Monthly Archives: January 2007
So cancelled today’s appointment at the GP’s as when I woke up this morning the cough and malaise had miraculously disappeared and I was feeling much better. A night spent being feverish and very unwell had seemingly cooked the infections inside my body to nowt. Huzzah.
Fast forward six hours and the cough is back, the sinus pressure is back and I feel rather crap. I now do not want to have to phone up the surgery again and book an appointment as I feel stupid.
I will have to see how I get on in a skool tomorrow; maybe I can take out a small child by keeling over on them. Something to aim for.
Eugh, everywhere I look I am being assailed by Vista… and I was assaulted yesterday by an ad from Apple (Computers) in the newspaper implying that PC’s are boring and crap and that Macs are for fun and are cute and smell of roses.
Microsoft, do you not realise that you are merely encouraging your retarded estranged sibling by promoting yourself in such a way? They feel left out and have to get attention somehow, and these ridiculous adverts seem to be the way. Not that I can watch those, because Apple don’t make QT for machines as old as mine (even though the numbers of them are probably ginormous when compared with Macs). Fuckers.
“The Vista Content Protection specification could very well constitute the longest suicide note in history” A Cost Analysis of Windows Vista Content Protection
BBC: Vista Copy Protection Defended
Ars Technica: Vista “upgrade” drops compliance checking, requires old OS to install
The Register: Is Windows Vista Ready For You?
“Fortunately, Microsoft has a website devoted to answering these questions, although it takes the ludicrously arrogant stance of informing potential punters whether or not they are ready for Vista, rather than the other way round. It’s quite irritating, actually, because the only question that needs answering is whether MS and partners have enough device drivers handy and have exorcised enough of the bugs from this bloatware monster to enable it to run properly on the equipment that most users have got.
Remember, we call it an “operating system”, not an “operated system”, for a reason: it’s the OS’s duty to run your machine, not your machine’s duty to run the OS – but just try making that point to a Microserf.”
Ha ha- Bloatware monster.
Of course, if a Vista-polluted machine was to somehow materialise in my room right now, I would not shoo it away. I would use it. If it were a Mac on the other hand, I would put it up on Ebay after I had turned it on, laughed a lot then turned it off. I am quick to pick up new ideas and methodologies but I have NEVER had a good experience with a Mac.
Things that get me about Macs:
Their pretentiousness (White machines? Fuck off, and yes, I know they come in black)
Their selling point of being “user friendly”
Their selling point of “We are not evil, like Microsoft, we are niice”
Their selling point of “Oh, we designed the power cable so it doesn’t hurt your machine if you accidentally knock it out”- so basically, you’re marketing these products to fuckwits?
The fact that Apple are just as evil as Microsoft
Paying over the odds for hardware and software just because of the design
Style coming over substance pretty much every time I have used them
iPods and iTunes.
I still think it would be worse if MW#1 worked for Apple than for Microsoft; at least he is honest working for MS…
Going to go to the GP’s tomorrow. Can now add the following delightful things to the symptom list: Feel hot (not in that way), pain in calves, varying numbness (back, leg, toes), pain running to the left of right eye, increase in coughing, phlegm colour change. So those get added to: Cough, sinus pain with associated hot, tender face and teeth (yay, infection), nausea, wheezing, shortness of breath.
When i’m fixed i’ll cease going on about it. I promise.
Eugh… it’s that Hawai’i time of year; the time of year when I gaze longingly at places I cannot afford to go to. Vegas for some UFC and desert wandering would be a decent second I think, but two weeks island hopping in the Pacific would be awesome. Brace yourself for lots of disgustingly beautiful pictures.
Right, i’m off to do my shivery/hot thing with Patrick. Wish me luck…
I have discovered that Sudafed gives me insomnia. I lie in bed trying to sleep, tossing and turning and spazzing and generally feeling bad and when the light starts to creep through the curtains I start to hallucinate.
I broke my incommunicado with MW#1 effort by texting him to say that I wish I had an off switch in my brain so I could take a break from thinking every now and then. I wasn’t well and felt the need to reach out. I sent this at 1.30am and was still awake when he replied three hours later with “Click?”.
