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Posts Tagged ‘having a break from blogging’

Dear Readers,

Grief can be, for some, an extremely private process. So it is for me and my family.

I just wanted to let you know that I haven’t abandoned this blog. It’s just that I’m finding it hard to write amusing posts about arse worms or being called a Ukrainian Clown Whore at my own husband’s 40th birthday – not when people I love are suffering so much.

So please consider my silence to be an ellipsis. A pause in my speech.

In the meantime, while you’re all waiting for me to return, I’ll try make a weekly offering of either a photo for discussion or a post I’ve uncovered in the NDM vaults.

THIS WEEK’S OFFERING: “The Inadvertent Vibrator“.

Love from

The NDM.

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2011 came with the promise of toast and coffee.

You see, I had a ‘sleepover’ at my friend Mistress M’s house on New Year’s Eve, having decided to leave my three children and sick husband at home and go to a real grown-up party with her instead.

Some grown-up party that turned out to be. For one thing, I spent a long time talking to someone called Nigel who actually turned out to be called Marshall. That kind of shit is confusing. I also ended up ripping a peek-a-boo panel up the side seam of my favourite dress by dancing to The Violent Femmes. And at another point, I found myself being offered another place to stay the night.

“[The Sculptor] has put toast and coffee on the table. What’s your offer?” I said.

“Uh, experimental sex?” was the response, which earned the man in question thirty-seven minutes on the naughty spot from his wife, one minute for each year of his life. Too right.

Anyway, come the next morning, The Sculptor stayed in bed while Mistress M got up to make the coffee. According to Mistress M, he had asked her to get up and make coffee and made no mention of toast at all.

I marched down the hallway to outside their bedroom.

“WHERE’S MY FUCKING TOAST?” I roared. “There were promises made which are NOT BEING HONOURED HERE.”

“Um…. Mistress M told me to stay in bed,” was his meek response.

I have to say that I felt for the guy to a certain extent. We had all been up until 4:30am (according to my facebook status on New Year’s Day, I’d been merely making sure “it really was 2011 and not some lame-arse extension of 2010”) and we may (or may not) have been drinking excessive amounts until said time.

And yes, there have been plenty of times I, too, have gone to promise the kids that I’d do something “tomorrow” without first mentally adding the words “when I’m hungover like a bastard” – something that generally acts as a reminder not to enter verbal contracts of any kind. You know it makes sense.

Still, for better or worse, promises had been made. And, as I always say, you have to start the year as you mean to continue – and if that meant I intend to harass hungover men into serving me hand and foot all year, then so be it.

Luckily, it only took a few minutes to shame The Sculptor to get up and make me toast and, for the record, it was the best goddamn toast I had eaten that year so far. Fact.

And so another year has begun all over the globe, with or without toast and coffee for some. And this year, 2011, will see some differences here at ‘Not Drowning, Mothering’. I have Plans. Capital P Plans.

I hereby formally announce my intention to cut down my three-posts-a-week habit to one post a week for the foreseeable future. You see, I’m going to try and write a book.

Yes, a book.

Now, I should stress here that I’m not promising anything to anyone here. I don’t want people shouting at me “WHERE’S THE FUCKING BOOK??” at the end of this year. I’m just giving myself a chance to try to write. That’s all.

However, I might just try bully that Sculptor into bringing fresh coffee and toast to my house every morning while I try to write it… Yeah, there’s a Plan right there.

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When it comes to gauging my own emotional health, I’m very much like Mr Justice and his inability to monitor his bladder: neither of us realises we’ve pushed it too far until – oops! –  it’s too late.

In Mr Justice’s case, he starts out by adopting the “hands forward, bottom back” move favoured by chorus-line choreographers all over the globe. It’s at this point that I gently ask him if he needs to go to the toilet, to which he replies somewhat emphatically “I don’t need to go!”, all the while pushing his bottom even further back as if trying to disassociate himself from it all together. I think we all know how that particular scenario ends. 

In my case, my husband gently suggests I might like to “take a break” from blogging – to which, I reply, with my voice higher and tighter than a tight-rope, “No, no. I’m fine. I’m completely and utterly FUCKING FINE!” And then I promptly burst into tears, which is a different kind of waterworks from Mr Justice’s but a surprising release all the same. 

And so I really am going to listen to my husband for a change and take a break. Yes, you heard me: I’m going to take a whole week off blogging and go frolic in the countryside with my family far away from my computer.

But I am not forsaking you, oh loyal readership-of-three. Watch this space next week as I embody the spirit of “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle” and schedule a handful of choice posts from my back catalogue, one each day for your reading pleasure. But then, maybe you need a break too?

Anyway, I’ll see y’all back here on the 6th July with at least ONE new joke tucked under my belt. I promise it’ll be a doozy!

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