I’m tired. Really tired.
It’s been another long day at my mom’s bungalow, with more caches of stamps, photos of my childhood (and my lovely little dog) that make me sad, letters dredging up old conflicts, bags of old medicine dating back as far as 1975 and more trips to the tip.
The funeral is also getting closer and its weighing down on me. I’m stressing about meeting relatives I haven’t seen for 25 years and wondering how they will judge me for being so overweight. It shouldn’t matter to me but it does.
I’m in poor humour, and I can tell that the affable frame of mind I started the day with is teetering on the brink. I feel like I want to snap at people for no good reason, and that annoys me, making the whole thing worse than it really is. Several weeks ago I’d be going home to a glass of wine, and not stopping until I fell asleep.
I’m clearly not yet at the point where I have stopped thinking about getting drunk. This realisation is currently annoying me further, because it means i’m fallible and i don’t want to be. Now I have to deal with the emotion that life throws at me and not bury it, which is going to take some getting used to.
I finally threw my toys out of the pram about two hours ago and demanded that we call it a day and go home. In my mind’s eye the preferred mode of transportation would have been a tank, and my navigation would involve only a straight line, laying waste to everything in my path until I smashed through the front wall and arrived in my kitchen, grabbing a cold one from the fridge. Sadly my elderly VW Passat doesn’t have the destructive capacity required for my fantasy journey, so we’d have to take the less direct route to my house.
Various boxes of unused cleaning products, shampoo, soap, shower gel, unused toothbrushes, photographs and documents were loaded into the car, and we locked up for the day.
The journey home didn’t start well. As I pulled away in the car my brother Pete’s coffee tipped over and liberally covered him. He wasn’t happy.
My dad thankfully was in a conciliatory frame of mind and did his best to change the topic and provide mediation. He’s good like that sometimes – somehow managing to remain calm where my brother and I fail to.
The car was filled with his voice for 10 mins as i drove through the country roads and over the motorway, passing a garden centre that I mentally bookmarked for a future visit.
Then unexpectedly my brother said ‘I was going to ask you not to feature me in your blog posts, but now I’ve changed my mind. Put me in there if you want. Write what you need to.’
‘I’m annoyed’ I said. ‘I wanted to write a happy post tonight – and now i’m just pissed off.’
‘Don’t think about it’ he replied. ‘Write what you feel.’
Irritatingly he’d hit the nail on the head.
Not saying how I feel is what got me to where I am now – and talking openly and honestly to anyone that cares to read my words is going to be part of my process of self repair and improvement. Not only is it cathartic but its also what has sparked comments from people that have read my blog so far, and has in a really short space of time opened my mind to new possibilities with offers of support and advice.
So here I am – wanting a drink and still feeling a bit angry and telling the world I’m not all that strong at the moment.
But you know what – the more I type, the better I feel, and the better I feel the more I type. Rather than remaining in a vicious circle i’m building a virtuous one.
I do hate it though when my brother is right.
I’ll never hear the end of it.