#89: Take St John’s Wort (and complete twittertale)
On Tuesday I began taking St John’s Wort, which is a herbal remedy for anxiety, depression, or manic depression. Being herbal, it’s pretty mild – but it’s sufficently hard core that it shouldn’t be taken if you’re pregnant, trying to be pregnant, or trying NOT to be pregnant (by which I mean that it makes the contraceptive pill less effective). Also you definitely shouldn’t mix it with any other mental-illness meds.
It was CSI that got me onto St John’s Wort. They featured an obscure medical condition called “hypergraphia” – the irresistible compulsion to write, and keep writing (that’s physical writing – not editing, researching, or planning one’s literary opus). As with every other psych condition ever invented, once I heard of it, I said, “I totally have that” and after consulting Dr Wikipedia himself, I discovered that St John’s Wort might help.
The really odd part is that it did. When I first began writing full-time (which was early on in my mental illness), any day that I spent working on a novel was a day I wasn’t able to work on any other piece of writing. It also menat I was hazy at best in my conversational skills. I remember meeting a friend for coffee and finding the whole world stangely coloured around me. (No, I hadn’t been taking any illegal substances.) Since taking St John’s Wort, I became able to remain connected to the real world while writing. Which I’m sure my partner appreciates, since I work almost exclusively on novels these days (which reminds me: I send out a short story to a mailing list on the first day of each month. If you’d like to be on the list, say so in a comment anywhere on this blog and it shall be done – I can see people’s email addresses, but no-one else can).
Play along at home: Stressed? Moody? Sad? You might not be mentally ill, but St John’s Wort may help you stay not crazy. Sane = good (at least, from what I remember). It’s in any supermarket, with all the other pills.
And now. . . . the moment you’ve all been waiting for (except for those of you who didn’t notice it’s Friday today) . . . the complete “Bridezilla” story (the next story, the post-apocalyptic “And then I woke up”, begins on 5 May):
1.
It’s pay day, so I buy pillows. Luckily my wedding dress makes a good maternity dress. I hope this plan works. Tomorrow, here I come.
2.
I dress as a VERY expectant bride and go to the bakery store. As I order a huge pile of hot cross buns, I put one hand to my giant stomach.
*
“Oh you poor dear!” says the matronly type I’ve been observing for days. “Don’t bother paying for those buns.”
*
She winks, “And may I STRONGLY recommend entering our restaurant-dinner-for-two competition?”
I obey her while silently applauding my act.
3.
Today I’m a goth bride with heavy eye-makeup and blood-red feathers on my neckline. I mingle in the bar before Amanda Palmer’s concert.
*
Amanda comes out, hugs me, then takes in my full outfit. “Congrats,” she says – “And you’re NOT paying – or your fiancé, wherever he is.”
*
Being a goth bride rocks. It’s even better than yesterday’s pregnancy. I’ve never enjoyed a concert so much – or been given so much beer.
4.
I promised my daughter a huge pile of Easter eggs – but I also promised she could continue at her school. So I dress her as my flower girl.
*
Easter eggs: Check. Nausea: check. Chocolate smears on May’s face: check. Getting chocolate for a flower girl at Easter is almost too easy.
*
A shrill voice cuts through my pleasure – my ex-bridesmaid, Cherie. “Anna! Did Rob come back and marry you after all?”
“Uh. . . sure. Yep.”
5.
I’m embarrassed after lying to Cherie, so today I go for the dumped bride look. My mascara runs beautifully, and I get more hot cross buns.
*
As I’m lugging a garbage bag of buns to my car, one of the bakery girls comes and helps me. She says, “Wait a second, do I recognise you?”
*
I shake my head, but she says, “Yes! I saw you dumped on YouTube. . . but that was a month ago. What the. . .?”
I flee.
6.
Today I dress as a mum. An emotionally and financially stable mum. I try to arrange my stockings so the holes are hidden inside my shoes.
*
“We’ve been making allowances because of your. . . incident. . . a month ago. But we must have next term’s fee by the end of this month.”
*
After the meeting, I go give May a hug. Her teacher stops me and asks for my number.
“Oh no! What did May –”
“Nothing. I want to call YOU.”
