Somebody That I Used To Know

I ordered this book from the library in The Time Before, when I didn’t own any fabric facemasks and have a preferred brand of hand sanitiser. I knew the basic plot because I’d  listened to the Bad On Paper podcast review of it, and I figured it would be an easy read.

It isn’t a stand out book for me. I enjoyed it, but not the few glaring typos and slightly forced dialogue. It did, however, stir some not too pleasant memories of about ten years ago. Friendships can be complicated for me, and I don’t make friends terribly easily. I really value the few precious friendships I’ve managed to hold onto over the years.

The slightly toxic dynamic of the three main characters rang true for me. I’ve had that sort of intense friendship, the kind of closeness that means you’re texting each other several times daily and staying too late at wine bars sharing things you’ll never tell anyone else. And even if you don’t know it at the time, that friendship won’t last no matter how many glasses of red you’ve consumed with each other or how many expressions of delight at the friendship are slurred over the months and years.

Losing a friendship suddenly and without warning felt like a bereavement to me at the time, but it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about with anyone. I felt embarrassed by being dropped, and unsure of how as an adult I could feel such sorrow about something that seems to happen to virtually everyone. Deep down, I didn’t want to acknowledge that I was going through this upsetting thing and I only broached the topic with other friends years later.

Reading How Could She? made me rethink How Could She in my own life, and I processed a few years worth of memories over a few days. When almost a decade has passed since I could have called her a friend, I have some clarity even if I don’t have closure. The friendship wasn’t without its flaws and irritations. I gave a lot, and I’m not quite sure this was reciprocated. I can’t have been that valuable when I could be dropped so quickly and comprehensively. I can admit that this time of life upset me terribly, probably more than I let myself understand.

I still wonder what happened to her, now that she’s just somebody that I used to know. I’ve thought about writing about this for a long time, and whether it would be good for me. I’m able to admit how embarrassed I am by this episode and that I still mull over questions like How Could She, while being able to understand that some people are friends and are in your life for a time for a reason and that it’s okay for people to be Somebody That You Used To Know.

I’m Average. I’m (Finally) OK With That.

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Some time ago my mother gave me my old school reports. I was delighted to get them and looked forward to reading them. However, reading them wasn’t a nice experience. I felt shame at some of the comments and the memories they stirred. I felt shock at some of the marks I got, which were quite a bit lower than I thought. In fact, I had some weird dreams about them that night and the next morning the first thing I did was shove the plastic pocket full of them at the very top of the most inaccessible point in my wardrobe.

This episode made me realise that I’ve reached a point in my life where I’ve had to accept there’s nothing exceptional whatsoever about me. I won’t be changing the world. I won’t be leaving a significant footprint once I’m gone. I’m not particularly clever, beautiful or different. There’s not a lot that’s unique about me.

It’s taken me a few months to process this whole thing. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that my childhood and adolescent dreams of greatness aren’t going to happen. I probably won’t be writing a book. I don’t think I’ll have a glittering career. I won’t be spoken of in hushed tones as a public figure to admire.

I suffered from delusions of grandeur for too long. I had a weird dichotomy in my head, where I simultaneously dreamed of great things happening while also having a running narrative which constantly told me I was quite the failure.

I don’t think I ever had a concrete idea of what ‘success’ meant for me. I do know I spent far too long worrying about what others thought of how life was turning out for me. The first few years post college are years I dwell on, with an awful lot of what ifs. I berate myself for not having made more of some opportunities, while also knowing that if I had really wanted to do certain things I wouldn’t have let chances pass me by.

And now I’m 38 years of age and I’m pretty happy that I’ve reached a phase of life where I feel like this is the plateau for me. I’m not ambitious. I don’t have any desire to progress in my career. I could do more of the hobbies I enjoy, but I also enjoy a level of laziness. I’ve made some really good choices and some really questionable ones. I dwell on some trifles far too much, and I don’t think too much about some of the big stuff in life.

The reports are still on top of my wardrobe. I posted in a KonMari Facebook group, looking for advice on what to do with them. People told me to get rid of them if they sparked such unpleasant memories, and I think they’re right. Others told me I had to work through my feelings, that this is the beauty of this process, that you have to confront bits of yourself that you would rather ignore, and they’re also right.

It’s very egocentric to be so affected by something like this. But in a way, I’m glad I’ve had to work through some of the less happy memories of my past even though I didn’t even know they were there. I’m keeping my children’s reports despite all this. They’re so much more positive than mine are.

A Plague On Our House

This is not a photo of me but it is how I felt for most of last week. We all succumbed to one form of illness or another. It was a loooooooooooooong week.

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I love modern medicine. I love antibiotics used appropriately. I love my husband for minding all of us with such patience. I love not feeling crap for 90% of the day. I love bleach and clean sheets and catching up on the mountain of laundry.

 

Love/Hate

One of the things I don’t like about being back at work is meal planning. I love to cook and research recipes and try new foods but I do not love having to plan and prepare meals for the whole week ahead of time. It feels like drudgery. It’s boring.

