Hermit’s Night Out

You know those cringe-worthy moments you sometimes have when dealing with people? Like when a waiter says “enjoy your meal”, and you say “you too”. Or when you’re day-dreaming then suddenly awareness comes back and you realise you’re making really awkward eye contact with someone, or worse, someones crotch. Over the last ten or so years, I’ve learned how to prevent these pesky social landmines, by avoiding socialising all together. Marriage, children and so-hot-right-now mental illnesses have provided the perfect cover a life of hermitism (probably not a real word, but should be. Hermitude maybe?).

Oh sorry, I didn't realise that I was staring...

Oh sorry, I didn’t realise that I was staring…

But now I’m not married, and am (currently) mental fit, and every second weekend, I don’t even have the children. I’m out of excuses, so I went out, and I learned some things:

♦ I have nothing to talk about and small talk is hard.

♦ Some bars need more seating. I’m too tired to stand at the end of the day.

♦ If people find out that you’re divorced, they’ll tell you about their divorce. They will probably cry. This is unsettling.

♦ People will not believe you if you say that you and your ex are friendly. They will actually argue with you about this, and tell you all about how he’ll either, a: take your children away and turn them against you, or b: reject your children and stop paying child support. These are the only options.

♦ Some of these people may try to do drunk reiki-like analysis on you, then tell you how stressed and unhappy you are, “oh my god, you’re so tense!”, “That’s because your touching me, and you’re spilling your drink on me”.

♦ Monteith’s Green Apple Cider! So so good.

♦ I love my bed.

Most of the weirdness probably comes from not knowing anyone except for the friend I went with. Which means I’m going to have to do this more to make the weirdness not weird any more. I think I’ll just ease myself into this slowly.


I’m Going Out, in a Blaze of Gloooorrrryyy…..

Sitting in a van with three other women who are all shivering the tits off and trying to keep warm after working in the mid-winter rain.  All of us are smoking.

Well, I’m not so much smoking, as I am steaming.

The steam is pouring off me, like my own personal aura-sauna. This job has made me realise how little I feel the cold, I’m always warmer than everyone else. Probably on account of my masses of fleshy insulation. I don’t smoke any more, but I’m worried that I might start. It will probably start pouring out of my mouth first, then, having read accounts of such occurrences, I imagine my torso and head with quickly erupt into intense flame. Depending on how I’m seated at the time, my hands and feet will most likely remain. Where the rest of me once was, there will be a large, black, greasy stain and the smell of burned ham. I better make sure I’m sitting as far as I can away from the spare petrol cans.

Whenever we finish a job and jump in the van, the window closest to me steams up. Bloody Hell, the fat girl’s over heating again.

"At the foot of a palm tree, swallowed by flames, she thought what would be her final thought "I wonder if the girls will remember the marshmallows in the glove box." "

“At the foot of a palm tree, engulfed in searing flame, she wondered if the girls bought marshmallows today.”

Homecoming of the Snail and the Jedi

It’s the first school holidays since our little family unraveled, and I’ve got to say, I am so proud of us. The kids are handling everything fabulously, and the adults are remaining civilized and communicative. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that we’re possibly more functional than we were before.

The kidlets have spent the first week with Dad, which has been an excellent opportunity for them to bond, and for Dad to practice his parenting routine. Our former system of parenting involved him spending most of his waking hours working, and me staying at home, cleaning, organising and keeping the children alive.  Dad could choose to be involved in the more interesting elements of parenting, but remained unschooled in the more mundane, but essential bits, like feeding them and using that special glare to stop them from killing each other.  He’s working his system out, and it must be going quite well, because I just spoke to them on the phone and they’re still alive, although it did sound like they may have been crushing something in a bench vice. Sometimes it’s best not to ask questions.

It’s also been a great chance for me to catch up on some inner peace. It’s so nice to be able to come home from work to that blessed silence. No demands or complaints, I can just do things in my own time. I do miss them though. I miss their cuddles and how weird they are. Eavesdropping on their bizarre conversations and their surprisingly wise insights. They come home tomorrow, and I can’t wait.