13 May

Isolation Update – A sober kind of drunk

I’m done with brushing everything off as a coincidence now. Signs are being sent to me from all angles, and I am reading them loud and clear.

I did a Peloton this morning. I didn’t realise it, but the class I selected was a Mother’s Day theme. My favourite instructor, Ally Love, opened it by saying ‘It’s Mother’s Day’ and then she played ‘Uptown Girl’ by Billy Joel, which is the song that reminds me of my mum the most. Of all the songs, on all the days. The song that reminds me most of my mum, on MOTHER’S DAY. WHAT? This, ‘Be Kind’ being written in the sky above my house, Valentine suddenly deciding that all of his toys are called ‘Carrie’; 2020 came to take me on a deeper and more spiritual journey, I have no doubt. Too many moments of WHAT THE FUCK have come my way to brush them all off as random chance. I keep being sent signs that connect to me to the people I have lost, simple as that. Maybe it’s because of my crystals. Let me explain.

A few months ago when I returned to London, I purchased some crystals. I associate them with loss and friendship, because I got them the week of Caroline’s funeral. My friend Josie talked me into getting some the day before the funeral. Josie took me to a shop on Broadway Market called ‘She’s Lost Control’ that sold nothing but crystals and told me to pick out the ones I felt drawn to. I felt silly and self-conscious but did it anyway. Because, if I’m honest, I was so heartbroken that I was willing to try anything that promised me a chance of surviving my grief. We later went to a full moon gong bath. A very unusual thing for me to do indeed. But I suppose that is what grief does, if you allow it to: it fundamentally changes you, maybe for the better. It was me, Josie, Ophelia and our friend Camilla. We were all extremely emotional and weepy, and the evening was powerful but sad all at once. At the start, no one was really talking, until the woman next to Josie suddenly piped up and said, ‘Hello, my name is Caroline.’ WHAT? Anyway, back to the crystals. I was first drawn to one called Labradorite. Upon picking it up and feeling it, and telling Josie that I liked its dark colour, I read the description:

A stone that helps us to unleash our creativity and tap into our inner wisdom. Labradorite connects us to our inner mystic and opens up the realms of knowing., that little niggle that we too often ignore. It also gives us the courage to let our creativity flow.

I immediately felt connected to it. Grief had terrified me in terms of being creative. I couldn’t think of anything else, not even for a second. I realise it was all very new, but I couldn’t imagine a day where I had the focus to write anything ever again. I had moments where I presumed my career was over, that I’d have to just stop. How could I ever talk about anything but the devastation I was experiencing? It was a feeling that was consuming me as much as the sadness itself – the fear that the part of me that was able to create had died too. How could I ever be funny again? It felt so wrong to even try. This stone gave me a glimmer of hope. I held it tight in my hand and headed for the till. On the way over, another one caught my eye. This time a whiter rock, with an orange glow. Citrine. I read the description:

Citrine is known as the stone of success, promoting energies of fortune and luck. Wearing Citrine will attract love and happiness and open the mind to new ideas. It radiates confidence and power, and uniquely doesn’t store any negativity, instead leaving room for happiness.

As you can imagine, I grabbed it and held it close. These were my crystals. I had no need to look around the shop. I found the ones I was supposed to find. I was later to discover that Citrine is Caroline’s birthstone – November. I chose to take that as a sign that this was the stone for me, and I have slept with it under my pillow ever since.

The truth is, despite grief and Covid presenting me with a wall that I couldn’t get over, I have found myself to be excessively creative since the crystals came into my life. I keep them close to me. I talk to them and thank them and I tell them that I’m glad they’re here. When I cry, I hold them. They make me feel like my best friends are in my hands. I love them.

I have no desire for more. My house doesn’t need to be full of them, I don’t need to hang them around my neck. But this simple relationship that I have with these two is important to me.[1] They represent a lot. They make me feel nice. So that’s just that.

I was wondering about what else I have learned about myself during lockdown, other than that I am way more spiritual than I am willing to admit, and one thing that has become very apparent is that, no matter how hard I try to be, I am not an alcoholic. Turns out, I’m the kind of drunk who wants to experience life sober. Also, I have itchy skin and lower back pain which is ABSOLUTELY a cry for help from my kidneys to give them a break. Luckily, gummies have a vastly different effect on your insides, so I have zero plans to slow my consumption of those. ALSO, they make me a better mum (LA LA LA, I’m not listening). ALSO, Chris literally just walked in and put a glass of rosé on my desk. One more for the road? Fuck it. (Still, not an alcoholic.)

