Monthly Archives: January 2009
Taken from untitled by AleBonvini [cc]
I’m tired, i’m lonesome and i’m in need of a good scrub. The Valentines propaganda is ever more frequent and even less easy to escape; over the years i’ve gotten pretty practised at dealing with the bastard day but I feel like this year is going to be a downer. Sigh.
The events of last weekend have put an unusually large dent in my affections towards MW#1; though we rarely pass a week without contacting each other there has been zero communication between us so far. This has been intentional on my part; I figure he can make the effort because I really don’t feel like I should be the one to do so.
After the tears of Sunday I have felt strangely flat emotionally, or at least when it comes to thoughts of him; of course there’s a part of me that wants him to ask me out for a drink or curl up with me, but the overriding feeling is one of fatigue.
I am physically tired from too late to bed and having too much in my head when I do hit the hay, but as i’ve written before I feel fed up at yet another demonstration of MW#1’s unthinking, unfeeling modus operandi.
I’ve been through this *so* many times before – a couple of months of intense interest before something new and shiny catches his eye – and just as it feels old, I feel old, too old for this kind of continued ridiculousness.
What is particularly galling this time is the contrast in his behaviour with the things he had recently told me and the way he had behaved towards me over the last three or four months. Yet again I feel like i’m absolutely the dumbest person in the room, but I know that i’m not, and I feel pretty sad about that.
I’ve been worrying for months about his possible move to Dubai; this has been stress that I didn’t need, emotional pain that I certainly didn’t want to have to go through. And for what? So I can be That Girl That Likes Wrestling who will be there to amuse and entertain when those “random pieces of ass” leave you feeling hollow and unsatisfied?
Oh yeah, that’s worth all of the years of malarkey i’ve been through. Totally.
At the moment I feel like if MW#1 told me he was moving to Dubai i’d be all, “Oh, well done! I’m sure you will have a simply fabulous time and your career will just blossom… Good luck!” but I know that although this is how I feel now, down the line I will feel very different- I will regret his leaving and miss him terribly. So i’ve got to try not to descend into the deepest depths of snark as best I can…
Oxford today and dinner with my Parents. My Dad will make inappropriate comments and I will get a free meal. Fun times.
I’m so very tired.
Modular robot reassembles when kicked apart
I usually save my moving pictures for my tumblelog, but there was something so very interesting and appealing about this colony of robots working together I had to share.
The deadpan voiceover adds to the appeal.
←The inside of my head, as drawn by my consultant
After a heavily disrupted night filled full of sniffling, gunge and grumpiness (though my headache slowly went) I had the morning off to visit my ENT consultant to see about getting operated on in a couple of months.
I was hoping to get everything done over the two-week Easter break so that I wouldn’t have to have any time off but alas my delightful consultant is on holiday, so I need to liaise with work to get a week off just before the break.
I hope I am allowed to as it’s that or take two weeks off work; I really do not want to wait until the Summer as my consultant sees smaller and smaller airways each time he looks up my nose. Also I have been getting more infections and the theory behind the mining and drilling operation is that my airways are made more open and able to receive the medication I spray up them on a daily basis.
It would be pretty unreasonable for work to turn me down but knowing how things work I can only hope for the best. My boss is fine with me having the time off as she knows that you’ve got to take care of your health; still, I feel slightly bad about doing so, even though I work beyond my contracted hours every week. I really need to get over that.
I have had um, three sinus-related operations before (I think) but this one is going to go quite a bit further than those previous. In the ops before the surgeons cut out bits, but this time they will cut but also widen the entrance to my sinuses so that there is better air and fluid exchange. This should lengthen the time I have between surgeries as the medication should keep things under control for longer if it has better access.
There are risks to the procedure and they are somewhat alarming- Excessive bleeding, puncturing of the thin plate of bone that divides my sinuses from by brain (BAD) which would lead to leakage of spinal fluid (BAD) and lastly severing of one of the muscles controlling my eye (BAD). The most common is bleeding but I am being put on a dose of steroids the week beforehand to shrink everything down so that the chance of excessive bleeding is considerably reduced.
The information I was given about the surgery had some interesting stats on the rates of complication- One in every 500 operations leads to some sort of eye complication with no associated loss of vision and one in every 1000 operations led to spinal fluid leakage which then had to be repaired. The “no associated loss of vision” does not reassure me at all- I could still end up with a fucked up eye… For something to go wrong once every 500 times seems high to me, but everything that is written about the particular surgery is very positive about the outcomes.
