I accidentally killed a fish, dropped a tweet or two from the back of a police car and somehow, ended up with the most garish set of acrylic nails I have ever witnessed.
I mean, I can’t even look at them directly.
They are that horrific.
And I chose them.
My head is quite clearly still up my arse.
I feel it only fair to also mention, I have just now used my brassy and bilious new talons to de-flesh a cooked chicken for Doodle.
So now, not only are they bright pink and purple, but they smell of dead Cluck Cluck.
I need to guzzle down something alcoholic.
I should probably sit for a good ten minutes in the corner looking pensive and exhausted, before opening this, so the Irish one doesn’t have a go at me for drinking… again.
‘Another beer?’ Judgemental eyebrow.
Oh cock off.
Last night the neighbours kept us up all night partying.
Today said neighbour brought down some Polish rum as an apology.
He is now my favourite polish person in the world.
‘Here is Rum from my country.’
‘Here is the biggest hug from mine. You didn’t need to, but I am happy you did. Drink?’
I am actually looking pensive, as I am wondering at what point i could crack it open without seeming too keen.
Any neighbour that apologises with alcohol is alright in my book.
I sound like I have an alcohol problem now don’t i?
The three aren’t related either by the way.
I didn’t kill a fish, get arrested for it and then have my nails done by a two bit pimped out whore in jail.
That would be a much cooler story.
I just had a long day.
Ok, I will stop putting off the inevitable.
I should explain.
I have been away (if you catch my drift), things have been incredibly shit, and now I am back.
I am genuinely sorry for my absence and for not responding to your multiple emails requesting i confirm my safety.
I am safe.
I was safe.
I just needed to go away. (Again if you catch my drift. Wink wink nudge nudge Mental house.)
That is the important stuff out of the way.
Mind you don’t trip over that wandering tumbleweed.
So yeah, It’s been a while since I have been back here.
*Turns on Marvin Gaye and grabs broom.*
(To clean up. Just to be clear, I am metaphorically turning on music and grabbing a broom so I can sweep up the dust and tumbleweeds while we chat. I did not turn on sexual healing and grab the broom ok? OK? Just to be clear.)
Let us move on.
I have been writing too, just elsewhere.
I tried to escape.
I guess I just kinda got exasperated with the whole Mammywoo; I used to be cool (but now I feel like a boring miserable beehatch with nothing more to talk about than an illness who is surely boring everyone) vibe, I felt I had created for myself over here, and stupidly felt I needed a fresh start elsewhere.
Cos running away from your problems always works doesn’t it?
In the same way that running away from your bills does huh?
‘Lexy, why do we have no gas?’
‘We don’t have gas? Damn it! I never thought they would cut us off! Isn’t the power to cook, like a basic human right?’
(He married me, he can pay it.)
Trying to run away from illness is as pointless as trying to slam a revolving door.
And you would think I would know this by now.
That’s the thing about trying to run away from yourself though isn’t it? You always keep up.
Doesn’t stop you trying though.
Day 24. Done walking around with all these gloomy lunatics. I am coming out.
I am new.
Day 1. Day 1! Start over again! Why didn’t I think of this sooner???
I buoyantly skipped back out in to the blogging universe, hopeful and confident in myself, brightly coloured and anonymous.
I had all these intentions of being funny (the way I think I used to be) and thin (in my new blog I am thin. Thinner than the thinnest person in the world) and happy (in my new blog I am this carefree, airy, nonchalant babe) and reborn.
Reborn, Reinvented, Refreshed.
I convinced myself I could be an improved person, a different person, a woman who could…. anyone but me really (… and this is kinda where it all fell apart) but unfortunately, in the midst of all the honesty and (not much) hilarity, I found myself.
And the black creature from beyond did too.
(I do not mean Doodle.)
So here I am limping back to my home.
The only bed in the world I feel I can lie in, without squirming.
With all it’s wonderful memories.
And it is the same.
Comfy, used, known.
(I am now drinking wine out of a mike Wazouski cup.)
Oh how I have missed the easygoing randomness.
So what has changed with you?
My boobs still hang low and wobble too and fro, like empty peppers.
My brother is still dead.
I am still undergoing therapy.
I have been in, and then out, and then in again.
I still have stitches holding my foof and my bum hole together.
I still have a three year old.
I am still married (barely) to the Irish one.
I still talk crap.
I still hear voices and hallucinate.
I still cannot cope with intimacy. (So do not be nice to me.)
I am We are trying to decide if I should sleep with the Irish one again and maybe have another baby.
We are moving house. (This creeps me out and excites me in equal measures. Maaan I will miss our rum toting neighbours.)
I am still not afraid to be honest.
I am no longer medicated,
They took me off everything for 4 weeks.
I am WITHOUT medication.
On a trial…
I am back.
I have my brain back!
Will you have me?
‘Sometimes I think I am so romantic, I should just marry myself…’ – Mike Wazouski.