. I feel an immense relief.
Elizabeth wrote about being a witness to the Syrian murder. I don't know what to do with myself about them. The horrors of the world and the prospect of the horrors of the future and my anxieties about the things that are wrong in my life overwhelm me and make me cry ten times a day at the moment. I am very raw. I'm not sure what to do about any of it. I don't know how to make myself better, or get my daughter better or save all the children dying in the streets of Aleppo, or hold their grieving parents. Why do I feel the need? I envy people who don't feel it. I do, so.
My friend told me yesterday that her brother has been talking to her of suicide again. And she thinks that's ok. She's sanguine about it, she doesn't feel unfairly manipulated or affected. Damn.
I went to my work Christmas party the other night, in a beautiful hotel. There were drinks and dinner and dancing and people who on the whole, I like a lot. I felt lucky. And oh, readers, I bought a ridiculously sparkly silver dress, and new tights with a control top, and I wore my knee boots and painted my nails dark wine red with sparkly tips. And it all came together and I felt ok, and everyone was very sweet about me as I usually look like a frumpy lumpy woman ten years older than my age. A colleague who is not the best with social...ness, and is a bit of a grumpy, old before his time 80s style Socialist, who I haven't seen in ages came in and the first thing he said to me was a very kind 'You look great in that dress. It's brilliant. If I was a woman, that is the sort of dress I'd wear.' Excuse the run on sentence but I'm trying to fit it all in. I was extremely touched by his enthusiasm. The truth was, we all looked great and some people there were breakthtakingly stunning in their finery, dancing to cheesy 80s hits.
Here is a pic of my nail varnish.Oops, one nail fell off and I redid it in gold.
And I'm going out tomorrow morning for Christmas coffees and now they're gold and sparkly.
I breakfasted on coffee and a Guinness chocolate cupcake. With Bailey's frosting. Best cupcake recipe *ever*. It's insanely nice. Breakfast of champions, needless to say. Try 'em. In all truth, I make amazing, rich, delicious cupcakes, and these are the best of all.
I'm on holiday for the first time in a year and a half. It's great. I feel an immense relief.
Elizabeth wrote about being a witness to the Syrian murder. I don't know what to do with myself about them. The horrors of the world and the prospect of the horrors of the future and my anxieties about the things that are wrong in my life overwhelm me and make me cry ten times a day at the moment. I am very raw. I'm not sure what to do about any of it. I don't know how to make myself better, or get my daughter better or save all the children dying in the streets of Aleppo, or hold their grieving parents. Why do I feel the need? I envy people who don't feel it. I do, so.
My friend told me yesterday that her brother has been talking to her of suicide again. And she thinks that's ok. She's sanguine about it, she doesn't feel unfairly manipulated or affected. Damn.
I went to my work Christmas party the other night, in a beautiful hotel. There were drinks and dinner and dancing and people who on the whole, I like a lot. I felt lucky. And oh, readers, I bought a ridiculously sparkly silver dress, and new tights with a control top, and I wore my knee boots and painted my nails dark wine red with sparkly tips. And it all came together and I felt ok, and everyone was very sweet about me as I usually look like a frumpy lumpy woman ten years older than my age. A colleague who is not the best with social...ness, and is a bit of a grumpy, old before his time 80s style Socialist, who I haven't seen in ages came in and the first thing he said to me was a very kind 'You look great in that dress. It's brilliant. If I was a woman, that is the sort of dress I'd wear.' Excuse the run on sentence but I'm trying to fit it all in. I was extremely touched by his enthusiasm. The truth was, we all looked great and some people there were breakthtakingly stunning in their finery, dancing to cheesy 80s hits.
Here is a pic of my nail varnish.Oops, one nail fell off and I redid it in gold.
And I'm going out tomorrow morning for Christmas coffees and now they're gold and sparkly.
