Mar 16 2014
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My Ramblings

What Would You Say?

life insuranceThe worst thing about my job is having to listen to commercial radio all day long when I’m on site.

Ten songs on a loop, one inane competition, kerrr-aazzy DJ’s and endless adverts.

But one creepy advert has piqued my interest. It’s by Legal & General, the insurance company. They ask, ‘What would you say to your younger self?’.

i.e. would you tell your 20 year old self to buy life insurance as you will in all likelihood die one day or sign up for critical illness cover as you will probably become very ill at some point? You get the picture.

They trade in fear. Sure, it’s great to have fun when you’re younger, but It Won’t Last and if you’re not ‘protected’, then tough luck. And yes, it’s wonderful to find that special person, but hey, they could die. Suddenly. And then where would you be? Tsk.

Anyway, this got me thinking. At the grand old age of (whisper) 40, do I really have anything earth-shattering to say to my younger self? Seems a bit of a pointless exercise, but fun nonetheless. So here goes:

  • Never wear stripy tights. And blue eyeshadow doesn’t suit you.
  • Your heart will be broken but it will mend.
  • Childbirth is gobsmackingly painful. Be prepared.
  • Experiences are worth far more than material goods.
  • It’s more fun to have a glass of water in The Dorchester than a glass of champagne down the local.
  • Today is the youngest you will ever be, so make the most of it.
  • Don’t waste money on self-help books. You already have the answers.
  • Accept every single challenge life throws at you with grace.

I’m feeling every single one of my years right now. The Teenager will be flying the nest within the next couple of years. I have wrinkles. In odd places. I’m a mere ten years away from being eligible for a Saga holiday.

But the whole point of youth is to explore, make mistakes, make more mistakes. Love and lose, fight and fall. It’s when we forge our identities. So if I was offered the chance to go back in time, I probably wouldn’t take it. All those ‘mistakes’ taught me valuable lessons.

And would I tell myself I would be diagnosed with MS in my 30’s? No way. Why spoil the party?

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Mar 14 2014
6 Comments
Daily Life

48 Hours

home aloneHa Lay Loo Ya!

Much as I adore The Teenager (and he is totes cute), it’s always a little bit lovely to have the house all to myself when he goes to London for the weekend.

The house. To myself. For 48 delicious hours. I always have such great plans. This weekend I will mostly:

  • Put a face pack and hair mask on.
  • Eat a £10 meal deal all on my own (shame I ate the starter and dessert yesterday. Oops).
  • Wear a kimono after a long, long shower without being laughed at.
  • Talk to the plants, especially Bertie.
  • Go to bed early with a pile of magazines and a new book. 
  • Desperately catch up on Book Club book I have yet to read. We meet on Monday, gah.
  • Handwrite a pile of cards to my dear friends I have shamefully neglected recently.
  • Listen to music really, really loud on my headphones without worrying that The Teenager is yelling at me from upstairs.

In reality, I will do none of these things. I’m kidding myself. I will mostly be:

  • Making inroads into my teetering pile of ironing.
  • Organising new house insurance. ‘Citing.
  • Cleaning the microwave. And maybe the oven if I’m feeling adventurous.
  • Changing the cat litter tray.
  • Putting clean sheets on the bed.
  • Talking to the plants.
  • Scrubbing the grout in the bathroom with an old toothbrush (strangely therapeutic).

Why do I do this? I should be out, painting the town a slightly murky, dusky pink.

I could be theatering, cinemaring, bar hopping, gadding about town. I guess the grass is always greener. When I would like to go out, I can’t. When I can’t, I’m stunned by inertia (aka laziness).

I will no doubt end up in bed at 7pm, shattered by working all week and being called ‘Half Shift’ at regular intervals. My cunning plan to learn Japanese over the weekend will be shelved. I will also not be teaching myself macrame. Or decoupage. Or glass painting.

I will stick to one of my first points though. I will blast out ‘I Am Woman’, shortly followed by ‘Those Were The Days My Friend’. And if I’m feeling particularly maudlin, you can’t beat a bit of Velvet Underground.

Don’t panic. It’s not a pity party. It’s a ‘can’t be bothered’ party…

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Mar 12 2014
2 Comments
The Teenager

A Sad, Wan Little Face…

man fluThe Teenager has been poorly.

To make sure he wasn’t blagging, I immediately ran the Playstation Test – waving the controller in front of him to check for a response. Nothing.

Just to make absolutely certain, I resorted to the Nutella Test, offering to fetch him some toast slathered in the stuff. Not a flicker.

Oh. It was probably serious.

The Teenager is rarely ill, so when he is, he seems to display a dazzling array of symptoms, as if he’s been saving them up for a special occasion. Luckily he made it to the loo in time (and time again), the Bloo was changed and I sloshed a bottle of bleach around (in the toilet, not on The Teenager).

