Monthly Archives: February 2009

When I put my hands on your body

from “When I Put My Hands On Your Body,” 1990
by David Wojnarowicz
When I put my hands on your body, on your flesh, I feel the history of that body.
Not just the beginning of its forming in that distant lake but all the way beyond its ending.
I feel the warmth and texture and simultaneously, I see the flesh unwrap from the layers of fat and disappear.
I see the fat disappear from the muscle.
I see the muscle disappearing from around the organs and detaching itself from the bones.
I see the organs gradually fade into transparency leaving a gleaming skeleton, gleaming like ivory that slowly revolves until it becomes dust.
I am consumed in the sense of your weight the way your flesh occupies momentary space, the fullness of it beneath my palms.
I am amazed at how perfectly your body fits to the curves of my hands.
If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other, I would.
If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth, to this present time, to me, I would.
If I could open your body and slip up inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours, I would.
It makes me weep to feel the history of you, of your flesh, beneath my palms, as you twist and turn over to one side, to create a series of gestures, to reach up around my neck to draw me nearer.
All these moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain.
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Back from Bed and Back Again

I did not have pleasant dreams when I tried to get a little more sleep- I was hot and my head began to hurt terribly as my sinuses on the left side of my face swelled up. I lay there for around an hour pondering whether the pain was bad enough for me to take myself to A&E, whether or not they could do anything about it if I did so and whether there was any point as things might get better in a bit.

So I lay there and stared at the ceiling and hoped that the pain would go away; I blew my nose so frequently that my stomach muscles ache from doing so. Eventually the pain in my head did ease off and I was back to lacking the faculties of taste and smell with an accompanying dull ache running from my nose through my cheek, down through my teeth to rest just underneath my chin.

I feel scummy, tired, slightly sick and a little sorry for myself. Over the last few weeks i’ve become more aware of the fact that I really do need my upcoming surgery; i’m more and more dehydrated- my tongue gets sore, my lips are flaky- and my sinuses are inflamed more frequently. Not good… Back to work tomorrow- an INSET day…ugh… but at least no kids.

Oddly, my excursion into the uncharted realm of emotional confession via text message turned out rather well. All I need to do now is pluck up the courage to actually say the words to the person involved… one step at a time.
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Drunk and In Charge

Ugh… Last night I was drunk and “in charge” of a mobile phone; the crime of texting whilst inebriated was most grievously committed. Usually I am so good at not indulging in said act but I guess I was feeling the “love” a little too much…

But… the sentiments expressed within the messages were truthful and genuinely given; there was no deception. I was simply making a statement of my feelings, so why should I beat myself up about that?

Well I will do, because I don’t want to come across as a drunken fool communicating feelings that are directed at someone uncommitted to my cause so to speak. I’m human and thus imperfect and so make mistakes; I really should lay off the self-laceration and just accept that these things happen. Logic should not and does not apply in affairs of the heart.

I need to go back to bed…
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DS Holiday

Hotel Dusk

Although I have many things that probably do require my attention – eye test, contact lens check, flat references, lesson planning, tidying my room – I have chosen to focus on the worthy cause that is spending as much time as is humanly possibly on my DS.

My DS is essentially my holiday away every half term, Christmas, Easter and Summer- I get to travel to far off exotic worlds from the comfort of my bedroom. Beaches are overrated- sand gets in everything… blankety terrain under my arse is so much better. Of course, if someone were to offer up a month in Hawaii I think I might just be able to cope with getting sand in my crack… :)

So this week I have been playing Lego Indiana Jones: The Original Adventures, Professor Layton and the Curious Village, Nintendogs (Bob is still there thank goodness) and Hotel Dusk: Room 215. I am not a fan of beat-em-ups nor shoot-anything-that-moves type things, so exploration games suit me down to the ground.

I’d read a lot about Professor Layton and I liked the visuals i’d seen in the reviews; the basic premise is do puzzles, solve mysteries and find things = WIN. As I wandered around the Curious Village I discovered a problem to the game- When I poked something to explore it, a puzzle came up. I know the whole game is about solving puzzles, but I just wanted to see what was in a barrel or under a vase, not do *another* puzzle… and yes, you can skip them, but I didn’t manage to play it for long before I was inwardly sighing at more puzzles appearing.