Today I feel weak, shaky and cold even though I am swathed under my blanket whilst I type this post. I feel slightly nauseous and my stomach and ribs hurt from coughing. In places my skin feels tender to the touch, my bones and joints ache and my face and teeth are hot and sore due to the sinus pressure. I really cannot afford to take any time off but I think I might stay away from school tomorrow.
There is a Doctor based in San Franscico called Flash Gordon. Honest. Anyway, he has a fun page on phlegm colours.
Phlegm Phlegm Phlegm
At the moment my cough is producing brown, sweet-tasting phlegm. Mmmm…
Now The Sickness has progressed to the noticeable difficulty in breathing phase. Yay!
Even though I am currently sporting a thick layer of slime in my lungs i’ve been uploading a few photos to my Soopah Sekrit Flickr account and thinking about photography generally. I’m nursing a desire to get in some fetching underwear and roll around on a large bed whilst someone takes photos of my skin with my camera. Between the coughs like.
I’ve been photographed pornographically once but that was with a camera phone and although the photo was rather fetching the composition and quality could have been better. I require to direct the shots I think. Mind you, I’d really like to give the camera to the photographer and tell them “Take photos of what you like” or “Try and show me how you see me…”
From The Atlantic: Are We Not Men?
Really well thought out article outlining the reasoning behind the flourishing of lads mags and the decline of the original Playboy sensibility. In the end, it comes down to the fact that boys just need to grow up into men and accept that women are not frightening creatures and that you should surround yourself with them. So basically, it’s saying that there should be a return to the ideology of MW#1. Hmmm…
I shall crush the woodlouse currently marauding across the carpet in front of me in your honour, my un-little furry friend…
I spent the night unable to sleep; I shivered and got hot and then shivered again, I was in pain then I wasn’t then I was. I awoke feeling not too bad but then a day’s amusement and shouting at primary school kids did no end of wonder for my fragile voice. So I think i’m recovering; at least the weekend is upon us so I can try and rest this good pair of lungs…
Scientist Develops Caffeinated Doughnuts
I have people around me that genuinely care for my welfare, who will make sure I am okay and offer help where required. I usually fend them off and deal with my problems myself. So why is it that when I am afflicted with The Sickness I spend time wishing that I could be all helpless with someone male, attentive and willing to expose themselves to infection to swathe me in (non-wool) blankets, feed me things, adjust my pillows and keep me warm?
Yes, that’s right people, I am feeling sort of sorry for myself. I’ve spent hours waiting down A&E multiple times, have fed copious amounts of cookies and other assorted treats into glum mouths and have willingly offered support and profusions of hugs whenever, wherever. Such is the life it seems of a woman/girl/female.
Where are my cookies, hugs and support, eh? Men/boys/males need to sort it out.
Oh and when you do that, come and see me :D
I’m not coughing or sneezing very much. I can’t be that infectious, can I?
Blimey. Apart from a chronic, aggressive sinus disease and allergic rhinitis I almost never get ill due to a fairly strong constitution and an over-active immune system; It appears however that I may indeed be afflicted with something illness-like. I desperately need to rest my croaky voice but alas I need to SHOUT at KIDS who do not PAY ATTENTION.
I also have to put up with a myriad of children coming up to me and interrupting me with “Miss, my head hurts” or “Miss, my stomach hurts ” “my finger hurts”. This is annoying- I have to be here and teach you lot and I am sicker (yeah, like that too) than all of you put together. I want to go home but I can’t.
I am losing my voice because I am having to shout because you are being rude little sods who won’t SHUT UP when I already told you that it was dodgy. So sit down, stop whining, no you can’t fill your bottle up, yes you can go to the library, no you can’t move seats- LISTEN.
I need to gets me one of those thermocup things I was loaned today, so I can drink all day and then spill coffee down my front for variety. I also need some care taken over me; I shall see if I can manage that at some point over the weekend.
I would have to make sure that George was suitably attired in Hazmat suit first before any taking care of me went on; this is why I will undoubtedly be taking care of me myself. He can be *so* pigheaded sometimes.
First things first though, I need to soak in some hot liquid that is not coffee.
