Today I realized that I’m a little freaked out by Maltese Poodles and way too many of my friends have big dogs that sleep on their backs with their junk on display for everyone to see. I’m not sure if I should be laughing or crying that my friends photograph canine testicles and post them on social media.Continue reading
I thought a lot about death over the weekend following Mr. Doeps’s memorial service on Friday. Even though I don’t know his wife well and his children at all, I couldn’t help but think he was a few months older than The Bean (who is 73) and she’s a few months older than The Toppie (72). My brain then fixated on Psalm 90:10:
“The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.”Continue reading
Depending on one’s personal beliefs, one may believe in Karma – that things happen to you because of what you did to (or for) someone in the past, or that everything happens in a perfect time pre-ordained by God, or that something is a mere stroke of random luck.Continue reading
A while ago I wrote about knowing your emotional triggers. But, what happens when something you used to love, turns out to be a trigger? This is what happened to me earlier this week, which took me by quite a surprise. The Bean and I were watching an Elvis Presley tribute show and every song stirred sadness within me, even Burning Love which used to be one of my ultimate feel good songs. Bring on the love songs and well, I was close to bawling like a child whose favourite tricycle had been chopped up for firewood.
It didn’t stop there. Night before last I was under the covers watching Covert Affairs for the millionth time and Annie and Auggie finally kissed, the tears were running rivers down my cheeks.
Knowing that tears are cathartic, I decided to up the ante so I watched the episodes of Bones where Mr. Nigel-Murray and Sweets die, followed by the last episode of Elementary. The latter series holds special meaning for me. The tears though felt less sentimental, but more heartfelt.
I found myself thinking What the hell is wrong with you, Woman? And then it hit me. I’ve had toothache since the day before Elvis’s crooning.
Now, I am not a lover of the dentist. At. All. So for me to go, out of my own, on a Friday during my holiday and sitting five hours at the local Walk-In dentist and not being helped and then having to leave because of another appointment, and then finding another dentist on a Saturday, must tell you the amount of pain I was in. Turns out that it’s not my tooth at all, well technically not. More than a decade ago, my wisdom teeth were extracted, in the dentist’s chair (I think childbirth must be as painful) and one’s root broke off, staying behind in my jaw. I’ve not had trouble with it. Until now.
The dentist (who has the most beautiful blue eyes) took an x-ray and it turns out that the jaw bone on the one side has healed perfectly, but not on the other (where the problem is). He explained to me in terms I could understand what the issue is and sent me off with a prescription for antibiotics, so large they resemble suppositories.
He gave me strict instructions that if I was not feeling relief by today, I was to come back, so he could cut into my gum, check inside and sew me up again. I thought, hell no, there is no way I am having someone choppity-chop my gums and then sew me up again. What is the stitches hurt more than the cut? What if lips swelled, making me look like a badly botoxed celebrity? Would I have to get anesthetic? Because that in its own right poses its own challenges – I come out extremely unpleasant. So, instead I smiled (well kind of), telling him I would return if I was still swollen or if brushing my teeth felt torturous. Thank the Pope I woke up this morning feeling a lot better, and looking less like a mumpy chipmunk.
I even have colour in my cheeks again 🙂
I have a notion that the antibiotics may be playing havoc with my stay-sane meds and that may be why I’m feeling all teary-eyed like an overly-hormonal-pregnant-rabid-dog. I only have three more days left to drink them, so after that I’ll test my Suspicious Mind by getting caught in a trap with all the characters that have made me cry this week. I like to think that what I’ve experienced is a false trigger (if such a thing exists). After all, who doesn’t love The King of Rock ‘n Roll? Or Holmes and Watson being two people that love each other?
Or Piper Perabo kissing a shirtless Christopher Gorham?
‘Til next year!
Wishing all my readers, and followers a great end to 2019, the best start to 2020. Here’s believing it will be one to remember – for all the right reasons.
…Either way, you’re going to end up broken-hearted.
While Lord Alfred Tennyson wrote the poem, In Memoriam A.H.H. about his best friend who died while travelling abroad, it is often mistaken to be about heartbreak following a breakup. After all Tis better to have loved and lost,/Than never to have loved at all is one of the most famous lines.
