The Dreaded Day

Good morning.  Today is the day I’ve been dreading for a while now – my dentist appointment!  I am booked in for a tooth extraction for one of my molars and the thought of it is making my insides squirm.

It’s my own fault for not looking after my tooth when I had a chance.  No excuses.  Oh how I wish I could just turn back time. There’s only one thing worse than a dentist appointment: being trapped in a room with a spider!

If you don’t hear from me later, things will have gone awry.  It might sound a bit dramatic, but try explaining it to my fear. He’s in charge today. Pity the dentist was not enthusiastic about me starting the process for him by removing my own tooth.  His frowny face and tut-tutting gave me the impression that this course of action is a no-no.  

Ah, well, I guess I should go get ready for the day and face it like a woman. Farewell my dear readers.  It was nice knowing you. 

Monday Coffee

Hi! Come on in.  It’s sleepover night tonight and I have an array of snacks and drinks for your pleasure, or displeasure! Hope you brought your own pillow as I don’t share (it’s a thing I have about mouth breathers and dribble…eww!). Dump your stuff over there by the bookshelf and come sit down.

Whilst we wait for the rest of the crew to arrive, let me tell you an amusing tale about last night.  It was dead on half one in the morning and Henry needed to go out for his last bathroom run before bedtime.  Due to the holidays, everyone’s bedtime seems to have been extended, which in turn means a later wake-up call in the morning, so it’s not too bad.  Anyway, in my wisdom, I decided not to switch on the passage light or the light downstairs.  After all, I do this run nearly every night and I know which dark objects move and don’t move.  I did spare a thought for the funny dark spot on the floor but decided to skip over it with my bare feet and hoped whatever it was, it wouldn’t move.  It didn’t.

Henry went out and disappeared in the darkness of the garden as he usually did and I decided it would be a good idea to do the same and go for my last bathroom break.  I’m not brave enough to broach the bathroom without a light on, so with a loud click, the bulb burst into a bright sun radiating from the ceiling.  For the few seconds it took me to half close the door behind me (yes, even though no-one is awake, I still close the door! Don’t you?) and as I half turned to look behind me, I noticed a visitor on the wall next to the toilet.  It was huge, not just the average oh my God kind of big but the SH*T! RUUNNNN! kind of big.

I practically flew out of the bathroom.  I have to admit I don’t recall re-opening that door, but somehow I was out in the shadowy passageway again, searching the darkness for the visitor’s friends.  My shrieks woke my second eldest who called down to find out what was the matter.  I dared not move away from the door of the bathroom, in case this guest decided to move to a more secluded place where I wouldn’t find him.  Stuttering out incoherent sentences drew my daughter out of her room and onto the landing upstairs.  I shrieked for her to call her brother.  He, of course, was fast asleep and refused to budge.  She came instead.

Once she was in place, I ran to get us both pairs of shoes – something that is vitally important when you have a guest that can run faster than you and can creep under doors!  Once we were dressed in our nightshirts and trainers, we decided on a course of action.  She ran to the kitchen cupboard and brought back all the deadliest bleach sprays we possessed.  I eyeballed her hardware and agreed that Cillit Bang could definitely do the job.  After all, the advert always bragged “BANG! And the dirt is dead!” as its catchphrase.  Now the problem was how to actually go into the narrow space and spray our guest/tormentor.  Did I mention how big he was?

At last the Hubble joined us in his slippers, boxers and t-shirt (perfect fighting-wear!) A hilarious conversation ensued with each of us suggesting close to the ridiculous on how to try and get this sucker out of the bathroom.  In the end the Hubble decided to spray the floor where said guest would hopefully try to make his leggy escape.  Then came the definitive spray that would drop him.  The first two squirts fell short and didn’t even tickle him.  The third knocked him off the wall onto the floor where he bounced up and down, jumping and running with the agility of a combat soldier out on the war field.  Screams and curses followed him as he raced for cover behind the toilet.  My cries of terror accompanied the Hubble’s squirting action which soon coated the unwanted guest in a foam of white killer bubbles.  He struggled at first, fighting through the poison, but slowly his body succumbed to the deadly toxins surrounding him.

