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My exam high was short-lived; by the end of the next day I’d been crash-tackled by Depression and found myself in exactly the ditch I was in before my study started up again. If Depression leaving was sudden and surprising, his return was even more so. I still feel winded. 

I’d been thinking of postponing applying for Psychology until the June intake next year, so that the majority of the 18 months it takes to complete the course would fall in 2016, when Mo will be at school and Hazel could start some kind of daycare. I thought the time would fly by, and I’d enjoy having the space to read and write and watch things and relax before June turned up, but the days following my exam went by so slowly and painfully and boringly that waiting until June looked impossible, and I started daydreaming about running away so that I wouldn’t have to feel sad and trapped for a single hour longer.

I approached to The Key-Holder to My Freedom (aka Alan) and beseeched him to consider making some sacrifices to allow me to not want to die quite so much, and he said a half yes, and has half taken some steps to half make it happen. It is half progress, and I’m half relieved by it. I’ve applied for the course. I’ve no idea if I’ll get in, or, if I do, whether I will fail miserably at every subject, at which point The Key-Holder to My Freedom (aka Alan) will roll his eyes and say, possibly only implicitly, “Look at the sacrifice I made so that you could fail miserably!”

I don’t know what I’ll do then.

Exam day

from here

After a week or so of studying in most available moments, my brain was to my notes what one magnet is to another magnet of the same polarity. I therefore decided last night to prioritise sleep over cramming, and jumped into bed at 10pm. Approximately 2.5 minutes later, Moses (who had taken forE.V.E.R to drift off earlier) started whimpering, so I asked him what was up and he said he needed water; I got him some water, told him to go back to sleep, and jumped back into bed. Not long after that he started whimpering again, and I informed him sternly that if he couldn’t sleep he had to lie there quietly while he tried, because everyone else needed sleep and we didn’t want to be disturbed (he sleeps in our room). He responded by throwing up.

This is the third time Mo’s vomited in his life so far, and the first time it’s continued for a bit rather than just being a one-off type thing. Anyway, I won’t bang on about it except to say that as it turns out, I do not cope well with vomit or vomiting people, even if it’s my own child (I’d been hoping that if I ever found myself in a position of having to care for a repeatedly-spewing child that some maternal thing would kick in and override my gag reflex, but no. Let the record show that that did not happen). Fortunately it turns out that Alan’s really good with vomiting people! So hurrah for Team Morrow. Next time I’ll know my job is to run around grabbing towels and remaking the bed and gagging and wringing my hands and feeling useless, because Alan has the soothing and bucket-emptying and cuddling and sheet-washing covered. This is good to know.

Hazel vomited this morning, only once. I had a feeling she might, because Alan had dressed her in a light woollen jumper that had finally made it back into her wardrobe after around 4 months of waiting to be washed (I’ll aim to have it clean and dry again by next winter). Alan thinks Hazel’s brief spew is unrelated to Mo’s and completely coincidental. I think not, even though I’ve no idea what the actual cause was. We’ve agreed to disagree.

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My exam is done! The last time I did an exam was at the end of 2012 (one day before finding out I was pregnant with Hazel, in fact). After that one, I lay down my pen when time was up and thought to myself, “I TOTALLY SMASHED THAT EXAM.” This morning when time was up I lay down my pen and thought to myself, “I think I’ve passed?”

For the rest of the day post-exam I celebrated by having lunch and a cinnamon scroll at the park with Alan, Mo and Hazel, going to the library and then playing soccer at another park with Mo, then heading to the post office to wait around at the post box for the guy to come and empty it because I wasn’t sure if I’d sealed the envelope shut before dropping my exam into it earlier (you may be thinking, how much of what she studied could she have possibly remembered if she couldn’t even say, 3 minutes after putting her exam papers into an envelope and posting it, whether or not she’d sealed that envelope? and I’d reply to you, THAT IS A VERY GOOD QUESTION)(It turns out I had sealed the envelope, if that makes you feel better). We finished off the day by doing blind honey tests, in which we each tasted the two different honeys in our pantry to see if there really was a difference between the cheap one and the expensive one (Alan: There’s no difference except for the price. Me: There IS a difference, and I will prove it to you). I won. (Mo thinks both are yummy.)

