Always crashing in the same car...

move on

2006-04-05T19:01:00.000+01:00

Any old storm, any old port
Life is long, love is short
Better get a woman, get a woman if you can
If you can't get a woman, get a clean old man.

It's finally happened. The Lodgerlow ship has set sail. So grab a rope and I'll tow you behind me on an inflatable tyre.

www.lodgerlow.com

I'll keep this weblog here because the comments didn't migrate. So, this weblog which we have grown to love, will in due course sink to the bottom of the blogosphere sea.

Come let's stand together, raise our glasses, and repeat after me... To old friends.

low

2006-04-04T19:47:00.000+01:00

I'm not really feeling up to blogging at the moment. So excuse my lack of postings.

[copy]

2006-04-02T11:42:00.000+01:00

This is a copy of post to lodgerlow.blogspot:

It seems pretty clear to me that this is a tiresome bug. It doesn't take more than 24hours for a URL to filter through systems (these things take a couple of hours at most).

I've emailed Blogger and they've sent me an automated reply. Which is of no use.

I'm fed up with this limbo and I therefore am just going to move the whole blog back to lodgerlow.blogspot, and then move that directly to www.lodgerlow.com. Because I know that that works. Hence there will be no redirecting page, so anyone whose not up-to-speed (i.e. hasn't been here for last 2 weeks) I'm afraid will have missed the boat.

I'll do that tomorrow. OK? So please bookmark www.lodgerlow.com.

[Note: Can I say to everyone, that this rigmarole is atypical. The reason I am wanting to move in the first place is because I am on the duff server. This is also the reason why the things-which-should-work don't work. You will not have the same problems as me if you want to host your blog on your own domain. It'll be very straightforward.]

look back in anger

2006-04-01T19:28:00.000+01:00

I think you all know how much I hate all the social stuff, and would really prefer to be holed up in my flat permanently. Well today I decided that I simply had to get myself to Ikea and finalise the purchase of my kitchen. I really didn't want to go but eventually psyched myself up and rushed to catch the train. I got to the train station to find the Edinburgh-bound trains had been cancelled.

Passengers on the opposite platform told me there was some problem with the bridge. However I watched as freight trains crossed it, as did Virgin trains. I hate this shit. I hate being at the mercy of shit services. I hate being in a position where I have to rely on this awful awful awful train service. I hate giving them my money. Fuck.

This was enough to topple me over. I've precarious all week. So I had another walking-home-with-tears-in-my-eyes event. It's all becoming too overwhelming for me, once again. The familiar I just don't want to be here thoughts came into my head. I reached home and thought about how I felt. Tried to identify what I was feeling. Tried to identify the emotions and the feelings.

frustrated
frustrated
frustrated
overwhelmed
angry
powerless
tired
frightened

I sat in a familiar catatonia. Not really knowing how to dissipate the anger. Then a rage rose in me and I phoned RailTrack to find out why the commuter trains were cancelled yet others were going through. I got my answer. Perhaps the only one I could have accepted. "There has been a fatality on the line." Well, there but for the grace of God go I was my first thought. Poor bastard. I hope it was quick.

Roused, I did the washing up, bought some chocolate, listened to the Look Back in Anger radio play (the entire glorious thing)*, and spent a couple of hours productively putting DVDs and books onto eBay, to sell. I'm now thinking of cooking soup.

* [You may listen to it again here.]

trying to get to heaven II

2006-04-01T10:20:00.000+01:00

During the process of (what-should-really-have-been-simple) transition from blog*spot to my domain host I have moved my blog to lodgerlow1 and am keeping it live before redirecting it. I really can't be bothered telling you why, because it'll just make me angry. Oh OK... you know I can't let an opportunity for a good whinge to go by. So:

The reason is because I keep getting a "this blog is under maintenance" message. So I am thinking that perhaps it takes a wee while for the new URL to percolate through the Blogger systems.

