OMG
2016 was 4 years ago! That was the last time I posted. Not that anyone noticed
as no one reads this blog anyway.
But 4 yrs ago was then the last time I actually wrote.
See, I
used to write when I couldn’t contain what I felt, when I was trying to make
sense of chaos. You know, when I was hurting.
But I am
happy to report that in this case, no muse is good muse. I literally divorced
myself from the past.
Ok
maybe I wasn’t the one who did the divorcing, but the end result was the same: Free! Free At Last. Free At
Last.
And
then post haste I got married again.
As
they say, when one door closes, you finally realise you’ve been banging to get
into the outhouse all this time.
And so
then another door opened, and before the honeymoon was over, I was puking my
guts out. Not sure why it’s called morning sickness. "All Day Sickness" would be
more accurate.
Feel
like I’m doing a fast forward summary of multiple seasons of a drama
series. So there was:
Season 1: The
unbundling leading to the Marital Exit
Season 2: Mr Right 2.0 – I met an amazing guys. A true gentleman. The kind who carries my
bags and phones his mother just to see how she is. Love him to bits.
Season 3: Pregnant
at 40! That one is two yrs now and recently started crèche.
Season 4: Pregnant
again at 41! 9 months old now, has two teeth and loves giving kisses.
Season 5: Tween-Agers
are mutants – Pre-teen Irish twins make me understand why some species eat
their young.
And as
of Saturday past, I’m 42, on my second husband and have 4 kids.
I
guess I have to change my bio now. No longer 30something. On Saturday I also
dyed my hair, so I’m no longer grey (temporarily, sadly).
This
morning, for the life of me I couldn’t remember my cell number. My brain just
hit a brick wall and …. Nuks! Couldn’t begin to figure out what my own number
was.
I obviously
started to panic. Anxiety levels rising. Tried to check my own WhatsApp
profile. Something told me to search my contacts and there I was. Saved for a day like today, “My Own Number”. Honestly, as I read the number nothing about
it even seemed familiar. Might as well have been E.T’s number. Still genuinely a little concerned. Until now I’ve had minor mental malfunctions. Forgetting people’s
names, not recalling where I put things. But I admit, I was a bit shaken up by
my amnesia this morning.
Anyhooooo...
So, I
think I’m back. To blogging I mean. Had a bit of a mission finding the blog and
then remembering the password is always an issue. I am not lying. Passwords are
not my thing. I promise, I try to always use the same password, so I don’t have
several different passwords to remember. But somehow, I am always having to reset
passwords because my one password policy keeps failing.
Oh
yes, so I painted this weekend. I did a Bob Ross landscape and it didn’t come out
too badly if I say so myself. As usual my anxiety had held me hostage for so
long. Until my sister-in-law decided that Sunday would be the day I put paint
to canvas. I am grateful for her pushing me, gently but firm. At one point,
standing in front of the easel, already criticising what I hadn’t even yet
painted she said... OK wait, picture us, easels in the backyard, kids in the pool
so they won’t bother us, rowdy as hell. And she says to me, “It’s a process,
and you just have to trust that what comes out of you will be right, will be
beautiful and you will love it”. I pointed to the noisy mutants in the pool and
said, “Did you see what came out of me. 4 times. Do you understand why I have
trust issues?”.
Overall
she and I had a lovely time. It was definitely not the calm and quiet art
studio I imagined I needed to paint. It was a sunny backyard, with a half dozen
screaming kids (no they weren’t drowning – apparently that’s what play sounds
like) and family members constantly pausing behind me, with random comments.
Even my tenant, a lovely older gentlemen, bare-chested in boxer shorts, came to
watch us work. He was very complimentary. The painting is now hanging in his home.
Imagine that, my first painting was snatched up instantly and is already hanging
in someone’s home. The fact that the home is actually my very own separate entrance
(granny flat where my lodger lives for you English folk) will be edited out of
my thank you speech when I one day win an Art Award.
Check
out my painting. The hint of skin you might still see is “Rodger the Lodger’s” arm I wasn’t able
to properly crop out. Like I said, he was out there in only his boxers. So
cropping out was definitely required.
Furthermore,
this has actually been fun. Writing, I mean. My fingers flying across my laptop
keyboard as the words come flooding out of me.
I
missed this.