Mmm… haggis and venison sausages with neaps and tatties tonight… fingers crossed I can taste the Supper being prepared for me…
Now that all 100 of the “greatest rock guitar solos” are happily sitting on my Zen I found the following from cityrag: 20 Greatest Guitar Solos Ever, With Videos
Flickr: Public Transport Fabric
Still not feeling my usual robust self. My car got serviced today and didn’t need anything doing urgently (i.e. can wait a week or two), my eyes got tested and I really do need new glasses (same lenses since 1998, 2007 I am rather blinder) but sadly cash flow is at a minimum at the moment so all of these things I would class as important will have to wait. Just might have found somewhere to live too. It’s got an open fire and brightly coloured walls and is just off the junction where people get shot at. Woo.
To bed with my beloved Patrick, blanket and hot water bottle… hopefully i’ll sleep soundly and have sweet, satisfying dreams of being warm and curled up with someone, perhaps massaging the base of their neck and gently running my fingers through their hair… I can dream can’t I?
Ow. Pain in my joints and bones, pain in my head. Just want to curl up somewhere warm and dark and quiet with Patrick, hot water bottle and blanket and s-l-e-e-p. No idea what’s wrong with me; maybe it’s the cold weather; hopefully it will only last a day.
Have now got a pair of hot-looking high-heeled boots that make me feel all powerful (TS sale); in my head I am wearing them as I crouch down astride the torso of my excitable lover to whisper filthy-nothings into his ear. After pulling on the hem of my skirt to bring me closer he grabs onto the heels of the boots and twists his fingers around them; I can feel the vibrations run up my legs as he does so.
Or they are the boots I wear with an over-abundance of eye make-up and tight jeans that put me at eye-level with said lover as I push myself into him, up against the wall; they are the boots I wear as I slowly slide my hands underneath his jacket, around his waist, under his jumper and t-shirt and over his back to the soft hollow overlying his spine.
They’re nice boots. I think however that the most sordidness they will see is solely of the fantasy kind. Sigh.
Hmm. Maybe some doughnuts will help me feel less under-the-weather.
“A New Sith, or Revenge of the Hope: Reconsidering Star Wars IV in the light of I-III” is an essay that quite convincingly argues that R2D2 is actually the secret leader of the Rebellion. After watching I-III I have to admit that R2 is a lot more important than he appeared to be upon viewing IV-VI.
A New Sith, or Revenge of the Hope [via]
Huzzah. Only one more day to wait until the fifth CD from 100 Greatest Rock Guitar Solos is downloaded- #1 Led Zeppelin Stairway To Heaven, #50 Kiss – Shock Me and #100 Bon Jovi – Wanted Dead or Alive. There’s even some Creedance in there. Awesomeness.
I talked to Caversham Princess about belts. I went Japanese and showered, shampooed, conditioned and scrubbed myself before settling into to a warm, fragranced bath for a soak. I slowly shaved myself, I drank wine, I read more Aubrey-Maturin, I pondered.
I feel better now, my skin is extra soft and warm, and I feel cleansed of things for a little while.
Apologies- this is an uber l-o-n-g ranty mcrant-filled post.
My weekends are fairly crap at the moment. I spend my days being mistress to an imaginary lover. When it gets past Cinderella time I find myself wondering if MW#1 will pine for me whilst drunk and turn sentimental and send a shy inebriated text to me; shy in that he has only once asked straight out if i’m able to come and see him- to do so would imply some sort of connection I suppose. He doesn’t want to encourage me.
I wonder if he is tiring of me, if my mere paradoxical existence is too much of a burden to his mind and conscience? He probably just wants me to shut up, stop thinking of him and get on with my life. I do not know how he feels however; it came as a surprise to me when he wrote “you know that I love you…” as I didn’t know. He was undoubtedly several sheets to the wind at time of writing, so I am still unsure whether he actually thinks that at all and whether it’s that whole “love you like a friend/sister” lurve. Eugh.
I’m going through a fed up phase; whilst I turn things over in my mind and think of him I know that he is out with other women and definitely not thinking of me; I know that when I shop for underwear the woman browsing the lingerie next to me could also be browsing to please his eye; I know that I am in no way as important to him as he is to me; that I will always be the last to know.
I just feel like a total fool when I think about our last evening together- feeling lovely and warm and relaxed as I curled up on the sofa next to him with his arm around me, drinking wine, laughing lots, talking about random things, being delightfully juvenile towards each other and watching large men try and beat each other into a pulp- I honestly thought “Yeah, my life is admittedly uneventful and rather sad, but right now, I feel so happy and content- can it ever get any better than this?” Stupid stupid stupid.