Before that I have to find somewhere to actually recuperate in i.e. somewhere to live. Sigh.
I think having the operation is the right thing to do; although the risks are a little off-putting I quite enjoy the whole hospital-going experience, apart from the packs being removed from my nose and the vomiting blood all over myself :/ The packs are tubes of gauze shoved up your nose to stop any bleeding that might be going on; i’ve only had to have them once but boy was it horrible to have them taken out.
The give you *a fucking paracetamol* and then get you to lean over a bowl as they grab the string sticking out of your nostril (you are like some fucked up cat) and sloowly pull. It feels simultaneously like your brain is being pulled out of your head through your nose – it hurts quite a bit – and that you are puking it up as all the foul bloody ooze rushes out your nose and mouth. It’s all warm… eugh… *Really* not pleasant.
Anyway, my consultant thinks that he might be able to use some sort of special gel to stop minor bleeding instead of the packs; hopefully the steroids should do their job and help prevent anything serious on the excessive side.
My consultant always wears good ties. I have confidence in his ability.
untitled by j o s h [cc]
I shed a fair few hot tears this evening after Caversham Princess reminded me of a few things – my greatness, MW#1’s stupidity – but if anything my headache has got worse. I thought the weeping would help break the tension, but no… Now I feel hotter and more nauseous and so very very tired. It’s like my body from the very top of my skull to the edges of my collarbone is on a rolling boil.
Thankfully tomorrow I get to have a bit of a lie in as i’ve got to visit the ENT clinic to sort myself out with regards the drilling and mining I hope to have done at Easter, then it’s back to work where my colleagues will ask me how the wrestling was and all I will be able to say is “It was good.”
I think I need to mentally hibernate for a while. I should take better care of myself… pay more attention to my hands on my skin when in the shower, take a little longer washing my hair, try and go to bed earlier. When I do slide under my duvet for the night I must remember to hug Patrick extra tight.
First of all i’ve got to shake this deeply unpleasant hot head syndrome… it’s been hours now.
The afternoon after the wrestling…
I had an enjoyable evening watching TNA at Wembley Arena last night, but today nearly all that enjoyment has evaporated and I feel fairly glum indeed. I feel slightly sick, i’m tired and my face feels hot as upset churns about in my chest.
I’ll write about the flippy-greatness of the wrestling later on but I feel the need to unburden myself of unrelated emotional angst. Yay.
There’s little point in rehashing all that went on, suffice it to say that it’s the same old shynola with regards MW#1, and today I feel deeply unhappy. I’ll pick out a couple of illuminating points…
After I had spent an extended period of time washing, shaving and scrubbing myself to give me the most help at becoming presentable, MW#1 told me that I looked tired. Although almost immediately a pang of angst jumped up into my throat I snarkily apologised for looking tired and brushed off his concerned enquiry as to whether I was sleeping all right.
When I lay my newly shorn head down on my pillow each night my brain doesn’t turn off straight away. I lie awake and I think about things, usually passing a length of time worrying about a wide variety of issues, so I don’t get the restful sleep I might.
Why might I look tired? Here are a few examples of what go through my head each night:
– The crumbling personal lives of my students
– The laziness of my students
– Their performance in their exams and how that affects my job
– Whether or not I have a full-time job in September
– What will happen if I can’t find anywhere to live by the middle of March
– How I will go about finding somewhere to live that is affordable and not scary
– Whether MW#1 will go to Dubai
– That I miss MW#1 and wish he was lying next to me
– Questioning whether anyone will love me how I would like to love them
amongst other things.
After MW#1 had taken himself out into the torrential rain for throwball I dragged my ever-so-tired carcass into the bathroom to try and wash some life into myself. As I brushed my teeth and rubbed my eyes I stared at my tired face and mentally questioned what the point of my being in his life is, and how I am fed up of feeling like an occasionally important amusing diversion. My throat became tight as an ache welled up from my stomach.
Just because i’m “nice” doesn’t mean i’m stupid; just because I get excited in a child-like way over small things doesn’t mean i’m immature.
