“WHAT A SHIT WEEK”
She says at 11am on a Wednesday morning.
In the space of 3 complete rotations of the Earth’s axis, I’ve managed to collect a very bruised bum cheek (see Instagram for video), taken an almighty “slap in the face” that’s probably gonna leave an indent for a little while and a heart almost entirely broken at the thought of losing my little fur best mate. What do I want for Christmas? A fucking break please Santa babes. (And I’m sorry for the two profanities in the space of three sentences, my Nan will be fucking livid…lol, soz hun). But I'm a little well versed to this kind of week now so I'm not going to even give it a verse (like what I did there, hey hey?) in my blog...we'll save that for another time.
They do say “That when it rains it pours” and I guess for now, I just need to pop my umbrella up, embrace it and accept this season for however long it lasts. Weather can’t be the same all the time, can it? It can never rain all day, every day, for forever- and I know this now (shout out to my therapist Donna for teaching me that I am, what one might call a “catastrophiz-er”, I’m still not completely sold you know) Maybe, right now this is just where I’m going to head into a season where there is more bad weather than good- but the weather always has to change. Maybe this is just a little storm before the sunshine and rainbow’s come out again, after all- I’d been pretty lucky with my weather for the last few months. But, if it never rains, the flowers don’t grow. So as much as we don’t like the rain maybe we should learn to. Some people find ways to be happy in the rain, don’t they? They dance (thanks Hollywood for this one), they jump (and thanks small children and the invention of welly boots for this one), they laugh, they wrap up extra warm and crack on…so the question is, how do we get through our rain?
For me, it’s to write. Writing down all the swirling, whirling and twirling thoughts whizzing round in my head that before I know it get all jumbled up like the Christmas tree lights we stuff back in the box and I end up in a right old mucking fuddle (*fucking muddle but I was trying not to swear…and now I have again, points for trying?). And if I can help untangle anyone else’s looped up ponderings…well then that’s a double win.
Recently, I caught a little bit of Disney’s Peter Pan movie on the TV. Random I know but Sky movies was definitely stuck in that interim period of Halloween Slasher’s and Christmas Classic’s, November is a weird month, isn’t it? I pressed play on it thinking I was going to be taken back to my childhood and enjoy a nice little movie that I hadn’t seen for YEARS (because I’m getting well old now). I did not think however that I would watch it and end up having an existential crisis and a brain questioning my entire life-oh it’s fun to be me isn’t?
And there is one scene to blame for this, that bloody “Tick-Tock” clock swallowing (I said CLOCK, keep it clean you lot) crocodile chasing Hook the whole movie. A comical, slap stick scene which, as a fledgling little RiRi, I used to find utterly hilarious. Now, its slightly panic-strickened me.
That ticking crocodile isn’t just a comedic gag or a way to get rid of Peter’s arch nemesis, it’s a metaphor. Time is chasing after all of us. And whether we like it or not, it does catch up to us in the end.
(I do blame choosing English Literature as an A Level for my inability to now watch, read, listen to any of the arts without constantly trying to dissect its deeper meaning…the curtain in the poem is never just ‘blue’ because it matched the furniture guys, duhhhh).
I’m getting to that age now where the old Facebook walls are starting to fill up with engagement announcements, gorgeous photos from yet another wedding, little bumps appearing on tummies of the girls who once shared my disgust of bloating after eating a panini from the school canteen, boomerangs of keys in front of the new build houses (which to be honest is the one I REALLY want to know how you’re doing it, because I don’t know about a cost of living, mine is truly just a cost of being alive). And my feed is me in a nice hat…or a photo of a nice cookie that cost me £6 (ahhhhh I slightly get the house thing now).
And it’s not that I felt jealous. God no, I am truly, from the bottom of my heart, BEYOND happy for them. These are people I share so much of my life’s happiest memories with. I just felt a little afraid. Actually, scrap that, I felt fucking terrified. Sorry Nan, this one needs it.
Terrified that life is zooming on and I’m clinging on for dear life on this scary rollercoaster, that big 3-0 is lurking around the corner ready to pounce and… I don’t have any of this. In fact, I’m not in even close to having any of this. And then in turn, I’m not even sure which bits I want from life’s pic and mix anyway yet. Which then overwhelms me and just makes me want to buy two £6 cookies. Which with the ‘Blondie’s Kitchen” deal I may as well just buy 4 and get the 5thone free HASHTAG GIRL MATHS. Yes, I have spent £24 on cookies before and I regret not a single thing because they are out of this world and my mouth has never quite been the same since.
I digress.
I feel like I’m so fixated on age because there is this pressure on twenty-somethings to be a certain way at 20, then 23, then at 25, at 29. There are these “invisible deadlines” with careers, love, life and I think we just end up feeling guilty if we don’t reach the expected milestones when we “should have”. About 4 years ago I was teaching a little girl and on her lesson, she stopped half way through her Tango and this was the conversation that followed:
LG: “Rianna, how old are you?”
Me: “I’m 25, will this knowledge now help you do a decent promenade position?”