7.
I eat hot cross buns, and ask my boss for a raise. Neither goes down well.
*
When May gets home, I interrogate her about her dark-haired, dark-eyed teacher.
She says, “He’s nice. I got to be the queen in story time.”
8.
I get the card for the free dinner for two at a real restaurant. Yay! Less than an hour later my landlord “drops by”. Uh-oh.
*
May’s teacher calls, and arranges to pick me up on Saturday. My heart’s fluttering so hard, I can’t eat my dinner (of hot cross buns).
9.
May dresses in her best dress for our dinner of Real Food. I wear a skirt. They greet us with champagne. “Where’s the other newlywed?”
*
“Uh. . . he had to work,” I say. They hustle us to our highly beflowered table and tell us to order anything we want. We do.
*
May gets them to make her a hamburger. I have a huge pile of meat and a giant salad. Neither of us eats our bread rolls.
10.
I re-use my pillows to make myself an overweight bride, and take May with me with only an hour to spare before Jack comes to fetch me.
*
We go to a child care centre. I ask, “Can you fit her in? The reception’s about to start and my normal babysitter quit. Today!”
*
“Of course we can,” the staff say, “and don’t you dare pay!”
My date is wonderful. Jack is good company and the food is DIVINE.
11.
I shave my eyebrows to become a more lucrative faux bride, and go shopping. I’m about to graciously accept free Docs when I see Jack!
*
Jack! Shopping as I scam! Disaster! I duck behind the nice lady’s desk, biting my nails in terror. Has he already seen me?
*
The lady gives a commentary on Jack’s passing. “The hot guy’s trying on sunglasses. . . now he’s going away. He’s gone!”
I flee the scene.
12.
My landlord says, “Pay your rent by Wednesday, or I’ll have you evicted.”
I flaunt my Doc Martens and say breezily, “No prob. See you then.”
13.
May and I spend the first day of her holidays sorting our possessions into “Sell” and “Keep”. I get $3 for four books.
*
We’ve tried ebay and twelve different friends, but oddly no-one will buy May’s lifesize poster of Edward Cullen. Go figure.
*
I eat lunch with Jack. He doesn’t mock my eyebrows, but says, “Can we have dinner Friday – with May?”
“YES! Er, that’d be nice.”
14.
I fake receiving an SMS break-up at the service station and get a free tank of petrol. Nice. My eyes are getting tired from fake crying.
*
May and I put everything we can’t live without into our car and go camping. I don’t think she believes it’s really a holiday.
*
We go swimming in the creek and May finally relaxes and starts to laugh. For dinner, we roast our hot cross buns over the fire.
15.
Pay day. I’d need three more to pay school fees, and there’s only one more this month. But I have a plan. Today we buy food – sort of.
*
Eggs for protein and zucchini for vegetable matter. Somehow, toasting zucchini isn’t the same as toasting marshmallows.
16.
For our dinner date with Jack we eat roast lamb with gravy and pumpkin and potatoes. May doesn’t eat the zucchini, and neither do I.
*
The night is perfect. It’s even kind of fun to pretend to go into our old house before sneaking around the corner to our car.
17.
I dress as a harassed bride and May hides behind a column while I claim a fictional honeymoon booking at a nice hotel – prepaid, of course.
*
May jumps on the bed while I boil eggs. She says, “This is your best idea ever!”
“Wait and see.”
She eats the minibar peanuts, grinning.
18.
I dress as a just-awoken newlywed and score free breakfast. Fortunately for May, they’re willing to deliver my “fiancé’s” meal to our room.
19.
May’s friend Sara calls to ask if May can sleep over next Friday.
I say, “Definitely. How about two nights?”
*
Jack calls and we talk for three hours. Mmm. . . school holidays. When the call ends, I can’t remember a single thing we talked about.
20.
Jack and I meet for lunch again. He admires my new Docs. I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or not, but he’s smiling. Is that bad?
21.
I go to a new shopping centre and run into Rob. (Did I mention my ex-fiancé is a cop?) “Are you going to give me my ring back?” he says.
*
I say, “Are you going to pay me for our reception?”