On the subject of the small things, I notice when he runs his fingers through my hair differently, doesn’t hold me as tightly, grins alot to try and amuse me. Everything seems to be detached, done to go through the motions, provide a little amusement, give the appearance of care. The change in attitude and behaviour towards me is difficult to deal with, the oscillation between being really into me and *not so much* – Spending one evening happily curled up, head in my lap with his fingers intertwined with mine versus spending one evening engrossed in texting and checking his phone, distant, otherwise occupied.
I am constantly unsure as to what is acceptable – Is it okay to hold his hand? Can I rest my head against his shoulder when I am tired? – so that when he takes my hand or rests his head against my shoulder I think, okay, this is the level of intimacy that we have; I feel reassured. Then I feel all awkward and confused when it is made abundantly clear that no, I can’t do that because no, he’s not interested in me “that way”. Now I feel little reassurance about anything; the ground is constantly shifting under me.
It is hard to keep being happy and on form and unperturbed in front of him, but I think i’ve got it down fairly well after all these years; it’s only the occasional slip that lets him see how upset he can make me. When he’s having a good day I don’t have to pretend how happy I am… I can feel deeply contented and intimately connected to him… It’s almost blissful.
So here I sit, terribly glum, smelling the scent of him lifting off my warm skin as I breathe and wishing that the ache in my throat, the pressure in my head and the soreness in my lower back would go away.
Maybe i’m just tired.
Oh YAY. The Valentines Day promos have started to flow into my inbox. First its VD then Easter (though at least the Creme Egg ads are all kinds of fun). WILL IT EVER END
For example- Figleaves:
“Get Lucky In Loveor
It’s that time again- so get ready to impress with a present that’s perfectly pitched. You’ll find everything you need in our Valentines gift shop.
Come on guys, it’s not that hard.”
“Don’t leave her wondering this Valentines Day. Make sure she knows just how much you care with lingerie you’ll both fall head over heels for.”So, in order to “get” someone to love me I have to encourage them to buy me underwear, as this is the ultimate expression of care and devotion, and if they don’t then clearly they don’t care quite enough? Everything I need…? Do you have lube, tissues, toys, contraceptives and batteries? And someone to hold me on Valentines night?
You don’t…? That, Sir, is a matter for Trading Standards…
My newly beloved teeny-tiny skull bracelet I was given for Christmas by MW#1 has broken… :(
The cord being only linen it was going to happen eventually but I was a little surprised to see it last only one month… I think it’s down to me getting it wet in the shower and when cleaning the sink at work. Boo. I managed to grab it before it slid off my wrist so i’ve still got the golden skull; I am considering what to do with it- Construct a new cord or look for something more permanent. I liked the fact that it was so light and unobtrusive, so I am not sure that even the thinnest metal chain will serve similarly.
I could upgrade to metal and get a new charm and a new bracelet but that requires investment I can’t justify. Plus, the more fancy charms don’t have the same, uh, charm as the one i’ve got with its cute little hearts for eyes.
And I know that yes, I asked MW#1 for it, but my bracelet is important to me because he gave it to me. I feel the cold metal pressing against my arm and think of him, I feel it tugging on my arm in the shower and I am reminded again. It’s the first piece of jewellery i’ve managed to wear continuously and also the first piece i’ve actually wanted to wear, so it would be nice to get it fixed up. My wrist feels a bit weird without it, like it’s missing something.
Dogeared – Skulls
Stephen Einhorn – Skulls & cute Red gold Bluebird
Etsy – rockmyworldnyc – Skull Bar Bracelet
Had a lovely day in Lahndahn Tahn yesterday with my Mum. We had our usual long lunch and went to see a selection of Neo-Expressionist paintings from the 1980s in Tate Modern and took in the Rothko late work retrospective at the same time.
Rothko was as expected seriously busy but having the Tate card we rebelled at the order of things and wandered against the flow of gallery goers making snarky comments as we went. That’s right, queue to read something that is in the guide YOU ARE HOLDING IN YOUR HAND. Yesss…
My Mum was able to appreciate the very large works from the Seagram mural commission; the largest room was impressive filled with the rich red and maroon canvases; she could see the small variations in each and understand how this was important. Go Mum. I liked this room very much but also really liked the super inky sepia and black work where you could just barely make out the variation in colour.
My Mum is very worried about life at home with my Dad and my brother; my bro is looking for a job to take him out of the family home and away from my tyrannical Dad but somewhat unsurprisingly given the economic difficulties the world finds itself in of late, this is proving a harder task than he imagined.
