Sunday, April 13, 2014

I am having such boring dreams at the moment. Long, boring, stressful dreams about responsibilities... this morning it was about taking a classful of children to the woods and not getting them back on time, then not being able to find their parents, with everyone waiting, then getting cold, parents waiting or not being there and the whole time the crushing sense of getting it all wrong... my normal life is enough like this, I do not need to dream it too, thank you, subconscious. Please, would you just let me have sex dreams or weird, surreal, entertaining ones, and stop inputting my daily anxieties into these endless worry-fests I wake up exhausted from. What does it say about a person when they have boring dreams? I know I have a boring life, but I thought I had enough imagination to make up for that, in my dreams if nowhere else.

It seems not.

I wish the weekend days didn't go so fast. I had Friday off, but it doesn't feel like it. Monday looms again. At least we have two weeks of Easter Holiday so I don't have to worry quite as much about Cassia's refusal to get dressed/go anywhere. A reprieve.

I read something very interesting today about links between Vitamin D/Omega 3/Tryptophan deficiency and Autism. Also about Moega 3 and depression.. in fact, I should link to that TED talk on depression, it had good points, some we all know already. Not right now though. Maybe later.

Just a note to the universe - I am, at this moment, Very Open to a large amount of money landing in my lap. That or a job I can do that will make me real amounts of money instead of piddly ones that don't stretch from paycheque to paycheque. Funny, that word doesn't look right spelled in UK English. Paycheck. Better, no? 

Thursday, April 3, 2014

100 ways to die

Olivia: Jo, do you know that somebody could literally murder me, with my own hair? See? They could wrap it round my throat and pull it tight, until I choke - like this! 

Saturday, March 29, 2014

I don't really fit in anywhere. I suppose a lot of people feel like that. The things I care about or believe in seem to all set me apart from the other groups of people who care about the other things I do... if you know what I mean.

I've spend a lot of my life sort of ... pretending. Not exactly pretending, just not being fully myself. Whatever that is, at this stage. I'm feeling somewhat husk-like, this decade. I've no urge to write, none of the things I want to do seem remotely achievable because of my personal and behavioural limitations... it's me that would have to do them, you see, and I feel no confidence that that's going to happen. Be it hoovering or managing a return to education or getting a job or managing to parent properly.

I can't imagine selling myself to anyone, as a friend, let alone professionally. Or sexually... I can't pretend I'd ever have the energy, I'm thinking, to go through with an encounter of the sort I'd like. The maintenance, the confidence, the fitness requirements... it seems a bridge too far, I'm realising, despite the last couple weeks of vaguely entertaining the idea of persuing... something.

Suddenly the idea of pretending to anyone that I'm a normal human being seems too much effort. I suppose I'll go take my anti-depressant. And I've a CBT class on Thursday. I had to work last week, for the first one. The careful, condescending, sweet lady who runs it is very nice, she promises to catch me up to speed, and offers extra one to ones that might help with my trich. That, that would be a good thing if it did. I wish it had come together last year, when I actually tried to sign up for it. Irish mental health services... not so efficient...

Part of me wishes to just go inhabit a little island where I'm not responsible for or connected to anyone. I'd be lonely, yes, but I'm lonely anyway. That's what this blog is, perhaps, except for you few sweet people who still read it, though I can't fathom why.

My socially challenged sister sent me a letter I'd written her at 14, about a treasured night out for my birthday, with a few good friends, one of whom introduced me to The Frames. It's written in my mix of over enthusiasm (three uses of brilliant in three pages) and self-deprecating pomposity that just comes across as pompous. My sister just messaged me to say she was glad I'd got it, and 'I don't think I knew what to make of it at the time. We were in such different places! (So to speak.) It's fun to read it now and see that you were enjoying your young teenage life... I did get the sense it was an important night for you...'

Ugh, the frustration... what was there not to understand about... going to a gig with friends and loving music? She was always a music lover, the one who taught me a lot about it. And she was nine years older than me! And living in San Francisco. She was 23 and not going to live music? So sad. It's a mark of my increased maturity that I didn't say that to her... keep walking... nothing to see here. Nothing to see.

Monday, March 24, 2014

and here we are again

It's been a shitty day. I hit her back, when she smashed me in the shoulder blade and followed me round throwing things at me. I can't get her to wear cloethes, or go to school again. If I could resign from being my daughter's mother, I would. Now I'm having an anti depressant and Angel Delight with whiskey in it and having a little cry, even though none of it is going to help this thing much at all. 

Friday, March 14, 2014


Even wandering around cooking basic cheesy pasta for my poor, neglected son and his wee squeaky friend, I realise I haven't a fucking clue what I'm doing. Why did I stand up? What is this spoon for? Am I doing the wrong think giving in to my urge to drink a cup of coffee at 7.30?

I've said it before, I'm ill equipped to function in this world. Part of me will be relieved if Alzheimer's does set in for real, as at least it won't be my responsibility anymore. It won't be my fault. I know that's an awful thing to say. I'm not trying to call it to me, it's just, the spectre looms.

