...and here comes winter, damping us down the drain along with the leaves. I let the rain wash my car while I do taxi duties for number two son, Musician. As long as I'm inside, I'm reasonably happy :-)
and it's cold, and chilly and mostly miserable with a flash of sun now and again - this weather forecast will self-destruct in ten seconds. Boom!
Sleep; what is that – a novel I read years ago? Oh, sleeeeep, where you close your eyes and drift off into some other world for seven or eight hours – not in this life I don’t. I would pay fortunes (if I had any) to experience unconsciousness for more than an hour at a time. My friend, Sylvia mentioned on the phone yesterday that there is a version of Nightal (don’t know if I’ve spelled that right) that works like a dream, even on the usually impervious. It’s supposed to be natural drugs: not real serious drugs – I thought drugs were natural. Well anyway, I might try it if she can find out the right colour for me.
My two weeks holiday is almost up; back to work on Monday, full of my usual bounce and enthusiasm. Actually I’ll be glad to get back to work; I’ve got a blanket to crochet for my new great-niece, and one to finish for my daughter Amazon’s boyfriend. I push these blankets on everyone and the big/young people like them especially for their hangovers, especially in winter when they’re mooning around the house, or mooching from neighbours. Actually, she’s been going out with him for over two years now, so I’ll have to give him a name; he works in a bank but I don’t think Banker would suit him, but he’s a DJ too, so DJ it is. Welcome to my blog, DJ.
Where was I? Oh yes, sleep. I lay down about half-past twelve, because I seemed to be tired, as you do. One hour later I’m still trying to fall off to sleep. So I gave up and made a cup of tea, opened the laptop and suddenly a section of the novel appeared in my head…but I still quickly checked email and Litopia for conversation. Nothing doing, I delved into the novel and wrote almost a thousand words. by half-past two I was nodding and congratulating myself, talking into the room. Then I lay down again but not a lot happened so I’m going to sack the hell out of that manager who runs the
Half-past nine, text messages from Amazon. Nine-forty-five phone call from Musician. Isn’t everything in the world about how we get the loan of a fiver to bloody Musician? But I got up and actually wrote more lovely words (well that remains to be seen) before I had breakfast at eleven. I like it when a plan comes together – what plan? That’s why I’m having so much trouble with this bloody novel; I haven’t planned it out and don’t know what happens at the end – writing by the seat of my pants here, as usual.
So yeah, things are going good.
Yesterday’s post was cheating; it was half a lie, in that it was all internal – yes, I was talking to myself. My son never heard those words that were screaming in my head that still lurk somewhere seething to get out. I am a calm and lovely mother in my old age, though have to confess to being very un-perfect in days gone by. Looking back on it now I would wish to have been different – a better mother, who put her children first instead of herself. My children deserved more of my attention.
So, if they’re not perfect now, I know that it could’ve been different. …but I don’t want to do that; blame myself. No, I blame their useless father, or single parenthood or the government or God.
How do you get past all this trudging down memory lane with an axe in your hand, trying to change paths and directions? I can’t; what’s done is done and we all just have to live with what we have at any given moment.
I’ve suddenly turned maudlin. How did that happen? Maybe I’m listening for heavy footsteps coming behind me – COME IN NUMBER 4 YOUR TIME IS UP! I think I sense a change in the air, and there has been movement in the extended family. My niece has just had her first baby; she was born with a condition called Septo Optic Dysplasia – she will definitely have problems with her sight, perhaps blind.
I told my sister-in-law that I’d been expecting something like this; we’ve had all these beautiful children over the years, and not one of them having any health problems or disabilities. Reality does come a-knocking, eventually.
Maybe my mood has swung over in this direction because I’m on holiday and have spent a lot more time on my own, or perhaps I’m just as bonkers as I ever was. Time will tell.
No it's not that I don't like him; the main problem I have with my son is the way he just blasts out his thoughts and visions as if he's got a court order stating he's right in fact. I know you're going to grab me for using the 'don't like' words so on you go -.in fact I'll take a leaf out of his book and imagine that you couldn't possibly understand what I'm on about. Oooh, he makes me want to slap him. Does he think I'm from another planet or something? That I haven't been changed and battered through the years from dealing with men and teenagers?
'Don't you dare,' I said to him. 'Don't you steal any more years from me. I've been there and know what's going on in your head - Christ you haven't even reached the half-way mark and you think you're magnificent with all your projections about what your kids will and won't do because of the way you've brought them up. Reality will bash your face in pretty soon my boy, God help you.'
I can't repeat what he said in return because the keyboard is littered with flipped letters, so I have to be careful - speak slowly. I need to calm down. I'll have a chocolate brazil nut and try to change the subject that's racing around my head.
No, it doesn't matter what I do, I can't make it go away, and I'm so tired because of my eyes, and the sneezing - you wouldn't think that sneezing would take so much out of you, would you? I wish I could lie down but I'd have a stroke if I did that. I should know better than to let it get to me. I hate arguing - that's the people-pleaser in me.
How do you help a thirty-something man? Probably by lethal injection.
