I'm terrified of voice mails...

 

I've an irrational fear. Want to hear all about it? Who else is afraid of voice mails? You send a text and get back a terrifying little microphone with dots. Very disconcerting is what appears to be a number of minutes that you are expected to listen to the recipient. I stare in absolute horror. Genuine thoughts swing from "I will never know what they said" to "ahhhh, WTF." "I can't, what do they want from me?" The uncertainty too. I didn't ask for this. I might have sent a message outlining some facts, yes, you know where you are with facts. What is the answer? I'm never going to know, am I?

There is never a good time to hear a voice message. On your morning walk? Nope, tried that, the effort it took to build myself up took from the effort of said walk. So I push the evil message away like I have been attacked by Satan himself. I avoid. It gets weird. I will never know the answer to that rebooking of room. Also, what could possibly take (2:10)? What? 

I braved it once and got half a minute of platitudes. Which, I'm sorry but I would not need if you simply text the bloody answer. No amount of "hope you are having a good day" will undo the terror you have plunged me into. I might even like you and may even actually want that coffee. You or I will actually never get that far as our communication has gone to purgatory. You did this, you sent an evil voice mail. 

Babushka the tale of the old lady that let herself go...

 I was walking home the other evening when a group of teenagers called me Babushka. I knew it was a dig of some kind, but until today, I didn't fully understand the insult. It's perfect, little shites. How can kids get it so accurate? Yes, I am Babushka, fuddy, duddy and old. Peasant women, well, so apt. Divorce and study can fast-track a person to peasantry. 

Is it time to take stock of my self-care routine? I mean, the only Way is up, as Yazz annoyingly sang. How did I let it get this bad? As usual, I bargained with the universe for a couple of more days before making changes (these couple of days have amounted to a few years now). 

I was at a healthy living workshop yesterday. An earthy type ran the group. First, we were ordered to sit in a circle despite wanting to hide behind a desk. Second, they said sugar makes you fat. I swear they looked at me saying it. No shit, I didn't come here to be told the reason I'm fat. I worked that bit out myself.

Babushka or bust?

The storm is coming!

Yikes. The storm is coming. Hurricane no less. Storms remind me of the vulnerability of humans. I remember being caught in a storm in the past, just my son and I.

This opening line is powerful. I stopped typing then. Reading it now, it is prophetic. It has always been just my son and me. Nobody has ever truly entered the picture. I've tried—I really did. I regret my marriage. I regret moving to Lisdoonvarna to share my life with a robot. That's attachment wounding for you! Choosing an unavailable, judgmental nonhuman. 

I must remember all the eyerolling, all the joy steeling, and all the judging. Jesus, how can I forget the judgments? Well the storm came but it wasn't the weather kind. though that is scary, emotional storms and life circumstances that threaten your very sense of safety and security are far more terrifying. 

The storm has passed now, and I'm thrown ashore, gasping for breath and disoriented. I must have been disassociated when completing my thesis as the second I hit send, I came too. I looked around, and it was shocking to realise I was now living in a new apartment. My work is precious to me, and my manager parts use it to regulate. Big shout out to those hard-working managers who know how to keep me safe. Without the comfort of my work role, I sank to the bottom of the ocean. So far from human life and anything familiar. I sank and sank. I gave up. I allowed my body to go deeper. I might have played a bit and protested my distress in asking the then-boyfriend where do I fit? He didn't send a rope. I didn't protest too hard. I sank further.

The thing about getting old and heartbreak

 Is heartbreak the purview of the young and stupid? I think it should be. I'm not cut out for this achy breaky heart shite. I couldn't have none the sensible thing and remained nunafied  (just made it up) after pending divorce? Those Victorians were on to something with the whole remain in black and take self off market thing. I'm all for women's lib, but where has it got is truly?

Is it inevitable that all girls will eventually want to play house? I feel like a mistress in my own life. Except a mistress would be getting fancy bags and presents on demand. It's not a bad deal from where I am sitting. 

