I saw the word sleep in the ad.
And women curled up under grey blankets.
Blah blah blah ........ so very what I thought and scrolled on.
It came back into my feed repeatedly so I tapped the link.
It's a heavy blanket to calm you down is what it is.
Calm a scourge?
A woman with a racing brain who rarely sleeps ?
Go ahead, hit me with your best shot.
My amazing Doctor - had once issued the immortal line -
"We'll have to bring out the big guns" and prescribed a strong sedative that I became immune to as speedily as my head races.
Trying to sleep with the mania of a Bi-Polar high means that your brain is fizzing with kaleidoscopic colours and thoughts.
Sometimes it hurts more to shut my eyes because of the flickering.
On tour with my play I lay on a hotel bed in the last hours of sunlight before showtime and remarked wearily to a woman in the corner that it was easier to stay awake.
As a child I had many names.
That Divilskin. That little Scourge. The Changeling. Little Missus Up and Down. That bloody Rip.
And The Night Owl.
I read the reviews.
They were unremittingly positive.
Apart from a number who demanded their blanket and berated customer service.
And someone who said it smelt funny.
Now that's funny.
After an entire day of deliberation I logged on and bought the bloody thing.
It was so painless, and the instalment payments so easy I also bought a rock stars coat,
a t-shirt about saving bees,
and miracle gel pads to hold art onto crumbling walls.
The hallway and stairs are littered with canvasses.
I know, I'm a walking cliché.
It is March 15th.
|Karl Blau in Philly. PA.|
|mdm in Wexford Ireland|
The local elections are upcoming so I invite a Councillor to the opening of a blanket.
March 25th - I call my 89 year old Father to tell him I am out without a coat.
I spend my day wearing blue shades on a Tailors bench heckling passers by waiting for the man in a van.
The Reverend Mother hurrying to Mass catches me smoking despite my assurances to the contrary at tea in a Convent.
I photograph myself with a Franciscan Friary reflected in the mirror shades for atonement.
The blanket does not arrive.
I check the tracking number, it says 27th before 6pm.
My Father is driving me in from sowing forget me nots on my Mothers grave.
At the traffic lights he announces that he "simply CANT stop thinking about Olly Murs"
I. Can't. Even. 😮
How does Olly Murs even make it onto his radar?
Because he was on Mrs Browns Boys that's how.
To stop himself thinking about Olly Murs he decided to play "Grace" on his accordian.
Then that got him thinking about Sister Grace (the aforementioned Nun) then THAT got him thinking about the Convent, then THAT got him thinking about the time he had to collect wood for the Convent from McCormack & Hegarty's in 1946
"Can you drive an Ass and Car Tom?" says the Reverend Mother to the eager 16 year old boy who hadn't a breeze.
"I came back with my shoes in flitters as the bloody thing would only go left no matter how hard I pulled" he laughs.
I laugh louder.
Then I drew this.
|Turn, for Gods sake !|
And about 50 other things.
It's soft and heavy.
|Day 21 my eye|
Michelle Dooley Mahon is the author of "Scourged" which is available on Amazon
and the author and performer of the critically acclaimed theatre production "The Scourge" which has just finished touring as part of the FirstFortnight European Mental Health and Culture Festival.
She is currently writing and developing her new show - DiVilSkIn for which she was in receipt of an Artslinks.ie Bursary