I just want to look around, explore the delightfully drawn village, not have to worry about how I get chicks and wolves from one side of a river to another without them eating each other. Enough already.

So Hotel Dusk has been what i’ve been into and enjoying the most; the visuals have the appearance of being hand drawn (indeed they are) and these pretty, half-finished images are rather pleasing in their rough sketchy-ness. As is usual in the adventure genre, there are times when you feel like shouting at your virtual character as they take their stupid merry time questioning a suspect or when you know what you have to do or find but the story is not quite at the right point for you to progress. Frustrating.

Still, the dialogue is relatively well-written and it is nice to look at so I am enjoying being “a washed-up former detective looking for his ex-partner who was on the take who shot him but who has turned out not to be dead and is obsessed with a painting of an Angel Opening A Door.” Hee.
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Crusty – Flat – Credit

I have a patch of dry skin to the right of my belly button. It sits at the top of a roll of flab, appearing every Winter when I wear jumpers more frequently and have the heating on in the evenings. What I don’t understand is why is the dryness only on the right?

I would have thought that I would be afflicted on both sides of my body, what with the fabric running over my entire stomach, but I suppose just as I have one foot larger than the other and one breast larger than the other my stomach or perhaps the underlying structures are similarly asymmetrical.

It is itchy and tempting to scratch at; I must remember to rub some moisturiser into my skin…

Hopefully I will get my future housing sorted tomorrow; although the place i’m after is rather weird and rather small it’s the best I can do at the moment and it will be a relief to know I have somewhere to go come the middle of March. If it sucks big time i’ll have a six month break clause so at least I can get out if things don’t turn out too well.

It’s somewhere clean and seemingly quiet and cheap as I can find… so I hope it hasn’t been taken by the time I try and put down my non-refundable deposit. Then I just have the worry of passing the credit checking… I should have no problems doing so but still I cannot help but worry. If I fail to pass the test I lose money I can’t really afford to. What the fuck is wrong with just having a job that pays the bills- I don’t need credit cards to build up my rating. UGH
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Don’t be so fuckin’ eager


“That was the worst fucking head I have ever got in my life… Next time don’t be so fuckin’ eager.”

Yeahh… that’s right… just shoot ’em when they don’t do it right.

You can see how I am just filled with warm and fuzzy feelings at the moment. Filled.
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Valentines First

Apollo 13 Lander So how am I spending my Valentines Day? Well, I watched the latest episode of the ongoing saga of doooom that is Battlestar Galactica and an ep of The Closer; after a bit of late lunch (hello 5pm) I took in Apollo 13, a favourite of mine, and as I always do I cried at the end where they are waiting for the astronauts to come out of the radio blackout and splash down in the Pacific.

On Friday I was gobsmacked to receive My First Valentine… It was presented to me during a lesson by a group of sixth formers, and although, yes, it wasn’t from someone who romantically loves me I was so excited to receive it- Hand made, two feet tall and covered in big red hearts. On the front it read:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Don’t worry Miss,
We love you!
Inside they wrote that they love me “more than the internet” and that they wished that I had a “lovely Valentines night with your Significant Other (that you neglected to tell us about)!” I think they had gathered a little information about MW#1 but had not got the information that we are not in any sort of relationship. Whoops.

I tend to call him Mister Non-Committal or My Person Of Interest when I talk (rant) about him to my colleagues; i’ve given a little away to the sixth formers but I know I have to be careful about what I tell them so as it does not get blown out of proportion. Also, what is there to tell, really?

Grinning ear-to-ear with happiness I thanked the lot of them profusely before telling them that it was the first Valentine I had ever received… Cue gasps and “awww”s from them all, and I felt like a bit of a shit to tell them that I don’t have a Significant Other and that the whole area is a romantic disaster.

Apparently they thought that I would be mad at being given the card so they were really pleased that I reacted in such a happy way. Although the card is not from anyone who loves me I honestly treasure it- It was sent with good intentions and great kindness, and for that I am grateful indeed.

I’ve pondered why I don’t send a Valentine to MW#1; at the age of twenty-eight I have only ever sent one, and that produced enough humiliation to last a very long time. I think if I thought MW#1 would be spending his Valentines Night at home painting his little Games Workshop figures I would consider doing so, but no man who is in all likelihood wining and dining someone else whilst I sit at home sad and alone is ever going to get one from me.