I have an intense dislike of the way that sometimes when I see him he’s all tactile but then other times he’s standoffish; I imagine he finds it very difficult too but this lack of consistency is probably the most difficult thing to deal with. I always feel awkward and afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing and looking stupid or forward or inappropriate, so I always sit on my own on the other sofa, never make the first move and rarely talk to him about the things in my head etc because I am not in any position to do so.
It’s like with The Monster- What’s the point of telling you how I feel and what i’m thinking because I don’t really matter to you- i’m not worth the effort because I am not significant enough. I may be important yes, but it’s like I have no rights because I am not in a society-defined role i.e. significant other.
Don’t get me wrong- I know I am certainly worth the effort because I am awesome and believe that I am a very high quality human being even with all the weirdness and flaws (maybe because of them) who would be an excellent partner-in-crime. It’s just that as “just a friend” I basically amount to fuck all- I have tried my hardest to be open and undemanding and patient and give space but it seems to have resulted in nothing and just ended up hurting me.
I was blindsided by my tears when I saw him last- I was so determined that he should never see me cry, never see me weak (puking is different), and I felt idiotic and at a loss when I suddenly got upset. I guess it was down to alcohol and what has been in my head for a while sort of leaking out- literally.
I am so astonished if I get a goodbye kiss I usually stand there in complete shock unable to return the favour. I just give him a hug and feel inappropriate even doing that- I give good hug, too much hug it seems as he usually rather gingerly pats me on the back in return.
Apparently I have always had his respect and loyalty and will always have his support if I need it because I am like family to him.
Respect? Lying to me is hardly respecting me.
Loyalty? He lied to my face, went behind my back and broke our friendship and my heart.
Support? I can never ask anything of him and never will because I simply cannot bring myself to rely on him. Plus, I feel I am not important enough to him for me to feel comfortable doing so and he will not ask for the support I am always willing to offer.
I am rather unhappy at the moment yet I know that a kind word or a hug from him would brighten my day, but this is somewhat depressing in itself. I’m just feeling lonesome and melancholy currently; wine, poorly Patrick and my soft blanket are perhaps an island of safety I should put towards, quick like.
I suppose at the end of the day what really gets me is that “we” could be awesome but this good thing is prevented from coming into being through no fault of my own. I care, he cares but this may never be. The loss of something that could be so great makes the loss even harder I think.
Why did he not say originally that he wasn’t sure that he could get together with me? Why did he say that it would certainly happen but that he needed time, then say that it was due to flaws on my part that prevented him, then roll out the whole “paradox” thing and tell me that he wants to be with me but can’t.
Of course, people are perfectly within their rights to change their minds about things but I do feel more than a little misled.
Originally the reasoning was that he “didn’t want to mess up what we have…” Things are pretty messed up now; still, I don’t want to lose him. Presently I would rather be glum and see him every so often and enjoy myself than be glum and never see him at all. Which is rubbish.
I can never tell him that I miss him because I have no right to miss him; I am not allowed to miss him just as I am not allowed to think dirty thoughts about him. Just a friend. The thing I seem to miss most often and most terribly is curling up in his lap or astride him, resting my weary crazily-haired head on his broad chest and being surrounded by his warmth and smell and feeling very small. Sigh.
So I will continue to try not to text him and resist talking to him online for fear that I be so weak as to invite him out so that I might see him.
Bloody hell, indulgence in Aubrey and Maturin has left me writing like I am in the 1800s. There are worse things to be I suppose …
The excellent soundtrack to one of my favourite films:
Point Blank OST – 57mb – http://ul10.rapidshare.com/files/2881356/point_blank.rar
I had an excellent dream this morning. I spent New Year’s Eve wandering around the streets of a futuristic Paris (the Marais to be exact) with MW#1. It was good. Between getting the Metro to places we travelled by sliding down giant tubes that were lined with school carpets so that you could surf down them.
I was looking lovely wearing over-the-knee riding boots paired delightfully inappropriately with a voluminous circle skirt dress (that Minnie Mouse-styled one from S&tC- Balenciaga, apparently) and long black coat with collar turned up.
MW#1 spent most of his time picking imaginary bugs out of my hair, stroking the back of my neck, and generally being bigger than me and smelling good. I was enjoying myself, smiling a lot and laughing as I twisted about on the platform in my big dress. MW#1 looked on disapprovingly, which I took as a cue to twist all the more determinedly and hum whist I meandered about.
