So, what’s been happening for the last few weeks? Well, let’s swiftly mention the mad rush up to Christmas and how frustrating and busy the build up to the day itself can be, then you’ve got the couple of days afterwards whereby another chocolate might send you over the edge and you could easily cross that line and murder a family member, the bombardment of sales in every shop, taking up every ad break on TV and still you don’t find anything you want to buy when out of sheer boredom you venture towards the mayhem of the High Street. Then there’s the going back to work thing, having realised you’ve put on a huge amount of weight – damn those bloody chocolates! – and by then, ‘Happy New Year’ is the last thing you want to hear.
Yet, it’s only those things in isolation that might’ve been responsible for my bad mood over the last couple of weeks. And by that I mean for like, 5 minutes a day when someone else had eaten the last Orange Cream or going to the shop for milk is like facing the enemy across No Man’s Land or I wished I could prove that the bathroom scales were lying. Sure, there was bickering and ‘No! I’M watching THAT movie now!’ or when the thought of setting an alarm and going back to work after 2 weeks off was the last thing I wanted taking up my Me Time. But overall, I just couldn’t explain why I was waking up like a bag of weasels, stomping around like the whole world was against me and then finding out that there wasn’t as much as a Strawberry Cream left in the huge full-five-minutes-ago pillarbox size box of Quality Street! Even Molly and Fizzy were beginning to look at me strangely and profusely thanked me each time I fed them without giving out to them for just being there.
What the hell was going on with me?! The more I couldn’t explain it, the more annoyed I got! Now, there’s stuff going on, well, everyone always has stuff going on.. but I just couldn’t tell you exactly what had turned me into a such a right old cranky arse. Any patience I may have had, had long since disappeared. I was getting to the stage that before I said anything, I was nearly automatically counting to ten, thinking I was bound to bite someone else’s head off. Last Saturday was a doozy – I dragged my sorry self around town for a couple of hours, I could even see people reacting in horror to the scowl on my face, I ‘meh’d’ everything I picked up and didn’t try on anything, even though I had made it my mission to buy some clothes that day. I took my sorry ass back to HQ and was momentarily cheered up through the power of My Other Dad and my friend Jim Beam. I was very buzzy by the time I met McSmile but then I got all antsy with him and soon he couldn’t say anything without an accusation or worse from me. Oh by then I was drunkedy drunk drunk, of course, and we all know what that means, right? Tears. And snot. And wailing. And more tears and more snot. I got to the stage whereby I was so annoyed with myself I just blurted out to him that I really didn’t know what was wrong with me!
Then there was the lightbulb moment.
‘Hey, Glitter! It’s OK! You’re nearly 35, it’s your birthday soon. It’s just a thing.’
‘What? Really?’ Sob. Deep breath. Sob. Sigh.
‘When I turned 35 I went a bit funny for a while too. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be OK. I promise.’
And then there was laughing and the tears and snot went away. And there was kissing. And when I woke up, I was OK. Everything seemed OK. My Lightbulb Moment.