Days 0600 & 0601

um … no thanks.

Going out to bars to meet ‘people’. Putting myself onto an online dating service.

I can’t stand the thought.

I don’t *need* someone to share things with so why would I paste a sign on my forehead that says I do?

Or am I just a posh, uptight and judgemental soul?

I have a very old fashioned theory that you meet interesting people by doing the things that interest you.

Just got to work on weeding out the arsehats and that theory might bear fruit. Or not. I have definitely hit the ‘whatevs’ stage of whatever I am moving towards.

The idea of a relationship just makes me think of nothing but the break up of it and that makes me weary and …

Day 0599

One of the best things about having spawn is the view of the world through their eyes.
It was those big blue eyes that made me realise how abusive my marriage was: ‘I like helping you, mummy. Dad never helps you, he just yells at you.’ ‘I’m going to teach you to run like a superhero so you get away from dad when he’s mad’
Hearing those things and seeing what my boy was seeing made it clear how wrong it was, how much I would have failed if I hadn’t shown him that it’s not ok to treat women (or anyone) that way.
We just went on a four-day road trip, the boy and I. We had lots of fun, played together, lazed about together, explored together. At the end of the trip I asked him what was the best bit. He had a few but he told me his favorite was when we were eating lunch near some holiday program kids. There were about 20 of them – all primary school age. They swarmed in and onto the various picnic tables. One boy, bigger than the rest and a bit tubby sat all alone at a table. No one joined him or said anything to him.
My son was clearly disturbed. I could tell because he’d stopped slamming back his pancakes.
‘He’s all alone, mum. I don’t want him to be alone; it doesn’t feel good.’
We talked about why the boy might be alone for a bit and both agreed we wished we could fix it. About 10 minutes later a huge smile lit up my boy’s face.
‘He’s not alone anymore, mum. I’m so happy.’
Writing this down, it feels like a bit of a cliche but it was devastatingly sincere.
If I’ve brought a compassionate man into the world, leaving that marriage was totally worth it for even more reasons.

Days 0596, 0597 & 0598

Honestly. Is there anything more unnatural and nerve wracking than a job interview?

Much like written exams, I’m not sure job interviews are a great way to choose someone for a job, or for a political candidacy either for that matter.

What would be a fairer way to do things?

Choose a name out of a hat?

Ask the shortlist candidates to come and do a day’s work with you?

Walk into the room with a piece of spinach between your front teeth and the candidate who tells you it’s there gets the job?

That one might work, actually?

But are employees who tell you what you need to hear the best ones?

They’re certainly My Type.

If you can’t trust the person you’re working with to tell you the Things You Need To Hear, it probably isn’t going to last long.

And is there anything more humiliating than sailing along thinking you’re doing a Great Job, only to discover that everyone was laughing at you behind your back?

Which takes me to an unrelated, tangential story.

I once worked in a six-person office for nearly six years. We all spent a lot of time together, but they weren’t My People. Near the end, I attended a trivia night with all of them. I was good at it because I pay attention to the news and retain it for whatever reason.

When we got back to the office on Monday, my boss — a kindly, fatherly man led astray sometimes by his very nasty wife — told me that he had been really impressed with my performance at the trivia night. I was 28 and felt like I didn’t fit in so that was nice to hear.

And then he added:

You’re actually really smart. I hadn’t realised before.

Meaning he hadn’t realised I paid attention to the news for SIX YEARS. And that to him ‘smart’ meant able to remember cricket stats.

I so did not fit into that place. I so had to leave. I am so glad I did.

Day 0595

I didn’t understand my depression until I felt sad.
They are two such distinct things that it angers me into silence when someone says to me ‘oh, I get a bit sad sometimes too’ when they speak about depression.
I don’t blame them – I’d love to be ignorant of the difference.
But if you want me to clarify:
Sad is an emotion attached to something or someone in real life. Like waving goodbye to my parents when I get on the plane after a visit Home.
Depression is not an emotion. It is a Big, Black Pit that opens up under my feet and sucks me down into a place where I can’t taste, feel, think or give myself a pat on the back for anything. It’s the kind of thing that pushes me into bed for days at a time, creates certainty that everyone hates me and that I am a Bad Person.
It is what makes my closet resplendent with Christmas gifts I haven’t given because they aren’t good enough for the people I meant them for. People who pull me out of bed, hug me, sit me in a corner and feed me. People who never ask if I’m just feeling ‘a bit sad’.
Bless those people: they save me over and over again.

Days 0593 & 0594

I’ve never ever believed in The One.
And yet I’m a hopeless romantic. Maybe what I really believe in is One At A Time?
Though with three jobs on the go maybe it’s time to branch out in my personal life as well?

Days 0589, 0590, 0591 & 0592

Wouldn’t it be something if, after something unpleasant or a certain amount of time, we humans could slough off our skin like a snake? To crawl out of our facade, to turn back and look at it sitting there, dry, inanimate and empty: that could feel like a triumph at times.
But we can’t. And snakes are gross, of course.
Instead we lose our skin a cell at a time.
But something I didn’t realise: we lose it all every 27 days.
So we are new every month.
Last January I felt refreshed by the idea that Halfman had not touched my skin, hair or anything else for exactly a year. It felt good to be ‘new’ in that way.
But to think that all the organs in my body have become new again at a much faster rate than I ever imagined; that somehow works for me.
My skin, my hair, my fingernails. My lungs, my blood … My everything. It has all been new a dozen times over. The me he touched – the me he knew and mistreated – the lovely me he shit all over: she has kept going and regenerated.
Everything touched by him has fallen onto the floor and been swept away. Or swirled down the drain. Or blown into the countless spectacular views and waterfalls and friends my life has filled with.
And yet I’m not gone.
I am here even more.
I fill my space. Or I try. And some of the time, I make that space worthwhile.