Am I mad?

Can someone please help me? I need my dream interpreted so I can figure out what is going on in my crazy head.

The dream:
There were a lot of people staying at our house, including someone in our bedroom (though not sharing our bed). Children were milling around (it was evening) with their parents, many of whom I didn't know, but they all seemed very friendly - and excited.

Suddenly, one of my children asked where their stockings were, and it dawned on me with an indescribable panic, that it was actually Christmas Eve. And I was totally unprepared. No one seemed to have pointed out the lack of a tree; but when I confessed that there would be no stockings this year, because I had forgotten to organise them, there was much sulkiness and distress. The main distress was felt by myself. How could I do this?

Not only had I forgotten stocking presents, but there would be no presents under the tree either (not that there was a tree, but had I got presents, we could have pretended). I sobbed around the place, and word quickly spread of our family crisis. Lots of the children (who I didn't recognise) came up and kindly offered to sacrifice one of their presents so that my children would have, at least something, to open. I was overwhelmed by their kindness, yet found myself having to accept things like a quite hideous floral jump suit, which, aside from its obvious fashion reject qualifications, would be far too small for Zoe. With a smile on my face, I gratefully accepted, knowing Zoe would be horrified (and would not be able to hide this fact).

I discovered a craft market which was operating late on Christmas Eve, and wandered round it aimlessly, trying to find suitable things to fill a stocking. I did buy a couple of necklaces, which had glass giraffes on them, but the only other thing which I thought would appeal were some gorilla suits, which a group of children were modelling.

I was still dissatisfied, but had at least got something to ease the pain of 'no Christmas presents this year folks', and assuage my own guilt at forgetting. When I returned home, everyone was still milling around, although it was very late. I was getting quite annoyed, as I wanted to sleep. When I got into bed, I was horrified to find some dog shit lying between Rob and I.

The question is: do I need psychiatric help?

Pilates

I lied on my last blog when I said I hadn't achieved any of my New Year's resolutions. I forgot that I started a Pilates class on Friday. Pat on the back, Sandra, and a hearty 'well done!' The idea of Pilates appeals to me on several fronts. Firstly, I understood there was no jumping about, which always sets alarm bells ringing for me, on account of my little 'problem'. Jumping is not the only thing which sets it off, an unexpected cough, a choking fit, or a violent sneeze will also bring it on, but I can normally control those by crossing my legs in time. But nothing can stop it when doing star jumps.



Secondly, I like the idea of lying down for these sessions. Lying down is so much more relaxing than standing up, and it makes my stomach look quite flat.



Thirdly, I felt I should support the lovely lady who takes the class. She sorted out the trapped nerve in my neck,which had defied every other variety of medical expertise, from conventional medicine (they told me I had carpal tunnel syndrome) to Bowen (plain weird) and a chiropractor, who quite simply gave me the creeps. Everytime he 'manipulated' my neck, I thought he was going to kill me. Plus, he spent an inordinate amount of time analysing the sole of my trainers, which I thought a bit bizarre. He said they could tell the story of my posture. But he also told me that if I put frozen peas on my neck and then refroze them, I could die. He was South African.



Pilates's main message seems to be 'core stability', which involves lifting your pelvic floor muscle and pulling in your tummy from your belly button. Strengthening these muscles will apparently benefit your body in every way, by protecting your spine, and thus your nerve endings. Sounds good to me, plus, if I can ever actually locate my pelvic floor muscles, and therefore strengthen them, that will help with my little problem. Unfortunately, and rather dishearteningly, when the teacher said 'imagine the lift going up, now it's on the second, third, fourth..... all the way up to the eighth floor. Now hold it there', my lift had stopped at the first floor and plummeted back down to the ground floor before she had even mentioned the second, let alone the eighth floor.



Anne (my new found friend, who suffers a similar problem) and I commiserated with each other, but both of us left with the optimistic feeling that somehow this would be the miracle cure we had been searching for since the birth of our babies and the deterioration of our bodies. A shame there's nothing to be done about the stretch marks. At least we know that Greek men find them attractive.

A New Year

New year didn't seem complete this year, we didn't sing 'Auld Langs Ine', or whatever it's called and however you spell it, but you know what I mean. We stood outside watching an immensely expensive fireworks display (or at least that's what Richard, the pub landlord where we were, told us) which lasted all of 2 minutes, and I couldn'thelp thinking our wages for the next two months were now floating around in the sky. As I swigged on my third large glass of wine (which cost me over two hours work) I made my usual resolutions, which are beginning to sound a bit like a stuck record: 'get fit and drink less' (for my body) and 'be less judgemental' (for my spirit).

The former hasn't actually kicked in yet, but it's still only just the new year, so I'm not beating myself up about it (no point in being unrealistic or setting myself impossible goals), and the latter went out the window yesterday when I started an evening class again and immediately decided I hated this woman who I barely know (replacing my last target of hate, whom I also barely knew) because she never shuts up when our teacher is trying to teach us. I happen to know that she's a teacher and therefore should know better. Mind you, teachers are notoriously rowdy in these situations. I tried to counterbalance my lapse by telling myself to be tolerant, she's probably a really nice person and the fact she has to show off is just because she is insecure and I ought to pity her rather than finding myself wanting to hit her, but this all rang rather hollow as I continued to hate her.

Now, next year I am going to think of something I really can achieve. Perhaps it will be:
drink excessively, refrain from any physical exercise and make an instant judgement about someone (preferably negative) and stick by it. Then I can end up feeling really good about myself for having 'stickability'.

Happy New Year everybody.