5 things I liked in April…

April has been a very up & down month. Lots of really lovely time spent with my littles & their people. Also, an equal amount of time despairing at current events & struggling with mood dips.

I have coined the name ‘Depression Light’ for this state. It’s not deepest, darkest agony. More of an ugh that makes everything feel a bit futile. I am generally anxious and really not sleeping well. Sometimes it’s the little things that keep you afloat. These have been my buoyancy aids this month.

Spring Lambs

Taking my niblings to see the newborn lambs at a Farm Park was very life affirming. Watching the kids pet the baby lambs & their Mums was really wonderful. I even got a wee snuggle in myself. We learned that most sheep have twins, some have triplets & even rarely have quads. Imagine having all those little legs inside you? Animals are incredible. They mostly give birth all on their own and their babies are up on their precious little legs within 20mins. All that & they are adorable.

Iron Strawberry

My silly body doesn’t properly digest iron. To combat the resultant anemia I have occasional iron infusions and daily iron supplements. My liquid iron came in a revolting mint chocolate flavour. It did not taste at all like chocolate. The best description I can give of the flavour is a gritty, oily minty nightmare. I did not enjoy swallowing a spoon of it twice a day. The arrival of this month’s prescription brought a partial reprieve; strawberry flavoured iron! Honestly, it doesn’t taste good, but it is not the horror show of the minty choc. Small victories.

Vinyl Bonding

One of the things my niece requested for Xmas was a record player. She’s 15 and very into all things retro. It came as quite a shock that most the retro she’s loving hails from my hey day. Once I got over how old that made me, I have been loving introducing her to classics from my youth. Turns out we have similar musical tastes. I have been loving sending her old albums and the long FaceTimes we have to discuss them. I was worried that I’d lose my cool auntie status once she hit high school. Alanis Morrisette, Jeff Buckley and our joint penchant for saying it how it is might just buy me another few years.

The ‘Beautiful’ Game

A funny thing happened whilst I was doing some research for a piece. The piece was on football culture, I am familiar as an observer. I grew up in the West Of Scotland surrounded by football fanatics. I know a bit about football culture. I don’t however enjoy the game. It bores the life out of me. However, during my research I discovered something I unexpectedly love. Stick to Football, is a podcast (it’s filmed too) where ex footballers talk about football. Except they stray from the topic and it’s hilarious. Especially Roy Keane. I doubt I could have told you who he was a few months ago, I am now a bonafide fan. I do have to fast forward when they get bogged down in tactics and players I’ve never heard of, but I still look forward to a new weekly episode. I even ended up reading both of Keane’s books. Those close to me find it hilarious that I, the vocal hater, am an avid watcher of something with football in the title. Hey, you can’t help what you love.

Comfort Reads

Whenever I’m feeling down I turn to literature for comfort. When my insomnia starts acting up I need a steady stream of familiar favourites. This month I have been re reading some of my most loved novels. Jane Austen is a go to, I love sinking into her world. I started the month with Persuasion & am finishing it off with Mansfield Park. You can’t beat a clever woman getting the happy ending she deserves. Also at the ready was Barbara Trapido. The Travelling Hornplayer holds a special place in my heart. I found it at a difficult time and it has brought me peace on every read. It even partly inspired one of my tattoos. Trapido weaves intricate stories with overlapping characters. A truly beautiful writer. Her only flaw being the focus on middle class/oxbridge set, but the storytelling is so good that I can forgive it. Finally, I sought refuge in Carrie Fisher. Fisher was the first writer whose words expressed my experience of mental illness. She was a genius; no one on the planet ever wrote like her. This month I choose Delusions of Grandma & Surrender the Pink, but I suspect I’ll be diving into her catalogue again in May.

What gets you through?

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Take it or Leave it…

Recently I had what turned out to be naive idea. I was thinking about how I should be getting out more, break out of my routine, stop missing cool things I wanted to see. All good thoughts. Then I got cocky. I thought, hey, maybe I should meet some new people too. Bad thought.

I decided it might be fun to combine fun dating with interesting happenings. Of course I was entirely forgetting how low my tolerance levels are. So, what’s a girl to do? Write about it of course.

