This Lexi Life: Sunday Scribbles

We’re here! If you’re still reading, congratulations, you deserve a medal, or a stiff drink at least…It’s my seventh post in seven days and this one is a traditional Sunday Scribbles. In other words, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.

My husband

… is currently suffering from ‘well-man mania’. This is when you have a chronic condition but are in remission so you feel the need to do everything you haven’t been able to do for the past three years in the space of a single week, before you feel too ill again. In his case, decorating the sitting room is top of the list and he is going for it in a whirling dervish frenzy.

It’s flipping exhausting. I feel mean saying that, because I should be rejoicing in his energy. But to be honest, he’s kind of annoying. He seems to think I should have the same priorities and impetus as him, when I told him (and clearly marked on the diary) all the Renegade Retreat and Life Coaching work I have to do during January. I know, I know, you think poncing around at fancy lunches isn’t really work; what can I say? I’ve chosen a good job.

Anyway, today his incredibly high energy levels and earnest enthusiasm for different tones of wood filler, did not match my plans. In the end, after doing breakfast, cleaning up, some work, the dog walk, homework supervision etc. I hid in the bedroom and played Candy Crush for TWO whole hours. I didn’t even bother to read the book someone gave me recently “The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck”. I felt that by laying there, swiping away at garish cartoon sweets, I had definitely already absorbed that particular book’s message.

What was supposed to be yesterdays post- highs and lows of 2017.

High: husband learning to manage his condition better and feeling well enough to help around the house.

Low: husband learning to manage his condition and feeling well enough to ‘help’ around the house….

High: out first night in Antigua, luxuriating in the roll top bath in our super-luxe hotel.

Low: second night in Antigua, luxuriating on a trolley in a definitely non-luxe Antiguan public emergency room.

High: Mabel becoming ever cuter and more loving.

Low: Mabel’s ears … four infections, three grass darts, a perforated ear drum and hundreds of pounds in vets fees.

High: Changing to shop at Lidls.

Low: The fact that I’m so dull that I find this exciting enough to mention again.

Low: feeling fucked over by the Instagram algorithm and having my dreams of IG superstardom evaporate. Feeling even worse about the fact that maybe it’s not the algorithm, maybe my feed is just dull (Lidl’s, anyone??)

High: being forced, due to to said fucking over, to get a life off the ‘gram which may just turn out to be a lot more fun. And meeting on-line friends in real life. Turns out they weren’t falsifying their feeds all the time, they really a lovely people.

Low: cancelling our longed for European rail adventure because of husband’s bad health in Antigua.

High: husband saying “lets go anyway” and so we did. And he was fine. And we had the best time.

Low: feeling like the worst, most useless person ever during my dark, summer crisis months.

High: it’s always darkest before the dawn. The crisis forced me to seek help and be the agent of my own healing. It’s a long term project but I’m going in the right direction.

High: My wonderful night at in a shepherd’s hut at Elmley Nature Reserve.

Low: That I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to go again.

High: Discovering the best dog friendly café for breakfast near my favourite dog-walking spot on the coast.

Low: there is no low….

Sometimes you forget

…how far you’ve come. I spent a lifetime feeling conflicted about my looks and very uncomfortable in my own skin. It is only fairly recently (in the past four years or so) that I have begun to feel my mind, soul and body are one in the same, rather than my body being an unloved, irritating vehicle for my brain.

Anyway, you know how when you know someone who knows someone who used to know you? That happened to me the other day when someone I’ve met recently told me they’d mentioned me to another school run mum who had said “Yes, I know her. But she had brown hair and she used to much …bigger’. My friend didn’t relay that bit to me until I mentioned “I was a heifer back then”.

This little by-the-by suddenly reminded me how different I am from the woman who turned 40. I see so many people reaching this milestone birthday, celebrating on Instagram and treating it as though it’s some kind of destination. One you need to have passed certain tests by the time you reach. Certainly I hadn’t – the pressure to not be fat and forty backfired and I was heavier than ever on my fortieth birthday.

And in truth, I only began to get touch with my own body when my husband began to lose touch with his. Being faced with someone you love in pain, out of control, whose body is genuinely rebelling against itself is an absolute wake up call. It seems downright rude to fret about your dress size, when your husband is wondering whether he’ll be able to stand up today or not.

So now I do look quite different. I’m blonde (still baby blonde despite my disastrous attempts to go silver) and I am smaller, if not small. But neither of those things are the point. The point is I learnt how to feel inside my own body. I learned to be a whole instead of a series of fractured parts. And that is how far I’ve come. And if I can do it….

And finally

Being an embarrassing lightweight when it comes to alcohol, we have an awful lot left over after Christmas. Tonight I wanted to make my favourite Sunday treat, coconut rice pudding, but discovered we were out of coconut cream (Argh!) So I turned to look at all those bottles lined up on the larder shelf … and now there is an aromatic Amaretto rice pudding simmering slowly in the oven. And the absorbingly awful McMafia on TV (which is watchable, unlike Hard Sun which sadly is too bad to even laugh at.) So I think it might be good night.

Good night 😚

(Although 7 in 7 is over, I think there’s a good chance I’ll be back next Sunday … keep an eye out.)