No, I'm not condoning the murder of sons but it does feel good to grate my teeth at the thought; feel them bite into each other as I vent my rage at his stupid words - not at him, just the words. Oooh, the words will kill me one of these days if I don't get a grip. I already know all of this. Why does it reach down there and pull at my guts? I thought all that passion was gone. Oh God, is there more to come? Will I be dragged back into that world of strife and tension when his children start acting up? Am I losing my mind again?
No, I won't go there; I'm going to give myself a right seeing-to...Oh I can feel my teeth starting to grind again. Stop it! I'm going to get dressed and walk up the road...
Yes, that's it, walk the good walk - eat some
Oooh, winter is coming and the world, as I knew it, is gone; hundreds of pounds of already-used heat sailed from my kingdom - time to face the mountain and its weather. The best tool I have is this bed, this ship, these quilts and blankets, this laptop and super-furry slippers. I can feel the chill lying on my shoulders, sliding down my arms but I've yet to feel the kiss of ice on my nose - when it reaches the cheekbones I'll turn that dial, hear the explosion of the lovely gas jets - BOOOF! and the tide will turn, balance is to be my new life - I can touch but only dream of further depths.
Where does money go when it dies? I seem to have missed the funeral and gone straight to grieving but I am graceful - there has been no bawling, no disgraceful wailing in public, gnashing of old teeth. A regular lottery ticket is the only residue of the old ways.
I would rather be in this space than that public hanging, that general tripping of extortionate handbags...all hail to hermitism and sequestration; the unclean den of iniquity and vicarious living, internet ramblings and tv-on-demand. My skin will wrinkle with secrets and imaginings, each line a tale to be told, each pucker a lesson. Only in reflection can truth be seen.
Oh I can glaze over all my faults and forgive the world its heartlessness in this, my new benevolence. I will be a new woman, reborn - a virgin queen, kissed by the chilling lips of stupidity and wayward dreams.
I have to confess to a small case of Lazyitus – well I hope it’s a small case. I lay in bed last night (early hours of the morning) planning to get up and write for most of the day today, Oh I was going to do all sorts but I was delayed. The bed held me back. I automatically took my first cup of decaffeinated tea into the bedroom and slipped between the covers again, then, as the laptop warmed up, my hand reached out for the lovely shiny thing that is my iPod Touch – and that was me snookered. I’ve been here all day.
Of course I have to set the beautiful thing up; assign favourites in uTube, checkout the apps I captured last night and learn how to type on the fabulous little keyboard. The fact that today was my first weighing-in day fell by the wayside, and even that I’ve lost 10lbs – YES 10 whole lbs! didn’t make a dent in my prone position on that bloody bed. I can write like this too but did I? No, I consoled myself that my back was still a little sore so I should take another day off. Twit that I am.
Well, anyway, I’ve had a lovely day and have X-Factor to look forward to tonight (yeah right, with the diabolical twins) but I know that the CSIs will be repeats, so perhaps I’ll write then. I’ve been surrounded with blankets and can now feel the cold sinking into my shoulders so I’d better go put the heating on and have some dinner.
Now that I’ve bought my new toy and set it up, there’s not a whole lot left to do with it until I go out – which I don’t plan to do for a while. There is no more dreaming of the thing; it’s born and will be a normal feature of my life, so I might as well spend the time writing and finish this bloody novel. Hmm.
Well, I did get up on my legs and go out of the house, but only for an hour and there wasn't actually much walking because I took the car (500 yds) to my favourite spot. I had to walk from the car to my bench (10 yds) to glory in this view.
Oh I’m busy beavering away at the novel for NaNo – keeping pace, but it’s only day three; plenty of time to screw up! No, I’m not going to do that this year. I’ve got two weeks off work to get myself into a nice routine. I did think of running ahead of the game but I could turn myself right off doing that. So, nice and easy it is; just what I’m supposed to do and no more.
Though, after three days in bed I’m getting a bit twitchy – I’m in here with the laptop, hiding from the TV. So, I think I might take myself out to the loch tomorrow. Mmm, fresh air, exercise, photography, coffee…Oh God, it sounds positively dangerous!
I’ve also been thinking of cleaning the flat, finishing the wallpapering in the kitchen even – then moving the fridge to do the other side. Maybe I’m ill. I haven’t slept much the last two nights; my friend says it’s because I haven’t been out of the house, that I should walk somewhere – without the car! Ooh, I don’t know if I could do that. I might drive over to the loch (about 500 yards away) and have a little wander further than the decorative part, away from the shops and benches.
It’s a problem, but I might solve it.
'Asthma never goes away,' I told him, 'Not if you don't use the medication to fight it - fresh air isn't going to do it Musician.'
I switched off from his ideas, not wanting to hear the feeble answers for neglect. Thank God the doctor gave him a bollicking, and kept him in; that was a first, along with the canula in his hand; that little tap on his blood. He complained about it, and the time we'd had to wait. I shouldn't still have to be this mother, to a thirty year old man. Why don't I have a son who can cope with his own small space in the world? Another fault of mine, I supposed.
