A Week of Lows and Highs

Hello to Liz at Backward Leonard. I’m glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t like snakes - I had to hold my hand over my eyes while scrolling down when reading that particular post. The chicks were MUCH better! And yes, you do deserve an award, you’re a braver woman than I am!

Hello too, to Edith at Edith Hope’s Garden Journal. I have to tell you Edith, that I was sitting here at my computer this morning, slowly waking up, drinking my coffee, and catching up with many unread posts. Then I wandered over to your most recent post. I am now wide awake.

I’ve had a very mixed week this week.

There have been a quite few ‘wtf, did-you-leave-your-brain-in-bed-this-morning? moments.
 

 
 
I tried making a cup of coffee with a fork. I have no idea whatsoever why I picked a fork up from the cutlery draw instead of a spoon. What was worse, while forking coffee from the jar into the mug, I got annoyed it was taking so long.
 
Only after the sixth or seventh time of the fork-coffee-mug process did it dawn on me a fork was not the implement to be using.
 
All I can put it down to, plus my other less than brilliant moments of wtf stupidity, is I’ve had a lot on my mind this week.
 
That’s not to say my head is usually empty - it’s not a case of shake my head and if you’re lucky you might hear the sound of a lone thought rattling round in there, but over the last several days I seem to have been incapable of thinking and doing different things at the same time. My multi-tasking skills have been put to the test and have failed miserably.
 
I also had a moment this week where, very inappropriately, I wanted to laugh out loud, but had to and managed to thank goodness, rein it in.
 
Where was I?
 
A funeral.
 
The last funeral I went to was Significant Other’s and to be perfectly honest, I was a little apprehensive about attending this one.
 
During one of the prayers, my attention wandered slightly and someone did something that made me want to laugh. My laughter, albeit unseemly given the occasion, would have, for the most part, been a release of nervous tension.
 
All thoughts of laughter disappeared though, when Andrea Bocelli’s Time To Say Goodbye rang out from the sound system. Beautiful, yet almost unbearable at the same time.
 
Something I found very poignant and uplifting a short while later, was the sight of a small child happily scampering amongst gravestones while her mother tended a grave.
 
This week I received the news that a friend’s younger brother died unexpectedly. Hearing about it knocked me for six.
 
This week I got to see my brother Pipeman, and my sister which was good. Living in different parts of the country and having busy lives, we don’t get to see each other too often, so it’s great to catch up when we do get together.
 
(Note to Pipeman: Now you’re getting on a bit, your memory seems to be failing you a touch. Although I’m older than you, I don’t forget we share the same birthday.
 

This means, unsurprisingly, every year when you wake up on that date and you think, “Oh crap, another year older. Ah what the hell, it’s just a number,” I am having that thought. On the same day.
 
This means, unsurprisingly, when you are opening your card from Mum and Dad, I’m opening my card from Mum and Dad. On the same day.
 
This means, unsurprisingly, when someone says, “Happy Birthday” to you, I too am being wished the same at some point. On the same day.
 
Just sayin’. ;D
 
Nice to see you by the way.)
 
This week my house looks like a bomb has hit it.
 
I’ve been methodically picking my way through the debris – clothes, shoes, jewellery, books and DVD’s. I’ve been sifting and shifting, and I’ve been trying my hardest to restore the place to its former tidy state.
 
What happened?
 
Did my house get burgled?
 
No.
 
Burglars would have been tidier.
 
If someone broke in now, they’d take one look at the place and think, “Shit, it’s already been done over,” then leave.
 
There is a very good reason why the house looks like it’s been hit by a Javelin missile.
 
Not burglars.
 
Nor a severe weather system, occurring only on the inside of my house.
 
It’s not the consequences of a party that got out of control.
 
It also wasn’t me running amok because I decided I missed the chaotic condition it used to be in.
 
Nope, none of the above.
 
This is the aftermath of…
 
Youngest Daughter returning home.
 
She found her self-appointed task to drink the island of Majorca dry of alcohol was easier said than done. She gave it a bloody good go though and has some tales to tell. Her story about one of the girls she was sharing an apartment with getting very drunk and passing out on the sofa, face down in a pizza, made me laugh like a drain.
 
After getting fed up of having a fairly poor diet, missing rain (she’ll be so-orry) and dealing with arsey holiday makers, she packed her bags, clicked her heels together and said three times, “There’s no place like home”.
 
So I’m now back in Mother mode. Amongst other things I, in said mode, am in the process of clearing the crap strewn about, sorting the washing out (why are all her knickers full of holes? Wtf?? Dodgy washing machine in the apartment was the answer I got. Uh huh) and putting it all away.
 
Being in Mother mode also means, “You mess your room up, I’ll kick your butt from here into next week.
 
Nice to see you by the way”.