We went to bars and he fed me cocktails, we went to shops and he bought me interesting-looking fruit; I repaid this generosity by being my usual entertaining self, running my fingers through his hair lots and making sure he got hugged when he needed to be hugged. I also tried hard to be pleasing to his eye in a selection of excellently ridiculous lingerie.
It was a good fantasy, even if I felt a little melancholy when I woke up.
I also dreamt that George Clooney was a teacher at my secondary school and we spent the entire time giggling as he would pass us girls in the corridor. Sigh.
On the subject of fantasies- I have been thinking about what some of mine are courtesy of Ludacris telling me that he’d like to lick lick lick lick lick me from my head to my toes. I think they are pretty boring and reflect my lack of intimacy more than a filthy mind- which I certainly do have; I know they are figments of imagination but I think if I had someone to experiment with I would be able to come up with more disgusting ideas. Lame I know.
Getting wined, dined and massaged by my lover (i.e. generally taken care of)
Texting my lover at work and telling him to come upstairs and wait for me when he gets home and then completely silently undressing, bathing and exploring him
Being blindfolded and then restrained with pretty leather cuffs before getting a good seeing to
Taking on two men
The usual boring array of places other than the bedroom to have sex (cars, forests, stairs, kitchens, fields, lifts, aeroplanes, beaches, cinemas, gardens, alleys, rain, snow, etc)
Pushing my lover up against a wall and getting busy
Giving my lover a lapdance (and him appreciating it!)
Being pinned in the ring and then fucked by my opponent
Going out for the evening to meet my lover wearing nothing but my long black coat, underwear, heels and a smile
Dressing up in full predator wear (corset, mask, stockings, boots) and making my lover do mine bidding… him being naughty and me having to punish him by sitting on his face
Sharing a hot tub under the stars before going inside into the warmth and a blazing fire
Being covertly fingered under my skirt in public
See? Bor-ing. The biggest fantasy of all of course is that I have someone who thinks the world of me and acts as such.
On that depressing note, a gift for you:
Frank Sinatra – South, To A Warmer Place http://rapidshare.com/files/12436048/south.rar.html
Today I took a class-full of Year 6’s at a school just off a rather notorious estate. They were the quietest most well-behaved bunch I have taught so far, and I was actually able to teach them. I had a good day.
The lowlight of the day was a girl telling me that a boy in our class had told her that she was “pretty enough to rape…” I confronted said 10 year old- he admitted telling her as such; I pointed out to him how wrong it was to say that, he looked appropriately shame-faced; when I asked if he knew how inappropriate a thing it was to say he replied that he did know and that he was sorry, but that his sister told him on the phone that she had been raped the other day and that his Mum had also told him that she had been raped. Joyous.
He didn’t repeat his misdemeanour. That day at least. I am still quite disturbed that kids know what the hell rape is at such a young age; I do not think I knew when I was that young, but I imagine they do not fully grasp the concept. Unpleasant anyway.
The highlight of the day was without doubt my morning break duty- 100 kids and two adults being blown about a playground. I had lots of fun. The best bit was watching all the kids use their jackets like sails by holding them over their heads and turning into the wind. Picture thirty kids all doing this- it was excellent.
Very good article picking up Chris Nowinski as investigator on the fact that concussion in athletes can lead to mental disintegration, depression, Alzheimers and perhaps suicide…
NYT Expert Ties Ex-Player’s Suicide to Brain Damage
Nowinski’s site: Head Games: Football’s Concussion Crisis with lots of links to videos of sickening concussions
Basic Survival Medicine
Mash up fabulousness Best of Bootie 2006 CD
Scary disco Ewok song remixes from 7 Black Notes: Yug Yug
Lots of cool weird mammal species that need assistance to survive EDGE of Existence I have a tough time deciding which one I would give my non-existent money to though… I remain undecided at time of writing.