“We didn’t have one – why should I pay?”
“Because when you cancel on the day, you pay!”
*
“Give me the ring!” he says.
I say, “Give me the six thousand you owe me – and one seriously impressive apology.”
“Get lost!”
“You too!”
22.
I’m having lunch at the hotel when one of the staff asks why they haven’t seen my new husband all week. So much for being a newlywed.
*
My throat tightens. I feel my face flush with humiliation. The waitress blushes back at me and hurries away. Ah. Still a newlywed then!
23.
The hotel is too risky. May has one last jump on the bed, and we pack sadly.
I say, “Don’t worry. My big plan is for Sunday.”
*
I drop her at her friend’s house and prepare to spend my night in the park. All at once, I begin to hate ducks. Pompous freaks.
24.
Rain. Great. Being a stressed, pregnant, or overweight bride was all very well. Tomorrow the real performance begins – and ends.
*
I visit my dad in the cemetery to apologise – and explain. “Mum, Dad – I know you would help me if you were alive. But I’m still sorry.”
25.
I dress and act as the daughter of a fallen war hero, and join the veterans after their march as they drink and play two-up in the bar.
*
When I say how much I miss my dad, they do just what I expected: They pass a hat around. I hear notes rustling and coins chinking.
*
I watch an old man struggle to bring the brimming hat to me – then Rob walks in. He says, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
I run.
26.
Rob calls me fourteen times, and Jack calls fifteen. I don’t answer. Rob SMSes, “I’ll find you.”
Jack SMSes, “I need to see you.”
*
May brings a note home from school, bearing just eleven words: “I know everything. It doesn’t matter. Sell your ring. Love, Jack.”
27.
I dress as myself and go to the pawn shop with my ring. The girl’s eyes widen. “This is THE ring, isn’t it? From the YouTube breakup?”
*
I sigh a yes. “Lucky you!” she says.
I say, “Pardon?”
“All that money!?!”
I stare at her: “PARDON?!”
“Didn’t you read the YouTube comments?”
*
I walk to the car with a money order for the first $10,000. Then I go to the bank. Then I pay the school. Then I pay rent. Then I eat.
28.
Once the treasurer stops apologising to me, Jack and I have lunch in the staff room. “I’d like to buy you a replacement ring,” he says.
*
I look up from my caviar. “So I can keep conning, or so I can stop playing a bride and start playing a wife?”
He smiles, “Hopefully both.”
29.
I take May out a second time. “What would you like for dinner?”
“Not eggs. Or zucchini. Or hot cross buns.”
“Fish and chips?”
“Yeah.”
30.
May, Jack and I go out to dinner together. Jack says, “I bet we could scam a fake honeymoon if the three of us worked together.”
“Let’s!”
THE END
#138: Poetry Reading
My plan was simple: entice people into my home, then strew poetry books around and begin reading aloud. Keep reading until someone else started reading. (Thanks to reader W for this suggestion.)
The plan worked better than I expected. It turned out we (“we” meaning my husband, CJ) had half a dozen poetry books – The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Seven Centuries of Poetry in English, etc. I of course contributed my part: Now We Are Six, by A. A. Milne. (I have a feeling there’s some kind of conclusion to draw here, but can’t for the life of me think what it is.)
We began with Dorothy Parker:
THEORY
Into love, and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen —
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?
We dived into Lewis Carroll, Chauncer, Robin Hobb, Robert Louis Stevenson, Shelley, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Colerige (still don’t know how to spell his name), Tennyson, and Dylan Thomas.
We also spent a few moments with William McGonagall, who is well-known as the world’s worst poet. He used to walk into pubs and start saying his poetry, then get a variety of objects thrown at him. Then he’d go and write poems about getting a variety of objects (wet wash cloths, peas, etc) thrown at him.
Here’s a mercifully brief sample:
ALAS! Lord and Lady Dalhousie are dead and buried at last,
Which causes many people to feel a little downcast.
