Can’t cope, won’t cope…

Hey darlings! Can I call you darlings? I’d like to give an affectionate name for you; my collection of readers. Ricky Gervais has ‘Twonks’, Tulisa has ‘N-Dublets’ and ‘Muffins’… I’ll have a little think. Suggestions on a postcard?

It feels like an absolute age since I posted last. There are a few reasons as to why and I feel that, to reward your loyalty to my drivel, I’d better explain myself. I’ve spent the last week or so trying to get over a nasty virus (who knew one person could house SO much snot?!) and have been horrendously busy making important phone calls, writing letters, learning to dance this ‘hump’ that Rizzle Kicks keep singing about, researching world wines (read ‘researching’ as ‘drinking’) and digging my way out from under a mountain of paperwork. My mum had a form to fill in the other day so we decided to make a makeshift office in order to motivate us (we sat next to each other at the table and shuffled papers). It was a welcome dose of normality actually. Mum Babes (that’s what I call her…) used to work in an office at the MoD so she said it was quite nostalgic. I made the office environment more realistic by sending out an inter-office memo to my ‘colleague’. Well, I drew a penis on a bit of paper and threw it at her. I really am quite proficient at procrastination…

My side of the ‘office’. Note the Mickey Mouse straw in the bottle of wine. That’s incongruity if I ever saw it.

Wine tasting. It has to be done…

Another reason for my absence is that I’ve had the worst case of writer’s block EVER. If Jackie Collins had suffered the same then the literary world would be a better place. I think I’ve been trying too hard to force an idea but have recently realised that inspiration is like the female orgasm; sometimes you just have to accept that it’s not coming… On the subject of acquiescence, I’d like to talk about coping. I’ve been steadfast in my resolve for this blog to be a ‘No-Moan-Zone’ but I also want to be realistic. I audaciously likened myself to Wonder Woman (with smaller tits, don’t forget) but no-one’s superhuman, least of all me. But I do have a mechanism. In times of duress, I shut myself off from the outside world completely. I want to do everything alone because that’s how I’ve been raised; to be strong and independent. And I’ve had the best role model for it. Mum Babes has raised two children alone for 21 years. She’s contended with Katie’s disabilities, my ill health (chronic asthma, heart surgery aged 11, viral meningitis at 15) and her own illnesses. If I was ‘down with it’ I’d say she was a ‘real G’. She’s hot, too.

So. Coping. Everyone does it differently; some people don’t do it at all. A relative of mine had a nervous breakdown after her son cut his finger open… If I can give any advice (and you should all know by now that I’m not that good at giving it..!) it would be to find a coping mechanism that suits you. I use humour – you may have noticed! Last week my mum was rushed into hospital with chest pains. (She’s home now and being looked after by Nurse Amy). It was very stressful for both of us but we naturally resort to humour to get through. In this particular instance she made me sniff her armpits to make sure she didn’t stink. You never know who you’re going to meet in the middle of a chest X-ray…right?! We cracked some commode-related jokes, I did a little dance behind the curtains…you get the picture.  When I was 15 I was admitted to Birmingham Children’s with Viral Meningitis. To lighten the mood, mum put on one surgical glove, wore a sick bowl like a hat and Moonwalked around my hospital room. I was sitting on a bedpan at the time. It was so funny that, well, I’m sure you get the picture…

I also drink and dance to ‘cope’. For me, the hardest part of caring is wanting to sink a bottle of brandy but knowing it’s morally irresponsible to ‘drink on the job’. I will have a little tipple though. When it’s quite I’ll pour myself a drink and dance like a video ho until I can’t remember what I was stressed about to begin with. (I’m not admitting to alcoholism here, by the way! Although, you’ll often see me sneaking back from the corner shop with a carrier bag clanking suspiciously :p). Obviously not everyone will be placated by ‘my way’, but that’s my point. It’s MY mechanism. Do something that makes you feel like ‘you’. Just for a moment. Shut yourself off from the world/shout at everyone/scream into a pillow/ get drunk/do something crazy/ laugh at nothing/dance it out/cry… Do something that provides a release, however short lived that might be.

This is me mid ‘tipsy-dancing':


I don’t really know what else to say. I’d better go as there’s a quarter of a bottle of brandy going begging and a sexy bit of reggae has just come on the radio… amy-signature

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