#67
At least my entire body isn't in completely pain. After four months of not bothering to darken the door, the period returned with a vengeance. No wonder women end up at the doctors. A friend asked me, how are you feeling, and I said, I have been on drugs since Friday. I meant paracetamol, of course. But this not writing the past week, being utterly devastated, that has to do with the period. It was like all those four periods rolled into one.
Last year was hot flushes. This year - the quarterly bloodbath.
Possibly. It was four months to the day since my last period.
Well, yesterday I stopped taking the medication. I had some wine though, which was not great. That's me and alcohol done now. I am off it indefinitely now.
So the new thing is insomnia - I fall asleep for an hour after coming home from school and then after that I can't sleep anymore. I also can't move. I just need to be good to myself. But I also can't help feeling like I am sort of becoming incredibly soggy and rubbishy.
I am glad that I don't have someone to really manja me. My mom gives the perfect amount of support, sympathetic, and not pathetic. There is a massive part of me which is incredibly pathetic. I feel utterly sorry for myself. I know myself that if I had someone who was 'patient' with me, I would be unbearable.
It's much better for all concerned that I am behaving as grown up as possible.
The nice thing though about being so incapacitated is that there is no room for vanity. If getting through to the next moment is all you care about, then really, you are not worrying about stupid shite. No wonder older women are like fuck this. I've done my bit.
And I have done my bit.
Do I ever wish that I had 'someone'. No, not really. Having someone is entirely overrated I think. I look at couples who have been together for a long time, and I think, really, is that all there is? Having spent most of the last thirty years in Relationship Land, I think, look I fucking tried ok. I TRIED. I tell the boys to look to my parents for what a functioning relationship looks like, even what a loving one should be - my parents have set the gold standard in what is possible in relationships - and yet, at the same time, there isn't a week that doesn't go by when I am given a nugget of amusing tales from being married for this length of time. I suppose what a relationship does is keeps you alive to your boundaries.
Do I really want that like?
This week also has been awful watching the Leaving Neverland documentary. It was groundbreaking. Jackson was such a huge presence in the music scene when I was growing up. From Jackson Five to his own solo career - I remember Billy Jean being on repeat - and Off the Wall, and Smooth Criminal. I never really liked him. I don't like that sound - it doesn't matter how Quincey Jonesed it is really.
He was always weird. But when did he descend into this self disgust. I don't care which way you cut it, but what he did was just awful. And those poor men, who had to be redeemed in such a painful way by their sons. To look into the eyes of a child and go - oh god, this is what happened to me. And their mothers, menglapu... When I think of how many times the Nonya language has given me the vocabulary to not be someone I didn't want to be...
Oisin said to me, you are obsessed, as I watched the Oprah Winfrey interview after the documentary - he doesn't understand how huge Jackson was and how he had made himself look like some harmless, sexless being, when all the time he was a devious, cruel, hideous creature.
Despite the documentary, there are people who still defend him - his music, his talent, think of that. Well, I never thought much about it, to be honest. I hated all the late stuff - the We Are The World and the Earth Song, revolting. And all the early stuff, it was all meh to me. Anyways, I am of the opinion, art is important, but honestly it shouldn't be SO important that the artist's character does not come under scrutiny. Sure, the Mona Lisa, School of Athens, whatever - to me no piece of art is worth the suffering of an innocent. Not a single drop of blood, beyond the artist's own should be split in aid of their art. If you need to be some kind of corpse-eating pervert in order to create your art, then your art is simply not worth it. Nothing justifies that amount of suffering. Nothing. Also I don't understand how people are surprised that he was a monster - monsters exist in all parts of life. They exist inside all of us. But for the grace of god go I.
So, there is no school today. The breakneck speed with which go in school is something else. Each days departs as swiftly as it arrives. Currently we are doing the Age of Discovery. There are so many lessons which are to be learnt. Sometimes, you have to wonder was the coming of the Europeans a good thing since the population were being used as human sacrifice? What happens when a culture becomes crazy? Does it then deserve to be overwhelmed and die? And watching a culture in decline, standing here, at the end of what appears to be an utterly neurotic phase of human history - I can't help but feel this.
Winter has returned and with it, the high winds and the sleet and the cold. That's ok. I am not thinking I need to gather the things which I just left scattered about when I began this mad time in my life. Whenever I bleed, the world stops. Plus three weeks of PMT - followed by just bleeding - I have been slowly going mad now for a month. But it will be ok.