She is (rightly) concerned that my Dad will chuck my brother out and she has said that if this happens then she’s going to leave too. It’s a potential nightmare of epic, family-splitting proportions and I feel desperately sad that my Mum has to live with it. I don’t feel like its my place to encourage her to leave my Dad and I know that at sixty years old it is probably financially impossible to make a break on her own.
All of this is nothing new really, but with my brother living at home and my Dad nearing retirement (in just a couple of months) a potential disaster is rapidly approaching.
Anyway, I had a really good day out and saw some good art and some bad art. The weather was good until darkness fell and by the time I was back in my county the rain was falling in sheets that were most certainly not being blown dry by the strong gusts of wind that battered at my bedroom window.
I switched on my fairy lights, lit a candle and snuggled under my blanket for an evening listening to Marvin Gaye and watching the return of Battlestar Galactica.
BSG- Depress much? The identity of the final Final Five Cylon was not that much of an Oh My Gods moment, but the suicide of one of the major characters certainly was.
The return of Battlestar renewed my love and respect of Edward James Olmos- Watching him drunkenly challenge his newly-revealed-as-a-Cylon First Officer to blow his brains out when he wasn’t able to do it himself was really sad but awesome at the same time.
The idea of an eternal conflict between tribes/humans/Cylons is an interesting one and was unexpected; I guess its a little like that part in Terminator 2 where John Connor talks to the T-1000 about how humanity isn’t going to make it and that we’re destined to eternally fight each other.
John: [Watching two little boys playing war with toy guns] We’re not gonna make it, are we? People, I mean.
Terminator: It’s in your nature to destroy yourselves.
John: Yeah. Major drag, huh?
Mother of Fighting Children: Break it up before I wring both your necks.
Back to something lovely…
After The Dance
I have sore arm muscles, a bruise on my thigh and am around £160 lighter in pocket, but I have MR T back. I am not entirely sure he is fixed as he stalled on the way home, but that was in slow traffic and perhaps he was cold…? Hmm… I know how that worked out last time. Fingers crossed.
Tomorrow is a big day… MW#1 has another interview and my newly appreciated Young Professional den of iniquity finds out whether it lives to pour me another Amethyst cocktail. I had to change my Zen playlist several times today on my bus journey to work as I found myself welling up. In the relative privacy of my car, fine, weep away. But Miss on the bus crying in front of Key Stage Four students- Another thing entirely.
I need a haircut, and some new glasses so I can see properly and an eye test and a contact lens checkup and time off so I can see my ENT consultant and get myself on the waiting list for drilling. I also need to sleeeep…
I am happy though at the emergence of My Lovely Texan on Facebook, which for all its horrors (Hi! I was never that friendly with you at school but Be My Friend so I can show you my wedding photos! My boyfriend! My new baby! My holiday photos!) means that lazy old me might actually keep in touch. Huzzah.
I had an interesting journey to work this morning, getting as far as the bottom of my road before MR T died on me. Oh dear, thought I as I sat stalled at the junction entrance… No problem, i’ll just restart… Uh… Right… Come on… You’re just cold aren’t you…
No. It turned out he wasn’t “just cold” and I eventually arrived into work two hours late having had to get my car towed to a garage by the lovely breakdown man who came to rescue me. Of course, seeing a girl struggling to push and steer her car over to the side of the road so that it would be out of traffic elicited no help whatsoever… I am clearly not blonde enough. Nor female enough.
I put my hazards on and lifted the boot so it should have been pretty fucking obvious that hello, I wasn’t going aaanywhere… People ran the red light and blocked the junction as they made their way round me, they stopped the breakdown man from reversing my car out of the way, stopped him connecting up my car to the towbar, and beeped at him when he was trying to take it off. Fucktards.
MR T has been really reliable for me since I got him (fucked up exhaust aside); he was totally fine over the recent cold spell so I was dumbfounded by his sudden death. He could idle but not do much beyond 15000 RPM so I had the fun and exciting experience of being towed behind the breakdown van across town to the garage. I was laughing most of the way- It was just the sort of thing that I really enjoy, the experience of something small and new. No brakes eeee :)
Anyway, it seems that the distributor was worn (though it gave no warning it was about to die) so the nice people at the garage put a new one on; hopefully nothing else is wrong with him, so he should be collectable tomorrow. Hooray.
