April’s blog depicting thoughts inside a female composers head

(reminder….brackets = digression)

Ergh….was I asleep for most of April and the first two weeks of May?! Anyone else feel like that? … April passed in a haze and the first two weeks of May….well I think that’s a case of I shut my eyes for a minute and there it is… A big fat yellow, sarcastically smiling thirteen·five·fifteen

What you may ask did I do with my time in April. Well my cyber friends and friends who make time to read my monthly babblings, I ask myself the same question. I guess there was the transgression from renter to home owner mid-month. The first abroad-hen experience of my life and the first hen party where I helped organise it. An appointment with my neurologist who referred me to a world specialist of rare cases of epilepsy — yes, I did feel very honoured whilst at the same time feeling like I may be a potential guinea pig. Apparently my epilepsy isn’t related in any way to my deafness. Worth confirming???

There was Easter, which I had to actually refer to my diary to remember what I did. Faced with a blank diary page (which is very unusual) I had to ask my fiancé to remind me. Initially my query was met with similar perplexed confusion (…. — wedding ‘stress’? House stress? Life stress? Who knows anymore). We then worked out we were driving around the country visiting parents and fulfilling various family commitments when all we needed to do at that time was wedmin or housemin or pack for the move that ensued 10 days after.

Which reminds me, our moving day was quite a debacle. I woke up feeling proud of myself for being so organised …..

  1. Up early to load the car and be on our way so as not to be late for work — check

2. Front door on latch — check

3. Heavy boxes accessible first to aid efficient loading — check

4. Suitable production-line so car or flat was never left unoccupied for any opportunist burglars (yes, years of living in Manchester and being burgled 3 times exhibits itself in the form of a {potentially} unreasonable paranoid maniac) — check

5. Atleast one of us in possession of a front door key incase latch accidentally releases itself and we become locked out — ergh….#epicfail

So with no keys no phone no cash no technology whatsoever we were challenged with the task of finding help by ‘old-fashioned means’. No money to make a phone call and no memory to remember anyone’s number, off my fiancé went to the local supermarket whilst I stayed with our belongings to deter ‘opportunists’. He returned with a worker from the supermarket carrying a humungous ladder. Mission break-in commenced.

It soon became obvious that a ladder and climbing a steep roof to access the flat through an open window was not an option. The only consequence of that would have been a fiancé with broken legs or worse. (Later he confided in me that he had a life reflective moment where he valued his future more than his superpower aspirations. A sign he is ‘ready’ in my mind). After admitting to ourselves that any future career in burglary was evidently obsolete, my fiancé returned to the local supermarket to call a locksmith — we had no choice.

Frustrated and determined, I re-tried the painful task of sticking my arm through the mailbox, brush in hand as an extension of my arm to try and nudge the latch. A concept I learnt about whilst living in Salford when, in an attempt to raise awareness, the police informed us how burglars enter properties. After a painful struggle, de-robing of clothes due to sweat build up in the effort, a swollen and predictably bruised arm later, I eventually broke in. The potential of a future career as a burglar resurrected. Racing back to the supermarket on my bike, hair flying in my own slipstream, legs pedaling at the speed of lighting (note to self, use a lower gear next time) I arrive even more sweaty and frazzled (fraggle rock comes to mind), I burst into the supermarket declaring ‘Stop the locksmith!’.

Finally packed and ready to go (yes, it really was never ending), admittedly an hour later than intended, we went back to the local supermarket to get petrol. By this point we were on a first name basis with most of the staff. Off we trot, relieved and exhausted by the previous 2 hours (and early start — I’m positively NOT a morning person), we realise the absence of the essential tom tom. We would never make it with google maps. We were moving to the middle of bumble funk after all. So back to the flat we go (now 2 hours late). I mean seeeeeeeriously. Then we receive a phone call, ‘Hello, Miss Morrison (which felt weirdly unfamiliar), I’m just calling to let you know that we have just completed’…..CUE WATER WORKS!!!!!! Must get that emotional clumsiness under control before the big day otherwise my tears (albeit happy ones) will be creating a pool beneath me, which may be in keeping with my initial desire to run into the sea after completing our vows (the mortification from my parents stopped this little golden nugget idea) but equally may not be that appropriate.

So April, long-gone now and a late post this is. Thankyou for being eventful with life-changing moments, challenging debacles, medical diagnosis advancements, demonstrating further deterioration of memory and for taking me one step closer to June.

Quote for the month….. ‘I am starting to think that maybe memories are like this dessert. I eat it, and it becomes a part of me, whether I remember it later or not.’ Erica Bauermeister

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