Peri-Menopausal Mum Fights With Nerd

in which 2024 energy might be unhinged

Comrades, 2023 was hard work.

2024 is unfolding with many complex parts to the puzzle: medical, work, school. At home, there are a lot of moving parts involved in parenting, daughtering and wifing. And in the big picture, the geopolitical context of the moment is heavy to hold and process: ones place and role inside it, let alone where it all might lead.

Jedidiah Jenkins tells the old parable of the blind monks and the elephant in his lovely book ‘Mother, Nature.’

From Wikipedia: The parable of the blind men and an elephant is a story of a group of blind men who have never come across an elephant before and who learn and imagine what the elephant is like by touching it. Each blind man feels a different part of the animal's body, but only one part, such as the side or the tusk. They then describe the animal based on their limited experience and their descriptions of the elephant are different from each other. In some versions, they come to suspect that the other person is dishonest and they come to blows. The moral of the parable is that humans have a tendency to claim absolute truth based on their limited, subjective experience as they ignore other people's limited, subjective experiences which may be equally true.

That horrible notion of the ‘post-fact universe’ makes it feel even more important to listen, question and interrogate my own certainties. At the same time, I’m trying to learn how to reframe the world so that I am leaning in to an autistic world view, rather than requiring people I love to do all the work of leaning into neurotypicality.

The ‘double empathy problem’ says that ‘mind-reading’ might be a two-way street between autistic and non-autistic people. The communication gap is mutual, so everything’s up for reframing, the Lego all over the floor. Could be beautiful in the end. But will definitely involve some painful missteps. Basically I’m trying to lean into how other peoples minds and hearts work. Arm wide, palms up to the universe; let the glitter fall where it will.

Me, I need to be on an even keel so that I can spread myself across all the sandwiches. My endless lists help with this, as does any form of art or creativity. My writing is steadying during this era of intensive service. It’s private and incremental and tangible; where so much of my work is public and thankless and invisible. GOD what a whinger!

My work in progress, a novel called Bleach Church, is madness; like an alternative universe that I inhabit in the very early mornings. And the publication date for Mothering Heights is fast approaching. People are reading the book out there in real life which makes me want to retract my metaphorical testicles into my body; and last night I dreamt that the book was published as a tiny giveaway, full of typos. Also, nobody came to the book launch other than this odd John Howard/Bob Hawke hybrid who was cat-calling women as they rode past on their bikes. It was all a mess.

Next week I am in the studio all week recording the audiobook. A Mothering Heights moment for you:

It is true that modern life can sometimes make for rage and anxiety and despair. There is no way through without pain: those thousand joys and thousand sorrows. But there is still laughter, music, tenderness, affection and fun. These days, late nights involve talking through friendship worries rather than walking the hallway patting swaddled bottoms, researching neurodivergence and all its brilliant nooks and crannies rather than baby milestones and feeding schedules, searching for chargers rather than dummies lost underneath a child’s bed.

At its heart, the work remains the same. Attention, patience, light-heartedness: these are the lessons that mothering has always asked me to learn. In the early days, when it seemed as though we were always sick and sore and struggling, Keith and I took comfort in our love for each other, and these days, although the challenges take a different shape, the affection we share remains central. The baby years are soft-lit now, distant, fuzzy-edged, while adolescence is sharp and present and powerful. Both are filled with golden moments, and the steady presence of the gentle partner at my side.

To recap, my plan for 2024: writing, connection, structure.

However.

Just this week, I had a fight with a guy in a local computer shop. Short story is that he, unprovoked, shouted at me in front of my kid. This boiled my tits so hard that I ended up stalking out, shouting at the door ‘This is not over!’ and then, possibly confusingly, ‘BAD BUSINESS!’

So 2024 could possibly be ‘peri-menopausal lady fights with nerd’ energy. Regardless: here we go! Release the beast!

Watching, Reading, Listening and Eating

Annabel Crabb’s pomegranate cloud cake. Flourless and fudgy, cooked three times over Xmas period, every cake a winner.

Current viewing: Arrested Development. We so often go back to our old favourites: repeating Seinfeld, Parks and Rec, Friends, Brooklyn 99 and Fawlty Towers. All of them are winners for low-stakes shared family time at the end of a day.

Top reads to recommend today: these three blew my tiny mind: Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Birnam Wood, Copperhead Demon.

Amanda Knox on Sam Harris - a thoughtful, fascinating conversation.

Candid, wild and wonderful: Em Rusciano’s Marriage Diaries

The Glitch - SO MUCH FUN! The best kind of true crime.

Bottom line: I’m going to try and be more structured with Silly Little Newsletter; like back in my column-writing days. For accountability, my plan is a fortnightly newsletter on life and writing. See you in two weeks, comrades!