Image taken from the rather interesting The Story of Reflection Mapping by Paul Devbec
Flight of the Navigator is one of my all time fave films… It lives on in my childhood memories alongside Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Space Camp, Labyrinth, The Neverending Story, Krull (yes, really) and The Goonies… I always wanted the cute little growly creature David gets to look after at the end of the film.
View it over ten parts here:
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about my stance on visiting MW#1 if he gets the job in Dubai. I have no desire to visit the place, as expensive shopping malls and indoor skiing are really not for me, nor is visiting a place where I wouldn’t be able to hold his hand in a crowd if I was needing a little reassurance. I wouldn’t be visiting the place, I would be visiting him, so I have been considering my prior views on the subject a fair bit this weekend.
Previously I have said that if he goes, well that’s it. He could have found a job in this country if I mattered enough, so his leaving is his fault and he has to live without having me in his life, live with fucking up something good. I am reconsidering this point-of-view but there are many problems with this re-evaluation.
The longest period of time i’ve been without seeing MW#1 is three months. I *always* felt pretty pissed off when he eventually made time for me and would be very standoffish and distant for a few hours because of this. If I don’t see him for, say six months, how will I feel then?
I don’t know how i’ll feel towards him because of his decision to move. Will I still care for him? Will I still love him? Will I still want to see him? How will he feel about me? I am not going to feel like being with anyone else for quite a while but he will make new conquests and perhaps find someone he considers a suitable substitute for me. What then?
The cost: I don’t know how i’ll feel in a few months time, so there is no point in booking ahead; if I ended up having to go alone for a “holiday” and not meet up with him it would be a deeply depressing experience. Thus, no booking ahead means crazy airfare prices and nothing affordable at the time. Also, hotels are expensive (along with drink, food and living)… Would MW#1 be willing to put me up, and if so what would happen if he was seeing someone else at the time?
Next, would the Dubai authorities take one look at my bright red fauxawk and give me a special, intimate welcome as I trundled through customs in the form of a cavity search? Would I be allowed to hug MW#1 upon seeing him or would we have to wait until we got to a secluded place in the car park… to hug?
How long would I want to go for? A couple of weeks would be nice but if I was spending most of that time being anxious about saying goodbye could I really enjoy myself? Also there’s the more fundamental question of what would be the point in visiting him? He would be out there for at least a couple of years; we are both approaching thirty (he is a bit older) and to be honest I am getting too old to pine for and travel to someone who hasn’t committed to me.
Grand Homme Brum has demonstrated that a long term, long distance relationship is doable but I think that’s only possible if both parties have an understanding that they are working towards something, for example being together, getting hitched etcetera. If I was seeing him only every six months or so, what is that working towards? What future is that for?
I’ll be devastated if he leaves. Seeing him every so often won’t make my weekends any less sad, or stop me wishing he would be there to hold me on my nights alone.
Guardian: The crunch generation
“According to Dolton, the government’s target of getting 50% of adults into higher education was based on influential research looking at adult earnings over an entire career. Much of this studied generations born in 1958, and found each year in education over the age of 16 added 15% to earnings. But this, argues Dolton, was an exception: a uniquely privileged generation who enjoyed an elite education and a smooth labour market.
To suggest modern degrees would add a similar value – called ‘rate of return to education’ in academic circles – is ‘errant nonsense’ he says. The government assumed further education would boost earnings by 8-15%. ‘Parents and kids have been sold a lie in the sense that the rate of return to education is not that,’ says Dolton.”
I found out yesterday that MW#1 has made his way through almost all the candidates for the Dubai job; it is now him versus only one other. Eeek.
I felt very mixed emotions when I heard the news; on the one hand I was like, wow, he’s done really well to get this far, and I was proud of his progress. On the other hand, I had to put my dinner down as I stifled a sob and didn’t really feel like eating any more of it.
He’s got another interview (ffs) next week and perhaps one more after that… The nearness of a final decision makes the feelings of longing all the more acute; just curl up next to him and cop a feel of manfur. As is usual in my private life I rarely get what I want, so I will as per usual be waking up alone this weekend.
Gawker – Lies: John Travolta, Grieving and Deceiving
“Has anything the celebrity family of Jett Travolta said about the teenager been the unvarnished truth? If so, we missed it. Even the publicity photos of Jett they sent out after his death are Photoshopped.
