155: Addicted to Love

Image taken from  Pinterest

Image taken from Pinterest

I made a list of things I was going to try and do better this year, and one of those things was to no longer be an ostrich. And actually, I've been a lot better at that

Until this week. 

I've absolutely deliberately tried not at all to think about next week. 

I've kept myself so irritatingly busy that now I stop, and try to catch my breath, the breathe gets a little caught up in my throat. I wrapped my arms around Lady Literate to say goodbye to her earlier today, and nearly burst into tears. And still I keep pushing it down. I mean, eventually it's gonna be like some proper classy champers and pop, right? I'm putting my money on that being whilst I'm shopping in Tesco / watching Frozen with Mini B / or when I drop something on the slate kitchen floor at home. 

I've been feeling so nervous that I've not wanted to address it. At all. 

The usual things can make me nervous; exams, a long haul flight with a toddler in tow, presenting to a panel, meeting Tom Hiddleston / Ryan Gosling / Chuck Bass, that sorta thing. Or even a single-shot movie about a woman who decides whilst high on ectasy that yes, helping three men she's just met to execute a bank robbery at 4am is a great idea. That made me very nervous. (It was also brilliant and called "Victoria" with review in the link above.) We know I'm a slightly higher than average anxious being, so it's not really a surprise that I'd be feeling nervous and it be releasing itself in unforeseen ways, sure. 

But some other things have happened in my world these last ten days which has not only served to make me all the more nervous, but has also made me stop and go "seriously guys, what the fuck is the point?" 

It was with Lady Schmidt that I came to the conclusion that it must simply be all for LOVE. Without it we are lesser, poorer beings, and at these times in our lives when shit hits the fan, people's outpourings of love is really the only genuine thing that can make things better. 

I desperately try, thanks to Mama Acorn, to spend each day seeking out a silver lining moment, and I desperately try to pair that with a bit of hope on my social media because really, it's psychosomatic: if I say it aloud then surely I feel it too. But I am quite quickly, frenetically and often in a panic mode, paddling like a motherfucker below the surface. 

And so I spent the weekend letting Mini B ride on buses with Mini Literate constantly and not wanting to go home, favouring instead to sit with my friend of some twenty five years, cook mac & cheese and dance to Elton John. (And so we didn't leave until we absolute deigned it really was necessary because packing for the hospital / staying at my Mama's for however long it may be, really won't get done itself). But the alternative was facing the next few days head on. And that just ain't my style, readers. 

Until now. I'm gonna now. I will. 

So, as I sign off and see you on the other side of half a right lung, I simply pop this link below. Cancer affects too many of us - every one of us even - and my god, it must be time that a cure was magically found. Do we ever really need a reason to donate? No. But sometimes reasons happen that force us to feel that poignancy all the stronger. 

This post is dedicated to Pod, John, and Emma.

Be good and bake well,

Lady Bakewell-Park