Monthly Archives: November 2009
Today I realised that I have been getting upset rather frequently of late. For example, yesterday it was weeping over the songs of Madonna, today it was tearing up in the car listening to Terry Wogan before having to hold it back at work when I pre-watched a video on domestic violence I am considering showing to my form. This evening it was full on tears over Captain Kirk Senior being exploded out of existence as his son James Tiberius was born. What the fuck is going on, eh?
Pop psychiatrising myself it’s down to a) Not getting enough sleep, b) Getting sentimental as I get older, c) The upcoming possibility of having a less-perfect-than-it-is-now boob and d) The MW#1 situation. Score!!!
What can I do about these things? Well, I can try and get to bed earlier :)
Julie & Julia was entertaining fluff that filled my post-Madonna, post-weeping hours fairly effectively; I get the impression that I was supposed to be rooting for the modern-day “heroine” in her quest to Master The Art Of French Cooking, but for a fairly significant proportion of her screen time I wanted to take her shoulders in my hands and give her a good shake.
Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci were immensely appealing (i.e. awesome) – To be honest I would have preferred the entire Julie part of the film to be excised like the bones from a deboned duck, and I think the entire enterprise would be far better off for it. The A.V. Club review of the film sums up my feelings on the matter thus:
“… an accidental dissection of Internet-enabled 21st-century narcissism rendered in broad strokes and easy punchlines.”Bon Appétit!
Quicker than a ray of light by Supermariolxpt [cc]
I had a lovely time today trawling the shops in town with Leia Ewok Village; thanks to her I am now the very excited owner of three Madonna albums – Like A Virgin, True Blue and Like A Prayer. I am spending part of my evening listening to them at high volume on my headphones and dancing about my room. Oh, it is just *so* goood! I LOVE IT. And my new sequinned shorts I finally managed to find after looking through about seven different shops (yes, really)… I listen and jig about before for no discernible reason tearing up and eventually crying my eyes out – Oh Live to Tell, Cherish, Oh Father – UGH – perhaps it’s because the music is so emotionally full-on? Happy happy! or Glum or Missing You so much… Who knows…
I watched Truth or Dare recently and was impressed by the workrate, professionalism and attitude of Ms. Ciccone; I had not expected it, and was somewhat taken aback at this businesswoman working so darned hard. And the music, costuming and dancing was fabulous too :)
Anyway, i’ve now wept copiously over Madonna so I figure I should do something else… I hope a spot of Julie & Julia will brighten my rainy evening…
Inspired by Constant Siege
Left: Approximately Day 3355, having been to Chicago, Houston & San Antonio, New York x 2, Salzburg, Paris, County Laois x 2, County Antrim, Berlin x 2, Oxford, Liverpool, all around London & Manchester, and various places in-between.
Right: Day 0001, ready to repeat a few mistakes and make some new ones…
Yes, using part of my birthday money I purchased a replacement for my nine-year-old beloved Superstars; I feel rather sad at my parting with them but the water creeping through the bottom of their fractured soles was getting a little much. The new ones are not quite as good as the old, lacking metal rivets and the metal Adidas tag… I guess they don’t make ’em like they used to…
My much-anticipated night on the town last Saturday was as awesome as I had hoped for and more. I spent the evening surrounded by people I dearly love and value; copious amounts of booze was consumed and many hours of Eighties music were danced to with the evening winding down just after 3.30am. I wore something that was very short and clingy and leopard print :D GOOD TIMES.
It’s so lovely to be in the same room (or on the same dancefloor) as so many excellent human beings… I take it (and them) for granted rather too much of the time… I woke up the next morning feeling a little on the rough side but nothing like the aftermath of the last time The Supergroup went out, thank fuck.
Work has been busy what with reviews to be done, Parents Evenings to attend and a lesson observation to be done- Somehow I earned myself an “Outstanding”, which is good to hear and all and my first observed lesson to be rated so, however the grading is related to Ofsted, so in many ways I know the rating is bollocks because of this.
This weekend I’m looking forwards to spending some quality time sleeping, curling up under my blanket and eating homemade soup… Gah…
Twenty-nine. I spent the time after work alone cooking myself stir fry before I replied to kind wishes from various people and then opened cards and presents. I was feeling rather glum due to being tired from lack of quality sleep – I keep waking early – so when I opened the card from my Granny I began to well up.
