Brine

My son has the brine of the sea on him. I can smell it as we lay curled together on the hard bed in this borrowed house. I like it here. I have laughed more this day than I have all holidays.

I like the salt in the air, the waft of it left in the well of the sink, caught in my sunscreened elbows. I like the sand too. Gritty under my feet on the floorboards. Preferable to the trudging mud of home.

I like the drive. Windows down, all of us straining to get the first glimpse of blue as we crest the hill.

I see it! I see the ocean! There mum!

My daughter’s round nosed face always turned towards it like a beacon. So much like me, her curls whipping around her face. Smiling into the breeze, with grit in her teeth.

Sometimes I wonder if it would lose its magic, this restless beast, it we lived next to it all year round. I don’t think so. The crash calls to me. I want to walk into the sucking tide, just to see where it would take me. Roar my challenge to the wind and take a running dive. I used to just swim straight out into the sea when I was young, and the water makes me feel that reckless again. As though I am all heart, not trapped in this wide, painful vessel.

I was a lion once, I tell the sea as I pace its soft fine shore.

You could be again, it replies.

NYE? FOMO? WTF?

I’ve been paring back on New Year’s Eve celebrations since I had kids. Not resentfully, priorities shifted as did my focus. The kids love fireworks, I love watching their delighted faces.

It used to be a night to dance and drink and fuck. But things change, we get older… life goes on. I still like those things by the way, but now I like them whenever I feel like it. Not because it’s expected. It’s all part of my issue with being told to do things as custom dictates. Christmas decorations go up on December first, they come down on New Year’s Eve. No one can even say why, it’s simply what’s done. Rubbish. So by extension I reject NYE resolutions, forced socialising and midnight kissing. Kiss at 12:01 or not at all.

This year I’m conducting an experiment. I’m deliberately doing nothing. Well, not nothing. I’ll be watching movies, eating popcorn, maybe playing board games. I’m a night owl so I might be up at midnight, I might not. What I’m interested in is will I care? How deep does my Fear Of Missing Out go?

I often feel really flat when I feel left out. I don’t like to miss out, despite being a bit of an introvert. I get low when I see newsfeeds full of happy evenings, wild parties, everyone having the time of their lives while I sit alone in bitterness, staring at my phone.

It doesn’t have to be that way though. I can live up to my word. Put my money where my mouth is. I always say do what ever makes you happy and stuff the rest. So I shall. Do I feel up to a big night? Not really. Even if I wanted to go to a club (shudder) Fibro would turn that into a sensory overload nightmare. I want a quiet night in, I will have a quiet night in and I’ll see if any FOMO kicks in.

Wish me luck!

And have a wonderful night doing whatever the heck you want.

Stay weird peeps,

X Bon.

** Update: two days later.

I did stay up until midnight to make sure the dogs were ok with the fireworks. They were. So was I! Movie night, a gut full of popcorn, in bed with a new book by 12:30. Happy as a clam and no FOMO in sight. Win!

Down and Up

It’s been a rough week. Fibro is kicking my butt cos apparently it hates any sort of weather change… and it chucks the biggest tantrum if that weather change is Winter!

But it’s been good to go down. Because then I know I can and I WILL come back up again. Even if it’s tough and really sucky and it makes me literally cry… I have to know I will come out of it.

This is not going to be a long winded post, cos frankly I don’t have the wind for it! It’s just a post about a shitty couple of weeks. It’s about knowing it’s ok not to be ok. And not just because that’s a really catchy phrase. Because it’s true.

So, I’ve been properly down for 3 days straight, which isn’t that long physically, but Ive been feeling it loom for a couple of weeks… and that plays havoc with me mentally. Because when my body says ‘lie down and don’t move’! And my brain says ‘shhhhh you’re so tired you can’t speak English, time to sleep’…. it’s really fucking tempting to give in and let lovely lovely depression take the wheel. Because if the Black Dog takes over, I promise you I will sleeep. For daaaaays. And probably enjoy it.

BUT getting that beast leashed again is too damn hard.

So I get up. I feel out my bones and ask them if it’s a dancing morning. It is! Oh hells yeah!

I grab my big arse head phones. The ones that mean I can’t even hear my own pulse or breath.

I make my bed as I get my feet under me and start to pump up the music.

I listen to three songs.

1: We’re Killing Strangers by Marilyn Manson

Because it has a wicked fucken beat and he can soothe the angry beast. I can’t dance for shit, but I do anyway. And my body doesn’t move the way I’d like it to… so I’ve taken to doing a sort of interpretive dance. It uses all my muscles, it’s bang on the beat and it feels really good. I may look like an electrocuted pidgeon, but I feel as powerful and Childish Gambino.

2: Better Son/ Daughter by Rilo Kiley

Ohhhhh yeahhhh. Let’s bring it down, take it in and streeeeetch it out! This song gets under my skin in the best way. From the outside this sounds like yoga. I LOVE yoga, but again my body dictates what we do today. I’m cool with it, you silly old thing. So I take this bod o’ mine through a heavily restricted/personalized stretch sesh. And it feels gooooood. Take that OT, I AM doing what you suggested! Just… in my own way. Gold star!

3: Why Can’t I Touch It? By Buzzcocks

This one means it’s time to get up before I fall asleep on the floor. Get my inner, slightly less spry, Punk Bitch up and moving. Put the kettle on. Help my very old cat Nev through his morning routine.

I have to act like an adoring butler during this, or he gets offended and won’t eat. And I have to keep the other cats away from his food without making it look like I am. Oh, and give him privacy but be ready to open the door because after food comes the enormous need to evacuate… I won’t go into detail. Let’s just say we both regret it if I’m not paying attention.

I move through the house while the kettle makes it’s racket, just checking everything is ok, cos I’m gonna crash out in 5, 4, 3…

I make my cuppa. Tea should be made in calmness. I settle for raging loud mindfulness. I do it while I boogie to whatever comes next on my headphones. Then I sit. One must have 15 minutes to sit with a cuppa. Which is drunk black in case the sitting takes a bit longer and I need to nuke it hot again. Or drink it cold. Whichever.

And now I plan my day. My neck is saying NO MORE GIANT HEADPHONES! My heart wants to run and run. My aching body and says Calm Down. So we’ll get dressed, this oddball team of broken brain, bad ass chic and failing body. I’ll get us under the heated blanket. Bark up the laptop and do… something.

Or read.

Or watch Netflix.

Or wander around in the internet for a while, hug the cats, wait for the pain to fade.

Cos it’ll fade. If I’m careful, patient and work on not going crazy while I wait, it will bugger off long enough for me to walk the dogs. Or go to a market. Or whatever. Just be a big, pink haired weirdo outside in the world for a bit.

Not today. Maybe tomorrow. You all know how I feel about tomorrow… 🎶 🌞

Do you have Annie singing in your head yet? Has she done that bit where she says… The sun’ll come out… tomorrow? It’s so good. Oh, ready for my favourite part… You’re always a daaaaayyy awaaaayyyyy!!!!!!!

Hope you have that stuck in your head now. You’re very welcome.

Hoo – roo peeps,

Stay Weird,

X Bon