Now I had to pick up more medication for him from ward 20, on my way to work. He was knackered, he said, and sleeping the whole incident off because they'd woke him every half hour to take his blood pressure, then took him for a chest x-ray at 5am! Not once did he ask how I was, driving home at 3am last night.
And down came the rain - in torrents, behind the sun. I had to switch the wipers to insane! Motorways are dangerous places when there's water thrown about but driving over fly-overs through rainbows is worth every moment of near-death collision. They arrived in front of me, one after another, strong bands of colour being born right before my eyes; I'd never seen anything like it in this city before. God was making me jump through hoops - well, drive, but still an effort.
Everywhere I turned, a rainbow waited for me - even as I parked at the hospital. This is a sign, I thought. I'm too good to go on strike, to refuse to be a mother to my son, even if he was fifty! So maybe this is his turning point too; it might be his day, his epiphany - even if he is sound asleep in his dusty flat with his loose-haired cat.
I had lunch with Oracle today – well it was really a kind of early supper. We love to sit in Peckham’s and graze a cheese board once a month, with an assortment of drinks; latte, Earl Grey, water, pear cider, coke. Fabulous way to sift through a very late afternoon, though now the clocks have changed, it was dark when we left.
‘Ooh, I’m out in the city in the dark!’ I said.
He had a new toy, which he showed off; we poured over this beautifully flat and smooth iPod Touch. Oh I just love it. At the moment I carry around five or six books in my work bag; with this wonderful little thing I wouldn’t need any at all – it has access to hundreds of books you can download and either read off its big screen or listen to. Wow! is all I can say. Actually that’s not right, because what I said was…
‘Hello lovely daughter (in a text message), Mummy wants an iPod Touch from Santa asap. Please.’ I know she’s getting her first big wage this week, because of the promotion, so I’m getting an early Christmas present. Now that is wonderful!
All these free aps, including newspapers, notebook, astrology, iChing, Google Earth and loads more. It catches free wifi and just clicks onto it, so you can send emails, blog, do Facebook and Bebo etc. what really attracts me is the books and writing; I should be able to upload some of my work and edit it; or I can write as much as I like and it’s already typed in, isn’t it? I do love my notebooks but I hate having to type it up, so don’t tend to write a lot in them – just notes really, or little pieces of inspiration.
So, a stimulating day was had and I sat musing on it and the iPod Touch during the 40 minute train journey; thinking of all the things I could have done to entertain myself with the lovely contraption.
I’ve just joined another writing site – oh yes I did. Some of my online friends from another site are there but under different names. I know that they belong to lots of other places, but wonder how they remember who they are? I can’t depend on my memory remembering who I am at any one time so must be consistent; there will only ever be ireneintheworld for me from now on. I have loads of old email addresses lying around in the ether, and domain names I’ve long forgotten; and MySpace places etc.
God, I come across pieces in my notebooks and stagger back in surprise, saying, ‘Did I write that?’ Of course I bloody-well did; who else? How come I don’t remember writing that stuff? The other day I found a whole poem about the
I drove across the Erskine bridge that Monday morning, on my way to work, completely unaware that two young teenage girls had joined hands and jumped together, into the cold, dark river, only ten hours earlier. People at work were talking about it so when I drove over after work I felt the emotion rise within me for those poor souls who couldn’t think of another way out. 14 and 15 years old; how tragic is that? Now I’ve got myself upset just thinking about it again; how two girls that age could even contemplate leaping 120 feet, into a dark river.
Who we are is important and I’m very happy to stick with ireneintheworld now because she is who I am. I spent a lot years, lost in the wilderness; drinking in a raunchy life; experimenting in further education and creative possibilities; but I know that I’m lucky to have survived all the confusion and desperate moments so offer up prayers to whoever helped me. I am grateful.
Well, I have really lived up to my title here as only Sometimes Functional but I am Present now. Long time since I’ve blogged; I’ve been forced to lie down and worship the big silver box, and my sofa was just sooooo comfortable – I don’t think I’ll ever have to buy a new one. But, I’ve slapped the box off and have taken to my bed – no, not with the vapours, with the laptop…but, I’m still the procrastinator, messing about on chatty writing sites but I am writing poetry. So that’s all right then.
Spent my whole day off, Wednesday, lounging in this freshly-made bed, writing fresh poems, then decided about half-past-nine to pop over to the local shop for chocolate – it closes at ten. So imagine the whirl to get some kind of dressed to walk the twenty-five yards. God, I felt light-headed, on strange legs.
I almost sailed around that shop, musing on bargains, with a black bra hanging from the fringes of my bag! As I’d left, I felt my bag tug, and thought I’d caught the fringe in the door but was free to carry on. When I arrived back, with my bags of fun-size chockies, I noticed something black lying on the doorstep. I couldn’t believe my luck to see this bra actually jammed in the door; imagine it swinging around me, hooked from my bag – I would only have noticed it when I came to pay, with a queue of people looking on behind me!
This could be a new phase in my life, where I return to blogging and work on the writing more, but it might only be a fluke – time will tell. November is National Novel Writing Month so I’ll be battering away at that and, hopefully, finish the novel! We’ll see.