Granted my HRT patch needs replacing and I'm sorry but the swapping the estrodot for a generic brand is not cutting it. I'm onto ye big pharma. I shall call every pharmacy in the kingdom until I am supplied with the brand that instantly makes me not want to murder people. I used to be nice, well, I am tired of that too. Nice girls do not make history and have a habit of being trampled on. 

Back to my original question, the heart might have only so many breaks it can take. Imagine hair line cracks zigzagging across said glass like heart. Maybe the heartbreak in older years is the proverbial straw that breaks the camel, so to speak? I digress, on a more positive day, perhaps I'd say "better to have loved than lost" but today is NOT that day. Ask me again after I change my HRT patch. 

The perfect list

I'm not getting it right. By right I mean I do not have the perfect anything. I want to be one of those women that just get it right. I want the perfect demure black outfit, tucked away at the back of a perfect made to measure wardrobe. The dress that smashes at a funeral. I'd also like the black lace veil but probably pushing it with the whole combo. Now let's see, well a two pice little "outfit" would work too. Fitted pencil skirt and tailored jacket. But that's just it. the little part. I also need the body to hang the clothes off.

Just to fill the one reader that actually reads this blog in, I have not ditched the junk as promised in my ever hopeful and far too optimistic blurb. The truth is I am worse than ever. I suspiciously stop at several different sweet shops after my work day to feed my sugar addiction. This often means I am driving miles out of my way to ensure I rotate the shops. It goes a little something like this. I walk in and it's usually a grubby farmer/shopkeeper type standing behind the counter. He eyes me up. He knows I am up to no good. I ramble some nonsense "lovely day or will it ever stop raining" while scanning the shop for the biggest bar of chocolate.

Back to the list, I also want the perfect interview attire. Crisp shirt, perhaps in colour to show my personality. If I was truthful, it would have to be psychedelic swirls with glitter bombs exploding as I walk, but I know I'd have no chance of landing the job. Interviews are such acts. Just come to work and see me in action, I'd land any job then. Maybe wide legged trouser suit and glasses. Ah yes, they inform the viewer that yes, I am smart. I can read the back of the cereal box while multitasking like super Mum. What am I saying? No, I never feed Tarquin cereal. I activate some beans or that and add homemade yoghurt that I churned from hand organic of course. Scrap that, I now have no children and am simply professional women an I invest in the job only.

Gave up the alcohol replaced with chocolate?

I must be the only person to look and feel worse after giving up alcohol. It's three months now and I feel like a dust bin. Probably due to eating complete rubbish. I did not give up coffee, I somehow managed to increase my consumption of the "good stuff" (only real coffee will do, max strength of course). I digress, this is simply not the plan.

I am waking each morning with a headache akin to very mild hangover. Do not approach me at the 3pm slide into coma levels of energy for the evening of couch surfing. I say surfing but flicking the remote is even too strenuous. I seriously sometimes leave the station on as I am too lazy to reach for remote.

I had wanted to boast to ye lovely people about how amazing my life is now. I had visions of early morning runs, hair like a film starlet. Eating rainbow coloured goodness, and no m and m's don't count.

Darkness in the morning and utter Baltic Burren cold stopped me in my tracks literally. Gone are the morning walks, moving even. Of course I could access the gym at 7am like a very organised person, but as organisation has not yet kicked in, I am finding it as achievable as locating The Holy Grail in my back garden. That is probably more doable considering I married an archaeologist. He probably knows exactly where it is but will not say as he is a self confessed atheist. Probably views it as "the cup" like any other drinking device.

So I will do the whole buying the right 2018 diary. You know the one, the perfect one that will make me organised. I could not figure out that whole bullet journal thing. Looks incredible but I was too lazy and distracted to learn the rules. Good job I wholeheartedly believe that come the stroke of midnight on New Years eve I magically transform into that version of me where anything is possible. Am I that naïve folks? Yes, Yes I am.

