Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

One of the things I try not to do on this blog is complain too much about things, not because I am ‘a bloody Pollyanna’ as certain people cough partner cough may have said in the past, but because I think if you concentrate on positivity you feel more positive blah blah blah (I do think that). However, some of what I sometimes want to tell you touches on something a bit miserable, and I have hitherto never quite been sure how deal with this, for a couple of reasons. One, I don’t like concentrating on miserable things, as I said before. Two, I am emotionally in Stalker Mode with this thing, and I am uncomfortable even acknowledging it exists, because that feels too much like poking the crazy. And three, because I suspect it may hit the Daily Mail or similar at some point, at which time some poor freelancer is going to google everyone involved and obviously they are absolutely going to hit pay dirt with me. So I don’t want to make it any worse. (‘From her online “weblog”, Susie appears to enjoy knitting, moaning about Tesco, and following cats around Cambridge taking photographs of them. We were not clear whether the owners had given their permission’).

This cat is my new Bestie and runs up when he sees me. I wasn't strangling him, I don't take out my suppressed aggression on little furry creatures

What a conundrum, eh. But I have realised that quite a bit of what I sometimes want to share may not entirely make sense without me saying this to you initially (well, saying this makes my posts make sense to me. You are going to read it and think, ok, right, no wiser, aren’t internet people weird. But, I promise I’m not weird, just very unlucky and formerly with an inadequate self-protection instinct). So. For the last couple of years (draws up therapist’s couch, lies down, sighs,) I have been Under The Shadow Of An Unpleasant Situation. I am not ill, Partner is certainly not as he is thriving and growing nice thick hair on his back, Aunty Kath does not have anything that would prevent her eating petits fours, nor has Milo The Lively Husky done anything terrible and shamed me, his proud aunt. It is not anything anyone needs to worry about or be sympathetic towards (in fact, please don’t be sympathetic. I pretend it doesn’t exist). It is absolutely not something I can blog about, and it’s so utterly bizarre that it’s quite hard to explain, so I’m just going to say that, although none of my family are involved in any way and it isn’t about my family at all, I feel a very special kind of sympathy and fellow-feeling for this man, and I wish I had read a book like this enough years ago that it would have entered into my thick head and I had taken action to protect myself.

Experimental Cityscape In Pastels, you are all invited if I ever have an exhibition and I can guarantee there will be wine. Indeed I will be on my back the way this week is going

So although I obviously can’t say that I spend my waking life brooding on my terrible Situation and gnawing the carpets, because of course I don’t, it would also be untrue to deny that I have had some dark moments, and I will certainly have more. (Indeed, I will have them in June! So if I disappear for a bit next month, don’t worry).

Because of this, a lot of my thinking over these past few years has been, what do you do when you are going through something a little bit miserable, for which no end is ever in sight? How do you act? What do you do? How do you not despair, how do you not become bitter, and how do you believe that all people are not like some people (they're not)? Well (and, hooray, this is where I can start being cheerful again), what you do is, you think, ok, the worst probably hasn’t happened because eagles have not actually swooped down and carried off Partner just as he is off to pay the council tax and carried off the cheque as well, but, a fairly enormously crappy thing has happened, worrying about it has not helped one single tiny jot, iota or bit, and now I am free. What a waste of time worrying was. What a waste of time thinking about everybody else was. All those things I might have wanted to do but thought I was too old/ not good enough/ too Middle Class Cambridge/ not Middle Class Cambridge enough – now I can do them. I’ve been nice, and look where it’s got me. Now I’m going to be true to myself, I’m going to have fun, and I’m not going to care one tiny little bit about what people think, because as someone on a very nice message board I sometimes visit has as their signature, those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.

I buy shorts, I wear them without shame because all my cellulite is round the back and I can't twist far enough to see it

OK, lovely, got that one out of the way, now, let’s never poke the crazy again and never revisit it, but now you see I’m not in the grip of a midlife crisis. No! It’s much more peculiar! ;-). So tomorrow I can tell you about the pole dancing. I’ve just got one regret. Who remembers the gold Top Shop hotpants I saw last year? Well, I wish I’d bought them now, don’t I?