Diary of A Middle-Aged Woman Part Two

This was my diary for last week.

There was THE GOOD

  • Out of all the potential for things going horrendously wrong when you force your non-conformist ADHD teenager to the school formal (where drink and drugs are not allowed), Kurt only forgot his date’s corsage. U-turn on the Harbour Bridge in rush hour – too easy; Valium taken – nil.
  • Bought tickets to fawn over the legend that is John Legend at the Opera House.
  • English: Freestyle skiing jump
    English: Freestyle skiing jump (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    Ski team quarterly meet at Starfish restaurant in Avalon, which is still my absolute favourite restaurant for fish in Sydney. Melt-in-your-mouth breaded whitebait followed by the freshest Snapper in some zingy Asian marinade and then the climactic Chocolate Lava Cake, that beats orgasm hands-down every time. It was my turn to drive, but the food more than made up for having to tolerate the company of drunks. Of course when I say ‘the ski team’, a more apt description might be the Fair Weather and Schnapps Ski team. That’s not to say that there are no serious contenders for the middle-aged winter Olympics in our group, but the majority of us will only don our Aldi ski wardrobe in perfect conditions. Ie. sun out, kids in, and the waft of mulled wine greeting us on the final slope.

  • NC tidied her room and her sheets walked themselves to the laundry. I have questioned her continued misrepresentation of her tidiness to NB (Nerd Boy), but even she realises that exposing him to her special level of  ‘cockroach-fest’ mess might threaten their relationship.
  • Kurt carried his dinner plate from the living area, identified what that funny white machine in the kitchen was, and placed it inside.
  • Bought Kurt a set of drums as part of yet another negotiation package. (Sort of). If the sound of Kurt banging away to Nirvana all hours of the day does compete with the neighbours yapping dogs, revenge will be all too sweet.

    The Drum Kit
    The Drum Kit (Photo credit: Rossco ( Image Focus Australia ))
  • Inspiration – if you didn’t catch this video, watch it and weep and be thankful that these angels exist…



  • An hour of torture in the dentist chair just to get half my old bird teeth squeaky
    clean with the aid of (what I am certain was) illegal quantities of anaesthesia to prevent me from leaping out of aforementioned chair and adhering myself to the ceiling. Only I could be stupid enough to organize a meeting two hours afterwards. I had sorely under-calculated the size of the invisible rugby ball that would be lodged in my gums afterwards as I attempted to verbalise what was in my head. Thank God for my talent for ‘charades’. Unfortunately, I also chose to ignore the hygienist when she told me not to drink or eat anything for 3 or 4 hours. I didn’t spill hot coffee down my chin but the sound effects of my slurping can’t have been attractive.
  • Typewriter
    Typewriter (Photo credit: higginskurt)

    It was a week of very little sense of achievement. I fear that I am in danger of ‘cruising’ mentally as my day job becomes seasonally quieter and my personality-type struggles with the lack of structure to the day. I work best in ‘manic’ gear. When I cruise, I struggle to get out from under the covers and then flit about like a fly under a bright light, becoming distracted by anything and everything until I reach the end of the day and question where the fuck the time went. I did, however, make some progress with the next Booker Prize winner (my book) but am editing and re-editing my opening chapter. Would this make you want to read on?

She sensed that something wasn’t quite right as she turned her key in the lock of the front door.


She noticed the heavy silence immediately. It hung uncharacteristically in the air, almost as choking as smoke.. Usually there would be the comforting cacophony of ‘home’ noise inside.


James did shift work, so he was often at home when she arrived back. He enjoyed his own company and could usually be found mowing the lawn or surfing the net for new music. He spent a lot of time on his own these days. She suspected that he was in the middle of some sort of midlife crisis.


Will would normally be at home at that time too, now that he’d been kicked out of school. He would be belting out a very different genre of music to James, and typically unsociably loudly, with scant regard for their neighbours or anyone else. That was one of the reasons they’d concealed him away in the room at the very top of their large terraced house – like Mrs Rochester in Jane Eyre.


One of the reasons.


But everything was very still on that Monday afternoon, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the pervasive tick of the kitchen clock.


She couldn’t have understood the implications of that silence then, as she pulled the door closed behind her. In fact it would be a long time before she would fully appreciate what closing the front door that day would come to symbolize. That she was shutting the door on her old world, and entering the next phase of her life.


