Limbering Up

Well folks, this is it. 

After all the angst, the drama, the arguments, the tears - I am finally calling time on this toxic, hurtful, heartbreaking relationship. I don't see that there is anything more I can do, anything else I can try. 

We have sketched out a financial deal. I have filed a divorce petition ("separation for 2 years") and he has signed the paper. The lovely house we restored together and made into our home is on the market.  I have made an offer on a new house - in a different part of town, thought that would be best. 

My Big Birthday passed without a big trip or a big celebration - drinks with friends, some nice meals out. He bought me a scented candle. I think you could divorce someone just for that.  I'm buying myself a house in France. No excuse not to follow my own dreams now, right? 

The Big Plan had been to wait until Thing 1 and Thing 2 were safely off to college but in the end I just couldn't hold out another two years.  We have just come back from our last family holiday all together (went OK actually, only one major argument). 

Sometimes I feel excited about what the future will hold. Sometimes I'm apprehensive. This is mainly because we plan to carry on working together and I'm not sure how that will pan out. It's also partly on account of the Brexit, the economic situation and what will happen in the business. 

One thing I have learned is that whatever I am feeling, writing always helps. So here I am, back on the page, strolling around at the jumping-off point. Another thing I'm learning is that there isn't one-big jump-off. It's a series of small mundane actions. There ought to be something that's like a wedding or a funeral, an occasion to mark the finish. Maybe I'll have to invent one.

Looking Forward

The place we chose for our half term break was strangely deserted. Some days we saw no one at all. This should have been lovely but was rather unnerving until we found the rhythm of the days.  Reading, swimming, sunbathing and eating freshly-caught fish in a wooden restaurant right on the beach. 

My birthday passed quietly. Two cards - 37 messages on Facebook.  Most of these people wouldn't have sent a card in the old days of snail-mail so that was rather nice. There was plenty of time on holiday for thinking, reflecting, planning.

Reflecting is hard, of course. Thinking things through is difficult too, given all that has happened, and so much of which I do not care to re-live. However, plans must still be made, as the future rolls forward ruthlessly and relentlessly, whether we want it to or no. 

I decided I should set myself some goals to attain by my 50th birthday, targets that I can hit no matter what else life throws at me. Here is what I've come up with.

• Keep Thing 1 and Thing 2 happy and healthy
• Spend quality time with my friends and family 
• Become healthy and fit
• Be happy by doing happy things 
• Publish more poetry
• Write - here, there and everywhere
• Develop a plan for the next 10 years

I do not want to be a Fat Frumpy Fifty. Significant remodelling and reinvention will be required so I'd better get cracking. 

Mucking Out

We live like pigs, and it just can't carry on. There is too much mess everywhere, too much STUFF. I reckon it makes us all stressed because we can never find anything we need. And I think we waste money buying duplicates of things we've already got (music books, CDs, school uniform items).

I found a brand-new unworn pair of ballet shoes in a box yesterday, in the size I was just about to go and buy at the weekend. And two copies of the same CD because we bought one then forgot we bought it or thought it was lost or something then bought another one. I reckon we have two million navy blue pony-tail holders in this house.

We did a lot of tidying up over Christmas, which made the place look much better. But now we've begun to tackle the mess at a deeper more fundamental level and it's made it all untidy again as we move stuff from one room to another, put things into archive boxes, transfer stuff to bags for the second-hand shop.  Stuff, stuff, stuff.

I want to live in the Barcelona Pavilion with only a toothbrush, iPod and Kindle. Although in truth I don't think books and CDs count as stuff. They count as essential items. It's just the rest of the stuff I can't bear.  Every time I take something to the dump or the hospice shop my soul feels a little lighter.

Isn't it a Buddhist thing, this detachment from the material world? Maybe I'll be finding my spiritual side this year as part of my journey. You have permission to kill me, though, if I Find The Lord (or if He finds me).

A Nice Piece of Wensleydale

I am reliably informed (by the respected authority of the Daily Hate, no less) that cheese is the most shoplifted item of 2011. How much of this lies at the feet of Anthony Worrall-Thompson, filmed stealing cheese from his local Tesco on five occasions in the last fortnight, they did not say.

It's not suprising to me, though, that contraband cheese is in such high demand. I don't believe that the gods would have supped on something as sickly and sugared as ambrosia when they could have been tripping out on casomorphin.

It's not surprising to me, either, that the addictive properties of cheese rival that of nicotine and morphine. Apparently it also makes you want to eat other things too. Cheese and bread. Cheesy pasta. Cheesy mashed potato. Cheese and onion pasty. The cheese-carb combo can take many forms, all of them rather wonderful.

I can't eat any of these things now. Actually I can't eat anything at all for a while.  Since I have a lifetime's-worth of cheesy-carb abuse stacked about my body, this shouldn't present too much of a problem energy-wise. It fits very well with my 2012 reinvention  -  I'm going to be amazing.

And in the meantime, I'm going to be cultivating a taste for consomme.

Forceful

I spent some time thinking. Resting, building up my strength, putting my stuff in order.  I wanted to be ready for this year, to look it in the eye, to square up to it. One main resolution: not to have a year like last year.

Let's summarise so we can put that year to bed. Began the year in a slough of despond on anti-depressants. Filed a loss in my business for the first time this century. Had more radiotherapy on my cervix. Stumbled over my husband fucking one of my friends in our office. Put the holding company into administration. Discovered a big lump in my neck. All this against the backdrop of massive global recession, riots, and the stress and misery and illness and death of my friends. Hurrah for 2011. Not.

However I survived all these things and got my act back together, and I ended the year feeling surprisingly good.

And that is the last looking-back I'm going to do. 2012 is going to be a good year. It's going to be a year in which I make lots of positive changes in all sorts of areas of my life. I'm more than ready. I'm excited, energised, full of life and optimism. Watch me catch fire  -  this year is the year of new beginnings, of transformation.

I'll keep listening to Ripley, of course. But this year I think I'm going to be mentored by Yoda, since he's wise and calm, and I like his advice on making things happen.

Do or do not. There is no "try".