Stop being a Dick and grow the Hell up!!!
Yesterday in a moment of overwhelming panic, my trembling and fat little nibbled fingers positively shot out a text at the speed of light (if the speed of light travelled at say, the same speed over a keyboard, as overcooked sausages playing an Elton John tune on a pretend piano) to my best friend.
It was all coming back to me.
Slowly, as most things do come back to me since I started this new medication, but, coming back to me nonetheless.
I had really upset her.
I had god damn insulted her in her hour of need.
What kind of person does that? How could I behave like that?
Oh my god what kind of horrible person was I?
Addison’s head was pressed firmly up against mine, he was desperate to get my attention, as I finished typing out the message and hesitantly placed my phone on the sofa next to me, never taking my eyes off it for a second, waiting anxiously for a reply.
When head butting me didn’t have the desired effect, my son then started to insert rolled up pieces of ham up my left nostril.
But not even the smell of pig and two year old nail dirt could distract me from the gut wrenching panic I was experiencing.
I was sitting perfectly still, with a nose full of sliced pig brushing sensuously against my top lip, the whole time trying to jump-start my mind.
What was it I had said!! If only I could remember!
As the cogs started turning and Addison gave up on me and went to annoy Doodle I began desperately searching through my memory banks like a mad woman late for work, searching for a top she needed to wear and coming up empty handed. I was angrily wrenching memories out one by one in frustrated silence. I was holding a tangled and creased recollection up to the light and glancing at it for a couple of seconds, before with a frustrated tut, realising once again it wasn’t the one I was looking for and angrily discarding it on to the pile behind me.
What the hell was wrong with me?
It was no use, I couldn’t find it, I know the memory was god damn in there, but I just couldn’t find it.
I had upset her. I was a total cow, and I couldn’t even remember how. (Rhyming totally accidental, I rhyme only when nervous.)
I must have been drunk, or on medication at the time.
It is the only explanation for my loss of memory.
These meds are horrific.
Only last week, The Irish one had informed me that approximately 45 minutes after I took my anti-psychotic tablet and informed him I was going to sleep, he had found me in the bedroom, after hearing me making some funny noises, trying to pull up the carpet, as I was convinced (apparently) that there was a squirrel trapped underneath it. (I was making Squirrel noises!!!)
I have no recollection of this and blame Doodle entirely, that poodle is taunting me pretending to be a squirrel I just know it. It’s his dastardly plan and one-day ill catch him at it. You just wait. With nuts!
I put my head in my hands to concentrate again on memory tracing, and noticed my legs were ever so slightly trembling as Addison, now bored of Doodle, mounted my back and demanded I get on to the floor so he could ride me like a pony.
Damn it, if only I could remember what I had done.
‘Addison,’ I said distractedly, doing as I was told and sinking to my hands and knees, singing clipity clop and neighing in my best horsey accent ‘hold on properly to mummy’s hair. My hanging back fat is not a handle’ ‘
After five minutes of trotting (imagine if you will an elephant trotting) on my hands and knees being extremely careful to navigate in between the cast and crew of Thomas the tank engine who had been discarded earlier on to the laminate floor when Misty island blew up (totally not my fault) I checked my phone again and farted (It was the nerves!)
I ran in to the kitchen, plugged Addison in to an ice pop, turned on the telly and frantically began re-checking what I had sent.
Oh my god why hadn’t she replied?
‘Oh my god babes, I’m so so so so so so sorry if I upset you. I really am. I am so sorry, it’s these meds… its no excuse though, I’m so sorry.’
Was that nice enough?
What the hell did I do?
It must have been really bad.
She had every right to be extraordinarily angry and cross with me, she had always been there for me, and I had obviously let her down big time.
I checked my phone every 12 seconds for a reply while explaining to Addison why he wasn’t allowed to watch Football. (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!)
When 15 minutes of watching football with my 2 year old (pick your battles) had elapsed with no response I could wait no longer and text her again, breaking out in to a cold sweat
‘I am so sorry if I have upset you. I am trying to remember but it’s so vague. It is honestly the meds this is not an excuse. It wasn’t my intention to be a dick, but I know you are mad, I am so sorry!’
By the time the Irish one got home from work half an hour later, I still had had no reply and I was manic.
‘Irish One!’ I pounced on him as he walked through the door, ‘ we need to move back to Spain. I have upset Gertrude* She is so mad at me! We need to move because if she is angry with me I won’t be able to cope and certainly won’t be able to live in the same country as her! I’ll never be able to face her again, ever! I feel terrible! I want to dig a big hole and bury myself in it forever!’
He detangled my hands from his face and tried to look around me for his son.
‘Why what has happened?’
‘I don’t know!’ I shrieked ‘I can’t remember!’
He put his bag down on the sofa, located his son and greeted Addison with a funny look.
‘Why is my son covered in feathers?’
He didn’t seem to be grasping the severity of my situation.
‘He is fine! He was playing in a pillow with Doodle. What am I going to do about Gertrude??’
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine, what do you mean playing in a pillow? How do you know she is even mad at you if you can’t remember what you have done? Is that ham up your nose?’ He looked a bit lost for words. (Never stops talking though.)
I was about to tell him the whole sordid tale when my phone beeped signaling a highly awaited for response.
I jumped on it like a cat on a bag of catnip, all four legs landing on it at the same time. (Imagine my hands are legs and my back was arched and I was hissing and my hair was flying out behind me.)
‘OH MY GOD LEXY! NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU!!! It wasn’t about you you idiot!!’ It read. ‘Just some girl I work with. She’s is doing my head in with her pettiness! Why would you even think it was about you? I would never say that to you, you utter moron.’
‘THANK GOD!”’ I sent back “love you,’
And with that I pulled the ham out of my nose, popped it in my mouth and normal service resumed.
There is nothing I hate more, than a Passive Aggressive Generalised Facebook status.
*My best friends name isn’t Gertrude. It’s Maurice.
*‘Anna, I know we haven’t spoken to each other in 12 years but do you think I am the ‘fucking cretin’ who stole your car? Cos just in case that status was aimed at me, honestly it wasn’t. I already have a car. Honest. Much love. Hope you find your car soon. Hugs x Lexy xxx’