Nosewatch: all's quiet on the nose front, insofar as to say there is as yet no red lump of doom, it hasn't been knocked out, pulled or lost and is actually somewhat cute.  Maybe this really will be fourth time lucky, neh? However, it does bring back that niggling affliction of more-itis.  Piercings and tattoos really are terribly addictive. However I've ruled out more tattoos until The Toddler is older as the thought of having him clamber all over me in my sleep with new tattoos in place is quite eye watering not to mention that i'm fast running out of things to sell to fund any such frivolity.  The main problem I have with piercings is that i'm actually awfully unkeen on so many of them, i'm a fussy old bugger.  I'm personally not interested in genital doo-dahs, micro dermals leave me with a huge case of the '..but really, why?' ditto with stretching and with my ghastly crap blood i'd most likely bleed to death if i so much as toyed with the idea of my tongue (however, I must confess to finding the enforced lack of eating somewhat enticing) it really doesn't leave that much left.  I have my wobbly, crepey vile navel done, it was the second attempt and has never been taken out, ever, despite being in there for well over a decade and through three pregnancies.  I have had my lip done for around 12 years, I have four holes in one ear and six in the other and now have my nose done (for the fourth time).  I fear an eyebrow piercing would simply cry out for battle with 'pull me pull me!' to The Toddler et al.  I rather like Tragus piercings yet I have a hideous fear of the sound, I completely agree that it's simply irrational and yet I just image a huge abysmal pop and crackle which induces a need to mentally vomit.  I told you, i'm a fussy bugger.

It's cold, freezing really and despite the intial orgasmic flurry of snow it's now just cold, cold wet and icey.  I know that by now we should be passed the forced civility of discussing the weather but it's cold I tell you! Nipples like bullets. The toddler doesn't know wether to feed upon them or to hang his coat upon them.

I'm sorry for being scattier then usual lately with scant updates few and far between, however I'm awfully consumed by emo-ism lately, I fear if The Husband knew just how far advanced my emo-ism is, he'd rather fancy a divorce.  It's the two edged blade really, medication versus none medication.  Unfeeling versus feeling terribly too much.  Eyes full ice versus eyes flooding with water. Oh and what better way to tackle the fact I've gained nearly a stone, a stone i tell you! then to binge.  Excessively.  Constantly.  I am nought if not my own ruin.

I decided to re-henna my hair due to the ugly site of roots, now don't get me wrong i'm terribly partial to the grotty roots of grunge with every hair colour other then natural ones and black.  As much as I love being ginger, darker shades seem to suit my ghostly pallor and eyes (yes the eyes that I'm still not certain as to their colour having lived the majority of my life with blue/grey eyes that shine green when one cries to having The Husband and The Spawn inform me that they're actually green) So I threw in a cube of CaCa Brun for good luck into the sludge of CaCa Rouge and wha'd'ya know?  I have a rather lovely dark reddy brown that has striking copper highlights in daylight.  Success, what an awfully strange experience.  However, it was bloody irksome washing the bugger out,

Right best be off to make some ridiculously sinful cheesecake, just to keep the blubber company whilst contemplating a mug of mothers ruin, it is Gin O'Clock, right?

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.

Well hello

Did you miss me?  Even a little, even at all?  Could you be terribly kind and lie a little and say you did?

So, in the proverbial post coital of Chrimbogasm, how was it for you?

I must admit it was a somewhat eerily calm event here, remarkably unsettling.  Obviously The Spawn had a ghastly good time yet I can't help shake the feeling that Christmas didn't really reach inside me this year.  Sure I cooked the food, and ahh'ed at the lights yet felt terribly empty as I sat lamenting the sorry sight of our battered tree yet unable to even gather the spirit to fix it.  Granted in part my parting of ways with a bittersweet dear john letter to Mr Zoloft mayhaps have had some hand in this as that lonely little flame reignited and tried to melt the barren wasteland that had smothered it.  I should probably stick to experimenting with my hair rather then my medication.

I must have blown the right elf this year for under my Christmas Tree was a kindle! (Thanks Mothership)

I was however struck with the temporary lurgy of doom, yes utter DOOM I tell you which had me wallowing in the confines of stumpy the bed for several days.  You know your husband loves you when he empties a potty of your vomit for you whilst you shiver and wibble in bed.

We're not really New Year kind of people what with us being agonisingly anti-social yet even we surpassed ourselves seeing as The Husband and I spent the entirety of it not speaking.

My children will never know how much  of their christmas chocolate I've stolen and consequently scoffed when they weren't looking I truly love them.