Angst in Ely.

Tuesday was a very busy day, but I managed get a lot done, and also spend some enjoyable time doing nice things, aka shopping – pretty thermal base layer top, ‘there is no such thing as bad weather just the wrong kit’ etc, five 16 x 12 dark wood picture frames for some lovely prints, a flask with birds on, a Cath Kidston gadget case, purple lip gloss, brown hair dye (used last night), silver wire love heart earrings, electric toothbrush heads (sexily)   - and having a gingerbread latte in Ely too, which was good.  Lovely in fact.

Ely Cathedral (which is lovely, by the way)

While in Ely, I also did something somewhat compulsive however. You see, it’s my Mother’s birthday soon. Every single birthday, and Yule (and various other times, randomly), I go through this quite deranged thought process, usually in the early hours of the morning.

'I wonder how Mum is. It’s her birthday soon. I wonder if she’s ok. I can’t send her anything to try to make her happier for her birthday now. I could send a card. No, that would be stupid. What good would it do? You know it won’t actually do anything helpful. And anywhere you can’t send a card because then she’ll know where you live. Ah, well I could send one when I’m away from home, especially if I’m in a different county. Cambridge is the obvious answer because then she will automatically assume I’m still in Cambridge. I’m going to [X place] this week, I wonder if that would do. But it’s stupid anyway, there’s no point in sending a card, even if I do manage to deal with the location issue. A card wouldn’t make her life nicer anyway. I could send a totally anonymous gift of neutral but nice things, sort of like a hamper. Then she wouldn’t know it was from me. And I could put all her favourite stuff in. But then she would know it was me because who else would know all her favourite stuff? And who else would be sending her anonymous gifts? I suppose I could put some stuff she doesn’t like in it as well to blur the matter. Oh FFS, that’s ridiculous. The card idea was stupid enough. Though the card isn’t useful, but a gift would be, so it’s actually less foolish. But both are idiotic plans. I’d have to lug my no doubt heavy secret parcel full of useful lovingly chosen gifts (and sneaky unwanted ones?) a long way, to get round the location issue which is ridiculous. A card would at least not be difficult in that manner. But it’s stupid anyway, there’s no point in sending a card, even if I do manage to deal with the location issue……'

And on this goes. Seriously, this is how nuts this issue drives me. On no other matter am I ever a basket case a’la this.

On Tuesday though as I was walking round a shop in Ely  buying the picture frames I found myself staring at the cards and decided to do it. Away from home? Check. Right time of year? Check. Cards just sitting there? Check. Idiotic fucking crazycakes idea? Check. First we had the ‘which card will be the most appropriate option’ dilemma. A huge rack of cards and pretty much every one had a landmine on it. That one says too much loving stuff. That one mentions being happy and she can’t be happy. That one is too fun, she’ll see it as taunting. That one is too affectionate. That one she’ll think is childish and see as patronising. That one she’ll see as too plain and a rebuff. That one is dark colours and she’ll take as some cruel thing. That one has a family on it. That one she’ll see as something to do with the devil. That one has a garden on it and that’s the last thing I need. That one will make her get depressed about her dead cat. On and on it goes. In the end I went for what seemed the best option but which I know she will analyse and find a thousand faults with.

Then I packed it away and tried to put it out of my head, and went for the aforementioned vat of gingerbread latte. About halfway through my pint sized mug it was time to write the card. This involved writing out several carefully worded options in my notebook in an effort to get the most non inflammatory phrasing I could. Then agonising about them for a while and scribbling and editing. Then looking through my pens to try to find an ink that would be most acceptable. Black she’ll see as hostile. Of the options in my bag at this precise minute that leaves purple and gold. Gold is out as she’ll say she can’t read it. That leaves purple, which she’ll bitch about for it’s flamboyance and no doubt turn it into some homophobic thing. But purple is not going to register as actually aggressive  and it’s visible so I shall have to go with flamboyant-burn-in-Hell-you-invert-dyke ink.  Unless I go to the shops for a blue pen. Which I’m not doing because I shouldn’t be doing this anyway and holy fuck all this dicking around is fucking ridiculous. What the fuck am I doing? Since when do I do shit like this?



Apparently purple is 'flaky' rather than dykey and thus I should not have worried  ^



So, with my flamboyant lesbian ink I carefully (because my handwriting will be analysed and shown and discussed in great detail) transcribed my carefully crafted phrasing. I have pretty nice handwriting usually, unless my hands are especially bad I often get compliments on it. But yesterday presumably because I was in this tensed up, making an effort state my writing was shit on the inside of the card (though tellingly totally back to my nice normal writing for the name and address on the envelope, when I wasn’t thinking about it). 

And let us not forget the whole what to write re names debacle. What to call her? I went with ’Mum’ as really, all other options come off as mean, but I know it will piss her off. Then there is what to call myself (long story, don’t ask). I went with my forename. This will not go down well, but what else to do?

Then I looked it over in detail and stressed about it an considered buying a new card and a blue pen and again decided I had let this idiocy already take me far too far into crazyville. The above is about as opposed to my normal behaviour as is possible.

Then whether to tuck the envelope in, or stick it shut. Was the stamp in squarely enough? Would an Ely postmark cause a problem? Should I just throw it in the bin (Sensible answer: yes. Chosen behaviour: no)? And eventually I posted the stupid fucking thing.

The fact that I can normally do the things I do, competently and happily, but this turns me into a total clusterfuck of insecurity and stress is precisely the reason I should not send cards. But now I have and that means I may have accidentally set a premise. I never thought of that, because I was too busy persuading myself not to do it.