My gum is healing nicely after the battle the dentist had to remove my tooth. God. Such torture, these dental practices. My jaw has a tender, swollen lump, my TMJ is extra painful and stiff after the pressure she exerted on it, for 30 mins. It's so not up to that. Now I'm tonguing the stitches all the time, which is quite gross, really. I slept really well last night, for the first time in a while, as I had the day off today - still woke at 6.30 because the alarm went off, but then I slept like the dead again til 8.45, so maybe I should be grateful to it.

I'm still so tired. Bone weary. I just want to sleep with my face pressed against someone's chest for a hundred years or so. Does that need for skin to skin contact ever fade? It seems so cruel - each year I get older there's less likelihood of getting it. Until I have grandchildren, of course - I suppose that's why grandparents are so batshit desperate for their grandchildren's attentions. No offence, Mary, I'm thinking of my mother in law, but I have no illusions - if I'm lucky enough to have them, I'll be exactly the same. Well... hopefully not to the point of telling my daughter in law they're not HER babies, they're OUR babies, but who knows, by that stage I may be deep in the dementia and run off with them for real. Hopefully no. *Touches wood* Hmm, that paragraph got a bit scary. You should see what I deleted.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

alright, universe...

I need a laptop. And money for my car, and a tooth extraction, and the book of Tolkein art, and that painting, and some new footwear, and shoes and summer clothes for the kids, and a holiday, more holidays. Come on, lottery ticket! Time is now!

I went away for the weekend. To an erotica writing conference. God, it was fun. I met online friends who are now real life friends - though the loveliest thing is when you realise after a little time together that it feels like you've always known each other face to face, not just for a few hours. I met new friends, and listened to lots of great people and had a pile of fun. I stayed in a posh hotel and ate hotel breakfasts and walked around Bristol, which is an extremely welcoming city. I'd go again, just for the river and the restaurants and bars and gentle ambience. I liked it a lot.

The Stable is a tasty pizza and cider restaurant. You order your food and pay at the bar - which surprised some, but I think it keeps life simple. Sometimes table service unnerves me. Also, everyone behind the bar is a studenty youth, glowing with health and pride in their hipster facial hair. It's all good. I even ended up going back twice, with a second group of people - mmm, pizza.

So, I splurged, and had some days away, made possible by winning a ticket and having a most generous friend to share the hotel with who refused to let me pay for it. It's hard to come back to the real world.. I arrived in work this morning at 8.35, my phone having died, so no alarm went off, to see students disappearing into their classes - they started at 8.30. Eep! So much for operation Don't Get Fired. Anyway... it's hard to readjust. I want to be somewhere nice getting hugs and rolling round a huge big hotel bed and talking and talking and eating a lot and feeling like maybe some things are a little more possible than I think.

Sunday, March 2, 2014


Oh, the sweet, gentle blessing of coffee and toast in bed and a still-warm hot water bottle to welcome my feet back from the cold kitchen floor.

And on Friday night I had the sweetest, creamiest cool pint of Guinness by a hot fire in the Harbour Bar, and it was sooooo goooood. Haven't had one in a long time. The Harbour does classic pub toasties and they look super tempting.

Little Creature Comforts. 

Saturday, March 1, 2014


Time is just going too fast. Today, last month... IT'S MARCH. Tick tock tick tock I have things to do/motivation issues. As usual.

BUT. It's actually ok. And here is why. You won't believe this.

So, you know, it's my birthday in April. I was out last night (OUT! In the pub! Drinking lovely Guinness and wine!) and met some people from very much back in the day. They haven't really changed and said the same to me - then Anto, who it seems is something of a mathematical savant (he instantly knows which year he met people in, I don't even know what 1993 means anymore) informed me that I was NOT going to be 39 this year. It seems I'm only 37.

This was quite the revelation. At what point did I decide I was a year older than I am? Why? Is it Alzheimer's? I felt quite shaky. It's nice though. At some point I lost and have now gained back a year. 40 is two years away, not one. This is better.

I still have to much to do, though. 

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

stupid too

The saga continues. Stupid Ryanair won't recognise my card number on their website so I can't book my flight tonight, and the stupid driving licence centre was too full for me to get my new driving licence when  I went out there today. Could have booked, but didn't realise - in fairness, they did have a warning on their website, but I didn't quite believe it could take an hour and a half... yet... 15 mins per person, and only a handful of people working... stupid!

And wtf, Ryanair? Do you not want people's business? 

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

alleged splashing incident

Bodhi's in the bath, playing and singing and doing sound effects etc. Olivia comes up the stairs

Accusing voice, Olivia: 'Why is Derry wet?
Me: He probably got splashed in the bathroom
Olivia: Bodhi, did Derry get splashed?
Bodhi: yeah, I believe so, I don't know.

Yeah, I believe so? I so love this kid.