Date 1

We’ll call him Grey. Started off very well. We chatted a little online, he was engaging & intelligent. We shared plenty of interests. It didn’t hurt that Grey was handsome in exactly the way I like. When he suggested we check out Books at The Botanic I thought, this guy has potential. Then I spent an hour browsing books with a man who had clearly consumed some toxic pick up guy content. Every title I picked was beneath him. He commented on how surprised he was that I would enjoy ‘typically girlie stuff’ like Jane Austen. There were a couple of jokes about my never having been married. When he wondered if I could ‘strengthen’ my arthritic knees if I didn’t use my walking stick all the time I was done. No man is handsome enough to get away with such patronising bullshit.

Antique green leather bound Jane Austen Novels

Date 2

Cute & quirky, he seemed like fun. We had some enjoyable back & forth. Let’s call him Ha Ha. We met for sushi at a place he suggested. So, it was a surprise to me that he commented on the prices being too high. The chat was good, he was funny. It felt like we were both having fun. Lots of laughs led to cocktails and again, he wasn’t happy about the price tag. I was now officially uncomfortable. I get really embarrassed about this kind of thing. I don’t like to talk about money with people I don’t know well. Bitching about the price of a cocktail in a place you picked, gives me the ick. I drank my margarita & tried to think of a non awkward way to assure him I was happy to pay. I needn’t have bothered, on arrival of the bill he immediately started adding what he had consumed. I told him it was my treat and to ease any weirdness, that he could get the tip. I don’t mind picking up the tab. I could even have tried to get past the cringe. When I saw him placing a one pound coin tip on the table; I was out. That kind of cheapness is an absolute no.

Date 3 & 4

This one is a familiar story. I’m always very up front about my relationship wants. Marriage doesn’t feel like a thing I’m going to be a part of. I’m not even keen on the idea of living with someone. I enjoy my space, I like to make my own decisions. In short, I like my life. I’m in no rush to go turning it all upside down. I’m very much a ‘take it easy’ kind of girl. All of which was A OK with him. Until we hit that 2nd date. Say hello to Mr Fickle.

First date was cool. We went to a really nice tea place. The conversation flowed easily. He complimented more than my appearance. The man was interested and interesting. All good, I was down to see him again. The replay didn’t go so well. All of a sudden Mr Fickle wants to dig into how serious I am about not wanting to get married. He wants to assure me of what a great prospect he is. I keep diverting, but he brings us right back to topics that are not second date material. There wasn’t a third.

Date 5

This one was short and sweet. He’s a guy I briefly worked with a while ago. We’d stayed in touch via social media. He chatted me up a bit and I thought, why not? A query that was swiftly answered when he argued that those Jonah Hill texts were reasonable. I christened him Red Flag & made a sharp exit.

A row of red flags blowing in the wind.

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Still after all this time…

It’s Friday night. I’m watching Bridget Jones’s baby (again) after which I shall go to bed & continue re reading Persuasion. Probably a pretty nice cosy night in, but Bridget & Austen are red flags for me.

I always read Austen when I feel wobbly. I find the manners & gentle wit soothing. Whenever I read about Elliots or Dashwoods they seep into my dreams. Georgian heroines winning happy endings is a definite upgrade on what’s usually swilling around my subconscious. Bridget Jones offers a similar, but slightly more bittersweet comfort. Echoes of Austen, shadows of my own experience. Sadly, sans the fairy tale ending. They amount to my mixed media version of a junk food binge.

I love some good old fashioned romance, but my own Mr Darcy is not what I’m longing for. I don’t know that I’m actually cut out for the conventional vision of love. I’ve given it some good tries; satisfaction never abounds. Perhaps what I miss is just more innocent times. Younger me believed in things I can’t muster the faith for anymore. That is both freeing and, well, sad.

I feel like I’m standing on the edge. I can’t see what lies beneath. The uncertainty scares me. I’m grinding through the days. Fighting the urge to stay in bed. Backing thoughts of blood into corners. I’m teetering on the brink of that big blank something.

Maybe this is how you feel when you’re prone to crazy and about to turn 40. Or perhaps this is just always going to happen. Remission & Relapse. Almost sounds like a novel a 21st century Jane Austen would write. She’d probably find a way to lighten to the mood. Alas, I lack her talent.

