2013 Grateful 33

My week went from bad to worse. Arriving back from Ireland still irritable and mad with myself for flaring up at my mother (who has the patience of Job and the last woman in the world you could possibly be annoyed with), trying to fit too much into too few days, and getting not one word written on my dissertation, I was feeling antsy. I was tired, cranky, and not at all secure about myself and what I’m doing. It’s been a while since this has happened but swings and roundabouts eh? I’ve been ‘up’ for so long now, a ‘down’ period was inevitable. Whoever said Murphy was an optimist obviously never met me.

I started smoking again. Positively jonesing, I drove down to the village to the local shop and asked for 10 cigarettes. The woman looked at me as if I’d come from another plant. They’d stopped selling cigarettes in packs of 10 years ago in Ireland. What kind did I want? I couldn’t think. Anything that had a 3mg nicotine content. She started to look a little wary but opened the machine and pulled out every pack until she found one that said 3mg. Long skinny ones in a purple box that looked like the toy cigarettes I used as a child when I wanted so much to be an adult. Very appropriate for my child-like tantrums.

As the week unfolded, it brought disappointment after disappointment. Nothing seemed to go right. A line from an old performance appraisal came back to haunt me. Perhaps I do need to better manage my expectations.

My retina specialist told me that the damage to my eye from the BRVO is irreparable and despite my having 100% visual acuity, I will never see things as sharply again. Maybe that’s worrying me on some deep subconscious level and has me questioning my judgement in other issues, too. My weight had soared – I gained four kilos in as many days – and a headache that came to call on Monday was still around on Friday. And still not a word written on my dissertation.

Other people’s last-minute issues suddenly became mine – could I help? Sure. Anything rather than do what I was supposed to be doing. And so followed long nights working on other people’s projects, work I was both happy to do and resented doing at the same time. If that won’t screw with your mind, what will? And this was just the start of it. Something as straightforward as booking a car in June in the States ended up needing phone calls to New Zealand to fix.  Something as mundane as making a hotel reservation for the end of May has resulted in a chain of emails, each one talking at cross purposes and still nothing booked. Other stuff happened that left me fixating on whether I was able to see the wood for the trees. I was slowly driving myself bananas. And still not a word written for my dissertation.

Then the doorbell rang and the postman gave me an envelope of chocolate sent from  Ireland. It wouldn’t help my weight issue, but it would certainly induce some endorphins. Then it rang a second time: the most gorgeous flowers and a beautiful crystal vase. And most precious of all, ten free-range eggs. I’d been for a reiki session that morning and TPA had given me the energy I needed to get through this week. Perhaps things were changing.

Friday night, I watched the movie Black Hawk Down and realised that my issues, as the inimitable NKJ would say, are first world problems. No one had died. Nothing was insurmountable. I wasn’t a wet-faced 18-year-old dodging my way through enemy fire hoping to make it home alive. I wasn’t watching my kids die of starvation. I wasn’t a general sitting in a control room watching my men getting picked off, one by one,  on CCTV. Yes, I live in a country whose future I truly fear for  (particularly in light of the PM’s recent posturing in his latest Friday interview) and I wonder what tomorrow will bring. But no matter how crappy it gets and how hopeless it seems, I have friends who will pull me through it, ignoring my kicking and screaming, telling me not what I want to hear, but what I need to hear. To you all, I am truly grateful. I promise I’ll be back on form next week.

Note: For a reminder of what the Grateful series is about, check out Grateful 52

3 Responses

  1. Mary open a bottle of wine. Turn off the phone stick your head down and get started….I could write the script I`m so used to giving out . Look up irish mammy giving grief to her son Cad as tú Robert on you tube for inspiration……..

Talk to me...

%d bloggers like this:

By continuing to use the site, you agree to the use of cookies. more information on cookies and GDPR

Cookies and GDPR Compliance

The cookie settings on this website are set to "allow cookies" to give you the best browsing experience possible. If you continue to use this website without changing your cookie settings or you click "Accept" below then you are consenting to this.

General Data Protection Regulation

If you have voluntarily submitted your email address so that you can receive notifications of new posts, please be assured that I don't use your address for anything other than to do just that - and that's done automatically. I might use your address, if I knew how to, but I don't.

This blog does not make money, it does not carry sponsored content, it has no ads for which I receive any form of payment. If I review a place or a restaurant or a book, I don't receive any compensation from anyone. I wish I did, but that would require marketing myself and life is too short. If something changes, I will be sure to let you know.

You can unsubscribe at any time by clicking the unsubscribe or manage subscription links at the bottom of every email you receive. When you comment on a blog post, Google Analytics tracks where you're posting from. This is stored and I can check my stats to see how many clicks I had today, where people clicked from, and what they clicked on. That's it. Nothing more.

I reserve the right to delete comments that are offensive, particularly to other commenters. If you want to have one of your comments deleted, the please get in touch with me at: mary@irjjol.com. I'm all for the right to be forgotten so will happily oblige.

So, in a nutshell, if you give me your email address voluntarily to subscribe to new posts or if you opt to subscribe to new comments, then you email is just used for this. Nothing else. Promise.