What’s my age again?

Recent ways in which I have spectacularly failed to be a grown-up, a responsible human being, or even remotely sensible:

• Re-discovering the joy of walking along, music loud in my ears, and singing as if no one is watching or listening. The problem is that, of course, quite a few people ARE watching and listening. I fear I may start to be known as “that crazy girl” in my home town after accidentally making several people jump with sudden bursts of “I am a mountain!” while standing at traffic lights.
• Sitting down in the middle of the pavement and crying. Twice.
• Deciding that my hairdresser had cut my hair too short, wailing nonsensically at my reflection for several minutes and vowing to spend the next month in bed until it had grown back.
• Making a very silly video. Forgetting that said silly video would be viewed by many people. Sensible people. Including a PR from Microsoft who may have sent me an email saying that he “wasn’t sure he could eat Frazzles that way”.
• Managing, on a single day, to run out of nappies, milk and clean pants for my husband.
• Wearing a floaty dress on a windy day. And having said floaty dress blow straight up over my head Marilyn Munroe stylee. In front of two open mouthed pedestrians.
• Consuming enough rum to keep several small islands in economic security for several months and then spending an evening unabashedly leching over the male bar staff of a popular Mexican restaurant. There may have been Twitpics. Of their bottoms. (I am mostly holding @cosmicgirlie responsible for this one – love you lady, thanks for a fab night).
• Becoming embroiled in some kind of random game of Mallett’s Mallet with a mysterious texter, the conversation of which appears below (thanks to random Twitter peeps for help in decided what to text back)

Texter: “Irish”
Texter: “Knowsley”
Me: “Asparagus”
Texter: “Twat”
Me: “DESPAIR”
Texter: “Put yer teeth in”
Me: “Pee into the wind”
Texter: “Oh dear its his old number, sorry”

• Being quite disappointed that the above exchange did not mean I was being drawn into some Da Vinci code-esque mystery in which I would eventually discover Jesus hiding somewhere in Knowsley.
• Being generally unstable, moody, needy, selfish, paranoid, manic and forgetting to think before speaking.
• Letting my heart rule my head.
• Many, many more things too numerous to count.

Ways in which I have sort-of redeemed myself this proving that there may still be hope for me yet:

• Keeping a family of three fed, watered, alive and mostly in clean clothes for another week.
• Folding and putting away the enormous pile of clothes that has been growing ever bigger in our bedroom and developing its own weather system.
• Mostly remembering to wear sensible underwear. I am especially glad of this one in light of the Marilyn Monroe incident.
• Getting up off the pavement and carrying on walking.
• Deciding that my hair wasn’t that bad after all and getting over myself.
• Not giving out my phone number to any of the male bar staff OR touching them inappropriately. Go me.
• Generally remembering to eat.
• Recognising when my mood was dipping and doing sensible things to make myself feel better. Like going for a walk, and singing, and sleeping.
• Not getting on the wrong train. On purpose.
• Letting my head rescue my heart before it did too much damage.

All in all I think this means I’m doing OK.

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