He lay in bed, tossing and turning. I then heard through the rugby-grapevine that a load of kids had been felled by the same bug. All Sunday and into Monday I was the butler/nursemaid. I fetched this, I carried that, I soothed and reassured. I had to work part of Monday so my mum took over, dashing down to my house with sandwiches and treats plus the ubiquitous biscuits for the cat (she’s not daft, she hears my mum coming a mile off).

She called me in work – ‘Well, he’s had half a sandwich, a wee bit of lettuce and some Smarties and the cat’s had all her biccies. Oh and I found that dead bird she left outside and put it in your recycling bin, dear. It was a robin, poor thing.’

By Monday evening, he was returning to normal, managing a short Skype call with his friend – ‘yeah, it was mega – all over the bathroom, you should have seen it.’ By Tuesday, he was wolfing down a pie, asked for chocolate and watched a football match on telly. All back to normal. A sigh of relief.

He was packed off to school this morning, totally recovered and no doubt with a stronger immune system but without his chemistry homework completed. All was right with the world again.

I got to work. Gah. The boss turns up clutching a medical cupboard full of cough/indigestion/headache/throat tablets. He’s unable to eat his usual morning pastry and orders an immune-boosting smoothie at our coffee-house catch up meeting instead of his usual caramel macchiato. Here we go again.

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Mar 10 2014
16 Comments
Emotions

MS Replies…

MS repliesDear Stumbling,

Thank you for your kind and thought-provoking letter (see, I do read your blog, so ner ner ner ner ner, as you so eloquently put it). I think it’s time we had a little chat, don’t you? Mind the step and pull up a chair.

Look, between you and me, I know I wasn’t invited. I’m never exactly welcomed with open arms. I mean, really?

But let’s get a few things straight. Who told you life was going to be easy? You can’t turn the clock back and I’m here to stay, so you may as well get used to me hanging around, whether you like it or not (harsh but true).

Which leads me neatly to my next point. Sure, I’m pretty nasty. I mess up your body and put your brain in a blender. But I’ve been kind to you too. Don’t laugh – without me, would you really appreciate life so much more than you used to? Would you really make the most of every day? I don’t think so. You were quite happily trucking along, making plans, blah blah blah, without a care in the world. Life. Is. Not. That. Simple.

See? I helped you change your life, didn’t I? Yes, I know you lost everything, but we’ll run through that, shall we? Career? If your employer was going to treat you like that, they weren’t worth it anyway. Ditto partner. He scarpered at the first sign of trouble. I saved you the pain at a future date. And stop worrying about finding someone new. Find yourself first, then think about it. So in a strange kind of way, I simply hastened the process of clearing your life out, didn’t I?

And I really do think you should thank me for that. Sure, I prod you and push you over. And? I see you laughing at it now. You turned it round. You used to trip and curse every single time. Now you shrug it off. Life is all about adapting, every single day. Nothing stays the same. And if that’s the only thing I can teach you, then I’m happy.

You’re doing ok. You faced up to me (and to be frank, you’re a teeny bit scary when you do that). I think you are much more powerful than before, despite feeling weaker. Have a think about it.

Anyway, I’ll leave you with that. And please, no more pity parties. Yawn.

Yours forever,

MS

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Mar 08 2014
20 Comments
Emotions

Dear MS…

Dear MSDear MS,

Were you having a laugh? I used to speak three languages, yet that morning three years ago, I woke up unable to speak English.

You threw sand in my eyes and made me walk funny.

And I certainly didn’t want to have that MRI, nor the Medieval lumbar puncture that followed.

But, you know what? You’re here now, so I might as well get used to having you around, you pesky minx, you.

So, keep on making my hand numb (haha), keep on forcing me to sit down and fall asleep no matter what the situation (eek), keep on making me avoid any direct sunlight as if I were a vampire.

You are a parasite and I hate you. You have ruined my life. But sadly, you are part of me now so we might as well get on. I will accept the enforced sleep breaks, the dodgy walking, the tripping. But I will never, ever accept the worst you can throw at me. Who cares if I no longer speak fluent Norwegian? I can still read it, so ner ner ner ner ner.

Who cares if I can no longer write 3000 word essays? I graduated last year. Yah. Boo.Sucks.

You are a leech. You destroy everything you touch. Families, relationships, careers. You took everything from me  and you were unrelenting in your destructive mission.

So you chewed me up and spat me out, Dear MS. I lost my partner, my job, my career, most of my friends. But I win. I will be a better Me.

I didn’t ask for you to appear and gnaw at my nerve endings. It’s ironic. I feel you. I feel emotions. And that will not end, no matter what you throw at me.

Yours,

Stumbling XXX

 

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