Selfish Saturday: Postcard from the edge

runawayThe summer that has just ended was the most godawful I’ve had this century, at the very least.

Being too broke to escape away from home, we had planned a few local beach outings, mostly for the young one’s sake. That was before the family car died. One failed MOT was enough to have us all, not just the old girl, grounded, and all amusement opportunities evaporated overnight.

A month later, I was ready to leave everyone and move back with my mum, even as dismal as the situation is down there. Alternatively, I’d be willing to check myself into a mental facility and remain happily in isolation for as long as they wanted. Otherwise, I felt perfectly capable of doing something that would land me in the evening news for all the wrong reasons. That’s what makes my husband and me so different in the way we react under extreme stress. He gets panic attacks, I get anger issues. Snapped mister would become a recluse, snapped missus would go on a shooting spree. Good thing that neither of us can do either.

The last three days of the holiday, when husband was away to his school for the day but shortstuff was still at home were the hardest. I think I haven’t just spent the last reserves of patience I had – I think I’m massively overdrawn.

I don’t have exactly high hopes of bouncing back to sanity and serenity now that school has started, but I’ve been able to make some choices that are likely to help. Apart from resuming the daily school run, with its 4 miles of trekking and exposure to sunlight, I’m now able, for the first time in years, to build a consistent yoga practice at home. I have also signed up for a few online course, in an effort to discipline my mind and stretch thinking muscles that have been allowed to sit idle for too long. (Some academic recognition won’t go amiss at all, either.)

The hole I have to dig myself out of is deeper than any other I remember, but I’m sure of one thing: there will be no meds killing off my creativity this time.

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