Sunday, August 21, 2016

Birthday dinner out with the mother in law. She's so combative - but if you respond in kind (humorously) she acts like it's out of left field and is bitchy about it.

Also expressed surprise that I told my 9 year old I was a bit drunk after coming home from a party (at 10pm) last night. As her son remarked, it's not like she ever hid it.

Then she accused me of flirting with the waiter, ha-ha in front of both Axl and Bodhi (he's an ex-student of mine: sweet enthusiastic Italian guy, affectionate with everyone in Italian fashion, I helped him with his cv, delighted to see him and see that he's got a good job that will enable him to stay here indefinitely) . *Head-desk/fist-wall/frustrated-screaming*

Ugh. I find the repressed Catholic people who accuse others of untoward behaviour so much more sordid and creepy in their accusations than the people they're attempting to shame. But what can you do? 

Saturday, August 20, 2016

Oh, readers.

I went out tonight, to a friend's party. I only knew the hosts, but I did my Jo thing; I brought a cheesecake, which works well as social grease, cake makes friends. I am good at chat and jokes and putting people at their ease. And I larruped into wine and Prosecco and salad, and had nice conversations in the kitchen, and then the party be-smallened, and moved into the sitting room, and the sweet couple with the sweet just-standing-up baby went home, and I finished my wine barefoot on the corner of the sofa while chatting to a sweet, young tall man with pretty long blond hair and a red vikingy beard. And an interesting nose. And we talked enthusiastically about things we agreed about (except the idea of whatever the opposite of aversion therapy is, and spiders, to which I say no, thank you, I will keep my phobia). And the conversation in the room turned to contact lenses and became uproariously funny (I'm pretty sure it won't translate, though) and I was laughing those beautiful laughs that engage your whole self, that happen for me so rarely these days - drunken, silly, funniness. with clever people who've nothing to do but amuse each other in a happy house with wine and chocoalte and crisps.

So, the sweet guy, and as I'm fairly pissed on white wine and prosecco, I will confess that the thought of having intimate sweet-flowing conversation with a lovely young man, and maybe not having this cold sore on my face, or having all the hair on my head I shoud have, or not being 3 or 4 stone everweight and saggy in all the wrong places... oh, it's a lovely vision, that one that might have led to something, in another life. And even if it hadn't, it still felt nice. And the laughing.

And being able to stay out late - ach - my mother in law is very good, and accomodating, but at the end of the day, she's an Irish mammy through and through... I sent Bodhi down to her house (after she v obligingly dropped me over to my party) and I said I'd ring her when I was finished (I was figuring ten, so I rang her just before ten, when she was going to  come get me and drop us home so B could go to bed).  So she came and got me (v kind of her) but as I got in the car, she asked 'you're very early, did you not have a good night?' And when I said that I had a great night, she asked why I hadn't stayed longer, and said that she could have brought B home and stayed on.

AGHGHGHGHG! I would have LOVED to!! Would you not have said that EARLIER, not now I'm in the fucking CAR, on the way HOME?

Ugh. Well, it's just as well, no doubt. It's just as well I didn't get drunker, or stupider, it's just as well. But, ach, dear. Sometimes you just wish for another life, y'know?

I'm reminded of my father's cousin, who says she doesn't drink because when she does she suddenly becomes so dissatisfied with her life. But that's ok, as it's all fine when she doesn't drink. So she doesn't. Ay, me. 

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

I went and sat in the sun in Kilruddery while Bodhi and his ... limp friend played. My brain whirred frantically and I thought many philosophical things, and thought about writing them down. All gone now, of course.

Well. Some of it was about the mythical nature of the  concept of land ownership, as I tend to think about when I'm on these beautiful estates, but I find it hard to come to any conclusion about it all. The native Americans are right. And yet, well, I'd like to live there. Human nature, um hum.