——
And here for your delectation is the A.B. “Banjo” Parterson piece, “Been There Before” as read by my partner, CJ:
S#69: De-Clutter
It’s been at least six months since I dared look at the single shelf that holds all my jeans, non-hanging skirts, and non-hanging shirts (and, evidently, a good number of hanging skirts and jackets, too). Horrifying stuff:
Motivated mainly to find a particular skirt long since lost in the melee, I emptied out the shelf (mainly onto the bed) and sorted it into sleeve length of top and leg length of bottoms. My cat was kind enough to make sure she shed on items that had been safely buried until this moment.
Once everything was sorted (and some of my ridiculously high number of tank tops were put elsewhere until Summer), I folded everything and put it back in a sensible order.
I’m so delighted to find I was left with five of each sleeve length of shirt, and seven of the longer sleeves that will get increasingly important in the next little while. It turns out I don’t need to buy more, which is an added plus.
Play along at home: Pick one small, messy area of your home (messy either because it’s in constant use – making it useful to you – or very rare use – meaning it’ll stay tidy a long time) and make the clutter go away. Alternatively, look through your house (probably your cupboard in particular) and pick five items to throw or give away. It’s a wonderful feeling.
#144: Go somewhere I’ve never been (Pine Island)
Most of this article has been moved here, where I get paid per reader (hint hint).
I have enjoyed clambering on river rocks in ankle-length skirts since I was ten years old (there are photos of that somewhere). There’s something about it that’s just scary enough to be enjoyable and adventurous without actually risking major physical damage. And, it’s pretty.
It was scarier than usual today, because I’d had a panic attack in the morning, which meant I was still rather shaky and unco. As a result, I wasn’t quite as graceful as I’d like.
On the up side, since J-Lo’s posterior is meant to be her best feature, I reckon I’ll be at least five times as popular once this photo appears. (Or maybe ten times as popular, to be perfectly honest).
I did manage to recover some daintiness on the way back, and (once back on shore) felt far mightier than when I set out.
Play along at home: Climb on or over something you probably shouldn’t (based on my experiences as a child breaking walls, shelves, and so on – test the strength of the climbable objects first).
Tomorrow: Poetry reading (as suggested by reader W).
#134: Play with a cat
‘Nuff said.
I spent about half an hour looking at this photo and giggling, and I giggle again every time I look at it. No cats (or fish, or glass items) were harmed in the making of this picture.
Play along at home: Find a pet (or, in a pinch, a small child) and amuse yourself at their (safe and harmless) expense. Remember to choose wisely, kemosabe, or you will die of blood loss at a pair of angry claws.
Coming soon:
#138: Poetry reading (thanks to reader W).
#144: Go somewhere I’ve never been (Pine Island).
#89: Edit a friend’s novel (hello to the friend – you know who you are).
#45: Take St John’s Wort (has calming properties).
#132: Try, try again.
#3: Go crazy in a lolly shop.
#118: Make a collage.
S#63/7: Cello and Piano performance
Wow! Number 63 (Experience something new every day for a week) took a lot longer than a week.
Today I returned to ABC’s Sunday Live for the last time this year (next month it’s in Melbourne). Myself and CJ and another friend watched Cellist David Pereira perform with Timothy Young on piano. (They also had a minion to turn pages.)
Everyone knows wooden instruments are the biz. My husband and I plan to become billionaires and have a lair featuring a baby grand that rises up from the floor at the press of a button (and of course someone standing by to tune it each time). We were originally going to have a full grand, but decided not to be ostentatious.
The inside of the piano lid (we’re back in reality now) was so well-shone we could watch Timothy Young’s performance mirrored inside.
But the cello was the most beautiful thing on stage, made of a dark wood (oak?) with darker tracings. It’s Italian, made by Guidantus in 1730. Just being in the room with it was worth the trip.
They played three pieces – “Jungle Fever” (which had a chase scene), “Lullaby for Yvana” (David’s daughter – he wrote it) and a Sonata by the greatest emo pop artist of the early 1900s, Sergei Rachmaninov. During the sonata you could pick the good bits, because either Young clenched his jaw furiously, or Pereira grinned (depending on the type of good bit).
Thanks for the messages of support yesterday. As expected, I feel pretty okay once again.
Tomorrow: Play with a cat (warning: choose your cat wisely).