And now I’m blogging! Weeeee! And I realise that I was doing that even before my exam, but now I’m blogging sans guilt, and it feels WONDERFUL! I’m off to watch some guilt-free TV and go to bed guilt-free late! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Studying [TV, movies and books] Very Hard

My exam has been booked in on the 11th of November, and now that it’s attached to an actual date rather than being a vague “at some point during the next month” thing, I’ve started freaking out, knuckling down, and properly procrastinating. It is for this reason that I have no idea what the point or definition of a sacrament is, but I’m completely up-to-date with the latest episodes of John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme and am two-thirds of the way through The Wife Drought by Annabel Crabb (this season isn’t the funniest of the Souvenir Programme, but it’s still an enjoyable way of passing the time; The Wife Drought is gold in a hilarious but also infuriating way - I’ll be bombarding you with quotes soon). Please allow me to now tell you about more fascinating non-study things I’ve been spending my time on (the clever thing about blogging as procrastination is that I’m sitting at my computer and I look like I’m working!!!!!!):

I’ve just finished watching the first season of Girls, which I kind of expected to hate but didn’t. It’s funny. I love that the characters are messy and ordinary, and that they’re more interested in figuring out who to be and what to do with their lives than shopping for shoes or finding Mr Right; I keep thinking, “I’ve never seen anything so normal on TV before,” and I LOVE that. I love that I can see a younger me in their self-centredness and angst and also in their friendships and fun; there was a scene in which Hannah and Marnie crazy dance in their apartment, and the refreshing relatability of it made me teary. I hope season two’s just as good.

As for movies I’ve seen lately, the film August: Osage County was brilliant, but a couple of the characters are just a leeeettle too close to the crazy person trapped inside me I’m absolutely terrified will one day claw her way out, so I think perhaps I got too emotionally involved and ended up feeling battered and nervous when it was over. I really liked it, though. In a painful, scared way. 

The film About Time was not what I’d expected; I’d assumed, seeing the movie poster when it was out, that the title referred to a long-awaited marriage proposal, which seemed a bit dull and overdone, but it turns out I’d made an ass of u and me because it’s not about that at all. I liked it, and though it was cheesy and I felt as though I was being emotionally manipulated throughout the entire film, it was quite touching in parts (even with me rebelling and trying very hard not to be moved) and overall pretty good. The soundtrack was made up of songs I have in a single playlist, so I kinda felt like it should have been my movie match, but there was a lot that I found unrealistic about it (besides the main premise, which was expectedly unrealistic), although maybe some wives are always cheery, gorgeous, quick to forgive, and fun to be around, like Rachel McAdams’ character, and it’s just that I’m not her and therefore find it hard to believe. Poor Alan. Also I get rather cranky when very skinny actors who have supposedly just had their second child put on a dress and say, “But this makes me look lumpy!” You want to see lumps, McAdams?! I screech at the television. I’LL SHOW YOU LUMPS! It made me pine for season two of Girls.

And Hope Springs was okay, but I didn’t understand Tommy Lee Jones’ character at all, so I just spent the whole movie wanting to yell at him and give Meryl Streep hugs. And towards the end I thought maybe I’d worked him out but he then did things that didn’t make sense with who he’d been before that, so I just gave up. I did like Steve Carell as the marriage counsellor, but then I’d like Steve Carell as anything, so that wasn’t particularly surprising. Are you still with me? I’m running out of things to review.

Oooh, books! I’ve been reading a bit, too. Having now ploughed my way through three of her novels, I can tell you that I have a bit of a crush on Liane Moriarty (I even sent her a fan letter, so… it’s pretty serious). My favourite was The Last Anniversary. Her writing always makes me laugh, and her characters (most of them, at least) are very likeable, and the stories have just enough intrigue to keep you wanting to stand around and read instead of, say, making your child the toast he’s been politely, and then less politely, asking you for over the last hour or so little while. I enjoyed The Husband’s Secret slightly less than What Alice Forgot and The Last Anniversary, but I still liked it, and I will continue to borrow and devour whatever writing of hers I can get my addicted hands onto. (When I raved to a friend about The Last Anniversary she looked at the cover of the book and said, “Annelise, this looks like chicklit.” I have no idea what chicklit is, but if it’s embarrassing then please just imagine this last paragraph was whispered, and we’ll never speak of it again.)