She’s in a Clinical Decision Unit at the moment waiting to come home; she’s extremely frail and the small, wobbly hand writing Happy Birthday in the card made me feel very sad. It’s not as if i’m close to her; i’m clearly getting sentimental in my increasing years. Ugh.
My birthday outing will be infinitely better than this evening. I wish Saturday would hurry up.
Aside from my trip into Lahndahn tahn on Friday evening I have spend the entire weekend holed up at home hiding out from the appalling weather. Consequently i’ve not eaten the best food and so I am feeling a bit dissatisfied. Tomorrow food shopping should help alleviate this food woe, which is all the more acute due to the delicious ginger chicken udon and ebi katsu I had at Wagamama on Friday evening pre-ballet.
The ballet was marvellous- beautiful, strange, confusing, wondrous. As i’m not at all educated in the ins-and-outs of ballet I feel very confused when watching it, especially when there isn’t a narrative to give me a hand. Most performance art I can understand, with a little information, but watching the dancers work together and apart I feel like I have no areas of reference, so I feel rather weirded out by the whole thing. It’s beautiful to watch with feats of unbelievable strength, control and athleticism; it just has me fascinated but going “hmmm” at the same time. Perhaps a good thing to be out of my comfort zone.
Limen was the second work I have seen by Wayne McGregor (warning- sound), the Resident Choreographer of the Royal Ballet and was as confusing to me as Chroma was before. The work had a sort-of-narrative – in the loosest sense – of life, love, death and loss; these themes were reflected I guess in the colours used on stage, the contrast between pure colour and loss of colour i.e. darkness. The dancers walked naturally to each other to begin each set of movements, differing from the very controlled, high-falutin’ walk seen in the other two productions I saw; the movements were very odd- Like Chroma there were lots of very small movements repeated singly or in pairs or threes with the occasional lift or spin or jump. Everyone mixed with dancers having no set partner and all wore skin-toned or brightly-coloured Lycra; both men and women wore leggings, leotards, unitards, shorts and there was no obvious costuming gender divide. The dancers were there to express and dance and although men were frequently paired with women there was more variety than “strong man lift, lithe woman jump” seen in more traditional productions.
Anyway, I don’t understand it but I enjoyed myself, wandering about during the intervals eating my chocolate ice cream and drinking my glass of champagne, people watching and noticing people watch me. I had particularly big hair and metallic purple eyeshadow and the yellow wedges make me stand out even further :) I really should try and go more frequently, especially getting out of my creative comfort zone…
The meeting with my consultant today didn’t go terribly well in that i’m booked in for an excision but feel more unsure about my decision than I did before. When I asked him what would happen if I wasn’t happy with the results of the operation I was told along the lines that “Duh, you take tissue out you should expect it won’t look the same!” so it seems that any deformity is to be put up with…
I was fairly unsettled by this; the theme of poor communication was continued and he was very round-a-bout when putting a finger on exactly what i’ve got. In theory all will be well and i’ll be left without much difference from one boob to the other but this lack of concrete information has left me worrying. Yes, about something else now JOY.
So the date i’ve picked for my operation is the 18th of December; this is the last day of term at work and so if I need a week or so to recover i’ll be able to hibernate at home or take things easy for the few days I have to spend En Famille for Christmas. After the date was sorted I had to take my charts to the “Fit For Surgery” assessment; I waited for TWO and A HALF motherfucking hours for the purpose of filling in a tick sheet, having my blood pressure taken and be weighed and measured. UGH.
I was seriously grumpy by the time I was seen, especially as I had to wait starving as the nursing staff had their lunch, dithered about a lot and saw people behind me in the queue before me. Eleven comes before twelve ladies! I had to put serious effort into being sweetness and light by the time I hopped up on the paper covered bench. Grrr. I then had to dash back to work for the dubious delights of Art Club and Parents Evening…
Anyway, i’m feeling pretty glum about it all, which is unexpected. Tomorrow i’m spending the evening at the Royal Ballet but i’m tired and sad and not very enthused. I’m sure once i’m there it’ll be awesome and i’ll have a fabulous time; roll on 3.30pm…
Another trip to the clinic tomorrow and my first meeting with the consultant responsible for cutting, scooping and shutting; then it’s back to skool and a Parents Evening with Year 13. Joy. At the moment it seems like when I wake in the morning I wish it was the end of the day, the end of the week, the end of term so that I could crawl back under my duvet and curl up with Patrick. I’m trying to get to bed earlier but it’s often the case that the myriad things rumbling about my brain keep me awake, or I wake up an hour or two before my alarm is due to go off but then i’m unable to get back to sleep.
