I went and did it again didn’t I. Had a little downtime from picking up my iPad and blogging it out. Actually I’m not fooling anyone, the iPad has been attached to me just as much as if I were blogging, I just wasn’t following through with the goods. It started off because I was busy, work was manic and in between that, sending out endless copies of my manuscript to various agents and err, having a few dates with a man shaped person, time got away from me.
Being back in the dating game (that’s IN the game not on it) was kicking up all sort of topics that would have made great blog fodder, I could have told you about the first date where we were stalked by a couple of my workmates, the second date where he channelled a Richard Curtis movie and pulled a move so sweet it made my teeth itch, the third date where I had to tiptoe to kiss for the first time in my life and got the giggles or even all the bits in between where my head tried to get the better of me and I was tempted to clamber into my bed and pull the duvet up over my head until my bonce got used to the fact that there was a man who wanted to spend time with me.
Then after going to Chicken’s beautiful wedding to the handsome Daddy Gadget on Saturday I woke up on Sunday and spent the day hugging the toilet bowl. Having driven the night before I knew I wasn’t simply paying the price to the party gods and so it felt totally unfair that I was all day either being sick or feeling sick whilst waiting to be sick again. It’s now Wednesday and my appetite is yet to return which quite frankly I’m loving (although that’s a whole other post) and it’s clear that I’m not ill in the traditional sense. I don’t have a virus, I don’t have a bug, I don’t have an infection.
So what is it? What has made me sick and put me off my food and made me sleepy and tetchy and all sorts of other bad stuff? Grief. That tricksy little bastard that follows you around mainly hiding in the shadows until you think you’re doing okay and then pounces when you least expect it, metaphorically pulling your pants down and giving you a good spanking leaving you embarrassed and raw and wishing it would all go away. It’s almost another year since we lost Mum and I always feel myself start to slump towards the 8th and have previously always chalked it up to the depression but this year it occurred to me that my mood lifts as instantly as the clock ticks over to the 9th and I don’t have to relive that awful day for another year.
My instinct is always to retreat into myself and just batten down the hatches until it’s all over again, doing the bare minimum to get through. My grey hair is raging out of control, I have started and abandoned a variety of different blog posts and it’s a miracle that I managed to renew my car insurance today. It makes me think of WH Auden’s poem ‘Funeral Blues’ because for a week every year, my clock stops, and in a perverse batshit crazy way it’s comforting. It’s comforting that even though I didn’t have her for very long in the grand scheme of things she had enough of an effect on me to grind me to a halt all these years later.