Why am I showing you pictures of my chubby little baby hands in such an uncharacteristic way, you ask? Well, it's because for 95% of my life I've been a person with ragged, bitten nails I was ashamed of, and I seem to have managed to stop that. And they're all grown and smooth and adult looking and I've found this polish called Little Ondine that is water based, virtually smell free and peel off that I adore. It peels off a little bit earlier than I want it to, but other than that, it's fabulous and I'm so excited by having sparkly nails. I like it so much I asked them to let me be an 'ambassador', so if you every fancy ordering some, use the code AJM10 for 10% off. But be warned, while it covers beautifully and dries in a flash, it does peel off soon and isn't tolerant of water. On the plus side, it's pretty easy to apply, easier than standard polish and you can fix it quickly and change it when you want. You can check out www.littleondine.com and www.uk.littleondine.com. Apologies for the ad and the nails, but I'm just so happy to be full of love for my nails rather than full of shame, it's a very nice feeling.
Up, down, up, down. The roller coaster of desperate-sad/normal/happy I go through each hour is tiring. But you take the good bits as they fall.
Cupcakes, nail varnish and La Nausée is what I have for you today. You're welcome.
blorg 4 Dec 2016 2:20 PM (8 years ago)
You know how I'm frequently sentimental, but I also hate schmaltzy sanctimonious crap off the internet?
Case in point. Fuck off.
Anyone prefer me to make love to them instead of sending them cookies? Show of hands? Ah, alright, I'll stick with the baking, so. Be the light, my arse.
Having said that, I could have listened to that André Rieu version of Hallelujah with the opera singers ten times and wept through it each time today. God.
I survived the baking marathon. My wares sold out. I am tired and I owe myself a weekend, but I had a delicious Indian takeaway for dinner tonight.
Bodhi is cycling, finally and his father promises to start teaching him chords this week.
I'm feeling festive, and have holidays coming, so I can live without this weekend being entirely restful. Tomorrow night, Christmas cards.
I'm going to bed early.
Oh - also, I read Iain Banks' 'The Steep Road to Garbadale' this week and enjoyed it immensely - such bright, clever writing and characters. I went so far as to see if I could find his twitter to tell him so, then remembered with sadness that he died.
I talk so much. Like a hyper, over-excited child. Not always, but often. It sweeps over and out of meme like a wave, a swell of uninvited, babbled information, opinion, story, joke. When I found out it was a dyspraxic symptom, it made me feel slightly better, but it's still ... humiliating? Shaming? Something a little sicker feeling than embarrassment, I think. Ugh.
I have a baking marathon to do today, for the school Christmas fair fundraiser. I want to stay in bed and read this great novel by Iain Banks instead - The Steep Approach to Garbadale. It's so well written. Funny, engaging, tender writing. Sometimes a little self-conscious, but that endears me to it all the more. I've spent €50 on ingredients, it's going to be hours of running the oven. Robbing me of my weekend. I feel resentful about it. Childishly, churlishly so. An annual tradition. Other people work harder than I do to organise it, and it's vital if we want the school to be able to keep running the lights and so on. Which is shit. But ... it is what it is. I should be more attractively zen about it.
My Christmas present to myself and my fingernails arrived yesterday. Nail varnish. Special, water based, peelable, gorgeous nail varnish. I will blog about this soon, if you will allow me to. V v exciting.
I am feeling shitty today. I have a headache, I don't know why, and things feel too hard to bear. I want to cry and I feel sorry for myself. Blech. Post-menstrual stress? I don't know, but I don't like it. I don't like myself.
I woke up at 5 this morning, to the groggy realisation that I'd fallen asleep with the light on, my computer on, my mouth guard not in. I flailed around, worrying I hadn't brought my phone up and so had no alarm. The idea of getting out of bed in the cold and dark to go find it seemed impossible.
Then the knowledge that it was Saturday dropped me back onto the pillow with almost fainting relief. Not only did I not have to go get the phone, I didn't have to get up for work either. It was a glorious, dizzy sensation. If I hadn't been lying down, I might have fallen over with it.
Then the knowledge that it was Saturday dropped me back onto the pillow with almost fainting relief. Not only did I not have to go get the phone, I didn't have to get up for work either. It was a glorious, dizzy sensation. If I hadn't been lying down, I might have fallen over with it.
I am listening to You Want It Darker in my bed-nest and am loving it. It'd be startling if it weren't... Leonard Cohen - I mean, what is there else to expect?