OH, one huge revelation from today was that I brushed my hair. I haven’t brushed my hair, when dry, for nearly fifteen years. I have convinced myself that if I do, it will go frizzy. Turns out, it doesn’t go frizzy, it just looks really nice. So now I am a marginally sober woman with crystals and long brushed hair. WHO EVEN AM I?

OK, that’s it from me tonight. In a day where I thought nothing happened, my emotions ran high. So lovely to have a place to write about it at the end of the day.

Tell me about your day, your crystals, and your hair.

Love Dawn x

14 May

Isolation Update – Am I eighty yet?

It’s so bizarre that I am being positive about crystals, when for most of my life I have actively turned away from anyone who mentions them. I’m enjoying being honest about the calm they offer me and feel delightfully un-silly about it. Do you ever imagine your 24-year-old self seeing your 41-year-old self and thinking, ‘YOU ARE SUCH A DORK’? I do. But who cares, my 41-year-old self looks at my 24-year-old self and thinks ‘YOU’RE SUCH A DESPERATE WANNABE.’ I don’t think they would get along at all. Best keep them apart.

I’ve always been happy to get older and found my younger years very easy to put behind me. I was on a desperate quest for success, I was always trying to be liked, I was loud and determined to be noticed, I was uncomfortable, off my head and far too slutty. At the time it was all fun and games. I thought nothing of staying up all night doing God knows what, then rolling into my job at a TV production company having had not a wink of sleep, my eyes rolling in my head, stinking of fags, and barely being able to say my own name, let alone make television. That was how my early twenties were. It was fun. In my opinion, exactly how it should have been. But to be doing that again now, no. I have no interest in all that.

I’ve never been scared of getting old. My gran lived until she was eighty-six and was cute as a button – I want to be like that. My aunty Jane, now eighty-three, is everything I want to be. She is so smart, so fit, so active. She may be a little slower, but you’d never guess her age. I find her so inspiring, and if I get the chance to be like my aunty Jane, I’ll make the most of every second. I think women get better with age; being an old lady has always appealed to me. I guess that is what happens when you have good ones around you. I long for my future. I am excited for it. So far, I like what age has done to my head, my face, my body and my relationships. I like age because it means I’m still alive. I can’t wait to see what I’m like when I’m seventy. Will I still be wearing these clothes? Probably. Will I still be writing stuff down? Definitely. Will I live in a house with small children in it? NO, I WILL NOT.

I will be free of so many things. I hope I’ll be healthy enough to enjoy it.

I was thinking. You know in January when you bump into people for the first time after Christmas and you ask how their Christmas was and by about 14 January you’re thinking, SERIOUSLY, how long do we have to ask this for? Well, what do you think it will be like after the pandemic? How long will we have to ask how everyone’s lockdown was before we can just shut the hell up about it and move on? I’m guessing YEARS. So many, many years.

My neighbour is building an extension. The drilling and banging is destroying me from the inside. But it’s not only the noise, it’s the lack of privacy. There are three guys on a roof, who can see directly into our garden all day. That, AND the drilling is so intense. Earlier, both of my kids were yelling ‘SHUT UP, MAN’ at them, and I just went inside and didn’t tell them to stop. Is that terrible? I mean, the men can’t stop, they have a job to do, but who am I to tell my kids not to speak their minds?

I LOVE my neighbour, so this isn’t the kind of issue where I’m going to be a bitch about it, but MY GOD, what a brutal time to sort your extension out. Finding any kind of peace or quiet during the day is impossible. They start at 7 a.m., same time as the kids. The workmen leave at 4 p.m., but the kids go on until 8 p.m. By then I am broken. AND WE WONDER WHY I DRINK?

Also, we have no right to complain. Our renovation continues around ten minutes away on the new house and I’m sure our new neighbours feel the same way. It’s running months over and so stressful. I am so excited to move house and so grateful that it’s coming, but my God, they are not kidding when they say it’s stressful. SO many things to decide.