The constantly changing versions of the events surrounding Jett’s death have gripped the public’s imagination because it is so congruent with the story of his father’s life. John Travolta would have us believe that he is normal; that he is not a member of a crazy cult; and that he is straight. At least two of those things are false.”
The problems my students are labouring under have not gone away but on a more positive note my nausea has… to be replaced with a headache. Yay.
My stomach became knotted each time I checked my phone today whilst I had a spare moment in between classes; I kept expecting to receive a message from MW#1 saying he’d got the job. I drove home through sleet and slow traffic; once home I had to struggle to stay awake under my blanket. The soup of thoughts in my head bubbled into daydreams of receiving the above text message (resulting in me dissolving) but then receiving a second where he wrote that he turned it down because he wanted me to be in his life.
Then, you know, he appeared out of nowhere, scooped me up in his arms and kissed me on the nose whilst I giggled happily before we magically travelled to Hawaii and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict was sorted and global warming was stopped by the extensive installation of tin foil over the glaciers and ice caps of our planet.
I feel a little like i’ve only just got meaningfully intimate with MW#1 but it might soon be time to part permanently. If he leaves the shred of hope I have left will blow out to the deserts with him where it is sure to shrivel up, become transparent and disappear.
My head hurts, my throat is burning and my eyes are brimming; I wish this ache would go away. Something good for once in a relationship, please?
If he doesn’t get the job there will be zero triumphalism from me; although I write about how sad I will be if he goes I do want him to progress in his chosen career, I want him to be happy and satisfied with his job. I also know that after going through months of this there will probably be more uncertainty to come as he’ll probably apply for more jobs that might mean moving away.
I’m tired of having this hanging over me; I wish things could be more straightforward- boy meets girl, boy shows girl wrestling, girl loves boy, boy loves girl, they decide to make time and space for each other in their lives and boy enjoys spending holidays rubbing sun cream into girl’s lower back girlfuzz.
EDIT: After a hot shower my headache has lessened; for the moment I feel a bit happier with the world after watching the over-soaped washing machine projectile burp washing suds out into the kitchen… I laughed at the slowly increasing carpet of foam on the floor before realising that it would be best to try and stem the tide… to no avail. Ah well… as long as I don’t get up in the night…
Pink Ginger 2148 by casch52 [cc]
School has started okay-ish, ish in that:
The student whose Mum was taken into hospital last month and had been told that her Mum had cancer whereupon the medical staff gave her a massive morphine overdose putting her in intensive care for three days was then told that she didn’t have cancer has now has been told that she does…
(takes a breath)
I found out that the student’s Dad who died the night before the last day of term gassed himself in the kitchen of the family home (the youngest child of the family found him)…
Last but not least one other student is living at her boyfriend’s house as her Mum had controlled her life so minutely that she felt compelled to leave. She is sixteen.
Also, I am gently surfing my way through waves of hormonally-induced pain and nausea these past couple of days; I have been researching the efficacy of ginger with regards to helping to stop the feeling of UGH but the studies aren’t that great being rather small and limited in scope. Still, i’m giving it a go and even though it tastes pretty darned minging, a large teaspoon of ginger root in a mug of hot water (anecdotally) seems to be helping.
I used to get all DRAMA! in the past before I was on the Pill and having the more manageable periods associated with its use; every so often i’d end up going sheet white and sweat profusely before coming close to passing out and then puking my guts up. This is not “manageable”.
Although I haven’t been sick so far this week, I still worry that i’ll have to do something like vomit into the bin in front of a class or something, though working in an all girls school means that hopefully i’d get a bit of sympathy when I explained the cause.
Bandolier: Does ginger prevent nausea and vomiting?
I cannot wait until Friday, when I get to dose myself back up with the oestrogen and progesterone and can spend the weekend curled up under my duvet/blanket/hot water bottle. With socks on. And my hoodie up.
I think MW#1 might be having more interviews this week, so perhaps I might be spending my weekend holding on very tightly to my lovely furry pillow…
The pretentious den of Young Professional iniquity I have been making more use of lately is becoming a victim of the economic downturn… The owners are bankrupt and its future is uncertain. After the years I slagged the place off I have only just got to liking it. Boo.
A review of last year’s resolutions:
1. Complete my NQT year without doing any more supply.
I passed, i’m continuing to do well and since time of writing I didn’t have to do any more supply. I am still waiting for a full-time permanent position and I do not look forward to the conversation between myself and the Head about this. Anyway, it took me two years but I managed.