It's difficult for me to listen to LC because my mother loved him, and was of his era, and I think I heard his songs through her ears and experiences rather than my own. I dissuaded my sister from having House of the Rising Sun played at her funeral (she claimed my mother loved it and she (my sister) was tickled that it was about a whore house) and in exasperation I just put my foot down and suggested a friend would play 'Hey That's No Way to Say Goodbye on the flute, which my mother played and she went for it. My father felt it was horribly inappropriate, but relented when I said it would just be the music. I probably shouldn't have pushed that on him, as it was one of the songs they'd loved together - and now I associate with it her too much to be able to enjoy it any more properly. Ah, for fuck's sake. It's hard having a mammal brain and all these chemicals. Anyway, that's my little jolly Leonard Cohen story.
Nevertheless, this album is a v good thing.
It's difficult for me to listen to LC because my mother loved him, and was of his era, and I think I heard his songs through her ears and experiences rather than my own. I dissuaded my sister from having House of the Rising Sun played at her funeral (she claimed my mother loved it and she (my sister) was tickled that it was about a whore house) and in exasperation I just put my foot down and suggested a friend would play 'Hey That's No Way to Say Goodbye on the flute, which my mother played and she went for it. My father felt it was horribly inappropriate, but relented when I said it would just be the music. I probably shouldn't have pushed that on him, as it was one of the songs they'd loved together - and now I associate with it her too much to be able to enjoy it any more properly. Ah, for fuck's sake. It's hard having a mammal brain and all these chemicals. Anyway, that's my little jolly Leonard Cohen story.
Nevertheless, this album is a v good thing.
Thursday
My son is having a good week.
He got his first pair of Docs, and he loves them, the bounce and security of them.
His sister is being unusually nice, less Aspie and more herself, calm and friendly towards him. They're enjoying each other's company, or they have been, and he can relax a bit.
He got Pokemon cards.
He put himself forward for the student council, and he won today, so he's excited and proud of himself. I'm so glad - he tried something and it came through. It's bolstering. Plus, he'll be great.
In this week of fear and awfulness, he's ok.
Since the election results, I have felt a craving to read people's reactions and opinions and to feel connected - I've really, really wanted to hide in bed and read and share those thoughts. But I had to get up and go to work. Real life intrudes. I feel horrified by so many people's violence and lack of understanding and I feel heartened and touched by others' beautiful comprehension of humanity. There are many aware, empathic, brave, clever people out there. I don't know that I believe they can save us, but that's no reason not to keep trying.
Friday
Today was less triumphant - he's worried his docs look too big and he had a fight with his best friend. But we sail on.
I lit a fire and it was insanely windy out, and the fire basically blew back into the room and smoked up the recently painted wall above the fireplace and when I cleaned it I made it far worse. Oops. New paint will be needed.
Which is bad because it's Axl's birthday today, and he has to drive to the farthest county in the country to play at his bass player's cousin's wedding and then drive home and get back at 4 am and go to work tomorrow. We'll celebrate on Sunday, but he may also have to paint a wall... :/
Saturday
Spent money! On a dental check up for Bodhi, on soap, on the supermarket. I'm feeling greedy and consumerist at the moment. I want Petite Odille nail varnish for my new, grown up human nails (though I bit one yesterday - agh! Still better than in times past, though) and manicures. I want a handbag and a new phone (an ethical one I don't have to feel guilty about that costs €500 hahahaha!) I want my ears repierced so I can wear earrings again. I want more than one pair of shoes. I want osteopaths appointments and dentistry. I want music and pretty Christmas things and books and a refurb for this falling down house - a silent boiler, new bathrooms, insulation, new carpeting. I want to donate to homeless charities and dog charities and Syria and Yemen and anything that stops Trump hurting people and and and. Anyway, I went and checked my account and I have minus money til Friday, so... sigh.
If I don't post this now I should really delete it, and I wanted to post the bit about Bodhi's Good Day, so, publish I will.
My son is having a good week.
He got his first pair of Docs, and he loves them, the bounce and security of them.
His sister is being unusually nice, less Aspie and more herself, calm and friendly towards him. They're enjoying each other's company, or they have been, and he can relax a bit.
He got Pokemon cards.
He put himself forward for the student council, and he won today, so he's excited and proud of himself. I'm so glad - he tried something and it came through. It's bolstering. Plus, he'll be great.