And then there was THE FUGLY

  • MYLIE CYRUS, WTF possessed you to don that white body suit in public? I don’t want to see your labia while I’m eating my dinner and furthermore, it has been proven by scientists this very week that pubes have a function and we need to leave them the fuck alone. For the sake of the sisterhood, please let them free to do their work.
  • The house is a permanent shit pit in spite of me carrying the vacuum all the way down from the attic and looking at it pensively for two whole days.
  • The baby belly continues to grown at an alarming rate and for no apparent reason, but most probably because it knows that it is almost bikini season. I would calculate that my due date is sometime after Christmas.  When the dental hygienist asked me if I might be pregnant, I nearly punched her teeth out.

How was your week?

Diary Of A Middle-Aged Woman

I’ve been suffering from writer’s block recently. I’m hoping it’s not terminal but being the hypochondriac that I am, I’m sure it probably is.

Anyway, it’s not that I can’t think of subject matter, it’s just that I seem to have mis- placed my humor somewhere and so it worries me that My Midlife Mayhem may turn into bleh.

My choices, in such dire circumstances, are either to drop the blog immediately like a hot brick and step back from it for a while, reflect and then kill myself, or carry on and hope you’ll forgive my sub-standard prose. If I step away and self-evaluate, I may never come back, rather like what has happened in my relationship with exercise.

So I’ve decided to carry on in the face of adversity, and pray I don’t lose my authenticity, my three loyal readers or bore the pants off anyone.

Please bear with me at this difficult time.

In an attempt to help me get through this dry spell, I’m trying something new called The Good, The Bad, and the Fugly on Sundays, a sort of diary of my week, where I will mull over the highs and lows of the previous seven days.

Warts n’all.

So here’s The GOOD!

IMG_2184Kurt performed at a local fete last Sunday. If you are a roadie parent you’ll know the trials and tribulations of being a minion to your Prima Donna spawn, just for those few magic minutes on stage. Unfortunately last Sunday’s conditions did not bode well for the artist formerly known as the Devil’s Spawn. It was a stinky hot day with a       strong breeze and when we arrived at the venue we discovered that the ‘set-up’ did not meet Kurt’s professional expectations. Minion 1 was quickly dispatched to source cabling while Minion 2 was forced to lug heavy equipment from one side of the performing area to the other until the sound was comparable to the Concert Hall at the Opera House.

By the time Kurt was ready to perform, the breeze had developed into a howling tempest and his audience was reduced to parents, the local homeless and a few market stall holders frantically holding onto their gazebos. But the boy performed through it, ever the true professional, sweat pouring down his face, voice driving through the gusts, humor (‘I love you, Glastonbury!’) shining through.

For that 30 minutes, the previous sixteen years of pain was almost worth it.

Sometimes ‘tiredness’ and ‘life’ get in the way of living. My bestie and I are professionals at using exhaustion as an excuse for not catching up, and it makes it even easier to opt out now there’s distance between us. And I miss her. But our guilt finally aligned this week and she organized for us to go for a swim together.  We gossiped and we laughed and we had a riot at the end of the pool and then undid all our good work and calorie loss over a bottle of wine and chips. Spirits lifted.

Seeing my boy in his first suit for his formal next week made me realize just how much he’s growing up. I’ve been sworn to secrecy about the fact that we bought the trousers and shirt from Target and when I mentioned making his partner’s corsage, he gave me THAT look that only a teenager can perfect.

The discovery of a new hangover cure in the form of pancakes, warm red fruits and maple syrup.

And I discovered this song by Ellie Goulding.

And the BAD!

Watching the barber shave off Kurt’s Samson locks and a very different boy emerge. A boy that now looks suspiciously like how the old man used to look – and I’d been worrying all that time about the milkman!

Kurt’s visit to a new therapist where he accused me of stealing his limelight. He has since asked me not to come in with him next week as apparently the therapy is for him. My question is, who needs it most?

Aforementioned writer’s block.

Being forced to replace my favourite cereal with bran and reduce my glass of wine to a standard measure in an effort to release the extra 2 kgs of weight that no amount of ‘thinking about exercise’ will shift.

Another culinary disaster in the form of homemade garlic bread that Kurt assured me would be lovely ‘for people who didn’t have taste buds’.

The onset of pre-Christmas anxiety.

And then there was The FUGLY!

Falling UP the stairs this time, and creating a map of bruises on my upper arms that make me look like a victim of domestic violence.

Stealing NC’s bronzer and applying it in the dark before meeting new clients.

Finally having to resort to comfortable but fugly, sensible sandals for the first time in my life and secretly wallowing in them like a pig in mud, (in spite of my shame at betraying the sisterhood). http://www.wittner.com.au/shoes/sandals.html?limit=all

Swilling beer from a bottle in the car en route to a party to ease my social anxiety, while the old man looked on horrified.

The eruption of new facial hair. NC asked if I was raising money for Movember.

How was your week?