Smoke billowed terrifyingly into the sky from the gorse fire on the hill, all afternoon. It's still going, I can see it from my bathroom skylight, very near a small house. Arsonist fuckbags, whoever set it is. I hope they get caught in their own fire, and live, marked, to serve as an example to other would-be pyromaniac selfish bastards. Compassionate? No. Not this time. I'm angry for the scarred landscape and wasted resources and polluted sky right now. You can google skycam of the Bray Head fire, and Kilruddery's website, if you feel so inclined. It's late and I'm too lazy to link for you, I'm not a giving blogger anymore. Sorry! If you're on facebook, you've seen it - ah, facebook has made me a lazy blogger. Ah dear.

The sun is waning, patchy as it was. We had mini heat waves this summer, but a lot of lacklustre weather in between. And now, it's going. I moved back and back away from the lengthening shadows, today, and missed the real heat of the afternoon. No more boiling-hot-at-six-o'clock days. It's getting darker sooner too. I'm not ready for Autumn. The trees are still resplendent in leafy green, but I feel the seasonal clock ticking.




Sunday, August 14, 2016

I've been thinking recently that I've had a lot more energy than I had and have been malingering a lot less... however, this weekend, total crash, I've done nothing more than walk the dog once and eat an insane amount of sour cream waffles.

 I should go swimming, but I powerfully don't want to and it's nearly 4pm on Sunday. I'm a layabout.

Bleeehhhh.

Dog walk, shop for ingredients, help Bodhi cook spinach pasties, watch Kung Fu Panda 3. Swim before work tomorrow (maybe). Would that do? 

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

fooood

I want to put this on facebook but I fear the contempt of those who might post that 'so let me get this straight - you put up a picture of your breakfast and others comment on that breakfast' meme - though I suppose they won't, as I can't find it, so maybe it's faded into the mists of antiquity.

ANYWAY

So I came home and ate two thick slices of toasted olive bread with pesto (and, ahem butter also) and the most perfectly ripe avocado and slices of beetroot and salt and pepper and it was so good and warm and cool and fresh and yum.

And then we had cheesecake. Soft, white, creamy, tart, sweet, perfect, delicious cheesecake. It was so good. And now we all want moar cheesecake. GAH. I'm so proud of it.

If only it was a superfood and I could eat it everyday.

Imagine.

Honey, come on, eat your cheesecake. It prevents osteoporosis and eliminates free radicals from your system.

Sigh.

So, public service announcement, come to my house and eat cheesecake. Or failing that, Youtube some Paulo Nuttini, he's so good. 

Monday, August 8, 2016

it's official...

Well, I should not have said yes to those cheesecakes as they caused me some pain and exhaustion and messed things up a little for me and Bodhi on the day... but it wasn't my wedding, and in the end all was ok (except I didn't get a glass of champagne because I was raspberrying my fingers red and poor Bodhi couldn't find me,  got all upset, missed his dinner because he wasn't sure what to do and am I the worst mother in the world? Yes I am...).

Anyway, that aside, we got over it, and a beautiful Swedish opera singer with a viking god of a husband came and told me that she's a lover of cheesecake and oh, my cheesecake was the best she'd ever tasted. I was extremely touched, as she's a friend of my friend that I'd heard about for years but never met - and I was moved to tears by her beautiful song, sung so immediately and right beside me. I told her, oh, but your song, and she said no! Your cheesecake! And I said, but your song made me cry! and she said, well, your cheesecake made me cry!

And then the best man brought his German wife over to meet me, who is also the world's biggest cehesecake fan it seems, and she also professed mine to be the best she'd ever had, and all this adulation went to my head and I promised her the recipe.

So, I felt soothed and pleased because each time I bake I go through this terrible spiral of intention/procrastination/exhaustion/OHGODIT'SALLGONEWRONG/ohwellit'llhavetodo shame spiral - every fucking time. And despite doing that, it still worked out ok. Even the bride who was terribly worried it would be the wrong sort of cheesecake (and as she wooed her groom with her cheesecake, it was all very important and she'd been planning to make them herself, god love her) was happy, and it was the Right Sort of Cheesecake in the end.  Seriously, though, never again.