(My sarcasm knows no age)
LG: “No…do you have a boyfriend or husband?”
Me: “Nope, boys are icky any way aren’t they, haha?”
(Kept it PG and didn’t wanna say most boys are assholes so not worth it babe, probably a more useful lesson for her than a Tango but)
LG: “So you don’t want babies?”
Me: “Well I’d love babies one day, but not right now I guess”
LG: “But your old, you should find a husband, you’ll be too old one day and then you cant get a husband…or have babies”
Me: “Let’s carry on with this Tango shall we?”
(Held back the tears from falling down my clearly haggard face and continued working on that dodgy promenade)
Now look, don’t come to me with the “oh don’t take it so seriously, she’s only young” I’m fully aware of how kids operate and they absolute one liner, gut punches they come out with (“Did you know you have spots on your face Rianna? That one is really big...there by that other one.") But this is a 9/10-year-old thinking that I’m way behind schedule and that I’m practically barren and a spinster already- that must have come from somewhere?
Which loops me back to this “timeline” thing. Did we learn this in school or something? Is there like some special class that we attend where we told about this life we have to live. Most of us are obsessed with this idea of being domesticated and having our lives together- by a certain age. And I think it’s kind of sad, because, for me at least, I don’t feel like I’ve had the chance to enjoy my youth fully. Throw in an eating disorder, a job that not the best for having a social life at the best of times plus some pretty severe bouts of depression and that’s quite a significant amount of ‘time’ that I’ve ‘wasted’. As I said, 30 is approaching, yes I have Level 29 to complete first but put it this way…I’m officially in the “Late Twenties” era and I would be in the “Over 25’s” category on ‘X Factor’…where Wagner was. I shiver and want to book the botox immediately, get the walking stick ready by the front door. Is this the end for me? Shall I just give in and accept that I am a failure, a write off, a “non-starter” (fun fact: I watch the Diana panorama interview at least once a month because I think it’s truly iconic and you all should too ) never going to say, “I do”, get to wear the big white dress, put the new shiny metal key in a new shiny front door…oh no, I’ll never even hear the famous first word of “Mamma” from my own flesh and blood…strike me down God for my life is over. End scene.
*A little voice is heard from stage left- “Ermmm hi Ri, its inner Ri speaking here, the non mental one. Remember that time Donna said that you can sometimes catastrophize things into an absolute oblivion that’s beyond any form of rhyme or reason, and end up in complete meltdown because you’ve created a false narrative in your head? Yeah that’s what’s happening here Ri. And stop swearing, its fucking crass.”
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.Yeah, Donna actually might have a point.
Which is then when I think about it. I rationalise. I actually USE my brain rather than just believing what it tells me as the gospel.
I’m not behind in life. There is no schedule or timetable that we must follow. It’s made up. It’s as made up as Tick Tock the Crocodile. Made up by a society that kind of villainises you for even daring to go against the grain. For sure life is happening, time is going, I am ageing (I ain’t blind, I can see those little wrinkles appearing). But right now, I’m where I need to be. We are ALL where we need to be. Otherwise we wouldn’t be there. I don’t have to just take the “big things” as the only life wins, I can enjoy and be proud of all the little bits in between as well. We all have different needs, wants and goals. Heck, I have so many different lives that I want to live, so many different me’s, that I think it’s a little sad that I genuinely won’t have time to live them all!
Some will get married early, some will get married late (and I will look fabulous in white at any age I’ll have you know). Some don’t get married at all. Does that mean that their life will be filled with any less love? Nope.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that just because I don’t have someone who wants to rip my clothes off 24/7 that I’m not loved. But, deep down, hidden by negative thoughts...I know I am. I am loved by so many (and hated by a fair few too but we don’t focus on the haters girls, gays and they’s do we Huns?) and actually when I really think about it, the love I feel from those few special people around me fill me up more than any “society approved, social norm” relationship has ever done.
Time is precious. Of course it is. And one thing I’m really going to do in 2024 is be more careful with who I give my time too. The only time I’ve ever “wasted’ is spending it on unworthy people and making them priorities in my life when they haven’t deserved it. “I will no longer swim oceans for people who wouldn’t jump over a puddle for me”. That’s not worth it anymore. Especially when I know there are people out there who would willingly hold my hand and cross that ocean with me any time and in any “season” I am in. A cold winter swim isn't as appealing as a warm sunny dip is it?
It’s funny isn’t it how we spend so much time in life worrying and chasing those who don’t care rather than the ones who do? THIS is where we let time slip. We then let the good one’s slip. And before you know it, your slipping yourself.
But we can stop the slide.
We can stop it by realising we aren’t behind, we aren’t late and providing we don’t get hit by a bus tomorrow…we have some time. We have time to fix, change, discard, gain, lose, buy, love everything we want in life. At our own pace. On our own timeline.
We can’t outrun that ticking time bomb, but we sure can learn to enjoy our own chase along the way.
(And that’s why I’ll still be buying my £6 cookies forever more…in my rain, in my sun, in my thunder and my snow).
