Shallow is as shallow does

So i’ve been pretty tired lately.  In fact, i’ve been tired all year.

I figured my life would improve after I sorted out all my shit with family court.  Custody arrangements are now running like a well-oiled machine.  Well, as good as anyhow.  A few grumbling moments where the traffic has been so thick you could probably walk across the car rooftops and get to your destination quicker – but essentially all is well on that front.  Well, not really but for the sake of this article lets just say all the “big bad” stuff is behind us.

When you’ve been through something BIG.  It kind of takes over your soul for a while, and you no longer live and breath who you truly are.  You take on the persona of the person you NEED to be.  You gather paperwork, think about the shit that has been thrown at you – and then strategically throw some back.  Its what you have to do.  Its eat or be eaten.  I fell back on the truth, and it didn’t fail me – but truth still needs to be compiled and curated and presented and at the end of the day, first impressions count.  Appearances count.  Its frustrating that the whole world runs on image, facade and all of that – but I guess i’m not immune to it.

To cut a long story short, I came out the other end of this saga feeling GREAT.  No, actually that’s a lie.  I had mixed feelings.  Of course, any trip to the ol’ courthouse involves compromise and there is never any clear winner.  Coming to terms with outcomes, has taken a good part of the year.  That was the easy part.  Recovering physically and mentally as a whole has been something of a journey that I never expected would be on the agenda.  When you have come out the other side, you suddenly feel the aches and pains, and the grumblings of a body sorely neglected.  You think you are falling apart, but actually you have just awoken to yourself.  The pains have been there all along, but running on adrenaline has masked it all.  So, discovering that you’ve neglected yourself is a bit of a rude awakening.

This year I have been really tired.  Chronically iron deficient.  Slightly hypoglycemic. Totally unfit.  verging on overweight. (yeah yeah, I know but when you know yourself a few or FIVE extra kg’s is a fair addition!)    I’ve also been sleeping with a lego man clock.  No, that’s not what it sounds like.  Its just a clock, in the shape of a man.  It glows in the dark when you hit it on the head – and so, in the darkness I can figure out what time it is and decide whether to drag my sorry arse out of bed.   The first half of the year involved being late almost every day.  Then one of the schools decided to change the start time without broadcasting it in a way that screamed WE ARE STARTING TEN MINUTES EARLIER so I missed the subtle announcement and my boy was REALLY late for a while until he decided to tell me one day, offhandedly – “i’m always late because school starts earlier now”.  Well, WHY didn’t you tell me that a couple of months earlier?

The second half of the year, involved lego-clock anxiety.  I would sleep next to the clock, and wake throughout the night to whack it on the head – only to discover it was only 2 am, or 3am, or 4am – and in this way I managed to ensure I knew what time it was right through the night – and simultaneously ensure that I was also LATE.

I don’t really have time to chat to parents at either school.  Usually I’m late, and I tag team pickups betwixt the two locations with a combination of after school care bookings and friends and neighbours.  Its not that anybody is particularly unfriendly, its just that they can’t catch me edge-ways right?   I’m usually in fast forward trying to get the kids to gymnastics, or soccer or whatever happens to be the latest thing.  I’ve noticed that in my quiet weeks, parents don’t particularly jump up to speak with me.  I’m an introvert, and would happily just stand around being ignored by fellow mums and dads.  Everybody knows who I am.  I’m the girl who used to wear the head scarf, and who has two ex husbands, and three kids between them.  I am the girl who has opted to wear the scarf turban style, with earrings and red lipstick.  Or some days, no make-up and a grey beanie with a great big pom-pom on top.  I don’t always look like roses.  I live around the corner from school.  On the weeks where I don’t have two schools to get to, i’m still late.  Its just been my existence for a while.

Enter, job offer.  I’ve decided its time to wake up and smell the money.  Seriously, it is time to get a job and get my arse out of this decline i’ve slipped into.  The offer is there, the business is on the cusp of beginning (this seems like a fairly large leap, sloth to office worker).  The weather is getting milder, i’m feeling great.  I’m still tired, but i’ve booked in to see the gastroenterologist and get an iron transfusion which ought to give me some additional spring in my step.  I’ve got a hair cut.  I’ve got new shoes.  I’ve… .. got people commenting on my fucking appearance at the school.  Every man and his dog is stopping to say “ohh, so you’ve dyed your hair have you” (turban shows hair peeking out) and all of a sudden I have people stopping to talk to me.  I have parents inviting my children over for play dates, or vice versa.  There is a general feeling of being slightly closer to the community that is the school – and sometimes I wonder, does it have something to do with appearances.  I look happy, therefore people want to approach me.  I look tired, people steer clear.  Or is it down to trivia and frivolity.  I wear makeup, and look tidy, people want to know me.  I suppose where I live, there aren’t many head scarves – let alone weird single mums who get around wearing beanies all year round.  So I have to give it to the parents for even putting in any effort.  Even the ones who put in too much effort, and seem like they are talking to a small puppy dog.  No seriously, get a grip.

It is not all doom and gloom.  I’m just about to start some work, i’ve lost some weight and i’m about to be hit with a 12 month supply of iron. Woo!  When i’ve got all my energy back, you bastards won’t know what hit you.



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