I’m a mammy. And a teacher. And I was supposed to be a student again this year but that didn’t happen, as you’ll see. And last of all, a woman.
Mother of one two legged blonde, skinny, gorgeous (bitch… jealous much, moi?) 15 year Elsa lookalike and mistress of four leggeds Sven and Ana* who are partial to shoes: the canines, not the human. I’d be a really rubbish mother if I fed my kid shoes.
Melacholia devotée and lover of ennui. That sounds very Proustian which would suggest that I paid attention during my French and English degree. I didn’t. I was too busy getting knocked up and trying not to drop the baby.
This blog is a selfish effort to exorcise my own demons. I once had a boyfriend whose mother was exorcised. He dumped me before anyone could call the priest.
I have fought depression, anxiety and general looniness for all of my adult life and for many of the years when you’re supposed to go drinking and lie to your parents. I did all that too, I just did it while I was depressed.
Right now, September 2014, I’m 33 so I should, like Christ, have done something meaningful by now. If meaningful is living to fight another day then I should be up on one of those crucifixes… My Nana won’t like that metaphor.
Maybe you’ll identify and we can start a Crazy Dog Lady Club (I don’t like cats so I can’t play any part in Crazy Cat Lady Club – apologies) and we can go on mad virtual tangents together.
I like tangents.
* Puppy names have been changed in order to protect their identity. They’re a bit sensitive about Manic Mama.
It’s now late May 2015. I’m still batshit and have days when I can’t get out of bed to brush my teeth and days when I’m the funniest person in the room, with lipstick and heels and washed hair and all. But I’m more interested in living than I am in dying, and that’s quite something.
Also, help me spread the word – TALK! This world is full of inequality, judgement, loneliness, hatred and ignorance – let’s be the change for women, the abused, the oppressed, the poor, the mentally ill and the world’s dogs who are, after all, our best friends.
My dogs have saved my life on many occasions. Not in any dragging me unconscious from a fire kind of way (thank god) but in a “I really need to go out to pee, so can you put the sharp object down and quit cutting yourself and walk me?!” kind of way.
Please visit Dotty Rocker’s Facebook and follow on Dotty’s Tweets for posts, articles, links and discussion about mental health; women’s rights; gender and sexuality equality; sexual abuse and violence; single parenting and possibly, dogs and rugby.
Big love. 💋