This is what happens when blogging is cheaper than therapy

Well hello there!

It's been a while, huh. Twelve whole days. I'm sorry about that. 

I had some thinking to do.

It can be hard having a blog sometimes. Normally I just come here and blather on about whatever is in my mind at that particular moment, and it's wonderfully cathartic.

But sometimes there are things going on in my life, and brain, that I don't think are particularly suited to a public forum. Especially one where people, like you lovely readers, usually come for nice chats and pleasant company. And especially thoughts that haven't been given enough time to coalesce and develop into a reasoned, coherent, fair argument. So, since I couldn't write what I wanted, I abstained. And I sulked, and Mr Accident suffered, because I need somewhere to vent that isn't at him, poor man. 

Now, the things I didn't want to write about... I am going to write about. Briefly. I suspect it will be good for me, but mostly because I detest the "everything is wrong but I can't tell you" posts some bloggers throw up - it's a bit rude, really.

So, to sum it all up as succinctly as I can, I went to my grandmother's memorial, and this entailed seeing my family. And my family (as I suspect all do) come with some considerable baggage.

At the memorial I saw my brother. (Yes, I have a half-brother. And a half-sister too, somewhere. They are much older.) He has a very checkered history, and has been in, but mostly out, of my life for years. I think the last time I saw him I was 17. We occasionally email, but only seem to cover the really serious family topics, like sexual assault, mental illness, drug use, divorce... you know, the usual. (!) I actually know nothing about him as a person. It was both confronting and reassuring to see him. We hugged. He was pleased.

I saw my dad. I dislike him intensely, for a multitude of reasons. I was relieved when he arrived late  because then I didn't have to see him before the service. (20 minutes late! To his own mother's memorial! And he didn't take off his hat in church!) However, all his nephews and cousins look so very similar that I was a nervous wreck every time a male relative walked in, until I could be sure it wasn't my father. Grandpa had strong genes! After the service we all had tea in the foyer. I was hyper-aware the entire time, just praying he wouldn't see me. I had even worn my hair differently that day, so I would be less recognisable. It turns out I am a complete sook when it comes to emotionally charged confrontations in completely inappropriate locations - we didn't have one.  I evaded successfully, then fled. To say it was stressful would be understating it. (Remember, I've been in war zones. And frankly I preferred them.) 

And I finally saw my beloved cousin. We were thick as thieves growing up, two only children of the same age, with parents who were best friends. But three years ago I had a falling out with his wife and as a result I hadn't seen him since. He missed my wedding. He's never met my girls. I always thought, growing up, that he would be like an uncle to my offspring, but they don't even know what he looks like. Devastating. But to finally get to hug him again? Priceless, and very emotional.

So that's what's been stewing in my head.

It's a relief to get it written down, now perhaps I can move past it all and start thinking and writing about more normal things. Like laundry, and walking the dogs.  Perhaps tomorrow, hey?

In the meantime, I'm off to catch up on all the blog reading I missed. It's really good to be back.