I went to the shops to buy food. I got pâté. I didn’t go out for it, but I came home with it. ISN’T THAT EXCITING???

THAT’S IT FROM ME.

Until tomorrow,

Love Dawn x

15 May

Isolation Update – open wide

You know those crystals I was talking about and how I sleep with them under my pillow? I might put them in my mouth tonight and hope for a miracle.

At around 2 a.m. we were woken up because Valentine was in the hallway trying to open the living room door. He wasn’t happy about the fact that he couldn’t do it. ‘WAHHHHH, I CAN’T OPEN THE DOOR,’ he yelled, on repeat, for quite some time.

Luckily for me, though, my wonderful husband has always been amazing about getting up with the kids in the night, and before I’d even had the chance to take out my earplugs, remove my eye mask and gently slide off my silk turban, Chris had Valentine in his arms and was taking him back to bed. I popped an extra melatonin and went back to sleep, only to discover in the morning that Chris had lain with Val for an hour before he went back to sleep. I felt awful. My turn tonight, if Val decides to do another random walk down the hallway in pitch-darkness for absolutely no fucking reason at all.

I have a fried egg on toast pretty much every morning, does anyone else? I bloody love eggs. My dream would be to have chickens and go get fresh ones every morning. We actually wanted to get some for our new house, but apparently the rules in California are that the chickens have to be at least thirty feet from your neighbours. We can’t because the houses on our new street are very close together. BUMMER. One day … one has to have a dream.

There was a lizard in our garden today. It was so cute. I’d laid out a rug for the boys to have a picnic on and it just planted itself right in the middle of it. Obviously, Valentine wanted to put it in his sandwich and kept thrusting at it, so the poor little lizard was terrified. It froze, wondering if these three massive monsters were going to eat it. Eventually he realised that wasn’t going to happen (literally had to hold Valentine back) and scuttled off into the bushes. How joyous. For a while there we sat and ate while he watched us. It was particularly funny as he was right next to the kids’ toy lizards and I really think he was confused. I mean, you would be. It’s a bit like when you’re in a shop and there’s a mannequin behind you and it makes you jump because you think it’s a person standing dangerously close. Then, after some amount of time – sometimes not much, sometimes a lot – you realise it’s not an axe murderer and continue to finger the blouses.

I hope we see more lizards because my kids were entranced for the entire time it sat with us. Of course, we could get a pet lizard. But Valentine would let it go and it would find its way into my bed and nibble my Covid Toe in my sleep. I can’t be having that on top of EVERYTHING ELSE.

It’s 15 May tomorrow. The date that lockdown was supposed to lift. But it isn’t lifting, and very little will change. Certain things will lighten up. Small groups may be OK. Childcare is becoming acceptable and I am IN. More restaurants will do take out. You can play golf and buy some flowers, but the world is still fucked. We’re in this for the long haul, that is just how it is.

But you know, I think lockdown has been good for me. Chris and I are so bad at taking holidays, we just never did. We’d go for very occasional weekend breaks, but rarely anything more. Usually Chris’s job means he’s away a lot, so just being at home with nowhere to go (OH THE IRONY) was generally enough of a break for us. For this reason, we were tired before this started. Exhausted, even. We’d both worked so hard for a few years, with no proper breaks. With the kids, weekends were harder work than the nine-to-five. We love our work, so it’s generally OK, but we really needed some time to take it easy.

Actually, I wouldn’t say looking after Art and Valentine during lockdown has been taking it easy, but not having deadlines and pressure, and work-related travel and long filming hours, and dealing with separation has been lovely. Creatively, I was really struggling for words earlier this year. I felt like I’d written all of my ideas, and that I’d totally burnt out. NOT ANY MORE. I am now raring to go. My creative juices are shooting out of me like jizz flying up the walls. I am JIZZING IDEAS all over the house. A quick book jizz in the kitchen, a blog jizz in the garden, a huge podcast jizz all over the living room. It feels really, really good to be excited by my own thoughts again. Woo-hoo to a house that’s splattered with jizz.

I got into bed tonight and gave my crystals an extra squeeze then tucked them back under my pillow. I feel very protective of them. They are literally the last things I want to get jizz on.

Why do I keep talking about jizz? I need to sleep.

Sending you all of my love, and hope you’re all OK,

Love Dawn x