David Bowie once asked was there life on Mars? Well, last night I dreamt, they, whoever they are, found a disused lido up there. I think this will tell you something about my current mental state.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to go into the whole dream scenario, because there’s nothing really worse is there, than someone bumping their gums about something that never happened?
Well, there is, having to look through someone’s cruise photographs. That was indeed sad times and the reason I am ever thankful that social media has wiped out the whole developed holiday photo thing. I’m not grateful that this has lead to the demise of jobs in the sector mind, but I am grateful that I don’t have to ‘ooh and ahh’ over cabins with balconies anymore. One click of the finger on a little thumb icon and my duty of ‘good person, who is glad you had a nice hollybob’ is done.
Anyway, back to my mental state. That is a dream scenario in itself but I’ll try and explain where I am, before I hit the gin. Because that’s another issue on my ever growing issue list at the moment. I’m drinking too much. Well, I’m not drinking too much, I’m drinking at inappropriate times. But that’s how it starts isn’t it?
You see, I’m off work, with a four year old, a pigeon chested Staffordshire Bull Terrier and a five stone, lunatic of a puppy that’s hell bent on both making my life a better one and ruining it simultaneously.
If you don’t know what I mean by that, I urge you to go out, find a big, slobbery, malting animal, preferably a dragon or lion or even a wound up baby cow, let it into your home and then come and tell me how much gin you get through of a morning.
I’m not good at resting but neither am I good at wresting Dogue De Bordeaux’s. I am however, marvellous at recognising that this is possibly the basis of a carry on film script or the very beginning of another nervous breakdown! Hurrah!
I’m being dramatic of course, but things are tough right now. I’m going through some sort of weird, rhetorical, Nicky Graham, ‘Who is she?’ period, I’ve dyed my hair and grown my fringe out, I’ve stopped running, I’ve stopped watching that weird dog behavioural programme (because it just spirals my mood further) and I’ve lost a smidgen of my over confidence.
That’s the thing about being hit by a car, you question your immortality, your fragility, your absolutely everything and my head is a tornado of, what could have happened and why the hell am I even here, how strong is my arse in Strongest Women terms, given it took a car door clean off?
One thing I do know though is, I have to write. I have to trust the universe, eat Maltesers, and write my little hands off and maybe all will be well again? Or maybe I will have a breakdown, and my arse will get limp and maybe one day I’ll stop overthinking…
Anyhow, the point of this blog is to keep my toe in the ink so to speak, keep my brain thinking about things other than, what may happen if I can only ever converse in rhyme, or what if the Dogue decides to run away, or what if dentists get in bed with this warped government and insist we all have to start using electric toothbrushes, or, or, or… the possibilities are endless!
So, I wonder, is there life on Mars?