S#63/6: Live Music at an Irish Pub
Today was an out-and-out awesome fail. The pub itself (King O’Malley’s in Civic, Canberra, Australia) is awesome (I even wrote about it here). CJ was awesome, smiling tolerantly as I fished ice cubes out of my Baileys and spat them into someone’s discarded Guiness (because no-one, NO-ONE, dilutes my Baileys). There were fire twirlers outside, and a random person complimented me on my boots through a loudspeaker poked out the window of their car (and why not?) That was all pretty awesome, but I was not.
No-one can sustain awesomeness forever. (Okay, some people can. I hope they get eaten by iguanas.) I have an anxiety disorder, and every so often I freak out for no reason and all the colour falls out of the sky and the air sours in my lungs and existence isn’t worth the souls it’s written on.
Today’s emotional crash was relatively rational, since a few bad things happened (the car had more stuff wrong with it, so it cost twice as much as expected; one of my books has a serious flaw that may involve rewriting huge chunks that I thought were finished; I’m dieting, so a chocolate binge is out despite how fat and angry I feel; my phone is out of credit four days earlier than it should be so I’m trying to go without until then; someone I know is suicidal but not considered sick enough to live in a place that will look after him).
Tomorrow will most likely be a good day. All the things that really matter are okay – CJ and I still like each other, my family is safe and happy, and we still have money in the bank.
But I feel awful. So today’s real awesomeness is to accept that emotions happen.
Play along at home: Eat too much (for me). Write the emoest emo poem ever. Hit something. Whine to a friend. Cancel your plans and watch TV instead. Do something ridiculously indulgent from Steff Metal’s list. Spend too much. Insult a cat/dog/fish with great cruelty. Swear. Exercise too much. Refuse to snap out of it until you feel like snapping out of it. Play depressing music. Cut off your hair. Go to sleep. Stay up late. Cut up your school/uni books into tiny pieces. Take photos of your toes. Leave your heater on all night. Chuck a sickie. Play with matches. Cry. Give it time. (I’ve done six of these, mostly in the last hour. Seven, if you count paragraph 2 as poetic.)
Today’s photo is of yours truly clutching my single glass of Baileys while sitting in the dark:
Tomorrow: Sunday Live – a cello performance. And most likely a better mood.
PS: Have decided the scratch on my leg from “Frolic in a Fountain” is probably shark bite.
PPS: Wrote the above entry last night. Feel worse this morning (apparently I gained a kilo this week, despite not eating chocolate. Epic angry fail). I still reckon tomorrow will be better, but today’s probably a write-off. Some days are. It’s 10:00am and I’m going back to bed until further notice. What are you doing today? Or not doing?
#7: Look after your car (and twitter)
For today’s daily awesomeness, I got a full service for our car. That’s $400 BEFORE they find anything else wrong. So it’s a horrifying sort of awesomeness. But the constant nagging fear of, “I bet there’s something wrong with the car” is, for the moment, gone. Today’s service was particularly awesome because I lost control of the car on a turn last month, and it seemed likely that something somewhere would be damaged.
Play along at home: Fix something that, in your heart of hearts, you know needs attention.
Tomorrow S#63/6: Live Music at an Irish Pub (King O’Malley’s)
Hi to the staggering number of newbies this week. Each Friday, in addition to awesomeness, I post the current twitter story-so-far. This month it’s “Bridezilla”. If you want to follow it in real time, you can join it at either http://twitter.com/Louise_Curtis_ (manually add the second underline) or http://www.facebook.com/pages/Louise-Curtis-Books/287050773170?ref=nf.
“BRIDEZILLA” so far:
1.
It’s pay day, so I buy pillows. Luckily my wedding dress makes a good maternity dress. I hope this plan works. Tomorrow, here I come.
2.
I dress as a VERY expectant bride and go to the bakery store. As I order a huge pile of hot cross buns, I put one hand to my giant stomach.
*
“Oh you poor dear!” says the matronly type I’ve been observing for days. “Don’t bother paying for those buns.”
*
She winks, “And may I STRONGLY recommend entering our restaurant-dinner-for-two competition?”
I obey her while silently applauding my act.
3.
