My brain has basically turned into word soup. This may be because I am on day two of intermittent migraine. It is not bad enough for me to beg someone to rip my face off and stamp on it. It is just bad enough to make me short tempered, anxiety laden in case I vomit on random passers by (this has happened) and aware that I am constantly in discomfort bordering on agony.
I have mostly failed spectacularly at this week. I am not fasting, even though it makes me feel better. I am not exercising, even though it makes me feel better. I am stomping about in my head doing lots of ‘waily waily’ and self-flagellation and nothing useful whatsoever. It is all very Violet Elizabeth, self indulgent crap, and eventually I will get over myself. In the meantime I am mostly trying to ignore myself as if I were sitting next the mad person on the bus, only that person lives in my head.
My period is due in just over a week. All of this week I have felt like it would arrive at any moment, which seems unfair to me, as this will probably carry on for another week, followed by a week of bleeding heavily and headaches. ARSE FACE is what I say to that.
My hip is killing me around the area where I once mislaid half a fallopian tube (how careless), my head is seizing up and my belly is griping, griping, griping.
Add this to the wrangling with the black dog and over reliance on biscuits as a form of medication and I think you will agree that I really need to get my shit together.
On the other hand, apart from all the things I am doing to scupper myself, I am functioning in the world and have not taken to my bed to sit in a pile of crumbs with the light off, reading Mickey Spillane novels and sticking two V’s up at the world. I am choosing to call this progress.
The house is clean. I even cleaned windows and washed down the French windows so you can see out into the garden. The garden is ‘in progress’ as I desultorily weed, sweep, scrub, prune, hack and train things. Birthday prep for sixteen year old (SIXTEEN? Good God!) is in hand for tomorrow and I am slightly ahead of the game.
Despite the fact that my washing machine, after two and a half years of being as temperamental as its owner, has died in a welter of hair elastics and grey water, I am, with the aid of friends and family, keeping us in clean pants until such time as we can buy a new machine. Please God let it be this weekend.
Children have been delivered to school with all the right equipment on the right days, trips have been paid for, forms have been filled in, PE kits have been found, children have not died in hideous whittling accidents in Woodland School related incidents, party invitations have been responded to and documented in diaries. I am keeping my shit together. I put it down to my steely will power and refusal to be crushed by the random detritus of life.
I have also managed to do some really nice things.
I ran away to London with Andrea on Wednesday. We had much cake. We had fantastic Chinese food. We went to see Damien Lewis and John Goodman in David Mamet’s, ‘American Buffalo’, which was splendid (more of which, later). We mingled with hipsters. We visited Dawn O’Porter’s vintage BOB by DOP pop up shop. The whole day was an oasis. A veritable oasis.
I had a wonderful dream about Neil Gaiman last night, where we were just sitting quietly in a yurt, possibly somewhere in Gloucestershire, eating biscuits, chatting desultorily and almost certainly drinking tea. It was delightful, especially as I normally dream about the coming zombie apocalypse or not having enough money for bus fair, or children with rickets or something. It is possibly the best dream I’ve ever had in my life.
These are the things I will use to sustain myself. It could be worse.