It's hilarious. Honest!!!

Well I am meant to be ‘lightening’ my subject matter today, but it’s not as if I can suddenly turn on the laughter track and make my life one long jolly old jape, eh, is it!

I met my friend A last night for a coffee and to say I feel humbled whenever we meet up, is an understatement. She is just embarking on the final stretch of her cancer treatment and after a wee op today, she has 6 weeks of radiotherapy to look forward (!) to. This is the tail end of months of chemo and a big op in early April, so to see her smiling and laughing last night and doing everything to put a bright face on things, puts me right back in my place. I may well moan, but she’s faced up to and overcome a serious illness and yet she’s still determined not to let things grind her down.

My acupuncturist would tell me off for this, as she maintains that other people’s challenges in life do not necessarily negate your own, but I beg to differ. I have always struggled with the ‘poor me’ brigade as I just don’t find that such a state comes naturally to me. I may have my mother to thank for this, as she has never suffered moaning, depression or even upset at trauma. We were always told to wipe our eyes, dust ourselves down and get on with it, regardless of the event. Funerals, major illness, job loss, relationships ending, no matter what, she abhors anyone wallowing in self pity.

I came home last night in a maudlin mood, as the skies were dark and heavy and I had had a long and demanding day at work. K and I went to bed early and chatted whilst we drank tea, as he could tell I was down in the dumps. He suggested it was post-Rye blues (apparently I was like this the last few times we were there) and that the total contrast between there and here and my yearning to escape the City for good, were the root cause of my malaise.

I also need to weigh up how much withdrawal from alcohol is playing a part. Facing up to bad stuff when you are stone cold sober is always a darn sight harder than when you have the warm fuzzy glow from a glass or two. That said, it’s been a while since I can recall the glow of the alcohol, as opposed to the anaesthetising effect that I had become much more used to.

I had lunch with my friend S today, whose parents have been as utterly vile as mine of late, so much so that they didn’t attend her wedding last year. We exchanged bitchy gossip on said subject yet again until we were rudely interrupted by her boss (and one of my ex ones) calling as she had managed to send him to the wrong cemetery for a funeral. S is a top-flight PA and in all the time she’s been working for this guy has not stuffed up once. Today was her cherry-breaking moment, and I was there to witness the look on her face as the foibles and failings of google became all too apparent. It did, however, remind me of that fuzzy brain syndrome you get with a hangover (though I must add here that she was not suffering the after effects of imbibing too much on this occasion), when simple everyday tasks that you execute normally without a thought, make your head hurt.

Every time I overindulge I know full well I will regret it the following day when the phone is ringing with candidates cancelling at last minute and my boss wants an urgent breakdown of the monthly accounts. Does it stop me ordering the next bottle of wine, though? Does it hell. Well, that’s all about to change as I am making a pact that even if/when I resume drinking, school nights will definitely remain out of the question. I am paid good money to do my job. Turning up with half a brain, a raging appetite for water and all things carbohydrate and a ‘don’t look at me, talk to me or smile at me’ face on, doesn’t exactly meet my side of the bargain, does it? Some might say that a glass or two max mid-week won’t exactly leave me wasted, but I am conscious of the fantastically slippery slope that takes me from devil mode to angel mode in the blink of an eye. As soon as I say ‘ah a cheeky one won’t hurt’ I can guarantee that 3 months down the line a cheeky one will be a bottle and my taxis home will be a slumbering blur. I know my faults so can honestly say that no amount of rehabilitation will ever put paid to that one.