Right, I am verry tired. Bed. Blanket. Patrick. Hug. Sleep. Hope my car manages to avoid falling trees during the night… Trip to my maternity cover skool tomorrow to pick up my teaching timetable… akkkk
Holy shit. After literally years of refusing to part with 30 quid to get it i’ve fiiinally managed to find this beautiful soundtrack in the deepest recesses of the internets
Cliff Martinez – Solaris OST
Why oh why do I feel the need, yet again, to browse the red carpet arrivals page at Getty Images for outfits and flesh on show at the Golden Globes? And keep hitting refresh? Have to corral small children tomorrow, you eeidiyot Monky…
In a change to our advertised schedule of non-relationship woes and general shenanigans, I present to you some gratuitous images to cheer:
The ever wonderful Sigourney Weaver as Dana Barrett AKA Zuul AKA The Gatekeeper
I really want to dress up Zuuley style; perhaps I should make it one of my resolutions. I would need to buy a fair amount of metallic fabric and orange taffeta; the back-combed fright wig would be a necessity also along with liberal amounts of pearlised foundation. Woo. I’ve always admired Ms Weaver for the roles she’s taken, the fact she appears to have a mind of her own and I think she also happens to be teh hawt in a number of films.
Rather a lot to live up to on the costuming front I would say, but of course, I aim to please. I’ve been Han Solo for Chrissakes.
And just for fun some of the white-stilettoed menace that is Gozer the Gozerian:
After a day shouting at a class-full of 6 and 7 year olds I meandered dahn tahn for my first visit to MW#1’s of 2007.
There was no discussion relating to “the situation” whatsoever, but there was dinner cooked by him, plenty of wine and lots of TNA, UFC and Family Guy. I greatly enjoyed these relatively unexciting things being a particularly sad individual… as much as I like being taken out by him and having cash lavished upon my person I am equally happy to spend an evening squashed up on the sofa together picking his brain on such important subjects as the relative hotnesses of Julianne Moore and Jennifer Connelly.
After telling myself that he would never get to see me cry, MW#1 got to experience saline leaking from my tear ducts. I say experience, in that he probably couldn’t see me that well as it was dark, so he got to feel my tears raining down on his face instead.
I had to wipe my tears from his face. It was embarrassing. I was upset because I felt (and still feel) that because I am dysfunctional I am unable to show him how much I appreciate his efforts and affections, and therefore that he might think that he is inadequate or incompetent.
He is not. I am the incompetent one. I am the one who won’t sit next to him on the sofa because I am afeared of being forward and inappropriate so have to wait for him to invite me over. He always makes me feel nothing less than amazing; he’s capable of taking me to a point where I lose the power of speech and rational thought, where it’s about all I can do to breathe…
I think it would help to have more sex.
Yeah yeah, I know- shouldn’t be having any with MW#1. Working on the basis that i’m actually having orgasmic difficulties with George Clooney, I feel that if I were to have sex with George on a more regular basis I would have a better chance of coming purely through greater exposure and his increased knowledge of what really turns me on.
This would however mean seeing me more frequently, and I suppose some level of commitment from him. George is dynamite in bed, but I require more of him. If only he would realise that his life would be considerably richer with me in it and that Renee, Lisa, Teri, Ellen and Mariella have nothing on me.
Anyway, back to sad reality.
It seems like discussion won’t really sort anything out… I’m awaiting that whole “you’re awesome but I can’t… maybe in five years time” spiel… I’m damned whatever happens; if I walk away I will lose an important friend, pine for him and mourn what could have been, if we “just be friends” I will still pine, still mourn, still get excited about seeing him, still have fun and still have to cope with my heart being crushed one tiny sliver at a time when he talks about his latest conquests.
Eugh and VD is fast approaching too… wanting to do so many things to show I care but having no outlet… this year I actually have something to feel glum about. Great. It’s not like this feeling goes away either; I am plagued by forbidden desires whether it’s a marketing campaign day or not. My head is filled with small intimacies that I delight in, aspects of physicality that burn themselves into my brain. I want these painful thoughts to go away but there’s no relief.
I don’t know whether I am important to him. He betrayed our friendship yet I still care deeply.
I can even say (or at least write) that I love him.
He wants to be with me but is unable or unwilling to commit.
There seems to be nothing that I can do apart from exist.
Because I am clearly a sick individual (or maybe i’m just bored of kids not paying a god damn bit of attention to me and being verbally abused) I decided to do a half-day’s supply today in a Primary school. For a laugh, like. I felt like a complete fraud for my half-day and basically had no idea what I was doing, expectations etc even with an extremely detailed lesson plan. I overran on all the lessons and felt very odd talking to kids for literally an hour and them learning without having to do any writing. Weird.