Today I’m a goth bride with heavy eye-makeup and blood-red feathers on my neckline. I mingle in the bar before Amanda Palmer’s concert.
*
Amanda comes out, hugs me, then takes in my full outfit. “Congrats,” she says – “And you’re NOT paying – or your fiancé, wherever he is.”
*
Being a goth bride rocks. It’s even better than yesterday’s pregnancy. I’ve never enjoyed a concert so much – or been given so much beer.
4.
I promised my daughter a huge pile of Easter eggs – but I also promised she could continue at her school. So I dress her as my flower girl.
*
Easter eggs: Check. Nausea: check. Chocolate smears on May’s face: check. Getting chocolate for a flower girl at Easter is almost too easy.
*
A shrill voice cuts through my pleasure – my ex-bridesmaid, Cherie. “Anna! Did Rob come back and marry you after all?”
“Uh. . . sure. Yep.”
5.
I’m embarrassed after lying to Cherie, so today I go for the dumped bride look. My mascara runs beautifully, and I get more hot cross buns.
*
As I’m lugging a garbage bag of buns to my car, one of the bakery girls comes and helps me. She says, “Wait a second, do I recognise you?”
*
I shake my head, but she says, “Yes! I saw you dumped on YouTube. . . but that was a month ago. What the. . .?”
I flee.
6.
Today I dress as a mum. An emotionally and financially stable mum. I try to arrange my stockings so the holes are hidden inside my shoes.
*
“We’ve been making allowances because of your. . . incident. . . a month ago. But we must have next term’s fee by the end of this month.”
*
After the meeting, I go give May a hug. Her teacher stops me and asks for my number.
“Oh no! What did May –”
“Nothing. I want to call YOU.”
7.
I eat hot cross buns, and ask my boss for a raise. Neither goes down well.
*
When May gets home, I interrogate her about her dark-haired, dark-eyed teacher.
She says, “He’s nice. I got to be the queen in story time.”
8.
I get the card for the free dinner for two at a real restaurant. Yay! Less than an hour later my landlord “drops by”. Uh-oh.
*
May’s teacher calls, and arranges to pick me up on Saturday. My heart’s fluttering so hard, I can’t eat my dinner (of hot cross buns).
9.
May dresses in her best dress for our dinner of Real Food. I wear a skirt. They greet us with champagne. “Where’s the other newlywed?”
*
“Uh. . . he had to work,” I say. They hustle us to our highly beflowered table and tell us to order anything we want. We do.
*
May gets them to make her a hamburger. I have a huge pile of meat and a giant salad. Neither of us eats our bread rolls.
10.
I re-use my pillows to make myself an overweight bride, and take May with me with only an hour to spare before Jack comes to fetch me.
*
We go to a child care centre. I ask, “Can you fit her in? The reception’s about to start and my normal babysitter quit. Today!”
*
“Of course we can,” the staff say, “and don’t you dare pay!”
My date is wonderful. Jack is good company and the food is DIVINE.
11.
I shave my eyebrows to become a more lucrative faux bride, and go shopping. I’m about to graciously accept free Docs when I see Jack!
*
Jack! Shopping as I scam! Disaster! I duck behind the nice lady’s desk, biting my nails in terror. Has he already seen me?
*
The lady gives a commentary on Jack’s passing. “The hot guy’s trying on sunglasses. . . now he’s going away. He’s gone!”
I flee the scene.
12.
My landlord says, “Pay your rent by Wednesday, or I’ll have you evicted.”
I flaunt my Doc Martens and say breezily, “No prob. See you then.”
13.
May and I spend the first day of her holidays sorting our possessions into “Sell” and “Keep”. I get $3 for four books.
*
We’ve tried ebay and twelve different friends, but oddly no-one will buy May’s lifesize poster of Edward Cullen. Go figure.
*
I eat lunch with Jack. He doesn’t mock my eyebrows, but says, “Can we have dinner Friday – with May?”
“YES! Er, that’d be nice.”
14.
I fake receiving an SMS break-up at the service station and get a free tank of petrol. Nice. My eyes are getting tired from fake crying.
*
May and I put everything we can’t live without into our car and go camping. I don’t think she believes it’s really a holiday.