I think I might finish off my evening by indulging in a bit of Natural Born Killers… Just to y’know, improve my mood…

In “good things happening to good people” i.e. Better News, Nitram is finally making an honest women out of his Russian Doll- Hooray! That means I will actually have two events to justify wearing pretty dresses to next year hurrah! Both are excellent people, with Nitram having been a particularly close and reliable friend over the last few years, so I am very happy to hear of their engagement. Good times.
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Today it was not the snow that prevented me from arriving at work on time, it was extensive flooding from all the rain and snow melt. My usually twenty minute journey took two hours; I had to negotiate mini-lakes and mini-rivers running at random across junctions and down streets. It was a nightmare for work in that ten staff were stuck in the traffic; every alternative route I could think of was fubar, so I resigned myself to an uber leisurely trip in managing a snail-like* three miles an hour.

Coming home things were fine but I have noticed that although MR T does not stall when slowing down any more (hooray), any poke that he once had is more or less gone (boo). I miss the ability to rinse down the motorway and be able to have some acceleration in the wee thing; it’s a little like MR X has returned from the dead…

Another thing that probably needs to be sorted but I think i’ll wait a while and see how this new development pans out. The search for accommodation continues without success (I am going on a viewing tomorrow) but at least it is only two days until I get to spend a week hibernating under my blanket.

Over the last week I have been waking up around 4am each night, I think due to the increasingly poor condition of the innards of my nose. I am subsequently more tired than I would usually be and am a little short with the kiddies. Sigh. Although I am a little worried about my upcoming operation I realise that yes, I really do need it and sooner rather than later.

Two more days…

* I was actually travelling rather fast for a snail- They travel at around 0.03mph. Allegedly.
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Vesti la Giubba as sung by Pavarotti

This is strangely moving for me today… Poor Clown…

Sunday whilst out at lunch together I got upset as I listened to MW#1 slagging himself off. How does this make any sense I ask you…? You would think he could do with more than a bit of self-criticism given his behaviour towards me.

I have pondered why I found it so sad and I figure that as he reeled off a list of what he considered his imperfections and worthless features I thought hang on… I happen to love those things… Stop… You’re devaluing things that I hold dear.

As he sat there expounding on his problems I desperately wanted to reach out and touch his arm; get up, walk around the side of the table and hug him; tell him that I loved his brain just like I loved the rest of him… but no. I sat opposite, told him to “Shut Up!” frowned a lot and slowly crumbled inside. That I love him just as he is doesn’t seem like it’s enough.

I suppose it’s because I can be a bit of a sensitive soul when it comes to peoples problems- I like to listen and try my hardest to help wherever I can. I like to help. I care for him more than I should so his emotional upset affects me more than it should.

Behind the bravado there’s a fragile streak running through him; I think he tries to fill in this slender void by self-medicating with alcohol, women and conspicuous consumption. I worry for him, for this person who matters so much to me but to whom I sometimes feel like I matter less than a stranger off the street.

I’m tired of coming last, being at the bottom of the pile; in a list of priorities I come after him, after whomever he’s “seeing” at the moment, after the “random pieces of ass”. Maybe i’m upset because i’m tired and I have very little job security and I can’t seem to find anywhere to live and have around a month to do so and Valentines Day is rapidly approaching.

Ugh… Valentines. The Day I Love To Hate, snark on, write off. Which happens to be on a weekend this year so i’ll have my usual Saturday night blues going on in tandem with Valentines raging at The Unfairness Of It All. Yay.

This year will be year twenty-nine of the unbroken record of zero Valentines anythings… My life really is being pissed away isn’t it…? Mens Health says that I should be after the following things for the following reasons:
  • The Card: “Because to her, it’s more than just paper.”
  • The Flowers:“Yes, They’ll Die In A Few Days, But She Still Wants Them”
  • The Sweet Treat: “She’ll Be Eating Out Of Your Hand”
  • Jewellery: “Give her something that sparkles, even when the lights are off.”
  • Creative Gift: “A little thought goes a long way.”
  • Activities: “Consider these ideas foreplay to your Valentine’s day activities.”
  • Dinner: “Satisfy Her (Sexual) Hunger”
Jezebel – Men’s Health Wants To Get Dudes Laid On Valentine’s Day, Bro (excellent comments ahoy)

Of course, any one of those things would be nice if given without the fuckwitted reasoning, but I feel like I am so starved of romantic affection that even the smallest of things would bestow upon me the most ridiculous warm and fuzzy feelings. Money doesn’t even have to be spent… I’m the cheapest date around.

