REM had a great song come out around 1991 called ‘Losing my Religion’. It is a catchy song and was a huge hit that spoke to heaps of people. At the moment I’m not losing my religion. I’m losing my Mojo. Since April this year I have somehow been able to write out a blog post and get it up on my site with pretty good regularity. More regularity indeed than I possessed in many other areas of life, including the routine shaving of my legs. I had so much imagination and so much to say. A week never went by without some time behind the computer screen tapping away and out popped a blog post at the end, with me lovingly admiring it like a newborn baby, just with less drugs involved in the birthing process. And even if I had a day where I didn’t have an idea, I knew that it would be short lived. The sun would come up again tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’d be a creative spark. And even though I wasn’t an orphan with ridiculous hair, tomorrow has never let me down.
Those days appear to have ceased. My mind is barren, like an ageing spinster with shrivelled up ovaries incapable of bearing creative offspring of any kind and no prospects for the future. Annie’s signature song is now not an anthem of hope, but a mocking mantra. Why?!?!?! After careful reflection this evening and a bowl of peanut M & M’s (peanuts are brain food), perhaps there are a number of factors that have numbed the creative section of my brain and caused my Mojo to disappear like a vial of botox at the Kardashian’s condo.
Firstly, I believe my spirit has been broken after 6 weeks of severe and unrelenting sickness in my home. My husband has had pneumonia and all children have had a variety of colds, viruses, gastro and we may as well throw in some head lice too. These combinations have dulled the part of my brain that is able to function on an artistic level. And also, NOTHING HAS HAPPENED TO ME in the past 6 weeks worth writing about, as I am aware no one wants to hear about how to clean nacho vomit out of a shag rug (bicarb soda, a hose and ultimately Ryan’s carpet cleaners FYI).
Secondly, over the past few months I have found extra employment, which has been excellent. Or rather, employment found me and knocked on my door. This has meant finding a nanny for my kids and rushing about like most other women do everyday and have done successfully & without complaining for years. Trouble is, I’m not used to it and I’m a whinger who loves a slow start to her day, much like sloth. I like to start my day like I get into a pool, leisurely and at my own pace. I’m not used to getting up at 6.30am and having to get OUT OF MY PAJAMA’S immediately and actually do my hair and make up. I think my entire being has been shocked by this process and any brain development been subsequently stunted. As you may recall, I had only just recently been inspired by another mother to actually do the school drop off in my dressing gown. For me, this was a monumentous realisation and achievement, much like putting a man on the moon. Although it may seem insignificant, think of the impact if this practice caught on. It was one small step for me but one giant leap for all stay at home mothers. Imagine a world where you don’t need to get dressed at all? Comfort, in your dressing gown…all day!? Yes please! And now, much like a baby being yanked out of the comfort of the womb, I’ve been thrust in the real world of office-working mothers, confused and screaming but with a bright pink lipstick and a pair of heels. It has actually been a great and worthwhile opportunity that I am thoroughly enjoying.
But I have to conclude that my own brain actually has a limit to the level of output it is capable of, particularly after three children and the onset of what medical professionals term ‘baby brain’. Let’s call this output ‘credit’ in the bank. Before I had this job, a lot of that credit was spent on you – writing these blog posts. Now that I am getting used to working too, it would seem my brain power has hit its ceiling, and with a massive debit, it is actually all used up by the time I get home. The only thing I seem to have the energy to do is open the bottle of wine, pour and stare at the TV. Lather, rinse, repeat. I wonder if it’s only me who feels this way. Or do the rest of you like to come home after a long day, cook dinner, bath and put to bed 3 kids and then jump at the chance to write an essay comparing the themes of Tolstoy’s ‘War & Peace’ to Dostoyevsky’s ‘The Brothers Karamazov’?
I am not sure if it’s me or not. Hopefully soon, to continue my newborn analogy, this baby will stop screaming in protest and start snuggling and maybe even smiling or giggling on a level of extreme cuteness. That day will hopefully come. But for now, all I know is that I’ve lost my Mojo and I would really like to get it back. If you see it, please send it home to me with a bottle of Vodka and an oversized Toblerone. Thanking you in advance. Carrie.
Carried Away 