I’ve helped out as an unofficial classroom assistant in a Primary before but i’ve never taught a whole class for lessons at a time on subjects I have no experience in; although I teach other subjects at Secondary level every day I work as a supply teacher, my experience at the school left me slightly all-at-sea as I had no ideas of how Primary teachers plan or actually teach.
Frighteningly, it appears every single lesson has to be planned out each day each week. At least I do not have to do that as a Secondary teacher- but I get the abuse I suppose to make up for that. A fair trade off? I’m not sure. Although I had to raise my voice quite a bit and the kids took a long time to obey me I felt in no way as stressed as I do leaving most of the Secondary schools I go to. I drove straight to McDonalds to celebrate with fats and sugars. Eee.
I took two classes and did break duty. The kids (sorry- children) I were looking after were Year 2’s (aged 6-7) and thusly were quite small; we all had fun being blown about in the playground as it drizzled. It was bizarre being surrounded by such small, easily squashable beings with such enthusiasm to learn. They all got given bananas to eat at break so you had a wet, windy playground filled with swarms of screaming, banana-toting infants. The small things like having to do up lots of zips and having to actually manhandle the kids to where I wanted them to go to (and being able to do so) was strange too.
I had to discuss the difference between public buildings and private buildings- I think by throwing in a “mixed” usage category I may have provided too much information for them (some of them got it) and with a group of older kids (Year 4’s 8-9) I had to read a story from which the kids had to pick out the adjectives and adjectival phrases. Minor problem there as I couldn’t remember what the fuck an adjective was (I thought maybe a describing word) and had no idea what an adjectival phrase was- bless them they helped me with my pronunciation.
I had to get a school dictionary and check the meaning before the kids came back from break. That’s right people, two degrees and I can’t remember what an adjective is. Don’t even ask about nouns, pronouns, verbs, adverbs etc…
In Primary supply are expected to mark all the work done that day; I gained amusement doing this- lots of unreadable handwriting and bad spelling. Not that I knew what I was doing again but never mind- sadly the same spellings that the kids were getting wrong are the same ones that Secondary-aged kids are getting wrong… Anyway, they want me back next Tuesday. I’m doing a full day at another Primary tomorrow. A glittering future of hilarity clearly beckons.
Mind-bogglingly beautiful kinetic sculpture made using ferrofluids and electromagnets YouTube: Magnetic sculpture
Taken from New Scientist: The stuff of dreams which has lots more cool videos such as things to do with dry ice and races across dilatant fluids.
More awesome, unobtainable underwear:
Angels Carrying Savage Weapons
Loads of the above at NSFW Wicked Tickles
When I was wearing the Greatest Underwear of All Time out on it’s virgin outing I referred to the knickers as “notorious” whilst in conversation with MW#1. Whilst ignoring said seductive undercrackers he questioned me on their notoriety… I said it’s because they were hot hot hot and really popular with all the guys i’d been fluffing for earlier that day. Har.
I meant to say “They’re notorious in my head, because in my head you take one look at me tied into them and see the way the bows sit near my hip bones just right and you fall to your knees in wonderment, before taking the end of one bow in your teeth and slowly pulling…”
But I didn’t. That would show that I thought inappropriate thoughts about MW#1… yeah distance, yeah non-committal, yeah my backside.
Anyway, I think I shall keep buying my own ridiculous underwear. No one appreciative to show it to but hey, at least I can feel safe in the knowledge that i’ll look good underneath my clothes whilst i’m weeping.
A review of last year’s sort-of-resolutions:
1. Complete my course and find a job i feel happy to do with as small a gap from graduation as possible.
Well, I completed the course with flying colours. I’m currently working at a job I generally despise, but still I would not have done anything differently. I’ve been picky, and paid, but fate has seen to it that I have a position (albeit temporary) at a school I would class as “good” where the kids are expected to behave vaguely reasonably and do so and support is available. It’s still a work in progress.
2. Do more kissing.
Well, flying colours on that one too. I did *alot* more kissing, even public kissing, and it was damned good- more please! I discovered that someone I already cared for was spectacular in bed, and was willing and able to give me so much pleasure that my brain dissolves. However, I cried more.
