I may have promised not to post
anything here until I’m a published novelist but I lied. I am however pleased to report that
after a exercising the old grey cells for weeks I have decided that Van
Morrison will perform the soundtrack, and I will be played by Gwyneth in the
movie. So the book is face about arse and I haven’t written a single word.
Details details, people. I do have a plot summary ok?!
In any event there appears to be
life in the old blog yet and what with the passing of another year in the life
of a thoroughly awful and now single parent I have decided to share a few random
thoughts with you. While I refuse to resolve giving up anything simply because I
don’t want you to see me as a quitter, I have contemplated, during the course
of the coming year to wean myself off the happy pills. I’m not for a nanosecond
indicating a foray into drug free happiness: I intend to continue to imbibe
irresponsible quantities of alcohol and tobacco; oh and caffeine and tannin.
And valium because the Little Darlings find me so much more palatable after I’ve
consumed 5 mls. But apart from the alcohol, smokes, coffee, tea and diazepam my
body will be a temple in 2014.
I had what I will call a “moment
of clarity” the other day. I won’t call it an epiphany because, firstly I am
aware that Twin Two and a friend of hers occasionally read this (and generally Eve
rolls her eyes whilst doing so) and they will probably assume that I’ve engaged
in sexual activity; and secondly because it wasn’t profound in the slightest.
During 2013 I have railed against all the received wisdom about grief and bereavement.
I refused to treat Frank’s first Frankless birthday or the anniversary of his
death any differently than any other day. I don’t regret that and will continue
in this vein, but I have to concede that I started this year thinking that the
phrase, time is a great healer, was toss. I was wrong. Once Christmas was out
of the way and I thought back over a pretty shitty year of dismantling my life
both physically and emotionally I could see what I had been missing possibly even
a little more than Frank – a sense of myself, my identity other than as Mrs
Frank (as I was known at his local), the Twin’s mum, or that fucking solicitor.
This might sound like Chablis induced navel gazing. It probably is but it made
complete sense the other day when I woke up for the first time in a long time
feeling comfortable in my own skin.
Thanks for reading, but please
move along now. STEP AWAY FROM THE BLOG - I’m going back to my book now:
Chapter One
It was a wet and stormy night…..
