My head gets in a terrible fuddle in January. My inner perfectionist whispers "Yes but shouldn’t January be a month of fresh starts and clean slates and brand new knickers?" My Mum says "Alison it’s January baby, thats all. It’ll all be over soon". And the rest of me pouts like a badly done to five year old and shouts "I know, but does fresh and and clean and new have to spell downright bloody miserable??"   

Tis officially miserable. The Daily Mail said so and you know what a font of wisdom they are. Apparently yesterday was "Miserable Monday" and it’s all downhill from here. At least until those fuzzy wuzzy lambs are born and the Easter Bunny starts wrapping Swiss chocolate in extravagant bows. And lets face it, we haven’t even got close to the endurance test that is February. In fact let’s not bother with the whole caboodle. Sign my petition to do away with that particular lifetime of Valentines and leap years and lets eat chocolate instead.   Marks and Spencer’s are now stocking a fine little box of violet and rose creams and blissful culinary oblivion is my own personal method of survival when life is leaving much to be desired.

We have you see acquired a vicious traffic warden who has seen fit to issue me with two £30.00 parking tickets in one week. The Man I Adored As A Teenager could fall in love with me, but ermmmm maybe not now…  and Finley is being assessed for dyspraxia tomorrow and upon questioning his teacher told me that they had decided to go down this route because he falls over a lot and cannot pedal a bike. Well yes said I, but I don’t have a garden and thus he doesn’t get much practice, to which she replied (brace yourself), well we are aware that there are social issues in the family. SOCIAL ISSUES! Hell’s bells, as if being a single mother wasn’t stigma enough in this little town, it is now clearly to blame for all manner of dubious health problems. I mean REALLY, could I not have tried harder to stay in my unmarried but still cohabiting (and thus almost socially acceptable) status and not inflicted a lovely little house with a happy little yard (but no garden) in the most affluent lane in the Northwest of England, upon my poor Coeliac ridden little boy???

It’s enough to make your blood boil. But luckily I prefer my blood lukewarm and so I am doing my up-most in very trying circumstances to stay calm and rational and address those issues I can address and not bother worrying about all those things I cannot change. And so I have thrust upon myself a to-do list of wot nots that have been bothering the back of mind since around July 2005. I am in a fit of the "must be dones". Ironing everything I own. Printing off lists of bills so I can see things in black and white and not through my rather lovely rainbow tinted glasses. Filling boxes full 0f paperbacks read and albums full of photographs. Chucking out more than just the chintz and creating order where there is none…

I think you see, that this urge to tidy up when life feels so very messy is a very human trait. A reaction to all that won’t obey the universe and do as you would have it done to you. I want parking tickets to disappear in a puff of smoke, men who declare themselves not good enough for me to let me make decisions on such matters, and  woman who are, like me, single parents through no fault of their own to never have to have their marital status referred to as an issue. To never again have to endure a raised eyebrow when it is duly noted that their surname differs to that of their child.

Goodness I’m in a rage! Don’t panic, it won’t last. I’ve never been able to bear a grudge. Not even against myself. So it’s onward and upwards. Curry with a new man on Saturday night (And I don’t even like curry!!). Parking tickets paid at the expense of goodness knows what and a meeting with the Special Needs lady tomorrow who will I think find me both defiant and determined to do the very best for my very very special child, dogged as I clearly am in their eyes, by all manner of problems said Daily Mail could  probably have a field day with…

But I would like, so very much, to learn to quiet my mind. To not feel the itch of frustration in my (broken) fingertips and listen instead to the sound of nothingness filling my mind. I’ve been reading Eat Pray Love and find myself consumed with envy at her ability to meditate, to sit at one with who she is and find forgiveness for all she couldn’t be.

I find myself consumed with envy on a daily basis lately. Tis a terrible thing is envy. But this too will pass. This too will pass.

This too will pass. My very own mantra.