I was triggered into a spiral of sadness this morning, by a well-meaning colleague who joked, “is it age that’s making you forgetful? Or are you in love?” I merely replied, “Being in love brings trouble.” He laughed and said, “Not too long ago you were so in love you were glowing.” I wanted to reply, something witty of course, to hide the stab of immense pain I suddenly felt at his correct observation, but my mouth had turned to the Sahara and my brain was completely blank: an empty, dark void. In that moment that felt like an eternity, I could feel the burn in my eyes and the longing for being in love with my best friend, who just wasn’t able to reciprocate my deep-seeded starry-eyed passions. In those fleeting few seconds, I felt like a complete failure, wondering why I’m always the proverbial bridesmaid, but never the bride; why I’m always one of the boys, but never the one for the boys.
I don’t have a bad life; not at all. I have abundant blessings:
Incredible parents; solid, reliable friends, a well-paying job with decent colleagues, a car to drive, a comfortable flat, food when I’m hungry, my health and opportunities to see new places and experience new things (not as often as I’d like, but still).
I embrace my singledom, because I know many people would love to be in my shoes; not tied down by a husband, wife, kids or even pets, but sometimes it is lonely. Sometimes there are things that would be so much more enjoyable coupled with a romantic partner.
So today I’m in a mood of reflection… was Lord Tennyson right? Today it doesn’t feel like it ☹
If jam equals sunshine as it does in my vocabulary, then this past weekend qualifies as jam-packed.
Friday night Melody and I went out for what was supposed to be dinner, but it ended up being a scallop starter each, a shared bowl of sorbet and countless Virgin Strawberry Daquiris. As is almost always the case when we see each other, the restaurant started closing around us, but we just couldn’t stop talking. It was so great to see her; she is tonic for the soul. We’ll likely catch up again during the week, this time with her husband, Leonard. I dropped her off shortly after eleven and headed home, only to be pulled off by the cops. I’m never fazed because I don’t drink anymore, but it is a schlep, even more so when their handheld scanners are on the fritz. A regular two-minute-routine-license-check took almost fifteen minutes and by then the Sandman had entered already. It was too late to drink my meds, so I skipped them. Not. A. Good. Idea. I had the most awful nightmares, vividly memorable and upsetting as I woke up crying and covered in perspiration.
I had to be up early too on Saturday as Carla and I decided that we’d take a drive through to George as she was looking to buy some ‘not-blue-because-that-is-all-I-have-in-my-cupboard’ tops. On the way, we picked up a friend of hers, Arissa, who was house-sitting for friends. The house is stunning and the view left me breathless. Shopping went rather quickly and I found myself two cashmere-like sweaters at Queenspark for R99 (about $6.50) a piece on sale. I also bought a snakeskin-look belt. So I now have a dress, a bodysuit, shoes, a handbag and a belt in the look, but they’re all different colours. The irony is I don’t own a single full-quill ostrich leather item, and I’ve been in the industry for almost nine years. I do have a leg-skin purse, so I’m not a completely bad example.
After shopping we spent the afternoon with Arissa, at the place she’s housesitting, chatting over snacks and freshly-brewed Java. I immediately comfortable with Arissa – she is an open person, with an extremely warm and welcoming personality. We walked round the grounds and I got to see adult miniature horses and a foal that is not much higher than the resident border collie. I also got to see a majestic Waterbuck, some springbuck and teeny-tiny little ducklings. It was such a lovely experience.
Headed off to spend the night with The Toppie and The Bean. We had chicken, butternut and The Bean’s roast potatoes – as if my Saturday couldn’t get any better! By something to eight I was pulling amps because of the lack of sleep the night before. My folks went to bed round nine and when I got couch all kitted out for sleep, I discovered I’d left my meds at home. Skip night number two. I tossed and turned and again woke up in a glistening film of sweat. Aside from that, I didn’t feel off, until Sunday night, but I’ll get to that in a bit. We decided on a whim to take a Sunday drive to Still Bay and Jongensfontein, which is about an hour away.
The sky was a cloudless blue and the sun was warm despite the wind. We stopped at the well-known Lappiesbaai restaurant for a light bite to eat before driving to Jongensfontein. Seeing the tidal pool brought back memories of a weekend I took away with Carmen, Ewan, Elena and Nick many moons again when Elena was still pregnant with her first-born who is now almost seven.
Sunday night after all the excitement wore off, the lack of medication and restless sleep hit me like a ton of bricks and I sat on the couch, in the eerie quietness of The Cave, with not a single light on. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of immense loneliness and self-doubt. I cried. For how long I don’t know, but at some stage I got into bed and prayed for sleep so that the feelings of no companionship and being the girl that’s always everyone’s friend but no-one’s person could end, even if only temporarily.