In this week of fear and awfulness, he's ok.
Since the election results, I have felt a craving to read people's reactions and opinions and to feel connected - I've really, really wanted to hide in bed and read and share those thoughts. But I had to get up and go to work. Real life intrudes. I feel horrified by so many people's violence and lack of understanding and I feel heartened and touched by others' beautiful comprehension of humanity. There are many aware, empathic, brave, clever people out there. I don't know that I believe they can save us, but that's no reason not to keep trying.
Friday
Today was less triumphant - he's worried his docs look too big and he had a fight with his best friend. But we sail on.
I lit a fire and it was insanely windy out, and the fire basically blew back into the room and smoked up the recently painted wall above the fireplace and when I cleaned it I made it far worse. Oops. New paint will be needed.
Which is bad because it's Axl's birthday today, and he has to drive to the farthest county in the country to play at his bass player's cousin's wedding and then drive home and get back at 4 am and go to work tomorrow. We'll celebrate on Sunday, but he may also have to paint a wall... :/
Saturday
Spent money! On a dental check up for Bodhi, on soap, on the supermarket. I'm feeling greedy and consumerist at the moment. I want Petite Odille nail varnish for my new, grown up human nails (though I bit one yesterday - agh! Still better than in times past, though) and manicures. I want a handbag and a new phone (an ethical one I don't have to feel guilty about that costs €500 hahahaha!) I want my ears repierced so I can wear earrings again. I want more than one pair of shoes. I want osteopaths appointments and dentistry. I want music and pretty Christmas things and books and a refurb for this falling down house - a silent boiler, new bathrooms, insulation, new carpeting. I want to donate to homeless charities and dog charities and Syria and Yemen and anything that stops Trump hurting people and and and. Anyway, I went and checked my account and I have minus money til Friday, so... sigh.
If I don't post this now I should really delete it, and I wanted to post the bit about Bodhi's Good Day, so, publish I will.
I thought I'd got away with not providing a small sibling for Bodhi, who is the lovingest, sweetest child and would dote on a cute baby, be a big brother to his little sister or brother in the kindest of ways. I saw him as a toddler filled with ecstatic delight at new babies and felt so guilty - it was assuaged a bit as he got older, met his friends' demon-little-siblings and said that maybe it was just as well.
But today in the shopping centre he talked about how utterly adorable kiddies' shoes were, how any foot could be so tiny amazes him and is totally adorable. I said how magical I found the tiny, untrodden button heels of his and his sister's feet were when they were small, he asked did I press them, and sighed quite a lot at having missed out on having a little sister. He agreed that it would have been good if he'd been the big brother.
In truth, things would have been so very different if it had worked that way.
So I'm torn between feeling horrible guilt at ever having had children and guilt at only having had two, and denying him a little brother or sister to love. Right at the same time.
This week is weird - I went to a gig on Wednesday that was quite intense, an intimate performance of just one woman reading and singing very personal songs, and it messed me up a bit, to be honest - and I was hoping to go for a drink/talk/food with my friend afterwards but she had to leave straight away, and she got there at the last minute, and these days I feel so paranoid about other people, and how bearable I am to be around, and if not that then I just needed the buffer of a chat about the gig to de-intensify it all a bit. But that was not to be.
I'm not sure I get panic attacks - maybe? But maybe they're more just attacks of grieving, but ones where I'm consumed with terror about the future and my ability to tolerate it and provide for the kids, and what if I die early and how will they be looked after and what about Olivia. So...
It's been a weird week. Like PMS but after my period. Is it going to be post MS now too? Aiee.
I bought Bodhi his first pair of Docs today. It's so amazing - I'm so jealous. Adult docs are so expensive now, and my calves and ankles are fat, I just don't feel like I can do them justice anymore, and not look like... heifer dressed as mutton, maybe. I was a size five til after I had kids (that's smaller than a US size five, maybe a four?) Now I'm a six, and sometimes I miss my feet being littler. The boots I've got are a bit too big, but the five's too small and no one does half sizes. It's faintly alienating to look down at them, but they're nice, so, it's also ok. I'm just a little surprised by it.
