Episode 19 – Would I Lie to You?

Five past five on a Thursday.

I like when it gets later in the day because it doesn’t feel so limbo-ish. That mid-afternoon lull is disconcertingly lonely. The enthusiasm of the morning and anticipation of lunch time has puddled itself into a void of masked exhaustion and a bad aftertaste from your salad. You need a Twix and a lie down.

I just caught sight of myself in the mirror: I look like I should be in a hospital. Pale face and wiry hair. maybe they should have sectioned me after all.

Miss Marple (my grandmother) thinks I’ve gone tall. She says that to me everytime I pass through the living room where she is planted watching Fifteen-to-One from nineteen eighty eight. Even when I remind her I’m nearly thirty four it doesn’t seem to make a difference. She must want me to be growing up, finallly.

My Lady, the Queen’s Mother is out with her friend for shoppy coffee. My idea of hell, but she loves it and whatever keeps her easy.

I can’t quite believe what John Grisham said about WASP men in their sixties and child pornography. Maybe he should write a novel about his misinformed and elitist views.

I tried to help Uncle Tom Selleck get his phone back online today with Aforemetnioned Phone Company only to be met with the loudest woman on the planet. I have never heard such a loud indoor voice in my life, and I teach teenagers so I know a thing or two about indoor voices. Shouty Phone Company Woman. I got the prickly, clammy burning trying to deal with her and I ended up just walking out of the shop and leaving her to shout at herself or some other unsuspecting customer.

I managed to get ElsaDaughter to school and back today – apart from that I’ve done nothing but get deafened and read one chapter of a book. About Freud of all people. That’s an achievement for today. I’m so ill and lethargic with my medication changeover I just want to sleep. I can’t eat because I feel so physically sick and this is probably exacerbating the headache I have from the teeth grinding.

The Valedictorian suggested a gum shield which I, dimly, had never thought of. How sexy will I be for the new male victim in my BPD claws with a gum shield in? Convent school hockey all over again.

The Valedictorian has been a joy over the last few days. She wants me to put together my top five songs and albums of all time which has me stumped! How difficult it is to pin down the soundtrack to your life when you’re into your fourth decade and you’ve lived through some classics like Gangsta’s Paradise. My choices will probably alter in sequence with Dotty or Hotty;s dominance: sexy-getting-ready-to-go-out tunes or sit-in-a-hot-shower-and-scald-the-pain-off-myself misery songs. I might just make a happy list, entering the “Sad Playlist” on my Spotify might be prematurely risky musical territory.

I had an email from my American Mom today. She wants to know what she can do differently when I’m in the States with her. Eh, you can just invent an Instant Transportation Device to get me to your pantry at a moment’s notice?! If there’s anywhere in the world I’ve felt super valued and loved it’s there with my American Clan. My American Mom is the quintessential American Mom except more loving and sweet and kind and generous and open than anything you’d find on The Waltons. There is nothing she wouldn’t do for anyone. She is the best kind of cliché, the mom who gives words of wisdom and bakes cookies in a romcom. And her husband, the Smartest Man in America. I’m crying now I miss them so much. I feel so at home with them, like their other kid.

What’s on TV tonight?

Miss Marple has just told Tom Selleck to mind himself going up the stairs. He’s sixty six.

I read that Rob Kearney has a girlfriend and he’s been seeing her for a year without it being big tabloid fodder. I love it. Cian Healy then tweeted that he’s never taken a Snapchat of his manhood because it wouldn’t fit on the screen. I also love that.

Speaking of WASPS… Sunday at five fifteen is a weird time for a rugby match. I don’t like it. I like Friday night and Saturday afternoon rugby. This is too much change. I’ll still be calling it the Heineken Cup in two seasons. I wonder where O’Connor will start Madigan. Quarter Pounder used to say that women come and go but -insert his chosen Premiership team here – had been there through the good and bad times. Now I understand that. Leinster Rugby is my refuge. A nice little slice of unreality that brings me back into the real world.I love paradoxes. I guess the tight jerseys don’t hurt, but I’m fighting the pervasive stereotype of the woman who pretends to be interested in rugby for the husband potential. And I haven’t been near Bridge 1859 or 6 or whatever it is. Although a rare steak in Bear is very attractive.

I should run but I haven’t eaten anything more than a couple of squares of chocolate and a handful of nuts. This is not intentional starvation although I can’t say I dislike the shrinking belly and loosening jeans. I didn’t have the energy to hurt myself today and apart from the incident with Shouty Phone Company Woman I haven’t been too uneasy. See I’m fine when I’m in my wee bubble and I don’t have to face the shredded life waiting for me outside. But baby steps. Even though I don’t really like babies. I’m sorry to those I’ve flaked on this week. I’ll try to de-flake in the next few weeks.

For now, I’ll keep walking on the broken glass of my brain and try not to cut myself.

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