What a F***ing Week

Thank fuck for anti-anxiety pills, that’s all I can say.

And yoga.

And a brisk walk.

And white soda bread and egg mayonnaise from Orla’s Kitchen. And cheesecake.

And the gym. And a bottle of Garnier Summer Body.

And red wine. And Solpa Extra. And Zadok the Priest.

And randomly bumping in to people in your hometown and having life affirming chats in the middle of the Main Street. And charity shops where you can treat yourself to a new dress for six euro.

And choir rehearsal which brings all that complexity of emotion to your larynx and throws it out into the air into a sound resonating joyously and uncomplicatedly. And to the wit of the women sitting beside you and around you in choir who make you feel human and present again.

Thanks to the friend who invites you to her beautiful pottery and ceramics studio for an impromptu crafting session of escapist bliss and peace.

And thanks to the daughter who knows that you just can’t muster up the energy to talk today and the fiancé who sends reassuring messages during the day and holds your hand as soon as he gets home. Thanks even to the dogs who might drive you up the walls  when you’re trying to teach but then lick your hands and face in the morning as if to neutralise the toxic salty sweat emitted through last night’s nightmares.

Thanks to the children who randomly tell you they are so glad you’re their friend and teacher because you’re funny and you make them feel happy.

Thanks to the cousin who reads your blog and is on the phone instantly.

Thanks to the daughter who books afternoon tea for the two of you.

Thanks to those who speak openly about mental health and don’t shy away from the subject or cover up how they are feeing and aren’t afraid to ask you about your true debilitations. Thanks to the doctor who listens and understands and never fobs you off.

Thank you for Friday.

And in advance, thank you Ireland for beating England and winning the Grand Slam (I’m tempting fate, aren’t I?).

And thank you for Tadgh Furlong whom I once saw in IKEA, I presume to single handedly carry ALL the flatpacks.

Dotty 🐄

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