I’m writing a blog post.
No more of this “eh, eh, am too busy, am too over worked, am too stressed to write anything on the blog” BEN-DAR-ISM.
For THAT is what it has been.
Pure. Unadulterated. Benderism.
Is Bender a rude word? Can someone tell me? I’m not sure. It sounds politically incorrect but in this torrential, feverish twanging of the Benderism I am going to have to use whatever wordage comes to me.
So what is Benderism? Well, in my case it’s a combination of Overload, Rah Wave, Procrastination and feeling the watchful eye of a few Local Critics here and there.
It’s been a built up Benderism following the polar shift that took place in my life seven months ago. Since that time I’ve felt rather like I am staggering around in The Round About Land from Enid Blyton’s book The Magic Faraway Tree. One minute I’m on firm ground, then WHAM, I’m rolling down a hill and landing in a bush. People I thought I knew seemed to fade into little faces on the horizon. At the same time brand new characters, relationships and personalities have flashed into my life and are popping up like magic flowers all the time. So THAT has been going on.
Now throw into this cauldron of madness my new found Single Mamadom, the launch of Grow Your Own Gorgeousness, my Positive Perspective workshops lifting off, preparing a house to sell, Christmas, New Year and …. WAHH-LAH! We have a frothing, bubbling stew that even Heston Blumenthal would stand back and scratch his head at.
This foaming monster of a Rah Wave finally exploded on November 27th.
I fell off a rope swing.
This was a shock.
I’ve never banged my head like that before and lying there on the leafy ground, my head centimetres away from a jagged tree stump, I didn’t feel hurt. I just felt really sad. It was a proper, soggy hearted, tear-welling, water logged sadness. Lying there, I thought … “Need a little rest. And a hug. And some quiet time.”
So then I made like a mole. I stopped writing the blog. I hung up my pencil-case. I tucked my dreams for GYOG into the bedroom drawer. I went underground and decided that I would just focus on me and the children and earning some pennies.
That was about two months ago.
And that’s what I’ve been doing.
Moling it up.
But lately something has been bothering me. It’s not just getting that itchy feet feeling – do you ever get that?. It’s not even that I keep looking longingly at the drawer where the GYOG dream has been folded up so neatly. It’s not the doleful glances that my pencil-case keeps casting across the kitchen.
The thing that’s bothering me is that I’ve started feeling scared.
1. Scared to get down the pencil-case.
2. Scared to unfold the GYOG vision.
3. Scared that the Gorgeousness voice can never be heard in the thundering noise of the mainstream world.
4. Scared to put my neck out of the mole hill.
5. Scared of people’s reactions.
6. Scared that – and this is the scariest one – that I might fall on my face.
And what we have above is basic Benderism. My gorgeous, clever, witty and much loved step-sister-type-person is studying medicine in York and I am sure she will vouch that these are definite Benderism symptoms.
Question is, how does one cure such an infliction? Well, without knowing it, Life has started twanging me little remedies. The beautiful Janin of Fingerprints, Munich, sent me with an email about self belief that twanged me out of my mole hill and into the stark sunlight. Then, the Goddess Fosbury wiped all the sleepy dust from my eyes and reminded me to “think big” and to “forget the critics and stop being limited by geography/location”. And then another friend, texted to say, “Missing the blogs. I haven’t seen one for a while”.
Finally, last week, the ultimate dose of twanging arrived. I was working in The Deli when the door exploded open and this wild, eccentric scruff bag (sorry if you read this scruff bag man) exploded in. He ordered latte and then turned breathlessly to me and declared, “I am making a short film about dreams for my film school brief”
“Sleepy dreams, or aspirational dreams?” I inquired.
“Either … anything will do,” he boomed.
“You should film that,” I said, nodding to the flower pattern on top his latte. “That is like dream art.”
“You’re right, yes, you’re right!” Urgently he rummaged through his coat pocket and produced a small handheld video camera. “I will get a shot of it. And er, what about you? Would you be willing to talk about dreams and let me film you?”
“OK,” I shrugged.
So he did. He filmed me. And I talked about dreams. I’m not going to tell you what I said because it involved a large vanilla flavoured sponge metaphor, with childhood ideas, experiences, life ingredients and essential aromas all mixed in. By the end of my speech the scruffy film maker looked baffled but pleased and he shambled off, whistling happily.
He was the last Twanger of my Benderism. And I would like to thank him. Because he reminded me that dreams aren’t meant to be neatly folded in drawers like age old love letters. They are scruffy, messy, eccentric, wild, bold and free. They are delicious like vanilla sponge cakes with gold sprayed loganberries, silver balls and praline swirls. Bringing dreams out reminds me of thinking “oh fuck it” then dragging out the gold leaf tea set and having a flamboyant, raucous tea party without worrying over spilt crumbs or the washing up later. And THAT reminds me of this scene from one of my top films, withnail and I. Look.
After that final twanging I was all very much “right that’s IT” with GYOG.
So I declared two days of the week MINE, MINE, MINE and drew a great circle around them in red pen (sometimes quality of time is more valuable than quantity of money, don’t you think?).
Now I have some space.
And I’m not sad.
In fact I am happy.
Very, very happy.
The Benderism has been twanged and a blog post is written.
PS. I do know what bender means really. Apologies to anyone who is bendy and insulted by such word usage. Love xxx