2. Get out more.
This is hard to quantify… Towards the end of the year I went out more frequently with MW#1 (because of the Dubai Bombshell I suppose); I think I went out for dinner with friends more frequently, but I didn’t make the effort I should have with regards visiting friends outside of my local area.
3. Visit more exhibitions, museums, galleries.
This I have definitely done, Thanks to my Tate membership- I am much more motivated to visit (the Tate at least) and enjoy the freedom of having free entry. Makes things more flexible; still I should try and visit more places other than the Tate.
4. Read more for pleasure.
TOTAL FAIL. I’ve got a stack of books by my bed that I have slowly added to over the year; they all remain unread. I must force myself to read them, as I think if I can get past the first few pages away from my laptop screen I will probably find I enjoy myself.
Last year I decided not to make any resolutions on the personal side of things as I was convinced that there was no point. Since the Dubai Bombshell was dropped quite a lot of (relative) progress has been made, but it is just that- relative.
Although we behave more intimately towards each other he continues to see others instead of me; we’ve never spent any sort of extended time together; he alternates from being really into me to being distant, crushing my spirit with thoughtless comments.
If I feel glum or I miss him I try hard not to “give in” and ask to see him, I just while away weekends in my room feeling a bit down; I don’t expect or need to see him every day but a little latitude with regards helping me out now and then would be really appreciated. Help me out? Give me a hug, rub my back, make me laugh, join me for a day out, wake up next to me occasionally. Flying casual, like.
These are not huge things to ask for but perhaps they are just a little much to ask of someone who asked me to leave my life behind and live with them in a far off country.
His behaviour causes me much angst, but when i’m curled up next to him problems seem to drift away for a while, at least until he starts snoring :)
Anyway, once again no personal resolutions this year. Just live and be and see what happens and shoulder problems as they arise.
Yes… really… I spent half an hour making a video of my fake dog.
Here I will commence with a rather long and convoluted post on what I have been up to over the last couple of weeks i.e. The Festive Season. Rejoice.
A recently started tradition is that of Crap Crimbo– Where you spend under a fiver and get either a good or crap present for an unknown, hence the title. I usually aim for the crap present as I appreciate the humour more and this year I think I did rather well in finding a set of “velour” Christmas tea towels. “Velour” was a slight misnomer in that they were the most threadbare things that could be classed as “velour” as I think it is possible to see. I was proud of my efforts.
I fiiinally got to meet Bobby Convey’s Person Of Interest, MG, and I found him to be a most agreeable human being, with the additional bonus of having rather good sartorial sense. Huzzah. I had a very good evening indeed consuming rather too many mugs of Caversham Princess’s Special Brew AKA mulled wine (it is awesomely tasty); by evening’s end I was valiantly attempting to fight off four enemy combatants in an intense game of Trivial Pursuit. I lost. Gooood times.
Just before I left for The North I met up with MW#1 for an evening of eating, drinking and present giving; I tried to put (metaphorical) hairs on my chest with a Manhattan and we ate Italian food and talked about the bottom in Western art versus reality and current ideas of beauty (amongst other things)… He held my hand as we walked back to his and for the first time I felt completely comfortable doing so, in fact I didn’t want him to let go. Gah.
Present-wise I asked MW#1 for an awesome little bracelet with a teeny tiny gold skull hanging on blue cord- I am so enamoured with its cuteness I have not taken it off since. I fed his Games Workshop habit and also his Metal habit too; I finished the evening having my brain warped by Beatallica (takes a breath) – Someone singing in the style of James Hetfield covering Beatles songs in the style of Metallica but at the same time doing tracks that are sung in the style of Metallica, with lyrics by Metallica but to the tune of the Beatles… :S
MW#1 has got through to the second round for Dubai. More interviews await. SIGH.
Later in the day I managed to infiltrate myself into the UK headquarters of Microsoft (i.e. sign myself in to visit MW#1); I reported to the wrong building and spent my time inside being overly quiet and wide-eyed or conversely laughing far too much due to “I don’t belong” nerves. I earned undoubtedly increased levels of affection from him upon passing a cafe named after the SharePoint software: I questioned whether they had considered calling it after the Linux Penguin, because, you know, penguins are approachable and cuddly and this would bestow the right spirit of sharing at the cafe… Heh. Score.