I spent most of yesterday prepping lunches for work and (semi) healthy snacks and figuring out how to use what I tossed into the trolley at Lidl in such a way as to produce edible meals for the family. I love being organised and knowing my evenings this week won’t be filled with stress. I hate knowing exactly what I’ll be eating for pretty much every single meal until Friday.

Independence Day?

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Today was supposed to be the day the UK left the EU. Needless to say, that’s all still up in a heap, as my grandfather would say. When we heard the referendum result in June 2016, it was a massive, massive shock. I left work quite late, and feeling pretty sure that while the vote result would be narrow the UK would vote to stay.

Watching what’s supposed to be the home of parliamentary democracy slide into what can only be describe as a massive clusterfuck doesn’t make me happy in any way. I’m not particularly nationalist and I don’t have any innate desire for a united Ireland any time soon. I know the EU isn’t a perfect institution, but show me one that is.

I’m able to say with a fair degree of confidence that I, like most other people observing this chaos, have no idea what’s going to happen next.

When You Know It Will Be A Long, Hard Week.

Work this week is going to be difficult. Not only will it be a long week, I’ll have to deal with some very tough topics. I’ve had weeks like this before and I try to make them character building. It’s always good to have your views challenged and to listen to every side of an argument, but it’s not always easy to actually do this. I’m more or less forced into having to listen, which I’m trying to see as a good thing.

With this in mind, I’m much more organised than I was last week and I have a fridge of healthy food to keep me going. I dropped the ball big time last week and the deliciousness of Offbeat donuts was too tempting to resist. This week for my sanity, health and well being I’m determined to eat properly and engage in a bit of self care.

I know I should probably try to stay off the tweet machine as much as possible. I think that’s a harder temptation to resist than the donuts. But I’ll give it a try.

Fire and Fury

Things I miss about 2015:

• Going days without knowing what the President of the United States was doing or saying.
• Long news cycles.
• The term ‘shithole’ not appearing in any reasonable news report.

2018 is proving to be a bumpy ride.

I need a plan

When I was younger, I don’t think I ever had a real plan. I had vague ambitions about getting into a certain university to do a certain course of study. Beyond that, I didn’t have a plan. I never planned my career and I ambled and drifter after graduation. Fear meant I stayed in jobs and work situations that weren’t ideal or that deep down I knew weren’t really what I wanted to do.

But I didn’t know what I wanted to do!

I thought my current job was my plan, but it isn’t. It happens to suit me for various reasons and in terms of efficiency its a pretty good way to use my main skill set to earn money in a secure sector. I realised this week I don’t love it. Sometimes, I don’t even like it.

I don’t want to quit on a bad day and, quite frankly, I don’t have the courage to quit without having some sort of plan. So I need a plan! For once in my life I want to have a plan that I know is the route for me and that isn’t mainly centred on the fact that I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t take this safe path.

I’m going to use my time to figure out what I should do. I’m going to try to use my time more efficiently (like not obsessively checking twitter to see what fresh hell Trump is creating) and try to get familiar with myself again.

Thirty Five Is Not Twenty Five (Part II)

As per my previous post, one project on my to-do list was sorting out my photos. I was feeling productive last night as it’s a light week in work so I gathered all the photos from broken frames, various boxes and a couple of bags and started sorting.

It was a lot harder than I expected. I found a lot of photos from college days that I’d tucked away and forgotten about completely. It was difficult looking at my younger, slimmer self. Like the Sunscreen Song told me when I was 18, I was not as fat as I imagined.

Looking at the photos was like looking at a different person, which, in many ways, I was. I am not the person I was when I was 18 and starting college, or the 23 year old I was the day I graduated, or the 25 year old visiting Barcelona, or the 28 year old getting engaged in Sorrento, or the 29 year old getting married and going on honeymoon.

My new year’s resolution was to join and gym and improve my health and, if I’m honest, my self esteem. The photos gave me pause for thought. That skinnier, younger woman wouldn’t have believe the older, softer, rounder (in many more ways than my figure) woman if I told her what paths her life would take her.

That skinnier younger woman hadn’t evolved much in her thinking on abortion rights. She knew little of the eighth amendment. She hadn’t developed the ability to see more of the world in shades of grey rather than in black and white. She didn’t give herself (or many others) much of a break. She was too hard on herself.

The photos have been sorted-ish. I haven’t seen albums I like and I don’t really feel like looking through many of them again so soon. Thirty Five is not Twenty Five, in all sorts of ways.

FOUR DAYS IN NOVEMBER

In 2004, George W. Bush was elected on my birthday, November 2nd.

In 2012, my husband and I marched in protest for the first time ever on November 17th following the death of Savita Halappanavar.

In 2015, in November we went to view the house that we would buy and in which we made our first home that was just ours together.

Today, it’s another cold November day and I’m thinking of myself and the other November days that have brought me happiness and that made me cry. I wish I could be a little less selfish but today I’m allowing myself to indulge in a lot of ‘what might have been’.