Daddy. Or as I refer to mine, the Popsicle. Yes I might be about to turn 27 which sounds hideously grown up in my head and makes me think I should be reclining on a chaise longue listening to a sartorially elegant (or as my family call it, ‘smartorial elephant’) man talk about global politics with a snifter of brandy in his hand however there are still those times when I flee, screaming like the big girl that I am, to Dad.
This week I have mostly been watching as everything in my life began to fall down around my ears in a catastrophic turn of events, which saw me incommunicado thanks to a broken mobile, immobile due to a petulant car (nice one Jemima!) and impoverished due to some C-Bomb having a spree on my card without my knowledge. All in all a pretty stress inducing week and a bit. And throughout it all the only thing I really wanted to do was speak to my Dad who although getting a bit crinkly in his advanced years is wise and kind and most importantly filled with the sort of logic that totally passes me by when I am in panic mode. Unfortunately due to my parentals wishing to be as perma-tanned as Mr Valentino and Donatella Versace respectively they have been residing in Spain whilst ‘working’ for the past month meaning that I was left to suck it up and try (TRY) and be a bit sensible about it. What I did instead was bitch and moan to anyone who would listen (yes, I know you’re a bored checkout jockey but I’M HAVING A CRISIS!) , cry a lot in private so my housemates couldn’t accuse me of being a wuss and stuff my face with crisps until I was very sick indeed. It’s amazing how easily my head wants to go back to the ‘old me’ in moments of stress and drama but the truly amazing thing is that this time round I’m being open and honest about it, have apologised to the housemate who owned the crisps involved, have my fingers crossed that he will forgive me and am trying not to beat myself with the shame stick about it all.
I wonder if I’ve been given all this stress as a learning experience….. The pre op me would have gone and spent double figures in a supermarket (no advertising here!) before sitting on my bed stuffing my face thinking that was a good way to deal with drama but that’s what made me so desperately unhappy and so drastically overweight to begin with. I knew the operation wasn’t going to reprogramme my internal mechanisms for dealing with stress however I think I’ve done a damn good job of embracing a new way of life and dealing with the head mess, unpacking the rucksack of baggage I’ve carried around since I was a kid. Maybe this slip is the firm kick up the arse I need in order to keep me on the straight and narrow, I’ll keep you posted.