Christmas madness

It is fast approaching Christmas. The time of year when you scramble to the shops to buy people stuff. More stuff. Do we not have enough things? I think that we should just get a small token of our gratitude and affection for the people in our lives. Even at that, it is impossible to buy for all the people that have touched your life. As the year hurtles towards it's end at breakneck speed let's take a minute to slow it down. 

What a year it has been. So much has changed for me. My work took up an unbelievable amount of energy and commitment. I'm focussing on wrapping up some projects I have on the go. I'm going to do a year end review. What worked, what can be improved on? Let's get this all in perspective? December is just a month. The last of this year. There is nothing to say that it can not be a relaxed time of contemplation and appreciation.

I for one am ending the year in slow down mode. I will not put myself through the chaos and tail chasing that was my usually Christmas norm. Count me out for the expected social engagements. Count me in for evenings by the fire and some serious Ugg wearing  (indoors of course!). Gathering the good and energising to begin 2018 with clarity and positivity and a healthy bank balance. 

Toxic people

I have given up drama. In fact, I bought a phone cover that read "no more drama lama" so I like to think of this as my new mantra. I always want to help people, to be that listening ear. I have found that a couple of people take advantage of this and it is a one way street with them debiting the account and me depositing the bank of relationship giving. I had a heart breaking interaction yesterday with a person that holds a lot of resentment towards me. I feel I can not mend the obvious tears in the fabric of this friendship.

I can not be responsible for someone else's feelings. I do however, wish to be accountable for my actions. I try to say I am sorry when I do wrong. Much like children in kindergarten saying sorry is a big part of life. That and getting a blanket at 3pm and going for a lie down. Wouldn't that be nice? It should be office policy. Drinking warm hot chocolate and snuggling away life's worries should be mandatory.

There are those people who are energy takers. The kind that leave you feeling worse after an encounter. We all know the kind. Time and time again you meet them thinking this time will be different. Ten seconds in and you realise that nope, they will rant at you for the next hour. Only pausing long enough to take a breath and mutter "so how are you anyway?" They don't wait for the answer. They probably wouldn't notice is you did not answer.

So with time being a premium commodity you can not buy or cash in for a refund, I say enough. I say that I care enough about my self, my energy and my time to bid this nonsense adieu. Hello to the energy givers, the kind that leave you refreshed and upbeat. If you encounter such a rare beauty, please do not take advantage of the way they make you feel. Life is about give and take folks.

Up and down

Okay, so something I need to talk about is this feeling of bloody irritation and low level anger. WTF? I thought I was an easy going kinda gal. Since this new life adjustment, I'm suffering a kind of grumbling resentment. It's a bank holiday weekend and I'm playing Mrs. Mop? Now, no one has asked me to morph into this boring Stepford wife but method role playing got the better of me. I dug deep into my psyche and pulled this version of "a wife". A doll like apparatus with movable parts. Legs and arms bend but only slightly. Cooks and cleans and issues Mom like instructions to teenage boy. 

Where is the wild me? The part that can not be tamed? I will not slide into middle age a version of myself. I realise I'm going through some kind of transitory period. I hit upon a particularly good dance album this morning. I say morning but to most of you this is probably the middle of the night. All it took was the sultry tones of a cracking bass line to make me remember. Who says this new life has to void of big old fashioned FUN?

Natural high hey. Worth thinking about. So what do all the other boring health nuts do for kicks? They exercise don't they? They climb mountains and all that shit. Husband would love that. Next time he wants to do Everest I might back a bag. Right, seeing as I quit Croak Patrick a third of the way up squealing "why?" "why?", I doubt going climbing is the right sport for me. Seriously though, little old ladies were passing me out like they had consumed amphetamine at base of "hill". Cue post traumatic stress just at the thought of that horrible memory.

Half of D4 are doing the Dublin city marathon this morning. Another reason to feel like a failure. I tried the couch to 5k about 10 or so times. I give up at week 6. If I stuck it out I could be decked out in lycra feeling very smutten smug. Surfing perhaps? I do live beside the sea. Closest I got to surfing was watching that documentary on surfers in Lahinch. Does that count? I mean I stood beside the surfers, surely that counts for something? 