Instead I’ll borrow some well-being from her work. Mansfield Park can follow Persuasion. I might even dig out the Bridget books too. I’ll take light relief where I can get. Hold my nerve. I’ve survived steeper falls than this. There’s always safe ground waiting.

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Whatever gets you through your life…

I’m the kind of person who can be prone to feeling a bit too sad. Sometimes there are specific reasons for my sombre mood, others I’m blue without a clue. Obviously this necessitates developing sad day strategies. One of my most straightforward techniques is pop culture distraction.

Basically I immerse myself in literature, tv, movies or music that either soothe or swallow up my sadness. It’s a shallow technique. It has no chance of curing what ails me, but it can get me through a rough day. There are times when whatever gets you through the night really is alright.

My all time favourite tv show is pretty effective. Pick any random episode of Grey’s Anatomy and there’s a very high chance I will cry before it finishes. Select an episode that pushes my weepy buttons & I’ll have a mini breakdown. I can see why some may think this would be terrible viewing for a sad person. They’d be wrong. Crying is so incredibly cathartic. Balling your eyes over someone else’s pain, even more so. You get all the release with none of the troublesome self examination. I know, I know, you have to deal with your issues to solve them. However, when your issue is not entirely fixable & not even always knowable, Grey’s works. Throw in amazing uncliched female characters, very hot men, proper happy endings & your heart wrench is balanced. Need a good wail, but to still feel like there is good in the world? Meredith & Cristina are your girls.

Jane Austen serves the same, save me from drowning in melancholy purpose. She just does it in a very different way. Austen soothes me. I know those books inside out. I know I can trust Jane to guide me to a satisfying ending. There will be no traumatic twists. Manners will keep almost everyone in line. Characters I love will learn their lessons gracefully & reap their rewards. The baddies will get their just desserts, cads will rue the day. All with a dash of wit & a knowing wink from Austen. I know these novels have zero relevance to my life. To be honest that’s kind of the point. Ordered escapism is a marvellous distraction from messy feelings.

Lost in Translation combines both functions. It lets me cry whilst letting me believe. Unconventional happily ever after is the best kind. Meeting someone who can help you find yourself spoke to my deepest desires for a very long time. Now, I can enjoy the film safe in the knowledge that I managed it all by myself. All of those arty shots of Tokyo at night calm me. Bill Murray dispersing quizzical wisdom lifts me. Sad people finding there might be answers to their frustrated situations gives me life.

Which brings me to my ultimate sad girl medicine; Alan Bennett. Every single word he puts on paper is a tiny cure. His writing is both real & magical. His diaries reveal a decent man. His fiction & his life are built on a solid social conscious. Biting wit, cosy sentiment & articulate commentary somehow abide comfortably together in his work. I love Alan Bennett. I can lose my pain in his pages, sedated by seemingly effortless talent.

I’m grateful my bad life evolved into just bad days. It doesn’t always happen that way. Plus, when the bad days stack up it doesn’t always feel like they’ll fade away. We all need ways to temporarily escape. Those of us who’ve had a brush with crazy, even more so. These work for me. Perhaps they’ll help you too.

Love is real, real is love…

I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day. I like Cary Grant movies & bittersweet love songs & Jane Austen novels. My heart forever swells for romance. It’s just that as I’ve gotten older my idea of true romance has changed.

I remember watching interviews of John Lennon talking about how he never wanted to be apart from Yoko & thinking I wanted to be in love like that. I thought the idea of wanting to spend every moment with someone was beautiful. Now it strikes me as frankly, unhealthy. The first time I saw Renee Zellweger translate ‘you complete me’ & moon over the signing couple, I melted. These days it’s more like boaking. It’s actually a bit weird that I ever internalised that version of love. I’ve never been someone who wanted to be around others all the time. My own company has always been valuable. My ‘hobbies’ are fairly solitary; reading, writing, swimming. I’m not really a joiner. I have lived alone for most of my adult life. When everyone else was still living with their parents or a bundle of flat mates I had already figured out that I quite liked closing my front door & knowing I am alone. I believe a part of me still thought when the right person come along that would change. Their breath would make my air sweeter, their presence would be essential. For a while there I actually thought that a soulmate might just make me whole. Now I look at the sentence & cringe. The right person is amazing, but a great love adds to one’s life. It’s an extra. My mug is full of me, a relationship is just the delicious cream & mallows on top. I can’t reach the peak potential of me if I spend every second of my life with someone else. By default I’d never put own needs first. I know now that love is not all encompassing; it’s vital to leave a little room for me.