On the noise front I have a new weapon courtesy of an early birthday present from my Dad- An all-singing, all-dancing clock radio – yes, really, I actually asked for this – that as well as being a DAB and FM radio has the curious function of being able to play a selection of natural sounds. So when I turn the light off I get to listen to “small waves” or “forest rain” that effectively drowns out most noise coming through my walls.
It’s rather relaxing and helps me switch off for the night; sometimes however I like to indulge in a bit of fantasy life living by imagining that the waves I hear are the waves lapping against the Hawaiian beach I lie on or that the rain I hear is pitter-pattering against the French windows of the grand hotel i’m staying in. I curl up and I imagine and escape for a bit, but I still feel glum at having no-one to curl up with on the warm sand and by the crackling fire in the hearth. Sigh.
I survived the company of ninety Year 9’s and had a thoroughly enjoyable day around the Hampshire/ Dorset border. It was cold, blustery and beautiful and i’m sure i’ll sleep well tonight.
It was great to be windswept for a while and get a change of scene; I found being outdoors by the sea deeply satisfying and calming, despite the wind-whipped water.
I thought a lot as I walked and felt happy even when sea spray was turning to sleet against my face.
I’m tired, in need of better food with more menu planning, and yet tomorrow I am off to the seaside with 90 Year 9’s to look at groynes… Heh heh. Groynes of the coastal protection variety, natch.
It’s going to rain and probably be very cold, but i’ll get to be beside the sea for a while and laugh at the girls edging towards hypothermia in their inappropriate for fieldwork attire. Fun. Actually I am looking forward to the sea and the blusteryness – but not the rain methinks – and shall delight in getting my green stripy wellies out. Hurrah. I have fond memories of the residential A Level Geography course I went on back in the mists of time and I will probably find all the erosion we’re going to look at rather interesting. Find things interesting? Aw, Miss, you loser!
On a separate note, look at this fucking gorgeous hotel nearby where we’re daytripping to:
Cheapest room £313 a night midweek… SIGH
Ugh. I’m currently experiencing the full-blown awful of a post-Bang Face comedown; after waking up Saturday afternoon I have been feeling fairly rubbish, tired when I shouldn’t be and generally rather glum. My self-medicating consisted of nothing more than a couple of rum, tonic and limes, and after a good night out and an even more enjoyable Half Term I can’t quite explain why i’ve spent this weekend feeling so very down.
I decided to try a change of scene and a treat so I took my “interestingly” styled bedhead down the hill into town and the luxury of Wagamama to take away; I was amused to see the waitress put two sets of chopsticks along with the cartons of food- No, it is just me. All for me…
I hoped all the tasty food would act like a slightly more upmarket version of the healing power of grease found at my usual purveyor of comfort food McDonalds but no; the food was delicious and exciting to eat in my own room (gyoza! deep-fried shrimp!) but I still felt rather glum by the time i’d got to the end of it.
I lay awake for hours that night, thinking about things- MW#1, the assembly me and my form have to come up with, my birthday; when I did eventually manage to drop off I slept fitfully and woke feeling very unrefreshed. To try and cheer myself up I made poached eggs on hot buttered muffins accompanied with a couple of Mini-Babybels and as the rain fell heavily outside my window I curled up in my seat and drank coffee and read the New York Times Weddings and Celebrations pages, marvelling at the stories of love and difficulty within. And the dresses.
And so I spent today doing not very much at all; did the washing up, cooked chorizo pasta for dinner and grilled a giant grapefruit with sugar and rum for dessert. I drank hot chocolate and watched the goddamned Sex and the City Movie again and cried again and felt hopeless again.
Not that we are going out, but it’s fairly stressful waiting to see if you’re going to be dumped, and although I am but a member of a non-consensual arrangement I feel similarly to those in relationships waiting for the knife to fall and having no input. Stressed. Anxious. Upset.
Every night I lie awake and think about the impending DOOOOM, saying over-and-over in my head “I can’t take much more of this” before tossing and turning my way towards sleep; I clutch Patrick close to me, imagining I was being held and that the ache filling my throat and chest was gone. Oh, the unbridled joy of weekends…