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I Miss Guinness Farts
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I Miss Guinness Farts

I went to the doctor to get blood tests yesterday. It was very exciting. I walked down streets I don’t normally walk down, pressed a buzzer, waved at the receptionist and then sat down in the waiting room with its precisely spaced out chairs. It was quite the sensation overload. There were posters telling me about the staff in the clinic, arrows telling us what way to walk and a television screen with names of the people seen flashing on it. 

It reminded me of going into town with mum for a Christmas drink, in between lockdowns. Just getting on to the train felt like a trip to another world— the patterned tiles of the tube! How had I not noticed them before? They were gorgeous. So gorgeous I took photographs. And the posters! They were talking to me! All sorts of messages about my banking and my mattress and how I could start investing for the price of one cup of coffee a week! Thanks for the info, guys! 

And the designs on the seats! IT WAS ART! I took more photos. By the time we got to Piccadilly, well, as mum said, ‘I feel like Emily in Paris!’

It was almost too much.

So the doctor’s surgery was pretty much Piccadilly at Christmas minus the fairy lights. 

Unfortunately, they were running a tight ship and I was seen on time, which meant I couldn’t strike up a conversation with the people sitting so close and yet so far from me. Why are you here? I wanted to ask. Are you okay? What’s your favourite colour?  

But it was okay because I went to the nurse’s room and she was full of chat! Was it cold outside, she asked. Her son didn’t want to wear a coat today but she’d insisted on it. He’s seven next week, she said. They were getting him a scooter. 

So much news to absorb from a human I did not know —whom I was sitting next to in the flesh! Meanwhile, she’d taken blood out and I hadn’t really noticed. I looked at it in the vial on the table. So red! So much of it! 

When she put the plaster on, with a little bit of cotton wool, I felt disappointed. Do I have to go? So soon? Can’t I hang out a while? Have a chat? Do you want to take more blood?

On the way out, I saw a poster by her door - PHLEBOTOMISTS ALWAYS WORK IN VEIN! I burst out laughing. That’s really good, I said. Your poster. She smiled but her heart wasn’t in it, she was tidying things away and getting ready for her next human. I felt sad.

And then I realised that I have gone a tiny bit mad.

I miss humans so much right now, it’s painful. A friend texted on St Patrick’s Day to say she wished we were in a pub drinking pints and singing along to ‘Come on Eileen’. Just the thought of it brought tears to my eyes. 

‘I want to be in a room of Guinness farts’ I replied. And I really did.  

It’s not just people and hugs (and farts) I miss but the lightness of conversation. I miss chats that don’t revolve around Covid. I miss fun. I miss letting off steam. I miss drinking too much and talking too much and getting dressed up and looking at other people dressed up and walking down roads that I don’t live on. I miss making plans. I miss stimulation. 

I wasn’t feeling this way a couple of weeks ago, when I declared that I didn’t want my social life back. Back then, the thought of being busy again felt too much but now my need for people is stronger than my need for peace. So in short, I’ve changed my mind! I want it back. Please invite me to everything!

But God knows how re-entry into social life will go.

On the way back from the doctor’s, I saw a woman I recognised. We stopped on the pavement, said ‘hi’ and then stood in silence as we reached around in our heads for small talk. 

‘I just tried to go for a run,’ she told me.

‘That’s good,’ I said.

‘But I couldn’t do it. I have no energy.’

‘I’ve just been to the doctor to get blood tests. I’m sleeping all the time and I can’t think straight.’

‘My period is on day nine, I don’t know what’s going on,’ she replied. 

‘My memory is so bad, I couldn’t remember the name of my doctor’s surgery when I tried to make an appointment,’ I said. 

We played ping pong with our weird symptoms/ sleeping / washing /eating habits before we said, ‘Okay then, bye’ and went on our way.

I got a text from her later: ‘I can’t believe I was telling you about my periods, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to talk to people anymore.’ 

I told her I liked it. And I do. I like that we don’t have our game face on anymore and that the truth is tumbling out of our mouths but it’s weird. Everything is weird. The oversharing, the under-sharing, the not knowing whether we will ever be normal again, or if we even want to be or can be. The swinging between yearning to be back into the world and being scared of it. 

After the excitement of two real-life conversations, I fell asleep for an hour. When I woke up, my skin was covered with a film of sweat and I had that familiar feeling of confusion: where am I? Who am I? What the hell is happening?

I don’t know anymore.   


WHAT I’M READING

There is so much more to say about what’s going on between men and women but I don’t have the brainpower to put my thoughts together. For now, this article in the Guardian was moving. It’s by Australian writer, Tim Winton, about how the patriarchy punishes men too.

“Toxic masculinity is a burden to men. I’m not for a moment suggesting men and women suffer equally from misogyny, because that’s clearly and fundamentally not true. And nobody needs to hear me mansplaining on the subject of the patriarchy. But I think we forget or simply don’t notice the ways in which men, too, are shackled by misogyny. It narrows their lives. Distorts them. And that sort of damage radiates; it travels, just as trauma is embedded and travels and metastasizes in families. Slavery should have taught us that. The Stolen Generations are still teaching us. Misogyny, like racism, is one of the great engines of intergenerational trauma.”

This article from Marina Hyde was brilliant in summing up how common place it is for men to be aggressive towards women and ends with a question that’s been on my mind for a long time: what is leading men to behave the way some of them do? 

I enjoy a newsletter by Lynn Twist who wrote a book called the Soul of Money. This week, she shared a prophecy about this time in history from the native people of North America.

‘The bird of humanity has two wings – a masculine wing and a feminine wing. The prophecy says that the masculine wing of the bird of humanity has been fully extended for centuries, while the feminine wing has been truncated. To keep the bird flying, the masculine wing has become overdeveloped, over muscular, and even violent. As a result, the bird is flying in circles. The prophecy says that in the 21st century, the feminine wing of the bird of humanity will gain its strength back, allowing the masculine wing to relax.’

If you are worried about how you are going to cope as the UK opens up - the Guardian has a good article about social anxiety. 

This week, I read American Dirt by Jeanne Cummins and it was as good as everyone says. A gripping story of a mother and son escaping Mexico and trying to make it across the US border.


WHAT I’M WATCHING
I celebrated St Patrick’s Day by watching The Commitments. It’s as funny and gorgeous as it was when I watched it in the cinema however many years ago, when it held the record for the most swearing in a film. Here is a clip of Mustang Sally

I also liked looking at these New Yorkers in their homes


WHAT I’M BUYING

VITAMINS! Thank you to everyone who sent me ideas about what to do with the tiredness. A summary, in case it’s of help: get iron, thyroid and hormones tested, get tested for diabetes (my cousin reminded me it’s strong on my dad’s side of the family), take B vitamins, take Vitamin D, Niacin, fish oils. Exercise. Stay off screens as much as possible. I am not a doctor - and neither were the people who made these suggestions - so don’t treat this as medical advice. Obvs. But here’s hoping it helps. 

Honestly, I look back on my old brain with wonder. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I was a genius! My head was constantly snap, crackling and popping with ideas. Now there’s not a single snap, let alone a crackle and I’m lucky if I get half a pop once a week. 

Oh well. It is what it is, as that very annoying phrase goes. 

Bye for now - Any weird sleep / food / talking-to-tree habits you want to share? Since buying rice pudding a few weeks ago, I’ve become a bit hooked. I’m on three cans a week, and eat it with jam while watching Friends. A girl has to do what a girl has to do. 

Love and thanks for reading. 

Mxx 

P.S Writing for Fun and Sanity will be back soon along with a whole other curriculum of wonderful workshops. I miss the sessions even more than Guinness farts! 

EDITED BY Wendy Mach 
IMAGE BY Natalie Winterlich
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