Brave daughter decided to move forward whilst Hubble went out with a flourish since his job was done.  She blew the body of the beast, testing to see if he was still alive.  We waited with bated breath.  Nothing.  She blew again, hopping back in case he jumped.  Nothing.  Phew! The beasty was dead.  I wanted to get a stick from outside to remove him and throw him down Davey Jones’ locker. As I was about to leave my post by the door, I heard a squeal.  Said brave daughter practically mowed me down as the beasty lifted his two front legs, the longest I’ve ever seen, and waved them as though reaching out to her.  I don’t think I need to mention the expletives I might have uttered as we both fell over each other in a hasty retreat.  The few seconds felt tense as we peeped round the corner of the bathroom door to check if he had followed us out.  Instead, we saw him flip over (this was a first as I’ve never seen a spider do this) and with one last jerk of his long hairy legs, he gave up the fight and died.

For those not afraid of spiders, this must seem cruel and obscene, but I swear, this guy was huge.  I can handle small spiders…hell, I can even take out medium ones and release them back into the garden.  But there was no saving this beasty.  It was him or us and I had to choose us.  The way he jumped and leaped over the spray, in the spray, through the spray – he was a professional! My skin crawls when I think of it and it takes days for the paranoia to die down.  Every shadow that moves becomes a beasty; every bit of fluff that floats by or rolls just out of my direct line of sight becomes a guest running towards me.  I have to fight down the fear again and regain my confidence in living with the knowledge that there are hundreds of those big guys living just outside my kitchen door, waiting – waiting patiently for us to forget to close the windows; waiting for us to leave the door open past twighlight when the house stays warm and the outside gets just a bit too cool to be comfortable. That’s when they move in. That’s when they visit.

Brrr!

Anyway, don’t worry, the doors have been closed early tonight and I’ve only vacuumed three times in every corner of the house.  My hands have been washed over fifty times and I am sure that the interim showers (with checks before and after on the shower curtain for certain visitors) are all absolutely normal.

So, ready for our sleepover?  I thought, for our movie tonight we could watch Arachnophobia! Just kidding!

Whoop! I hear the doorbell.  Check the snacks and drinks for me, will you, whilst I let the others in.  It’s going to be a great night!

Losing You

Saturday Night Confessions

It’s earlier than usual and I’m tucked under my favourite tartan blanket. There is something about tartan that makes me happy inside! Maybe it’s the lovely memories I have of staying at my Grandma’s and having nap time under a red scratchy tartan blankie every afternoon after lunch. My cousin and I would hide under the matching old wooden carved bedsteads, waiting to be found by my gran and scolded back to bed in fits of giggles. Happy memories.

Right, onto the reason for this post. It’s Saturday night and time to share some funky confession and hope you’re brave enough to share something with me. This one is not so much a secret but more a silly thing I did because of fear. I might have mentioned this in a previous post so apologies if it is something I’ve shared before. It gives you a reason to pilfer through my posts to check if I have I suppose!

Well, the thing is I have a fear of dentists. When I was small, the dentist I was taken to pinned me down because I panicked and he tried to check my teeth whilst I was terrified in the seat. We never returned to him but the effects have lasted over the years.

When I was pregnant with my first child, my filling fell out of one of my molars and I couldn’t bear the pain. The tooth felt as though it was disintegrating too so I knew it was time to visit the dentist. The thought of stressing myself whilst pregnant for an annoying tooth seemed silly, so I took matters into my own hands. I took a pair of pliers and a screw driver and pulled out bits of the offending tooth. Yup, it was painful and very difficult but the feeling of satisfaction made it worthwhile. The pain was gone and I carefully washed it out to avoid infection. It’s not pretty and I have had my dentist tut tut about my handiwork, but I refuse to cap it as it is happy as it is.

So what sort of crazy self-help stuff have you done because of your fears? I hope I’m not the only one who has done something like this!

Pic courtesy of care2.com

Tap Tap Tap

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound reverberated through my alcohol soaked brain. Insistent and annoying, it couldn’t be ignored anymore. My brittle eyelashes exploded dried mascara across the white pillow cases reeking of cigarette smoke and alcohol dribble; probably mine.