A little time spent with me, a kiss that conveys love and affection (i.e. not a peck), a back rub, a morning passed waking up together. Small things for a crushed romantic with very small hopes indeed.

But no. I shall spend my weekend and Valentines Night alone, just as I always do, and just as I do most every night I will wish there was someone next to me under my duvet, cursing at the toast crumbs, holding me tight.
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More Snow

Blinding light

The view from my desk this morning when I finally arrived into work…


The students in my school are so lazy that they can’t even finish off their snowmen…

There are quite a few aborted snowfoeti littering the site.


Giant snowballs looking like a super-slo-mo shot on goal

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Yay! School is closed tomorrow… :D
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SnowWhat I saw out my back window this morning…

SnowThe view from the bottom of my road…

SnowSnowy swans…

SnowHello! Are you cold?

It’s a Snow Day…

After getting a couple of miles into my journey this morning the radio told me that school was closed… It would have been nice if they could have decided this before I set out, but hey, whatever, I get to almost fall over for the rest of the day. Eeee…

MR T decided that he didn’t really want to go straight on as I slowed to a stop in traffic… Although I thought I was going more than slowly enough, he just didn’t fancy the sloping road surface and so slid s-l-o-w-l-y sideways into the curb with a bump. Ooops. The roads are very narrow around my area and so there is no gritting; this means you have to slowly bump, slide and squeak over the rather thick snow covering the surface of the road.

I wasn’t the only one having difficulty, but at least I was sensible about it. At the bottom of the fairly steep hill that leads to the river shown in the images above, a very unwise man spent over ten minutes repeatedly trying and repeatedly failing to get his black BMW up the hill. He was spinning the wheels when I went to look at the river, he was still attempting it when I came out of the corner shop with my bottle of milk. DUDE- Just give up.

Lahndahn tahn is completely fubar, so Caversham Princess is sitting out the travel insanity and hibernating (working) from home today too. I am going to brave taking MR T out to the other side of town to see if the garage can fix what they didn’t do last time (the distributor needs adjusting)… I am hoping we get there in one piece…

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Daughter of a Jailbird

I met up with my parents yesterday for dinner; they were staying at the Malmaison Oxford that was formerly a prison (see: The Italian Job) and because of the location my Mum filled me in on a very surprising piece of information about my Dad.

Back in the 1970s my parents were living and working in various countries in the Continent- Belgium, Holland, Luxembourg. My Mum decided to spend six weeks travelling around the US on her own and when she came back my Dad (who she was seeing at the time) didn’t seem to be around.

One day a friend of his turned up on my Mum’s doorstep to tell her that he’d been arrested and was being held in a local jail pending being charged. He was accused by the authorities of spying for the Russians.

Yes, really.

My Dad has had a long love for airplanes. I’ve been dragged around more airports, airbases and airshows than I care to mention and whereas most people might go on holiday to see the sights, experience the culture, my Dad will go to stand up against a chainlink fence and take photographs of the planes going to and fro.

It was on one of these adventures that trouble began- It was the 70’s with the Cold War going on and my Dad was taking photos of the movements at some Allied Powers airbase in Belgium. This was perhaps not the best decision to make and the local authorities objected to his activity, holding him *without charge* for *five* months.


My Mum went to visit him and was interviewed by the powers that be; she said that they were out to fit him up as try as they might they couldn’t get quite enough evidence to formally charge my Dad. She would visit him and had to do the whole plastic screen/telephone thing; two of his brothers came to visit on the odd occasion.

Eventually they released him without charge and although my parents looked into suing the pants off the powers that be for wrongful imprisonment, they decided it wasn’t worth it as the cost of lawyering up was prohibitive. I asked my Mum how my Dad was when he came out- “So so” was her reply; “he watched his back a lot more” and was much more careful in his daily life.

Apparently all my cousins have known about my Dad’s jailing for years now but my Dad has never wanted to tell us kids; my brother was old a couple of weeks ago (but didn’t think to tell me) and as my Mum told me the story I just assumed he spent a night in the cells. I was pretty shocked to hear that he was inside for so long, and without charge too. Fucked up.

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