Soon Bodhi will be fabulous - he's getting interested in music, he's getting docs, he's higher than my shoulder... I wish Olivia was the one but she never liked 'em, and with the SPD, there was never really ever any enjoying any of it. Still, Dade loves fashion, loves himself in clothes and shoes and takes great joy in it all, in his hair, he's proud of himself. It's good. He *nearly* went for the shiny red ones, but realised he wasn't ready yet. A bridge too far.
Ach.
I dreamed yesterday, while I was sleeping in because I hit off instead of snooze, that everyone was telling me about their cancer. Including Danielle's butler, as he was taking pizzas out of the Aga. 'Does Danielle have a butler?' my friend asked, when I told her this. No, just in my dream.
I know the cancer thing is just because I met someone who is at stage 4 with it in England and talked to her a lot about it, but it was unsettling nonetheless.
But today in the shopping centre he talked about how utterly adorable kiddies' shoes were, how any foot could be so tiny amazes him and is totally adorable. I said how magical I found the tiny, untrodden button heels of his and his sister's feet were when they were small, he asked did I press them, and sighed quite a lot at having missed out on having a little sister. He agreed that it would have been good if he'd been the big brother.
In truth, things would have been so very different if it had worked that way.
So I'm torn between feeling horrible guilt at ever having had children and guilt at only having had two, and denying him a little brother or sister to love. Right at the same time.
This week is weird - I went to a gig on Wednesday that was quite intense, an intimate performance of just one woman reading and singing very personal songs, and it messed me up a bit, to be honest - and I was hoping to go for a drink/talk/food with my friend afterwards but she had to leave straight away, and she got there at the last minute, and these days I feel so paranoid about other people, and how bearable I am to be around, and if not that then I just needed the buffer of a chat about the gig to de-intensify it all a bit. But that was not to be.
I'm not sure I get panic attacks - maybe? But maybe they're more just attacks of grieving, but ones where I'm consumed with terror about the future and my ability to tolerate it and provide for the kids, and what if I die early and how will they be looked after and what about Olivia. So...
It's been a weird week. Like PMS but after my period. Is it going to be post MS now too? Aiee.
I bought Bodhi his first pair of Docs today. It's so amazing - I'm so jealous. Adult docs are so expensive now, and my calves and ankles are fat, I just don't feel like I can do them justice anymore, and not look like... heifer dressed as mutton, maybe. I was a size five til after I had kids (that's smaller than a US size five, maybe a four?) Now I'm a six, and sometimes I miss my feet being littler. The boots I've got are a bit too big, but the five's too small and no one does half sizes. It's faintly alienating to look down at them, but they're nice, so, it's also ok. I'm just a little surprised by it.
Soon Bodhi will be fabulous - he's getting interested in music, he's getting docs, he's higher than my shoulder... I wish Olivia was the one but she never liked 'em, and with the SPD, there was never really ever any enjoying any of it. Still, Dade loves fashion, loves himself in clothes and shoes and takes great joy in it all, in his hair, he's proud of himself. It's good. He *nearly* went for the shiny red ones, but realised he wasn't ready yet. A bridge too far.
Ach.
I dreamed yesterday, while I was sleeping in because I hit off instead of snooze, that everyone was telling me about their cancer. Including Danielle's butler, as he was taking pizzas out of the Aga. 'Does Danielle have a butler?' my friend asked, when I told her this. No, just in my dream.
I know the cancer thing is just because I met someone who is at stage 4 with it in England and talked to her a lot about it, but it was unsettling nonetheless.
We watched The Jungle Book in its newest incarnation tonight.
There are many glorious aspects to it - the animation is astonishing and delightful. The reworking of two old famous songs is gleeful and a wonderful homage to the Disney Jungle Book. The care shared between Baloo, Bagheera and Mowgli is well done.
I didn't mind that Kaa is now female as her part in the story is really well done - and if you count the number of female characters in the original main story, you only have to use one finger, so... yeah. Olivia had read that she was all seduction, and Mowgli was a nine year old boy, and ew... but the connection between sex and death is something that she (and clearly, large swathes of the internet) doesn't understand yet.