A groan escapes my parched throat as a thousand drills set to work across synapses in my brain; the effort of sitting up drawing the chomping headache closer to a nauseous state as things drift in and out of focus. Brown duvet, the colour of dirty mud. Ugly retro furniture scattered across a minuscule bedroom suffocating from IKEA throwbacks that were as mismatched as my brain functions. Eww, was that the smell of vomit? I search around for my mobile and touch a warm body buried under the mud duvet. It moans and a burp escapes its neandatholic shape, accompanied by a hairy hand scratching a naked exposed butt cheek. Nausea was reaching a critical point as I tried to piece together the night before.

RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Prompt Challenge #11

Drive and Psycho

Certain blushes drive
Psychotic movements through
Endless persuasion

Copyright held by Eloise De Sousa (2014). All Rights Reserved.

Pics provided by tvtropes.org

The Essence of Freedom

Welcome to my first blog.  I hope you find it interesting enough not to run out of here screaming for a refund of your time!

I’ve chosen the topic of Freedom for my first blog as it seems to be trending this weekend.  What is Freedom?  I come from a country where freedom depends of which side of the colour barrier you sit and who you know.  I grew up getting the sense that I was superior to certain races and if I associated with them, I would be looked down upon.  My parents grew up when colours ranged like rainbow ice-cream, vanilla the favourite and as you got darker, the likeliness of favouritism grew less!  But that didn’t stop me from having friends from different races and walks of life.  I loved the fact that I could associate with anyone, not based on what they looked like but how they benefited my life.  Selfish I know, but honest.

The beauty of moving to England is the freedom of association.  I never stopped myself from associating with the rich, poor or mediocre back in Zimbabwe. In England, there is no barrier from associating with different races and classes.  We don’t look upon others as lower class or inferior to us.  Or maybe I’m kidding myself and I keep my rose tinted glasses on so that I don’t see the racism around me.  It’s easier to accept others for their personalities rather than the colour of their skin and their rank in life.  Sometimes the rich can be the most obnoxious, ignorant collective you could ever meet, but then again so could the working class or the poor.  It’s Freedom of choice that gives us our true nature.  We choose, rich or poor whether or not we want to be accepted by others.  We choose whether we will give to society and become part of the acceptable norm.  Those who decide otherwise are soon noticed and marked, publicly flogged but worshipped by some in private.

The governments that rule our fantastic nation feel the need to curtail our freedoms for the good of all.  School kids are demoralized and told that they are not studying hard enough.  Parents are told that they are useless and must follow protocols the Governments set in place to assist us in good parenting.  Schools are told that they are failing the nation and should adhere to more rules and regulations to make them fit to meet up to the standards of communist nations.  Is this Freedom?

I watch the news and the reports on Syria, Sudan, China; all the countries and areas fighting for freedom.  Freedom from oppression, hunger, greed, government.  We ourselves create this dogma that rules our existence.  Man-made rules for man-made problems.  As a Zimbabwean (now Brit), I ask myself if there will ever be a time where there will be peace and freedom for all and I know the answer is a definite NO!  Take away the greed of mankind, the maliciousness of religion and the lies of politicians.  Strip it down to a bare post-apocolyptic end and see if freedom is achieved once all these other parameters are removed.

The unfortunate reality is that we are trapped on this earth which governs itself.  We are the victims of floods, droughts and devastation.  Scientists are fighting over the argument of who caused all of this. We lived on this planet and yes we contributed to it but in the end we have no say over how it ends.  Mother Earth will readjust herself as she sees fit and destroy all we build, demolish palaces and shacks; eat away at the earth we so crave to own until she decides she has had enough.  We claim to be in possession of our own freedom and fight tooth and nail to hold onto it.  But based on what we have seen over the past couple of months around the world, I feel we are kidding ourselves.

Freedom is vision of controlling your life, even for a fleeting moment, before it is taken away by the elements around you. We don’t control those elements.  We are just victims of circumstance and time.  One day we will realise that the freedom we craved was right there in the realisation that we are free – free to live, smile, laugh, love, pro-create and die in our chosen way.  Our humanity.