I will be ok whatever happens.
Last year was hot flushes. This year - the quarterly bloodbath.
Possibly. It was four months to the day since my last period.
Well, yesterday I stopped taking the medication. I had some wine though, which was not great. That's me and alcohol done now. I am off it indefinitely now.
So the new thing is insomnia - I fall asleep for an hour after coming home from school and then after that I can't sleep anymore. I also can't move. I just need to be good to myself. But I also can't help feeling like I am sort of becoming incredibly soggy and rubbishy.
I am glad that I don't have someone to really manja me. My mom gives the perfect amount of support, sympathetic, and not pathetic. There is a massive part of me which is incredibly pathetic. I feel utterly sorry for myself. I know myself that if I had someone who was 'patient' with me, I would be unbearable.
It's much better for all concerned that I am behaving as grown up as possible.
The nice thing though about being so incapacitated is that there is no room for vanity. If getting through to the next moment is all you care about, then really, you are not worrying about stupid shite. No wonder older women are like fuck this. I've done my bit.
And I have done my bit.
Do I ever wish that I had 'someone'. No, not really. Having someone is entirely overrated I think. I look at couples who have been together for a long time, and I think, really, is that all there is? Having spent most of the last thirty years in Relationship Land, I think, look I fucking tried ok. I TRIED. I tell the boys to look to my parents for what a functioning relationship looks like, even what a loving one should be - my parents have set the gold standard in what is possible in relationships - and yet, at the same time, there isn't a week that doesn't go by when I am given a nugget of amusing tales from being married for this length of time. I suppose what a relationship does is keeps you alive to your boundaries.
Do I really want that like?
This week also has been awful watching the Leaving Neverland documentary. It was groundbreaking. Jackson was such a huge presence in the music scene when I was growing up. From Jackson Five to his own solo career - I remember Billy Jean being on repeat - and Off the Wall, and Smooth Criminal. I never really liked him. I don't like that sound - it doesn't matter how Quincey Jonesed it is really.
He was always weird. But when did he descend into this self disgust. I don't care which way you cut it, but what he did was just awful. And those poor men, who had to be redeemed in such a painful way by their sons. To look into the eyes of a child and go - oh god, this is what happened to me. And their mothers, menglapu... When I think of how many times the Nonya language has given me the vocabulary to not be someone I didn't want to be...
Oisin said to me, you are obsessed, as I watched the Oprah Winfrey interview after the documentary - he doesn't understand how huge Jackson was and how he had made himself look like some harmless, sexless being, when all the time he was a devious, cruel, hideous creature.
Despite the documentary, there are people who still defend him - his music, his talent, think of that. Well, I never thought much about it, to be honest. I hated all the late stuff - the We Are The World and the Earth Song, revolting. And all the early stuff, it was all meh to me. Anyways, I am of the opinion, art is important, but honestly it shouldn't be SO important that the artist's character does not come under scrutiny. Sure, the Mona Lisa, School of Athens, whatever - to me no piece of art is worth the suffering of an innocent. Not a single drop of blood, beyond the artist's own should be split in aid of their art. If you need to be some kind of corpse-eating pervert in order to create your art, then your art is simply not worth it. Nothing justifies that amount of suffering. Nothing. Also I don't understand how people are surprised that he was a monster - monsters exist in all parts of life. They exist inside all of us. But for the grace of god go I.
So, there is no school today. The breakneck speed with which go in school is something else. Each days departs as swiftly as it arrives. Currently we are doing the Age of Discovery. There are so many lessons which are to be learnt. Sometimes, you have to wonder was the coming of the Europeans a good thing since the population were being used as human sacrifice? What happens when a culture becomes crazy? Does it then deserve to be overwhelmed and die? And watching a culture in decline, standing here, at the end of what appears to be an utterly neurotic phase of human history - I can't help but feel this.
Winter has returned and with it, the high winds and the sleet and the cold. That's ok. I am not thinking I need to gather the things which I just left scattered about when I began this mad time in my life. Whenever I bleed, the world stops. Plus three weeks of PMT - followed by just bleeding - I have been slowly going mad now for a month. But it will be ok.
I will be ok whatever happens.
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