They mess with the story, but honestly, they pull it back together into a good film plot pretty well. I won't complain. I miss the real Book I know and love so deeply, but ... I don't think they're ever going to make that one the way I want them too. And it sits very firm in my head and heart. I think it might be my most favourite ever book,
Do you know some people have never read it? For them, the Jungle Book is the Disney cartoon, silly songs and cartoon vultures. For me, it introduced me to romance and daring and conflict and death and friendship bonds and sacrifice.., so many human experiences put together in such a beautiful way. I think this film scrapes at that quite masterfully, even though I balk at it not being 'right' - the story is taken apart and stitched together but I think it works pretty well to redeliver the message. And the cast is fantastic, the animation is a tour de force. It's beautiful to be able to live in the world so visually. I wish they'd make one based on the original book and not the Disney cartoon just for me though, but that might be asking too much.
There are many glorious aspects to it - the animation is astonishing and delightful. The reworking of two old famous songs is gleeful and a wonderful homage to the Disney Jungle Book. The care shared between Baloo, Bagheera and Mowgli is well done.
I didn't mind that Kaa is now female as her part in the story is really well done - and if you count the number of female characters in the original main story, you only have to use one finger, so... yeah. Olivia had read that she was all seduction, and Mowgli was a nine year old boy, and ew... but the connection between sex and death is something that she (and clearly, large swathes of the internet) doesn't understand yet.
They mess with the story, but honestly, they pull it back together into a good film plot pretty well. I won't complain. I miss the real Book I know and love so deeply, but ... I don't think they're ever going to make that one the way I want them too. And it sits very firm in my head and heart. I think it might be my most favourite ever book,
Do you know some people have never read it? For them, the Jungle Book is the Disney cartoon, silly songs and cartoon vultures. For me, it introduced me to romance and daring and conflict and death and friendship bonds and sacrifice.., so many human experiences put together in such a beautiful way. I think this film scrapes at that quite masterfully, even though I balk at it not being 'right' - the story is taken apart and stitched together but I think it works pretty well to redeliver the message. And the cast is fantastic, the animation is a tour de force. It's beautiful to be able to live in the world so visually. I wish they'd make one based on the original book and not the Disney cartoon just for me though, but that might be asking too much.
I dreamed that there was a huge party in my father's house and that I suddenly realised that Olivia had washed her hair (for the first time in 18 months - I haven't really been writing about this, but in case you don't know, my daughter who is on the spectrum and was high functioning, has SPD to the degree that washing herself or changing her clothes has turned into such a paranoia that we haven't been able to get her to do so in nearly two years. As a result, she won't see anyone or leave the house.)
Anyway, I dreamed that I suddenly realised her long hair was thick, blond, and flowing again and that she was wearing a dress. I asked her how she'd done it, and she said my mother had had a chat with her about it, and she'd just run a pencil through it and got the tangles out herself. Then she ran off and played with the child of someone I'd known in school for hours.
My father and his wife were having a house party, and there was a special dinner for a select group of people, but it was in the bathroom - which was hugely, bizarrely extended.
I decided to check on my mother who I thought was in her bedroom, and take her a glass of water, but the upstairs of the house was huge, and totally unfamiliar to me. It was filled with party-goers in victorian dress and tables of food and drink were everywhere. I couldn't find her room and no one knew where she was. The glass of water disappeared.
I could really do with some supernatural intervention, I have to say.
Also, my wrists are hurting when I put any pressure on them - it was just one, suddenly it's both. Have I given myself RSI with my constant typing? worryworry
Anyway, I dreamed that I suddenly realised her long hair was thick, blond, and flowing again and that she was wearing a dress. I asked her how she'd done it, and she said my mother had had a chat with her about it, and she'd just run a pencil through it and got the tangles out herself. Then she ran off and played with the child of someone I'd known in school for hours.
My father and his wife were having a house party, and there was a special dinner for a select group of people, but it was in the bathroom - which was hugely, bizarrely extended.
I decided to check on my mother who I thought was in her bedroom, and take her a glass of water, but the upstairs of the house was huge, and totally unfamiliar to me. It was filled with party-goers in victorian dress and tables of food and drink were everywhere. I couldn't find her room and no one knew where she was. The glass of water disappeared.
I could really do with some supernatural intervention, I have to say.
Also, my wrists are hurting when I put any pressure on them - it was just one, suddenly it's both. Have I given myself RSI with my constant typing? worryworry
So, today was my mother's birthday. If my calculations are correct, she would have been 71 today. That seems hard to imagine.