The buildings were overly populated with kids, which was uber weird but festive season and all that, there were free drinks galore and security doors to catch anyone making a break for freedom. They had bad corporate art (isn’t it always) but really nice chairs. Stripy. Purple. Curvy. Nice. I got particularly excited when confronted with the canteen: A wide range of dishes – “Street Food” (presumably scraped off pavements), stir fries cooked to order, salads, steaks, sandwiches, grills, stews, desserts, stuffed vine leaves…
I was slightly bewildered by all the choice so plumped for the rather ordinary combo of grilled chicken, a big pile of French fries, an apple and a banana (and my free can of Coke). Unsurprisingly my lunch was many magnitudes better than what I get at work. If Microsoft can produce tasty food for around the same I pay at work, why the fuck are school unable to do it.
I took Mr T. Up North to spend a few days en famille where the annoyance encouraged by the presence of my Dad was tempered with my happiness at seeing my Mum and brother and many cousins, aunts and uncles. Aaand I actually got what I asked for- No hide nor hair of a Goddamned Radley bag :D
I received the pair of jeans I was after but when I tried them on they were a bit on the tight side due to my recent increase in padding; I ordered a similar style the next size up but they are too big around the waist. So I either need to slim down or eat more til I fit into the next size up. I think I shall just keep on doing what I do, which is not really caring about what I eat very much. Scientific.
As a Christmas present to myself I bought a CycloDS card for my Nintendo DS; it is alll kinds of awesome, in that now I don’t need to pay for games- All I have to do is download them and transfer them onto the card. Hooray for breaking the law. So I have got into Viva Pinata! Animal Crossing: Wild World, Rune Factory: A Fantasy Harvest Moon and Nintendogs. Somewhat surprisingly for Ms. Cynic, this is the title that I have been rather awed by- I am now the proud owner of a Beagle called Bob, and he is the greatest dog ever, or that’s what I tell him as I stroke his tummy using the stylus. Hee.
I received proof that The Grand Romantic Gesture is not dead in the form of the fantastic news of Grand Homme Brum popping the question to his lovely partner- He went down on bended knee in the arrivals lounge of an airport :) Although I am cynical in nature I am still hopeful about some things and there’s a warm romantic core to my frequently abused heart; my romantic hopes are usually pissed upon by others but to hear of good things happening to good people is just great. You know it’s just, well, *awesome* and I was rather excited to hear of the couples good news. Hooray!
I went around the shops with Leia Ewok Village looking at dresses but the only things the both of us purchased were homeware-related: Duvet covers, cushions, rugs etcetera. I felt so old… We whiled away some time drinking cocktails post-shopping before taxing home where I tried out my new cover and super soft fuzzy cushion cover before drunkenly creating a cross-cultural feast in the form of naan bread, mozzarella, olives and sun-dried tomatoes (or sun-kissed as Waitrose calls them). Mmmm…
My laptop had been annoying me with its sloowness so I took it upon myself to upgrade the memory. No problem for a gal who’s done Lego, or so I thought until I broke a screwdriver trying to get a screw undone… Argh! I had The Tech Rage running wild upon me; MW#1 kindly offered the use of his arm and his tool set and the screw that I thought I had stripped in my efforts to remove it was magically undone in around five seconds. SIGH. He installed my memory and all is well, but I must say there’s not a whole lot of difference in performance, at least so far. Anyway…
After his *massive* efforts on my computer MW#1 had a cup of tea and made use of my sofa and myself to curl up and sleep (snore) upon. I felt very happy, and not because he had fixed my laptop…I just like holding him, stroking his hair, being next to his warmth. However, he then didn’t exactly earn himself brownie points by deliberately giving me a hickey of all things… I DESPAIR. Well I don’t, at least not at the moment, but I shall be wearing a scarf to work next week… God help me if a sixth former sees it… Mr Non-Committal and all that…
Now I am seeing in the New Year home alone and far away from any revellers or the cold (i’ve put the heating on); i’ve had steak and chips and a glass of cider and have felt pretty good, only tearing up a moment when listening to the majestic Barry White sing I’ll Do Anything You Want Me To. So not too bad, though I do feel a pang of sadness at not being able to mark the passing of another year by waking up next to someone I care for.
Goodbye 2008- It wasn’t a bad year, but it wasn’t exactly great (for many reasons)… Here’s to the unknown and 2009…