I need a glass of wine.
My son just stuck his finger up my nose, and sneezed.
I feel like my eyeball may have actually popped out of it’s socket for a moment or two there.
Basically, I was enjoying telling him a bedtime story, and now I am blind.
I think he may have dented my brain.
I am typing this and my eyes are still streaming.
It all happened so quickly, one minute he is stroking my face, the next he is violently fingering my eyeball.
Im going to end up with Home and Away eyes now aren’t I?
I swear I can now see a panoramic view of the bedroom, facing forwards.
Just another day in paradise, another toddler related injury to add to the scroll.
With hindsight, (or no sight) I should have probably bought that night time cage Katie Hopkins suggests, instead of a toddler bed.
Or maybe I should invest in a fencing suit for story time.
What I was originally going to write about this evening, was actually Bedtime, (Capital B signalling his bedtime, not mine) and I have a question for you all, if you don’t mind.
Usually the only time of the day my mind is at peace.
We play the bedtime story game.
He gives me three words (this evening I was presented with, Duck, Toilet and Doobeedo) and then my job is to make a story up out of them.
It keeps my mind occupied (which is not an easy feat, so I love it) and usually I manage to make him laugh, which is my favourite sound in the whole god damn world.
Winner winner gin for Dinner.
(‘Doobeedoo’, by the way, is now the name of a small red Digger, who sadly, couldn’t find a toilet big enough to accommodate all of his poo, so he went in search of a friend to help him build the biggest toilet in the world. Incidentally in case you are wondering, he found Jesus the Duck (Pronounced Hesus obviously), who agreed to help him and much poo related hilarity ensued. (there are some benefits to having psychosis, and what is it with boys and poo?) until, sadly it all came to a bloody end, when i was bludgeoned with a stinky finger unexpectedly.)
On average a standard human being (and by standard I mean one that hasn’t just had their face violated by a three year old hooligan) will have 50 thousand thoughts a day.
Fifty thousand thoughts a day.
Thoughts ranging, I imagine, from ‘Oh crap it’s Morning!’
All the way through to ‘No, I couldn’t kill the Irish One with a spade, cos if it bent what would i use to dig the hole?’
Lets move on.
So 50k, that’s a well adjusted individual.
What about an anxious or manically depressed human being?
Or one who has recently had their nasal ducts disrespected?
100 thousand thoughts a day.
Always wanting to be over achievers (love us, please just love us, we can be the best) people like us, we double it.
100 thousand thoughts a day.
Is it any wonder we are anxious?
And then, I am basically thinking (of course I am) you must be able to add another 50 thousand per toddler.
Cos you basically have to think for them right?
‘No Addison, it is not nice to be elbow deep in mummy’s face, and yes, I know my nose is hairy. No. I do not know why.’
So again, no wonder we are manic right?
The Priory kindly provided me with a pamphlet today, entitled ‘getting to know your mind.’
I found it mildly irritating.
I already know I am a head fuck.
I need help dudes.
‘Automatic thoughts do not occur in sentences, but may just be a few words or an image. You may be in a social situation, and your thoughts begin to rush with seemingly random and unwanted commands.’
‘Hi Lexy.’ – Normal Person.
‘Hi.’ – Me.
‘DANCING PENGUINS, WORLD WAR 3, NAKEDNESS ON A SHIP, CAKE, CAKE, CAKE. CAKE. CAKE. I MUST HAVE CAKE NOW. WINE. CAKE. GIN. WINE. CAKE. A HIPPO’S ANUS!’ SPANISH NEW YEAR, JESUS IN A THONG! NAKEDNESS!!!’ – My mind.
‘Fleherbaherb?’ – Me.
‘Sometimes they are not thoughts at all, but memories’
‘That’s the funniest thing I have heard in ages!!’ - Me.
‘I love it. Hahahahahahaha’ – Sexy Normal Person.
‘Hahahahahaha’ - Me
‘THE LAST THING YOU EVER SAID TO YOUR BROTHER WAS ‘YOU’RE A CUNT.’’ - My mind.
‘Excuse me for a moment.’ – Me.
‘They are not logical.’
Ruining my life, social situation by social situation.
Making me dread thursdays with a passion.
Sending me round the bend.
How did I sound in that conversation? Like a complete idiot. What was it I said again? I need to breathe in. What if I could no longer breathe out from all the breathing in? My brother is dead. But what if he was still alive and the body I saw was a trick? What would I do if he walked in now? What if this man pulls a gun on me? What would I do? You should hug a gunman right? Shit! I forgot to pick up sugar. Where is the water bill? I haven’t seen it in ages. I am there in the water, still looking for you. How much wasted time have I clocked up in life now? What time is it? Shit!! School run. I am so thirsty. I need a drink. Wait, what if i drink too much and drown my brain like that guy with the driving test. Shit I need to pay my car tax, what if Addison dies in a car accident, i like her shoes….
‘You should take some time out for yourself without guilt.’
But I have a kid!
Is time for myself even possible?
The one time in the day I do find peace.
Before ‘the Incident.’
*Dabs with tissue at nose*
So my question for you, my lovelies, is -
Where do you find your peace, in the midst of it all?
Do you have any advice?
Can I have that glass of wine now please?
Would you hug a gunman, or run?
I am just interested, that’s all.
If I am thinking, you may as well do it with me.
I mean, I know it isn’t a normal topic of conversation but…
Have I upset you now? What did I just say? You hate me don’t you? I need to stop leaving the house. Am I a jackass? I need to lose weight. I need to stop staring. I need to act normal. DANCING DUCKS, GRANNY KNICKERS, BOOBS!