Though, I think she would have been an elegant and wise old lady. She was an elegant and wise middle aged woman.
I feel far removed from her these days, I think - as if I don't know her any more. I think I think that, it's hard to know if it's a real thing or just an idea that's popped into my head. The downside of the mellowing of grief is that you lose the person you knew - their voice, their laugh, their immediacy. They fade.
So the idea of her at 71 is ... I don't know: Immaterial?
Though, I think she would have been an elegant and wise old lady. She was an elegant and wise middle aged woman.
I feel far removed from her these days, I think - as if I don't know her any more. I think I think that, it's hard to know if it's a real thing or just an idea that's popped into my head. The downside of the mellowing of grief is that you lose the person you knew - their voice, their laugh, their immediacy. They fade.
So the idea of her at 71 is ... I don't know: Immaterial?
Well. I didn't like myself that much in the first place. But, on consideration, I miss the person who thought she'd grow into something better. I was optimistic. Misguidedly optimistic. Of course I would become thinner, get a job, create something, be a good parent, handle a relationship well, stay married, manage.
I miss the young boobs I thought were terrible then, but sure, I wish I'd appreciated them and the rest of myself more. Bits of me were firm and youthful, if nothing else. I miss the hair I've ruined. I miss being un-guilty and un-jealous. I don't remember being terrified, but perhaps I was. I think I was probably just lonely and full of longing.
I'm losing the longing now, which is a relief but so much else has filled up that space, and it's no comfort.
I look at my mother's life - a shit marriage followed by a torturous, soul-crushing one, and eventually being jettisoned out of it, and the home she loved, into a life of stress and illness management with no future, no rest in sight, and then a premature, peaceless death - and I don't know what to do to change that for myself. I miss thinking there would be something more, because of course there had to be.
Switzerland is astonishingly beautiful, it looks just like one might expect it to. Green, clean and very, very expensive. I'm staying on Lake Geneva. Well, above it. Today I saw bears (captive bears, not wild in the mountains bears).
The mountains are HUGE. Tomorrow we go see cows in their coming-down-to-lowland-pastures equinox ritual. Cows have a very good life here. Today I was driven through La Gruyere. You know, like the cheese? Well, the cheese, not like the cheese. I have had lots of tasty mozzerella.
I'd post photos but I can't get them off the camera, and sadly the battery is fading on my camera so it will have to wait til I get home.
The mountains are HUGE. Tomorrow we go see cows in their coming-down-to-lowland-pastures equinox ritual. Cows have a very good life here. Today I was driven through La Gruyere. You know, like the cheese? Well, the cheese, not like the cheese. I have had lots of tasty mozzerella.
I'd post photos but I can't get them off the camera, and sadly the battery is fading on my camera so it will have to wait til I get home.
There is something I would like to post about, but it is my daughter's thing more than mine, and I don't think she would appreciate me talking about it. So I had better not. But I'm so sad and worried over it, and it's something I never imagined in my life could happen before Asperger's and Sensory Processing Disorder. I'm having trouble getting past this is not how it's supposed to be how did this happen? Worried and sorry for myself and inadequate.
I'm going away on Thursday for the weekend, an incredibly generous present from my cousin and his wife, to see them in Switzerland. I fear I have become so habituated to feeling sad and bad that I can't stop and things which make normal people happy fill me with anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. Clothes... packing... getting from A to B. I know it will all be fine, but I don't relish it. It's stupid. It's annoying. I should be all excited. I am. It's just worrying about being ready and procrastinating is my default state. And money. Quite significant not enough money things going on at the moment. So I won't talk about it any more, as I'd rather not give it air.
I'm going away on Thursday for the weekend, an incredibly generous present from my cousin and his wife, to see them in Switzerland. I fear I have become so habituated to feeling sad and bad that I can't stop and things which make normal people happy fill me with anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. Clothes... packing... getting from A to B. I know it will all be fine, but I don't relish it. It's stupid. It's annoying. I should be all excited. I am. It's just worrying about being ready and procrastinating is my default state. And money. Quite significant not enough money things going on at the moment. So I won't talk about it any more, as I'd rather not give it air.