But I feel vindicated. I'd suspected as much, but I think my cheesecake is the best in the country. I've been the The Cheesecake Factory and had their giant slice of ppumpin cheesecake and that was a dream made real, a melding of two of my favourite desserts that delivered everything it promised to, and ok, that was just as good. But I'm pretty happy with my title. My mother and cheesecake are bound up together as I make this from her handwritten instructions and it was her business when I was very small.  The first time I made it, I couldn't believe it tasted right, that the first bite would be that creamy-solid perfection. I swear, it's the closest to breastmilk adults get... but maybe nobody wants to hear that.

Anyway. All good. That was a week from hell, though. Quite the insanity hormonal exhaustion insomnia nightmare. 

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

When funny things make you tear up and you can't read about a blogger's new book without feeling over emotional and also worrying that you haven't bought all the publications of all the people you read online and SUPPORTED them and you feel bad but you don't have any spare cash and drive around crying behind your sunglasses about all the bad things and you act like an insane lady around your children and you have to start making ten wedding cheesecakes, which you want to do but you're scared to start in case you fuck up and end up freaking out in a mountain of expensive dairy products in the kitchen so you're still hiding in the kitchen from that and your daughter ranting endlessly about your son and the fact that they're changing the genders of characters in her favourite films/videogames. 

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

I desperately needed sleep last night, but I woke up at ten past five, cold because my second duvet had fallen off and needing to pee. Then I piled more covers on myself and felt momentarily soothed, but anxiety or some sister of it kept me awake for a while and when I did go back to sleep, I got too hot and had weird dreams about.. sleeping.

It's a terrible function of the human brain, waking at the wrong time, then falling into a deep sleep shortly before the alarm goes off, and having to do the whole snooze/denial struggle.

I have to make ten cheesecakes in the next 48 hours. I feel nervous. 

I hate PMS

I've just had a protracted 'conversation' with Olivia about why I take issue with realistic shooting segments in the games she likes. Her position is, shall we say, unnuanced and not aware of the bigger picture.

I keep trying to stop the argument, but you don't get to do that with her.

Her father walks out of his room to go to the shower and she turns to him, demanding, 'You don't have a problem with guns in video games, do you?'

And he answers, 'No, but there's no point arguing.'


And it's making me fucking cry.


If I could have seen this moment with my stinking child on the spectrumwho won't eat, wash, or avail of education and my husband whose values and understanding of the world differ so extremely from mine so often, would I have walked into the future so blindly? God knows. I suppose I'm still doing it.

Arguing with someone with Asperger's is so pointless. It is such a horrible feeling. It's futile. Subjective statements don't work. What are you meant to do, as a mother? How do you retain any control of anything when you will just be over-ridden, or beaten down on every point? It makes me feel so weak, and hopeless. 

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

a good thing

A friend asked me about Danielle last week. So I texted him, and I got back a picture of blue sky blue sea view of the prow of a boat in the South of France where he's on holiday, which has to be a good thing, and he says to say hello to those of you who remember him. I'd put the photo here but I don't think my phone will let me take it out of messages.

I had my wisdom tooth assessment... which ended up being v positive, except, ugh, there can be scary side effects of the op, like nerve damage, which is rarely permanent, and it's going to fuck up my jaw joing big time, which makes me want to cry quite a bit, as does the thought of the surgeon drilling a slice of bone out of my jaw.

I feel quite teary at the thought of all the pain and violence to come. I think I'm going to need to take the sedation option. Yet I still ate cake today, so clearly my craving for sugar outweighs my yearning for teeth that don't need extracting. Did anyone get theirs taken out (lower jaw) with only local anaesthetic, and regret it? The only reason not to do it is because I'l need a person to bring me, wait for me, and bring me home. The sweet graduate student warned against operating heavy machinery after, or online shopping :)