Some days I get to thinking that I am Alison the Invincible. Wonderwoman! Supergirl with a big bum! Martha Stewart on speed!
I go at life hammer and tongs. I decide to diet, re-invent the website, start a new skin care ritual, watch 94 million episodes of Dexter, look after a sick child, agree to go to parties, have to cancel parties, love with all I’ve got, and swing a kettle-bell around my neck five or ten times a day, all in one week. There is no in-between, I am either living life large or I am comatose on the sofa.
I think it must be utterly heavenly to be normal.
Today was a comatose day. Hot on the heels of an extreme week in terms of getting carried away with my grandiose self, my body made an executive decision to call time on my extreme shenanigans. Though I had plans to set up my new little vintage
And so I did something I remember Sarah Ban Breathnach describing in Simple Abundance. I waved goodbye to my bundled up little munchkin, then climbed the stairs back to bed, pretty certain that any moment the blogging police, or the men in white coats would be on my doorstop demanding to know why I, WonderWoman, had taken refuge under lavender scented sheets when there was life to be lived! Words to be conjured up! Worries to be worried! People in calamity to be rescued from the tops of burning buildings and Supermen to be chased down and wooed senseless!
Sadly the Wonderwoman in me had left this pretty little cottage and there was just little old me falling in and out of busy sleep. Interrupting my troubled, happy, senseless daydreams to phone my Mum with instructions to pick Finn up from school and wait for someone wonderful to whip up some medicinal scrambly eggs…
Now it is nine fifteen in the evening and I am much recovered. I have chatted my head off on the phone and given myself a facial. I have text everyone I know, ignored a sink full of dishes, tickled my son and finished this rather wonderful story. All is well.
But there isn’t a hope in hell of me sleeping tonight…