Sunday, November 23, 2014

red tent time

Ahh, welcome, PMS, you old divil. Chocolate cravings, cold sore, water retention and urges to be gratuitously combative online.

Where is my hut up the valley?

Wait, does that sound too euphemistic?

Monday, November 17, 2014

My blog is so miserable at the moment, I'm sorry.

Nice things - my friend sent me a photo of her two adorable twin girls who woke her up with giggles and cuddles on her birthday this morning. They're utterly gorgeous.

My fingers have stopped hurting!

I had two really nice visits this weekend. And Olivia has been pleasant to everyone all day today.

I have work later into the year than usual.

These things are good.
I feel so guilty for failing to be happy

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Ugh. I have burnt the crap out of my fingers by picking up a plate I'd just taken out of a hot oven. Stupidstupidstupid.

And I tell you this - cold water has messed me up, as rather than getting better, my hand is now convinced that ice cold is the only temperature it's safe at. I should have done the homeopathic way and put it in hot water, and convinced the burn it was ok to be hot, and not need to react. Instead I went the wimpy way because it hurt SO FUCKING MUCH but now it still does, hours later. Extra strength Nurofen not working... I'm scared to go to bed. And it's 12.45, I have to go to bed. My nerves feel damaged. Is it me or am I hurting myself a lot recently? Shutting my finger in the car door, dentist on Wednesday, now this?


Friday, November 14, 2014

I don't miss a huge amount about being in my relationship because mostly I missed that relationship stuff when I was in it, and that was very painful. So mostly I feel relief at not being in that position anymore.

And I'm usually good at upholding the denial so I'm no longer crushed by the grief at the failure of my marriage and the lonely old age I face etc. etc. Yadda yadda, even.

However, something I miss enormously is the luxury of being in bed and snuggling into someone. The embrace of the warm sheets, being able to scooch into someone's arms and snuggle up. It's the ultimate in indulgence. It's delicious. I suppose I'm lucky to have had it, before it went away.  But I long for it sometimes.

I do love my bed, and my body pillow. It's just not always quite enough. 

Thursday, November 13, 2014

rude and selfish and late

I saw this post on the timeline of someone I know about how chronic lateness is rude and selfish.

No, you are not ‘running late’, you are rude and selfish

I agree with the writer - it's horrible not to go to the party until it's half over, leaving the birthday celebrant stressed and lonely in their function room and frock while everyone else is down the pub. I hate that. I also hate how mobile phone culture has made it ok to ring the person who's standing on the street waiting for you and telling them you'll be there in half an hour. That's ... stupid.

And yeah, turning up 20 mins late for a meeting with a bacon sandwich is ridiculous. Does that really happen all the time? I've never seen that. I've only seen people arriving flustered and stressed and apologetic. Maybe that guy only works with rude people. I also hate waiting the extra 20 mins I usually have to wait in the dentist, but I read the paper and am glad I go to a dentist who gives people the extra time they need.

But here's the thing -  I feel shit today, and this post made me feel shitter. Because, as I said, sometimes people are always late because they're not coping. Not all of us deal well with life, work, kids, mornings. Some of us wake up in the morning just want to sleep. We have plans, we want to do things, but the energy just isn't there. I frequently think about going out at night, but the thought of the getting ready, the makeup, the efforts to look nice, get the kids fed, get clean, get the house ready for my mother in law... I frequently just stay home instead. I don't want to be rude. Or selfish. So I stay home.

Similarly, I want to have you to dinner, but I know myself - I know I'll put the cleaning off til too late, and then do a bad job, and cringe in humiliation when you arrive. I know it'll look like I don't care about you enough to make the house nice, and that's so not true. I just ... can't cope. I can't do it most of the time. So I don't invite you. Because much as I'd love your company, I don't want to be rude.

I think a lot of people are trapped in fear of judgement. Sure, if I'm late all the time I shouldn't get promoted. Sure, I don't want to leave you standing on the street. But for some people, getting up and out is an achievement, even if they just can't get themselves there on time. I don't want to sound self pitying, but I feel like this posts ignores a lot of people who really need... something more constructive. 

Friday, November 7, 2014

horrible introspection

I've had fruit flies in my kitchen since the summer, on and off- they never quite went away. I finally found out where the last batch hatched from - er, I did not know that oat bran would go off in the pack. Or that fruit flies would breed in it. *vomit* I thought it would just sit there, dryly, honest.

I tend to have a violent mini-flamethrower fantasy reaction to the flies, maybe a baker's blow torch? As the last one or few kept flying towards me, that was all I could think about. Flaming them so they dropped, blackened and frazzled out of the air, perhaps after emitting a cartoon micro-scream. Isn't that a terrible image? Yet grimly satisfying.

I bought a red candle-lighter the other day, with a long, em... what would you call it? One of these type doodits but with a big round grey clicky button in the middle.

I can't tell you how much I wanted to grab it and try and incinerate the tiny fly in mid-flight. I'm usually relatively Buddhist about killing things, even detested spiders and... well, I feel ok about killing mosquitoes, in truth. But I open the window for house flies and hope they'll fuck off on their own steam. I hate the thought of torture, or causing anything pain.

So I was a bit horrified to find myself mildly obsessed with flaming the fly to death. And then I thought, with even more horrror, oh god, is this how psycopaths feel? This blood lust, this need to kill against all their conditioning and convictions? Imagine if I was desperate to set a human being on fire instead of teeny fly?

Ok, I've been watching too much Criminal Minds, I know. Still though. Perspective. 

Monday, November 3, 2014

it doesn't matter

I have been feeling so sickened by people's behaviours and attitudes this last while. Acid thrown to melt women's faces into their necks. People denied the right to relationships, to marriage. The horrors of war, of abuse of rights. Outraged disgust because some slightly plump girl on the internet dared to try and look sexy in a Wonder Woman leotard. The hatred.

I want to tell my homophobic Russian student who is worried about the effect gay people celebrating their sexuality in public would have on his hypothetical children: it doesn't matter - what matters is people, is love. It doesn't matter; bodies, what's under someone's clothes, whether they're 'attractive' or not, who they love. It matters that we do love, and love well. And that we're allowed to. This is what's important.

Save your disgust for war and bigotry, for cruelty and hatred. Don't fill up the space around you with meanness and judgement. Don't pretend that people aren't all people. You don't give up your rights to good treatment just because you love someone, or you love  yourself.

Ugh, I'm so tired of it all. 

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

i am feeling really sad these last few days

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

I'm not doing a gratitude journal, I promise, but I actually count my blessings quite often, surprising as you might find that.

I am so grateful that I sleep well. I suppose I've earned it after my solid years of sleep deprivation. Still... I struggle to get to bed early, and therefore am always exhausted all the time, but when I finally do let myself go to sleep, I mostly sleep all the way through til the morning, and I am not plagued by nightmares.

Sometimes anxiety dreams, perhaps that I've forgotten children's birthdays, or lost them - or frequently ones about work, most recently that the French baker from the Next Great  Baker show was critiquing my teaching technique, but no monsters.

AND, speaking of psyches getting into line, the other day I dreamed that JASON MOMOA WAS MY HUSBAND and he KISSED MY NECK. That was a big deal.

Gratuitous pic of Jason Momoa