Not enough (original) Footloose but is there ever?
For those not in the know, Avalon is a coastal suburb just up the road from me. But you have to drive through “the Bilgola bends” to get there. It changes you.
Everything in this is true.
My period is now sufficiently late I am growing weary of all of the feelings all of the time. This is actually a bit of a turn for the books after the unintended over-medicating I had been subjecting myself to for oh, months? I use that question mark wisely because I have no idea when I virtually doubled one of my meds. So that inability to cry, the complete lack of energy, the constant need for sleep and the eyebrow-raising coping with the Family Realignment could all be explained away. But back to the period (are you still with me) I use this period tracker on my phone, it lets me know when it’s coming with an exclamation mark, like an impending celebration. Your period is due in two days! The irony of course is that reality combined with the exclamation mark makes me want to smash my phone to pieces. PIECES.
I’ve picked up so more work for March/April so that is
a relief good. I am fairly constantly wringing my hands about me and employment. Should I get a permanent job somewhere, but how would I manage a commute and four kids and getting Oscar on and off his bus each day and oh my God watch me fall down this hole of angst. Pitch more stories, PITCH. But I’m not really a pitcher, I don’t know if it’s a confidence thing or an inability to think up new ideas but the idea of pitching a story to a magazine leaves me cold. Of course this is ridiculous because I’ve worked in jobs before where I had to come up with story ideas. Maybe I’m better to write something then pitch it but then I pick up more work and the idea gets left by the wayside. I think we can file this under: own worst enemy.
It’s still snowing in the US and all this has done is heighten my need to live somewhere where it does, indeed, snow. I know I know, if I DID live somewhere were it snowed I would be shaking my fists at it by now (but I really wouldn’t). Last night when I was putting the little boys to bed (almost 8 and almost 10, not so little but always so) I said if I won a lot of money I would pack us all up and ship off to somewhere where it snowed. They thought this was a grand plan until I informed them they’d probably miss their friends but would make new ones AND be able to skype old ones. SCHOOL they wailed. The innocence of it all. We’ll move to more snowy climes and never have to go to school again!
But March has arrived and it appears we have endured a Sydney summer without any 40+ heat waves. The first for as many years as I can remember. Yes, it will now arrive and last for 10 days just to punish me. But as it stands the air is cooler in the mornings and evenings, the humidity has dropped and my resting state of cranky has shifted.
I was sick last week. I know, I’m quite certain you are as surprised as I was. I don’t tend to get sick, and I’m not saying that in the irritating way of those people who really do have the constitution of an ox and don’t even get headcolds. Apart from fairly constant sinus issues and the occasional cold my health is what I would term robust. So when I felt queasy cleaning up Jasper’s vomit that he had presented over the entire bathroom floor (sure the bathroom is not big but still, vomit.) I just put it down to the curious maternal duty that is cleaning up someone else’s chuck.
But then I had a sip of water to wash down the tablets to make my thyroid try and function (come on buddy, you can do it) and my whole stomach seized. I knew I was in trouble. I got lunches made for those going to school and got them off to school. It was walking in from the car where my whole body went into some sort of slow-motion collapse. I could feel the temperature descend and my whole body felt like lead. This wasn’t going to be pretty. You see, I am nothing if not committed, so if I’m going to vomit I.am.going.to.vomit.
Poor Jasper and I just lay in my bed shivering then sweating, occasionally tearing to the bathroom. I don’t need to go into details like
hot-stinky-water-shooting-from-my-arse or wetting-my-pants-every-time-I-vomitted but needless to say it was not pleasant for anyone involved. Blessedly the spewing ended after about 24 hours but the next 24 were filled with rainbows and unicorns due to hallucinatory dreams from a raging temperature and extreme lethargy.
I dreamt my friend and her mum, then on a cruise from hell which involved the ice machine breaking, the lifts not working, not enough shore boats working (which double as life boats so you know, alarming) and then one of the engines packing it in. Just a side note, the idea of no ice is what disturbs me most about that reality. See also: not sane. Anyway, I dreamt that her mum was so convinced there was going to be a gastro outbreak on the ship (probably just hours away if you take it all into account) so started secretly stockpiling toilet paper rolls from Day 1. By the end of the trip, with gastro avoided, the cleaner opened the cupboard to be thrown back by a collapsing wall of dunny rolls.
Then there was the one where I ate rotting road kill off the Wakehurst Parkway. Why I would dream something so macabre when I couldn’t even stomach water is, I hope, indicative of how febrile I was?
Not satisfied with the general unwellness I got a case of the sads, feeling I would never recover and all was hopeless with the world. We can be safely reassured by the fact two days later I was eating blue cheese so that penchant for melodrama was dealt with nicely.