Kitty Chat

Yesterday, 1 April, April Fool's Day and Poissons d'Avril. The kittens were MOST upset it took place on a mercredi when they have no school since it *is* the première jour in the prank calendar, even higher than Halloween here. They didn’t get to make or use any little paper fish; it’s hysterically cute, really. I really need to make a waistcoat to wear on that one day with loads of little fabric fish adhered to the back. I think that needs to be a project for next year.

But, that’s not what this post is about, no, Poissons d’Avril is the jokes my head has been playing on me.

I have been having a horrid time sleeping. It began about a year or so ago; lots of stress, then the operation (gall bladder, keyhole, and I’m fine.) and when I got back home after the Polyclinique, I just could NOT get a full night’s sleep. First the leg cramps, every night for weeks. Get up, walk around, eat a banana, swig some Tonic water (ineffective but I hoped for a placebo effect) and curse myself for forgetting to tell the doctor so I can get Quinine tablets again. (The leg cramps are an old enemy.)

Then I’m stressed over the restaurant opening (oh! I haven’t told you, I’m opening a restaurant, fully-licensed bar and épicerie fine… soon,) stressed over the bleeding French administrative paperwork, how on earth I am going to finance this venture, what the hell I am doing here in this part of France, what happened to this wonderful life I had planned? What am I doing with my life, is this it?

How did I get so grey? How did I get so blobby fat? What happened to my muscle definition? (Oh please, Kitty, you haven’t seen that since hair mousse was in fashion…)

Then my big kitten announces one night, late, watching telly, “Mummy, look at this infected penis on this show! Isn’t that gross? Is that from clammy yads? Uh, clammy dads?’’ Swiftly getting over the shock that she already, at 11, knows the difference between an infected and NON-infected pen0r and what each looks like, I corrected, “That’s pronounced Chlamydia, sweetheart and that… ewww…. rather painful looking infection might have come from any number of sexually-transmitted diseases.” She nodded at this, “He should have used a condom.”

Good grief, I thought, I was sure I had another year or two before I had to deal with this with my OWN daughters. NOT YET!!!! Also, what the heck is she watching? Channel Four?

Luckily I have always been frank, honest and open about sex with all my children so we launched into a midnight discussion about latex condoms, circumcised vs. uncircumcised men, menses and tampons and towels and sex. I just answer any questions either of them have in a very factual way. I’d much rather they heard the truth from me than whispers from their girlfriends.

OK, so I am ever-so-slightly worried about that, as well.

Last night was hell. I lost count the number of times I woke up crying, at least twice with a start as I either stumbled or fell from a cliff or the other time, thrown off a boat into black, cold water. I kept being chased, huge clown-like faces in the shadows leering at me and some kind of sinister thing lurking, trying to take my girls away from me, stealing my purse. Then I am in the middle of a Pinter play and I am dressed for Sense and Sensibility and the other actors are looking at me, “It’s your line!” I am panicked, the audience is shifting in their seats, “But, I don’t have a script! What’s my line?” (God I hate those dreams.)

Then I have lost something and I am struggling through deep sand, struggling forward, I can hardly breathe, it’s hot, I’m crying, I’m exhausted but I have to find this thing, but it is being pulled away from me ever faster, faster… and I wake, salty tears in my throat and I am sobbing.

I’m lucky that everyone in the house needs an Earthquake of 8 on the Richter scale coupled with a Kiss concert to even budge them.

I used to deal with this by drinking a bottle of wine, but since I have gone alcohol-free (except for the couple drinks at the cocktail party) I no longer have that option. I loathe taking pills, either. Guess I need to get on the exercise bike, at night, and wear myself out.

Or sort my life out.

The bike sounds easier…