The Life of I

 Went to see the National Theatre Live production of ‘The Life of Pi’ at the cinema last night. I must have read the book back in the day because it was on the ‘A’ level teaching syllabus, and I vaguely remember trudging through it in case any student decided they wanted to study it as part of their course. The fact I remember little about it says much about the trudging effect I felt. And then, as with a lot of novels, this one came to life in theatre production and I enjoyed a mesmerising, and timely thought-provoking evening in the company of Heather and a bag of chocolate raisins. I may re-read the novel.

I thought I was never going to blog again. Raising a puppy is a full time job. I’ve been so tired and the house has been turned upside down which has been difficult for a neat freak like me. There’s been a sense of Groundhog Day (or should that be Grounddog Day??) as we go through the same routines day in, day out, so Nell can learn to be part of our family. No time for any writing, even blogging. No time for reading. No time for the quiet things that give me happiness. But now Nell is sleeping through the night. She is 99% toilet trained. She has learnt so much. She is happy to entertain herself for longer periods during the day. The intensity of puppydom is beginning to ease. She is a lovely fluffy, floppy-eared, zoomie girl! 

There are two stories in’ The Life of Pi’ representing the same event. Pi tells his version of the traumatic events he faced in a way that maybe makes it easier to cope with horrors of what he lived through. He isn’t believed by the people he tells because his first story is deemed too far-fetched, too unrealistic, that he survived at sea for several months in the company of a tiger. And so he tells a second version to explain what happened to him which is more brutal and challenges the ethics of what it is to be human. In a very simplistic nutshell, in order to survive, it is okay for humans to eat animals, and animals to eat animals, but it is repellent for a human to eat another human. Do you do what it takes to survive because the instinct to live is the strongest instinct of all? Or do you accept the possibility of premature death with your morals and ethics intact? 

Isn’t this, to a lesser extent, how we live today? Presenting the ‘better’ story to others so we don’t have to face unpalatable truths? Look at social media - all the filters, all the picture representations of our perfect lives because it is sometimes too shameful to tell the truth because we worry about what others might think? Feeling a bit saggy and crinkly of face because yes, you are ageing and that’s the nature of life? Never mind - apply a skin smoothing filter! Having the perfect life lifts you above criticism and gossip. ‘Nothing wrong here! It’s all just super-duper! Nothing to see, nothing to judge. Nothing challenging or hurtful or wrong!’

The last eight months have been a challenge for me. When the tsunami of shite rolls in, it is relentless. When you blog, the temptation is to downplay the bad and present a sanitised version of the truth because you’re anxious about people judging your life. Quite often, you keep the crap to yourself and write of an amusing incident of trolley rage in a supermarket instead. 

The balance of my life, over the last 8 months, has tipped very firmly into the grim. 

For example, I didn’t ‘leave’ my job of my own choice  - I was bullied out of it, along with another member of staff. I doubt I shall be able to work for another company again, because all my trust in team work and robust management has gone. On reflection, I am cross with myself for putting up with what I did. Of course, I would have liked the decision to leave to be mine, but my hand was forced and when you’re shoved, you just hope the parachute will open in time to save you from crash landing. 

For example, my son and granddaughters have decided they don’t want me to be part of their lives anymore. This broke my heart. And there was the stigma, because aren’t all families supposed to be happy families? But over time and with support, I’ve come to realise that estrangements of this kind are more common than I realised. Different paths, different lives. That’s how it is sometimes. That’s how it is now. Family, it turns out, is a breakable bond. 

For example, another family disclosure has left me feeling very angry on behalf of the parties involved. I still need to get my head around that one. It makes me feel sick thinking about it. Luckily, I could share thoughts with my brother. He understands. 

Tootsie the Cockerel had to be euthanised last week because he was attacked by a pheasant. God, he was a mess, poor thing. Blind in one eye, I guess he didn’t see the pheasant approaching. I heard the attack. It was blood-curdling. Brought back the feelings of that day when I found the rabbits had been got by fox attack.

And last week also brought the unexpected news that a close and relatively young family member has been diagnosed with untreatable and rapid-progressing cancer. Last week was a particularly shit week. 

And the rain. Will it ever stop raining? 

I can’t keep blogging the sanitised, filtered version of my life. If I carry on blogging, then the crap will be there along with the good stuff. I suspect this may change the feel of the blog, and who knows if that will be a good or bad thing? I may decide the time has come to stop blogging altogether. Or start a new blog with different intentions. But what I have realised is that being able to read about the crap other people are going through in this imperfect and often vile society we live in has made me feel like I’m not on my own and my troubles are commonplace, and that’s just life. If what I write helps one other person feel the same, then the blog will have served a purpose. 

Meanwhile, the Spring flowers are out, the fruit blossoms are gorgeous. The world carries on with or without me. 

Here is Nell. Butter wouldn’t melt…