*
We go swimming in the creek and May finally relaxes and starts to laugh. For dinner, we roast our hot cross buns over the fire.
15.
Pay day. I’d need three more to pay school fees, and there’s only one more this month. But I have a plan. Today we buy food – sort of.
*
Eggs for protein and zucchini for vegetable matter. Somehow, toasting zucchini isn’t the same as toasting marshmallows.
16.
For our dinner date with Jack we eat roast lamb with gravy and pumpkin and potatoes. May doesn’t eat the zucchini, and neither do I.
*
The night is perfect. It’s even kind of fun to pretend to go into our old house before sneaking around the corner to our car.
17.
I dress as a harassed bride and May hides behind a column while I claim a fictional honeymoon booking at a nice hotel – prepaid, of course.
*
May jumps on the bed while I boil eggs. She says, “This is your best idea ever!”
“Wait and see.”
She eats the minibar peanuts, grinning.
18.
I dress as a just-awoken newlywed and score free breakfast. Fortunately for May, they’re willing to deliver my “fiancé’s” meal to our room.
19.
May’s friend Sara calls to ask if May can sleep over next Friday.
I say, “Definitely. How about two nights?”
*
Jack calls and we talk for three hours. Mmm. . . school holidays. When the call ends, I can’t remember a single thing we talked about.
20.
Jack and I meet for lunch again. He admires my new Docs. I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or not, but he’s smiling. Is that bad?
21.
I go to a new shopping centre and run into Rob. (Did I mention my ex-fiancé is a cop?) “Are you going to give me my ring back?” he says.
*
I say, “Are you going to pay me for our reception?”
“We didn’t have one – why should I pay?”
“Because when you cancel on the day, you pay!”
*
“Give me the ring!” he says.
I say, “Give me the six thousand you owe me – and one seriously impressive apology.”
“Get lost!”
“You too!”
22.
I’m having lunch at the hotel when one of the staff asks why they haven’t seen my new husband all week. So much for being a newlywed.
*
My throat tightens. I feel my face flush with humiliation. The waitress blushes back at me and hurries away. Ah. Still a newlywed then!
23.
The hotel is too risky. May has one last jump on the bed, and we pack sadly.
I say, “Don’t worry. My big plan is for Saturday.”
*
I drop her at her friend’s house and prepare to spend my night in the park. All at once, I begin to hate ducks. Pompous freaks.
#95: aka SECRET NUMBER FOUR
#95 is “Give away money”. Is there anything more fun (well okay, probably spending it yourself, but that’s covered in SO many other posts)?
Pick an amount of money that you can live without, and give it away. You can give it to a charity, put it in a Salvos box, take a homeless person to Subway for lunch (or let them choose where to eat), drop it in a stranger’s mailbox (with an explanatory note), or find a uni student and give it to them. Or, if you’re lucky (by some definitions of the word) you have a pov family member.
My sister and brother-in-law are BOTH at uni, AND they’re pregnant, AND she’s my sister. So she was a pretty obvious choice. I called her last night to check it was okay to give her money and blog about it (it so abundantly was), and gave it to her today.
So now she looks a little like this:
Play along at home: $20 can really make someone’s day – and let them do one of the semi-expensive items of awesomeness, should they so choose.
Tomorrow: Fix the car.
#56: Spread Good News
Some of you already knew (the secret’s officially out), but here’s some good news I’ve been bursting to share for quite a while now. . . my sister is pregnant!
Now obviously, I’m delighted for her, her husband, and their child, whose life is pretty sweet so far. But there’s another side to my delight, which I shall explain in these three pictures.
My sister looks pretty much like this:
. . . I look pretty much like this:
But for most of this year, my sister will look like this:
You go, girl!
Play along at home: Get pregnant, and tell people (not recommended for all players). Find some good news – even if it’s just a friend’s birthday coming up – and share it with the world.
In other news, today I discovered http://emmylennevald.blogspot.com/ who is also doing everything on Steff Metal’s awesome list – http://steffmetal.com/101-ways-to-cheer-yourself-up/. Who knew there were two of us?
Felicity Banks 