I'm getting there, wherever there is?

So I'm noticing a tiny improvement in energy levels. I started back at Slimming world two days ago. I've managed to stick to it religiously. Ending on 5 syns yesterday. Used all in one sitting of course. Chocolate rice cake bars, well worth the 5 syns. I actually measured 275mils of low fat milk today. That is kinda shocking as it only amounts to a few cups of coffee. I even halved a sausage in my pursuit of staying within syn allowance. Granted it was filled with black pudding but none the less, I feel a round of applause is in order. Cue clapping and flower throwing.


I logged into my old SW account. Yikes, I am up a stone since my last effort to loose the flab. I'm up almost 2 stone since the wedding. I set a goal to loose 2 stone. Would I be happy then? Probably not. At least my wardrobe would fit again. I have never stuck at a healthy eating plan long enough to find out what my body would settle at. Moderation now being my new concept. I'm an all or nothing kinda girl. So I'm doubting this will stick. But what if it did? What if I succeeded this time and maintained. See a pig flying in a tutu anyone?

So that is alcohol ditched completely. Now, I am sticking to a healthy diet. Wow, who is this girl? Think of all the outfits I can wear. I love cloths. I love dressing to suit my mood. How liberating would it be to wear whatever I wanted? With in reason I guess. I'm sure I would elicit some funny looks in the office next time I arrive in wearing a crown.

The Corpse Bride...

I'm up since half three. I think it was the moonlight that woke me. Oh dear, I love early mornings but will pay for this come the three PM slump. I've to go out for a fine dining experience this evening. They would get more chat out of a corpse at that time of the evening. I suppose I will get by with "mmm", "lovely" and the odd "the food is great". I love early mornings and the quietness afforded before anyone else gets up. Lyric are playing demented music that sounds like the backdrop to a horror movie. I mean I'm pumped up on enough coffee to fuel a power station, I really could do without the manic music. It is causing my imagination to go into overdrive. It's pitch dark out and I live in the middle of nowhere. I also have a big old shed in the yard as the American's say. You know the kind, murderers like to lodge there whilst on the run. It could also be haunted. At least I know what to do in case of emergency. All those films taught me I'm not to go outside. Unless of course the intruder is inside. Then what? I guess I hide in said shed.

Feelings and lots of them?

I'm cross or sad or angry or...This pretty much sums up this past couple of weeks. Tis the hour of discontent my dear. I'm wondering if this is the energy to make those long needed changes. I've been in the pre contemplative stage of change now for approximately 30 or so years. So it has been about a month of giving up alcohol. I still have not ditched the sugar or taken up moving around as a basic principal. But boy I am ticked off. I'm also bored. Life now has just not enough sparkle. It is all work, work, work. I'm so physically exhausted by day end that I'm plonked on the couch like a beached whale.

I need to start with the basics like a 30 minute walk. Why is this beyond me?  I can find time for all other commitments. I read scheduling this activity will give it priority. Hmmm, I'm not convinced. So, sparkle where art thou? If you see a six foot psychedelic sparkly thing do me a solid and send it my way.

So I'm off to get my fortune told.

I'm off to a fortune teller today. I love getting my cards read every now and again. I even read the cards myself. In the past, I have made life decisions based on information provided to me by a psychic. I have been told many versions of a predicted life. If it was an exact science then I probably could of been done with seeing the one. I love to hear that I will be fabulously wealthy and happy. My realistic husband thinks it is all codswallop. He will still ask me what was told to me. This is probably due to the time we broke up as a psychic had told me he would never marry me. To be fair, at the time said husband could not be convinced that marriage was not the institution he believed it to be. He has asked me not to wear my wedding ring today. I will let you know how I get on...

For those of us easily distracted.

