A postcard from North Carolina

She's back!

Ahem.

Drumroll…

Hewo!

Did you miss me? Please say you did because I love it when you’re needy and itching for a fill, a slice of this piece of kit. Well, anyway, I missed you too, so I’m glad that’s out the way.

I didn’t write a post last week because, as you may know, I was back home in the UK visiting my mama, who had a fall and by the end of the second week (which flew at lightning speed), I was so exhausted and didn’t have anything in me. I can hear you ask, and yes, Mum is doing good, thank you. All things considered, as she frequently tells me, she has the ‘will of steel’ and doesn’t let much get in her way (unless it’s a race, in which case she’d lose), but if she was being tortured for information, good luck; she’d win every time. She should have been a spy. I marvel at her spirit and sheer determination. When I first arrived, I was washing and dressing her, by the time I left, she was doing everything herself and it made me feel a tinsy bit better about leaving, though, being part Irish the Catholic guilt is never far away and to be honest, dearest reader, I didn’t want to return to the states. You don’t need a PhD in why this might be. I’m surprised there’s not a tariff thrown on newsletters yet but there’s time for the big orange tit to create further carnage isn’t there? God help us all. And I’m not even religious.

Sunday:

Since I’m leaving tomorrow, Mum and I enjoy a Marks and Spencers meal deal as a treat; this is the gold standard of supermarket food. I will die on this hill. Waitrose can’t touch MnS. Lamb moussaka, a potato Gratin with gooey chocolate pods for dessert. A feast so good I can’t walk or breathe, but my soul is bursting at the seams.

Why is it that the night before you leave anywhere seems to go in slow motion? It’s the intensity of it all. ‘This time tomorrow, I’ll be back home’ You become so present and aware of yourself and others and the passing of time. I don’t want to leave my mum, but I head to my sister’s house to have a ‘final’ Brandy with her - I say a final -we all know by now its plural! There were many. Who has one Brandy anyway? I resume my position on the beanbag, and my niece and sister are on the couch. I look at them and wish I could freeze myself here for a while longer, I keep thinking how rooted I feel in the UK, how lonely I’ve felt in the states. Keep going, drink more Brandy. I’ll deal with my emotions when I get home. I’m coming home again next month, so at least I know it’s not long away. I might not be having children, and I had an electric car in the UK, but my carbon footprint is gaining weight. I’m so sorry, Earth. If I get reincarnated, I promise I’ll do good and not come back as a 90s rapper (my original wish).

Monday

I can’t stop kissing the top of my mum’s head. Her fluffy, warm, feathery white hair it’s at its peak up here, you know, the smell of someone you love. Talc, shampoo, kind of like a baby smell, totally potent. I tell her I love her smell and take a big inhale like Henry the Hoover on a bender. I will miss her classic musings, “I’ll run the carpet sweeper round, not that it needs it”. Years ago, after my dad died, mum (the baller that she is) decided that she’d go on a package adventure holiday, first stop Hong Kong, then New Zealand and Australia. She was away for 4 weeks. She visited the night markets in HK, got the ferry over and drank cocktails at the hotel bar overlooking the city. She went white water rafting, visited Ice Glaciers, went Gold mining in Australia and went shopping in Melbourne. After she had reeled all this information off, I asked her what her favourite part was. Her response? “I had a lovely bit of fish on the plane”. That’s what we’re dealing with. LEGEND.

Mum asks me a hundred times if ‘I’ve got everything’, staring at my overloaded case by the door. I’ve stuffed it full of chocolate, hair products, and I may have bought a couple of clothes items. Ahem. I couldn’t fit a grain of salt in there now, I have to sit on it to shut it.

Yes, I even packed Chicken Stock! Those are teabags, by the way

I hug my mum for the last time and walk to the train station with my gigantic and heavy lime green case wiping away tears. It never gets easier. I’m sweating by the time I get there and likely have my lipstick all over my face from blowing my nose. I buy an overpriced piping hot cup of burnt coffee and sit on the train looking out at the green fields and sunny sky. Whilst we get anally raped for train travel in the UK, I miss having the option of getting a train, of public transport, of feeling like anywhere is accessible.

On the plane, I sit next to a lovely fella called Nick. Nick lives up in York and is going to visit his sister in the Cayman Islands. NICE. I’ve always wanted to go and feel envious he’s heading there and I’m going back to Charlotte, NC. No that there’s nowt wrong with NC, its lovely, it’s just he’s going on his jollies and I’m going back to shitty job offerings and what feels like an empty vacuous existence. Can someone pass the violin, please? We natter for a good while but both have interests of watching films and zoning out, so I put on without knowing the most inappropriate film I could find and sit and cringe the entire way through - ANORA - not for public consumption unless you enjoy watching soft porn in front of others? You terror! Me? I like to watch it behind closed doors with a firm VPN on, and it sure ain’t soft either muhahahaha. CHECK THE HARD DRIVE.

I’m greeted by Az in the airport, metaphorically speaking I can see his tail wagging and I am so happy to see him that we stand there for a few moments blocking the way and making eye contact only suitable for a Hollywood film, specifically airport moments and likely making others feel like they are going to spew.

Being home after 2 weeks is strange; everything looks the same, but I feel jumbled and out of place. I’m tired and need to check into rehab and beige anonymous. I’ve never eaten so much beige food. I find beige offensive in every other sense- a beige house? Kill me. Beige personality? Bless, but no. Beige slacks (this word gives me the severe ick). Hell no! Beige food, on the other hand, is the champions of champions - I could eat it for days, oh wait….

I’m bloated, need drying out and have to go to bed immediately. Obviously I didn’t sleep - why is that? I’m finally in my wanky linen bed, with the finest of thread counts! I chow down on some melatonin and pray to the sleep heavens.

I give myself a couple of days to relax and watch relentless hair bleach fails on YouTube and War documentaries - obviously. After this, I decided to check in with my supervisor to see if any security guard shifts were available. I am offered two unsuitable positions - one that I can’t get to because it requires a car; I could get the bus, but last I checked, I am not completely insane and value my sense of safety; the second one was a permanent weekend shift. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to work in this role, but the Uniform kids! I’ll bloody rock it and I’m desperate to be officious though with my accent, friendly nature and platinum hair I’ll be an easy target for people to take the piss (take advantage) I should have a slang sheet attached to this so we can all get acquainted with British slang INNIT GOV. Where were we? Anyway, my supervisor said she’d ‘Figure something out’ and call me back. That was Thursday. Today is Saturday.

I’m sat overlooking the pool. This morning, I bleached my hair. I still miss bits, but it’s getting better. It’s still on my head; that’ll do surely. Evidence below.

What a lovely outside light…

Az has gone away to a nerd tournament in Tennessee. He didn’t want to go seeing as ‘I’d just gotten home, ’ but even though I’ll miss him, I enjoy my time alone. I read something that Liz Gilbert (ALL HAIL) said: ‘What does the baby need’ - and to think of ourselves as babies, some of us do look after other humans, but when it comes to ourselves, we can neglect our needs. So, I wrote on my whiteboard ‘What does the baby need? And if I’m honest, I need sleep, nourishment and YouTube and if I feel really flush, some porn WAHAAA. But none of this soft-core malarkey. DO ME A FAVA.

I don’t have any plans, and so far, I am basking in being alone and at home to entertain myself. I’m two days sober! I’ve eaten greens! And that is all from me, my little love doves.

Thank you for being here; you’ve no idea how infinitely more insufferable I become at home ‘I’ve got another subscriber! Like I’m Anne Frank (if she were alive and on Substack)

MASSIVE SMOOCHES!