What many people don’t realize is that a depressive ‘episode’ isn’t always a case of ‘going ballistic’, or ‘losing one’s shit’ requiring hardcore antidepressants or a stint in a psych facility. In my case, it is sometimes just an immense moment of immeasurable sadness that has me wondering what my purpose on earth is, and if anyone aside from my parents would really miss me if I wasn’t here anymore. The smile on my face in the photo is genuine, but in a moment, that smile can be erased as Sunday night is testimony of.
I know this melancholy feeling is something momentary; that it will pass. I have so much to look forward to, and be grateful for. I’m just in a dip at the moment.
I have since filled my prescription, and I have back-up meds in my handbag with me at all times now. What’s that thing we learned as Girl Scouts? Be prepared!
…Bang, bang! You shot me down. Bang, bang! I hit the ground. Bang, bang! That awful sound…
Today I’m going to talk about triggers. Not the thingies that you pull to fire a gun, but the ones that fire something in your brain that leave you feeling explosively emotional, whether happy, sad, angry, overwhelmed, excited and/or (insert whatever you’d like to here).
I had two instances over the weekend that triggered negative emotions in me. One was an altercation with a frog-eyed woman who was undecided about what cereal to put in her shopping cart. She was standing on one side of the aisle looking at the variety on display telling another woman with dark hair to bend down and look at something lower down only to tell her “No, I don’t like that flavour”. The Bean asked, “please can we get past?” and the brunette moved out the way. She then said something about “just standing a little to the side” and Mrs. Frog Eyes got all in her face about “we’re all shopping here”. The Bean replied with something in the line of “that’s why we should be considerate” and The Frog shouted down the aisle for her to “Shut up!” I turned around, angry, and said rather loudly, “Excuse me?” and she carried on with “your mother is rude”. I told her she was being rude, and she rewound to “we’re all shopping here!” I think if I’d engaged with her a bit longer, her skin might have tightened so much she would have suffered an ocular proptosis, or worse. I wonder if she ever told her mother to “Shut up!” or if she would allow her children to yell at her to “Shut up!” Either way, I hope her fishwife behaviour left her feeling proud.
Needless to say, what was supposed to be a fun outing for The Bean and I had been rained up both literally and verbally.
Should I ever be in the unfortunate position of having to deal with something like this again the future, I’ll take a leaf out of David Sutcliffe’s books in the first episode of Cracked. I imagine it would provide for some kind of entertainment. Either that, or it could get me committed.
The other was a tv feature called Mighty Cruise Ships which is airing on Discovery. Each episode deals with a different line, vessel and route. It’s extremely interesting, but it left me feeling a bit empty, especially after watching an episode that dealt with various ports of call in the Med and Europe, which co-incidentally would have been the route I would have been on with Charlie for three weeks starting later this month, but life happened and that dream is back in the box. Sure, I’m going to Victoria Falls which is something I’ve dreamt about since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, but part of me longs for the original plan that I was so excited about and looking forward to. I read today that people wanting to do The Devil’s Pool excursion in Victoria Falls need to be able to swim a portion of the Zambezi against the current, so I will have to start swim-fitness again.
In both instances I recognized that I was being set off into a spiral of sadness and also that these things are not a result of something I have done. Still, it doesn’t make me feel less meh about things, so I did what my therapy dictates – I journalled about it, albeit only today, I drank water (because my brain doesn’t work properly when it’s thirsty), I read a bit and I had a (reasonably) early night.
Anyhow, tomorrow I start work for a new company (the one I’m with has merged with another, so it’s business as usual; only it’s not). My social calendar is full for the next two weeks and work is also major-league busy with financial year-end. It’s going to be an interesting last quarter of the year, that’s the one thing I’m certain of. Let’s all keep our wobbly bits crossed that I don’t do my nut before the end of it again, because I am taking a bit of strain again.
I doubt I’ll be one hundred percent hunky dory tomorrow, but I’ll follow Dory’s advice: Just keep swimming – both emotionally and physically – because #DevilsPool is on my #bucketlist
‘Til Next Time
Funny, I had a totally different idea of what I’d post tonight. I even typed an entire post, but then delved through my archives, and found this, which seven years to the day, accurately describes my mood today. The last week has been a tough, emotional one.