I also read Can’t We Talk About Something More PLEASANT? by Roz Chast, which I borrowed from the library without really knowing what it was (I’d skim-read a review and reserved it more because I trust the reviewer than because I’d paid any attention to what she’d said about it); I loved this one, too. It’s a memoir in words and drawings about Chast’s elderly parents’ last few years of life, and it’s quite funny and quite sad and incredibly honest, which I always appreciate. Athough it will be many years until my parents are in their 90s (my grandparents still aren’t in their 90s), it answered some questions I didn’t know I had (yes, it may be the case that not everything will feel like it’s been resolved when your parents die; yes, you may therefore still have angry dreams about them after they’re gone, etc.) and brought up questions I guess I’ll have to wait to find out the answer to (Roz is an only child, so it therefore fell to her to make the decisions about her parents’ care; what do you do when you’re one of 9 [on my mum’s side] or one of 4 [on my dad’s]? Do step-children get a say too [that would bump the numbers up to 11 and 8, respectively]? Are there rules about things like this? Do we need to have an idea early, or do we just wait and see who’s still around and what we’re all up to?). Here’s a small sample from the book:

from here

So, yeah. You should read it. Op, Hazel’s awake! Better go get her up. Such a pity – I was just about to start studying.

Not my 300th post

from here

This is my 306th post. 

The PND’s gone. Disappeared. Skedaddled. And good riddance to him! I don’t know what happened; I was at my lowest, desperate for relief, looking into medication options, wondering why no one had stepped in to remove my children from my care when I was so clearly doing a terrible job of looking after them, and then, one day, I was me again – no need for a way out, no need for meds, no need for DOCS. The discouraging mantra (Ican’tdothisIcan’tdothisIcan’tdothis) that had been playing relentlessly in my brain stopped. It was as quick and as surprising as that. 

I’ve been enjoying having me back since then, although I’m still feeling cautious, like I could switch back just as suddenly at any moment (though that fear is subsiding with every passing week). In the middle of stressful or exhausting or sad situations now I watch myself and say, “Look at you, coping with this!” knowing that only a few months ago I couldn’t have, and I feel proud and excited and free. All of me laughs when I laugh now. I no longer panic when people ask how I’m going. It’s awesome. 

The most obvious then-now comparison is my reaction to Katy Perry’s Roar. There was an afternoon earlier this year when I listened to the lyrics and felt the exact opposite of everything she was singing: I was zero rather than hero, I was not a fighter, nor was I lion-like. I was down, and getting up sounded like far too much effort. I was weary and weak and I’d probably never amount to anything and I’d be miserable for the rest of my life. I turned the song up, closed the blind so that my neighbours wouldn’t see me, dropped my head into my hands, and sobbed. 

Not too long ago I put the song on again, and that time it stirred up all the empowered, do-some-martial-arts-moves feelings it’s meant to. I cried then, too, but only because it was such a clear example of how much my head had changed since the last listen.  

Also, late last year when I first wrote this post, I ended the first paragraph with “Alan continued to pursue his dreams, and I gave mine up.” It was with some effort that I forced myself to change it to “and I put mine on hold” a few months later when I put it up on my blog, but even then I didn’t fully believe myself. Life felt full enough just helping Alan, Mo and Hazel do their thing; it felt like there was no space left for me to even think about what my thing might be, let alone do it. 

But I had enough mental energy to see this wasn’t a healthy way of thinking and most certainly wouldn’t be a healthy way to plan my future, so I forced myself to test Parkinson’s Law (“work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion”) to see if everything else of everyone else’s could shrink if I jammed some study into the mix and it turns out it could. And I love studying. I remember that now. Especially theology. And hopefully psychology, too: once this class is over and I graduate, I’m planning (with some apprehension but also a good dose of yayness) to apply for a Grad Dip in Psychology, and (assuming they want me) finally start the process of becoming better equipped at one of my favourite pastimes (psychoanalysing everyone). (My other favourite pastime is using brackets.) 

I’ve no idea where that’ll end me up, but I’ll work that out when I get closer to needing to; for now it’s just nice to have a path ahead, a direction to travel in, and to know that this time it’s my dreams I’m following, and that it’s possible for our family to dream-chase alongside one another. It’ll be hard work, I know, but I think I’ll be okay (because I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar).