There's a hole in my nose, dear blogger, dear blogger, there's a hole in my nose dear blogger a hole.

Doomsday or probably Friday to you.  For a so-called short week (The Spawn didn't return to school until Tuesday) it seems to have somewhat dragged out something quite monstrously long and terribly yawnsome.

Yet along with the undertow something drags me 'neath it all and locks around my ankle tug tug tugging me down in the depths of neverwhere.

It's often hard to choose between knowing you're broken and remaining numb and feeling broken and yet unnervingly alive.  The two staple foods for my soul have returned to nourish it, both music and books yet with it is the raw wound of hopelessness with the bitter itch of lonliness.  Swings and rounabouts, swings and roundabouts.  The Husband would rather I kiss and makeup with Zoloft if only to stop me playing my music, whilst my tastes are eclectic and alternative his are extreme.

The Spawn have seamlessly re-entered school after their Christmas holidays and The Toddler is regaining his  day time territory marking it all over with gargantuan tantrums, still could be worse, at least he's not doing it with piss.  Yet.

Having been literally consumed within the bestial belly of The House for the majority of the past few weeks due to illness and abysmally crap weather I finally ventured out on a mission to get pierced.  Random? I know.  What can I say, i'm one of those people who don't 'do' appointments be it hair  tattoo or piercing, once the idea has germinated within my mind I get incredibly tetchy until I get it done and only NOW is good enough. So at the mere taste of freedom, it was docs on feet and The Toddler on my back and all systems go, irregardless of the fact it was bloody cold.  In the 90's I had my nose pierced three times, yes three.  Once with the despicable gun and twice with a needle.  Unfortunately each time I got the dreaded lump of doom and consequently removed the piercings.  I've missed it. I fear it's yet another little part of the lost me stamping her emo feet demanding to be reclaimed, just like the replacing of the charm i wore around my neck for many years 24/7 yet lost it nearly a decade ago and have felt naked ever since.  Two and a half miles and two large plasters later we reached town.  My docs which had been broken in before Christmas were in a sulk of their own from lack of use and decided to return to their initial petulant state of pretending to be Yorkshire terriers and thus snapping and biting at my heels with ever step.  Naughty boots.  Bad.  So imagine my utter disgruntlement when my chosen piercing parlor informed me that their piercer wasn't working that day.  Really?  Seriously? Then the next choice informed us that their piercer only works Saturdays  are you kidding me?  The third places charged a fiver more and my perky pride refused to go there due to a bad experience in the past.  Patience is not a virtue I possess, I wanted my nose piercing and I wanted i piercing now goddammit (& yes, the inner me did indeed stamp her little feet, she has much smaller feet then me, she's also funnier, more intelligent and prettier too)  Often my own impatience equals my stupidity levels.  Had i possessed an iota of sanity or indeed a modicum of rationality I would have simply ventured back out the next day yet where's the fun in that?  So we wandered to a new place, stepping over and around the portly crack exposing Virgin Media men working there into a small lair behind it where a small young thing with pretty purple hair and far too much time to execute her eyeliner skills agreed to do it.  However, rather then a needle she inserted some strange plastic block up my nose with a stud auto loaded into it and pressed.  Arse.  Bugger.  Usually a piercer worth their salt will explain the process to you, ask your preference in jewelry etc Not this one.  Wham, ow, bang thankyou maam.  Oh dear.  Granted there was no swelling, no blood and virtually no pain but there also appears to be a very long stemmed stud with no bead, screw, L or back of any sort on the end of it inside.  Oh well.  So now it's a waiting game to see if the dreaded lump of doom will arrive uninvited however this time bitch, i'm so ready for you.  I am armed with chamomile tea bags.  Take that.  No doubt it will arrive in time for The Wedding and i'll look like a septic wench of skankyness.  Joy.

Will I ever learn? probably not.

I had a conversion last night with Thing Two whilst making her cry brushing her hair and spritzing it rather obsessively with anti-nit stuff I casually asked her what her favourate animal was and was somewhat surprised when she declared a pig.  A  pig? I asked.  Why a pig?  To which she replied 'Because they give us all the best food' well my little chickadee I can't really dispute that.  I do so wish she'd have picked something more apt for a sweet 6 year old girl like a kitten or a bat.  The day before I asked her what colour hair she'd have if she could have any colour in the world to which she took upon herself a derisive tone and a look that simply said 'oh dear mother. really?' and replied with an awfully haughty 'The colour it already is thankyou very much'  I'm beginning to think she's not mine.

Best go,  The Toddler is being terribly neglected.  I have the fears.