In days gone by used to take note of dates. Anniversaries and so on. I knew the day I met exes, first kisses & I love yous. It mattered to me that we mark those days with flowers or dinner or whatever. I loved rom com’s & the big dreamy gestures. I thought I hankered for that kind of romance. I planned aspects of my theoretical future wedding. Thinking that the perfect music & public declarations would make it more concrete. Turns out none of it really matters. There isn’t a bouquet big enough to make you forget that someone didn’t come home for three nights. No public display of affection makes up for a routine lack of consideration. If a relationship doesn’t have a daily beating heart, the Hollywood bits won’t keep it alive. Which is not to say that some folk can’t have both. I know happy people who’s loving partners do big time classic romance & that’s fantastic. It just doesn’t seem that important to me anymore. The Toyboy & I don’t have an anniversary. Neither of us thought to take note of our first date & when it comes down to it, we don’t really care. We do all the things you might do in anniversary whenever we feel like it. What does it matter? Maybe we’ll get married someday & maybe we won’t. I’m not bothered as long as I’m happy. The gown & first dance & piece of paper won’t actually change what happens between him & I. On reflection the romantic cinematic moments that have really stuck with me aren’t the flashy ones anyway. They’re were quiet, intimate interactions. Like when Bill Murray whispers ‘ I’m not worried about you’ to a sleeping Scarlett Johansen in Lost in Translation. That sets off my butterflies. Likewise in my life, it’s the everyday romance that sets my heart a flutter. Rubbing tiger balm on my sore bits or drinking fizz in the bath with me. Co opting each other’s turn of phrase & bringing me vegan treats. Wrapping a gift creatively to please me. Knowing my sushi order & that I always want Diet Coke. Carrying my bag. Sitting by my hospital bed. Saying what you mean. And a million other real life indications that I matter, that I’m known, are what I need.

So, yes I love romance & I love that St Valentine’s Day reminds us to cherish & treat our one & only. I just don’t think it has to be wrapped up in hearts & shouted. The wee moments count. To get back to Lennon, it turns out love is real & real is love.

Song of home…

I am a bit of a homebody & a big believer in making ones home an extension of oneself. With that in mind I am finally getting around to some decorating. Chronic illness can slow the pace on big projects like this, but I am making headway. 

My interior style is (as might be expected) is a hodge podge with books, photographs of loved ones, candles & 2nd hand finds taking centre stage. I have some gorgeous pieces of antique furniture which I have just added a perfect little drop leaf table to.  

I am focusing my decorating zeal on my most used rooms. First up being my living room. I am keeping most of my walls neutral & paying homage to my one true love with this awesome library wallpaper.

  
I am running with the literary theme with these booky cushions.  

And giving a nod to some other passions with these playful additions. 

  
The rainbow feminist cushion is going to pair perfectly with the blanket my darling mother hand crocheted just for me

  

I’m keeping curtains simple & illuminate the room with this quirky lamp.

  

My main light shade will remain unchanged. To be honest I inherited this & was not originally a fan. However adding a halogen light bulb basically turned this fixture into mood lighting. Observe & admire.

  
In my bedroom I really want to shift gear. It’s currently sporting a vivid red wall, which whilst kind of sexy; needs tamed. I’m hoping to create a sanctuary. With that in mind I’m opting for great tones on the walls. I think grey is a much maligned shade, in it’s softer shades, I find it very soothing. I plan to lift the greys with copper light fighting & frames. Finally I will indulge my deep & abiding affecfion for flamingos. I feel a certain kinship with these birds as love or loathe them, you will notice them. I too am a creature who tends to stand out. 

  
  
  
  
Again I’ll keeping window dressing minimal, my beloved black out blind will be flying solo. I’ll be dipping my toe in the artistic pool & attempting to create some art ;taking inspiration from some favourite lyrics, in this case the Beatles’ across the universe. 

Last, but not least what bedroom would be complete without a nod to its intimate nature.

  
I’ll be sure to update you with pictures when the work is done.