Let's call this person, person A. A tells me to stay focused. A does this hand gesture indicating focus. I can see A's point of view. I head off in tangents following swirly trains of thought and clouds of glitter. Stay focused they say. One of my aims for this year is that I do stay focused. I want clarity of focus much like Mr. Miyagi. Is it truly necessary to do the whole wax on wax off thing. I'm quiet lazy and really have poor upper arm strength. Poor strength in general. I mean holding the remote control doesn't count as strength training. If it did said Husband would be an Olympian champion by now. What is it with men and remote controls. Just because you have that black slick device does not mean that your holding any other sort of control around these parts Mr. 

See, I'm off again. what was I saying? Ah focus, yes. Clearly A is onto something. 

Burnout, it's a real thing apparently.

Okay so an article popped up on burnout being a real thing. Note to self, take heed! I feel that I'm surviving on coffee and just feeling yuk and jittery. I know giving it up would improve things but boy do I love the smell of coffee. I love everything about coffee except the hungover feeling you get until you drink your first cup. Who am I kidding? My first vat of it really. Then you have the jittery unfocused feeling of a mild heroin addict later in the day followed by the inevitable slump to energy oblivion by 8pm. Would be temporarily improved if I consumed more coffee. Alas, I'm also an early to bed gal and this means that my last cup needs to be before 3pm or I'm staring at the ceiling with cartoon circle eyes.

So you see, I'm conflicted, my social life largely consists of me asking people to "meet me for coffee?" Think I was heavily influenced by American sitcoms where that kind of thing was cool. Who wouldn't want to move to Stars Hollow? Twinkly fairy lights and coffee everywhere. Apologies, distracted there day dreaming of a crisp autumn day, floating around Stars Hollow. I'm sure that I also got the idea of driving an old jeep from Gilmore girls.

In summery, I may or may not give up my rich, sensual and evocative cup of coffee. Now where did I put my fairy lights?

Nervous...

Big presentation today. Why am I so nervous? I hate public speaking but I do have something to say. I would love to be easy breezy and strut my stuff super confident. I'll push past my comfort zone and go for it. Praying my cloths aren't on back to front and I manage to say the in PC thing. Everything now days is not the right thing to say...

Feeling a bit psycho!

Man am I tired? I am away at a training event for a few days. Safe to say the diet has not started. I am feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. The crap food has taken it's toll on me. It's a catch 22 type of situation. When you are most in need of self care you are too tired to do it. Rich hotel food and the odd afternoon biscuit to keep up the energy levels are setting me up for failure this week. Back to normal Thursday. hoping to start diet then. Fry was top notch for those of you interested.

Messy wardrobe means messy mind!

https://www.instagram.com/eppygale/

Follow my misadventure on Instagram.

This is my messy wardrobe. I have an idea that an organised wardrobe would signify an organised mind? I have cloths in here ranging from a 16 to a 12. The 12 achieved in a desperate ditch the carbs attempt. I feel my wardrobe represents my cluttered life. What I wouldn't give for an organised same size French style set up. That lady could come and sort me out. You know the girl, if you don't love it ditch it. So much of my wardrobe is a compromise. Lumpy hips and belly of a nine month pregnant lady do not make a great cloths horse. 

D day. Dun, dun, den. Just sung that bit, so use your imagination. 

Okay folks, here it is. Change is a comin' an all that jazz. I don't even believe it myself. I was telling a friend when I was out Friday for my big last bash for a year, all bout my plans. He replied that I'd be forgiven for not sticking to it. Well, I'll prove him and myself wrong. 

I'm ditching the drink, junk food and negativity for 365 days. Today is day 1. I'm clueless as to how this will work. I'm currently addicted to sugar and my diet is terrible. I rely on a pack of biscuits each evening to get me through the day. White bread will be a thing of the past. Oh maybe just a couple of slices with the fry I intend to have this morning. So, technically the diet won't have started just yet...

I'm off to Dublin for a training course today for the week. Hotel food and stress, may see me not starting until things settle down on my return. Today is the day though where going out is a thing of the past. 

Clearly, I do not have it all worked out but join me as figure it out. 

hi how the hell does this thing work?