3. Melt a little. So I feel more easy in potentially stressful social situations. And sexualised situations. Have more faith in my seductive qualities, that I can excite and turn on.
I melted, I became more confident with the individual involved, I was well aware of my seductive qualities. I also got lied to, the individual was inconstant in their appreciation and my heart was broken. Still a work in progress. Sigh.
So what would I say for 2007?
1. Complete my NQT induction without doing any more supply.
2. Do more kissing.
3. Continue to melt and become more confident even if my heart is crushed again and again. Have faith in the innate goodness of people and resist becoming embittered courtesy of my treatment at the hands of others; know that I will prevail eventually.
Fucking hell… Me? Have faith in “innate goodness?” Well, it’s a nice thought anyway. My embittered cynical self is clearly taking a five minute break.
After failing to receive a call to employment, I spent the afternoon taking care of myself. I caught up on two weeks’ worth of the internets, I pondered life as I know it, then I went mad crazy on the hot water front by first washing my hair in the shower and then soaking in the bath.
I took particular interest when shaving my legs; I peered closely at my wet skin as I slowly dragged the razor along, each careful stroke being long and smooth and slow. I have no reason to either soak in the bath or depilate myself; I think somewhere in my head I just felt a need to be looked after and have physical contact. I don’t mean in a sexual sense, but in an intimate way where I feel like care is being taken over me. As I lack anyone to take care of me my own physicality will have to do.
Whilst I was soaking I read a few stories from Best Woman’s Erotica 06 to recharge my mind, and I was particularly struck by In Snow by Teresa Lamai. Here is a bit that stuck in my brain:
“I try to shake the dread and promise that keep crowding my thoughts of him lately. Together, we seem to create a perfect circle of understanding, passion and discovery. But I can’t help the way my imagination keeps running ahead of itself, as if trying to find ways we can give each other even more. I think it’s the season, all the gifts and celebrations- the relentless hinting that there will always be something hidden in the frozen dark.”
After purchasing yet more texturally interesting underwear dahn lahndahn tahn I spent oooh, i’d say a good 15 minutes searching for P-Poppin’ by Ludacris. Go to your search engine of choice and type in “filecatchers” register and you’re set.
I then proceeded to grind around the room avec headphones for about a half hour, focusing on not laughing too loudly whilst making my ass shake like a seizure and thinking pornographic thoughts. I switched colourways in between repetitions for fairness.
More undercrackers are on their way courtesy of the What Katie Did sale. Woo.
Also, today I saw my first VD cards of the year. Eugh.
Have come to the conclusion that whatever I think and write about the MW#1 situation, it is inevitable that it’s going to be a car crash. All advice etcetera is ultimately useless; I have an idea that we will be torturing ourselves for a good while yet. Still won’t stop me pondering and writing though, and it does little to make me feel much happier about the situation.
Grinding to Ludacris whilst performing for an imaginary audience does however go some way to cheering me.
The monky returns to wreak havoc…
Happy New Year all. Quick update before I fall asleep:
I went here for a week:
and saw things on the beach like
I travelled North
where I got highly, highly excited
and also when I saw some Eider ducks.
Friends did things like this:
and I looked like this when I was in self-imposed isolation having a bad time on NYE:
Then i took a bus two planes another bus then a car to get back to my beloved Patrick at Caversham Princess’s.
I drank lots of wine and Magners, I even drank Bushmills… I spent long periods of time staring at the ever-changing sea… I managed a few days away without thinking overly of MW#1… only to return to deep unhappiness on NYE…
I imagined I was on holiday with MW#1 in the tiny fisherman’s cottage perched on the edge of the harbour… I imagined him looking unimpressed yet indulgent as I spazzed out with excitement over ducks and rockpools and basalt extrusions… I spent three days trying my hardest not to cry…
I started jotting some lines for a new poem…I thought far too much about intimate obscenities involving MW#1… I spent lots of money… I finished and enjoyed Post Captain… I listened to Frank Sinatra singing “South to a Warmer Place” [real] on loop… and am continuing to wonder if I will ever be kissed by MW#1 ever again.
A grand trip indeed but the realities of life sadly impinged. I have acres of saved up junk in my head to put out in cyberspace, but bed and Patrick call me forth so more information and the particular analysis of Options One, Two and Three will have to wait.