Here I am.
I don’t know where to start, or even if i know how to.
It’s been months.
I am back stood on the finish line, at Square one.
And I don’t mean in a poor mental health way.
I mean literally, I crossed the finished line, every finish line I could possibly find, all determined and ‘yes! Finally I know my own mind, I will embrace change goddamn it – no one can stop me!’…
But now, now that all the clapping and cheering, determination and acceptance is over, well, i’m all kinda like, well, that’s all good and well, you finished, but, now what the hell are you gonna do? (You idiot.)
This was meant to be a really deep post, at least I wanted it to be.
I dived upstairs full of gusto, newly dyed (ginger) hair flying out behind me, arse swinging from left to right, and grasped for my laptop.
I have things to say! I will not let this fear beat me!
I can write again and what’s more, I want to!
I have embraced change! No more confidentiality contract (that came with my old job) no more fear (that comes with the illness) and no more biscuits (we have run out.)
This lady will write!
It’s hard though, you know, trying to make a post deep and insightful, when your Irish husband is falling around drunk next to you with his best friend, (who ‘TANK GOD’ is only here 1 night) throwing out phrases like ‘beejesus whas the craig ’ and ‘ack theres no food in the press.’
Also, they keep turning Enya off.
How is a girl expected to be deep and meaningful with The SUGAR HIL GANG blaring out in the background. (I said a hip, hop, hippie to the hop, to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat!)
Addison is in bed reading a book about potatoes.
(Seriously. It’s called SuperTATO! And guess who bought it for him…)
He can’t read.
So when I say ‘Addison is upstairs reading a book about potato’s’ I actually mean ‘Addison is upstairs staring at a picture of a potato in a cape.’
It’s educational stuff.
He should be asleep by now but I don’t blame him for being awake, the noise levels are reaching ‘paddy festival’ limits.
At some point in the proceedings 500 miles will be played, let’s face it.
I feel like I may need to fling some mud at them both shortly, maybe twat him with a welly.
So Anyway, where was I?
James, my comforting and trusted therapist has left two voicemails for me this week.
I have been avoiding him with enthusiasm, in a superhero like manner.
The anti therapy potato hero, if you will.
All I need is a cape and I’ve nailed it.
SO. Back to the point.
This year has been nothing but change you see, and so far I feel powerful, strong, fearless…
I have moved from the longest home I ever lived in, to a house with stairs.
I have never lived in a house with stairs before. (Honest!)
I was extremely excited about this, until I had to hoover them, now? Not so much.
I had all my hair cut off in a bob.
I was extremely excited about this, until The Irish one mistook me for a lampshade, now? Not so much. (WHY? WHAT WAS I THINKING? MY HAIR IS TOO HUGE TO BE SHORT! I KNEW THIS!)
I stripped my hair of the black. (I went to a tiny festival in town and some stranger approached me, and I quote here ‘You are the oldest but brightest goth I have ever seen.’ Aaaaaaaand I am done with the black hair!)
I was extremely excited about this, I imagined myself youthful, with blonde long tresses, sun kissed skin and a size eight.
I now have bright orange hair the consistency of cardboard, I am more death kissed than sun kissed and lets just say the 2 stone i put on working at the Trafford centre, did not wash out with the goth. (I actually think I currently do a very good impression of Li’Lo Lil – if you remember her, from Bread.)
and Finally I left my job.
No more working for Apple.
That is HUGE.
I was so unbelievably happy there.
I start my new position in 3 weeks for a new company.
I am very excited.
I imagine myself a little between Demi Moore in Charlie’s angels 3 all suited, but minus the gun, and Working girl, all stressed and a red hot mess.
All size 8 with long blonde hair and killer heels.
So let’s see how that goes. (Did I mention I am currently 14 stone and have hair the colour of Fanta?)
I just know this is the right move for me, though.
I loved my time at The Fruit Shop, it was a means to an end.
I needed to get better and the role there allowed me to do so.
I feel better.
I am shit hot with technology thank you very much and now I want my career back.
But you see, I am avoiding James currently because I still feel powerful, even after all the feck up’s, the change, the move, the tears and the fear.
I am still smiling. Still striding forward.
Sure, I have my down days, but I recognise them now for what they are.
Not step backs.
Not the end of the world.
I am capable.
SO Then remind me again, why you are avoiding James?
Because Addison is starting school in september, and if he even mentions that, then this house of cards I have precariously built, may come tumbling down.
It is the big change I am unable to face.
And yet somehow I will have to.
I don’t want my baby to leave me.
(And yes I know he needs to. I get that he’s not always going to be fulfilled and happy just staring at drawings of potato’s. And yes I understand the reasons behind why someone needs to teach him to read and write, and count and stuff, but…. but….. )
Oh for Feck’s sake!
My Irish (insert swear word here) has just spilt a family sized bag of crisps all over the stairs.
And now he is apologising while walking all over them.
Kill me now.
Someone Pass me A BLOODY WELLY!
(To be clear- I ADORE ‘most’ of the Irish ones friends and they all know it. This post was intended as a funny comeback. Prendo I love you.)