So, maybe, just maybe, if I leave it settle at lodgerlow1 for a day or two it will get onto all their systems and I'll be able to just migrate it to my domain host (in the what-should-really-have-been-simple process). I think it is because my weblog is on the duff server that someone at Blogger bought from a bloke at the pub. I doubt any of you would have the dramas that I did should you wish to host your Blogger blog on your own domain. Well, actually, I know you wouldn't - because none of you had 2 weeks of intermittant weird access to your blog that I did (grrrr).

Well, let's wait and see what happens.

trying to get to heaven

2006-03-31T19:26:00.000+01:00

I tried changing the URL of this weblog to lodgerlow1.blogspot.com (so that I can use URL to point folk to www.lodgerlow.com) and then migrate it there... but it would appear my site is "under maintenance". I suspect that this is another tiresome Blogger bug. I'll try again tomorrow. If that doesn't work I'll just move in a week, and in doing so this weblog URL will disappear. So... anyone who wants to come with me please bookmark this URL:

www.lodgerlow.com

I've had a bad week with respect to work. Horrible, simply horrible. I don't talk about work here, so I'll not say any more on the topic. I also officially suspended from my PhD studies today. So that is me suspended until possibly September. The intervening six months will involve renovating this flat (Ernie returns in 2 weeks), selling it, buying a new flat in Edinburgh, and moving into it.

Oh, and possibly getting a new job. I'd really like a new job.

run

2006-03-29T18:25:00.000+01:00

Any idea how to migrate the archive to the hosted webspace? Go here and you will see that the menu bar on the right doesn't have a populated Archive field, whereas this one does. Pig.

Oh... don't post the the www.lodgerlow.com site... it won't work because I've moved everything back here until I get this resolved.

[Edit: problem solved]

lorem ipsum

2006-03-28T20:22:00.000+01:00

I feel quite deflated this evening. I had 4 meetings today, for a total of 5 hours, and my brain has dribbled out of my ear. I wish I had some blue-peter-I-made-this-earlier posts to insert here. But I don't. So I'll distract you with some Lorem ipsum.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Vivamus non mauris. Maecenas massa velit, posuere eu, suscipit non, tristique sodales, risus. Etiam ornare sapien ac mauris. Vivamus ipsum turpis, aliquam vel, viverra eget, suscipit non, neque. Aliquam cursus nulla sit amet diam. Integer quam metus, lobortis ac, tempor a, lacinia vel, quam. Sed fermentum. Curabitur ut nulla vel tellus lobortis malesuada. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos hymenaeos. Etiam id elit quis libero consectetuer sollicitudin. Fusce ultricies orci. Morbi eu ligula non metus interdum pretium. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos hymenaeos. Aenean pulvinar, odio at luctus imperdiet, turpis ipsum tempus enim, sed lobortis massa dui vel magna.

slow burn

2006-03-27T19:31:00.000+01:00

Yesterday was the first day of the ban on smoking in public places in Scotland. Last night I posted the letter to my parents, and in doing so walked past one of the pubs on the SQF high street. Outside, hundled out of the rain, were a group of smokers. I found that quite amusing. And when I got off the train this morning there were promotions folk giving out Nicorette sample packs. It will be interesting seeing how this affects Scotland. Most people think it is a good idea - smokers and non-smokers alike.

Oh, to SL, the Clever Clogs, for correctly guessing that my neighbours' baby is a Boy (8.95 lbs, called Cameron). Here is your Big Prize.

letter to Hermione

2006-03-26T19:34:00.000+01:00

I am in the middle of writing a letter to my parents. It isn't flowing easily, and I'm not sure why. I have a lovely little ritual of herbal tea, and music, and favourite chair by window, and a short list of things to say. But today I can't be arsed really. I've waffled on about the flat renovations and am now replying to their letters. We try and write to each other on alternate months. My last letter to them was in December, and their reply was in February. I guess it's just not a good time of year for writing.

[Edit: I've just finished. It took me nearly 3 hours to write 3 pages. Clearly I stopped a few times and did other things.]

scream like a baby (II)

2006-03-26T02:31:00.000+01:00

I mentioned here, rather uncharitably, way back in October, that my neighbour was pregnant. Well, her wee bairn is on it's way now. Those paper-thin walls didn't hide her groans of pain. And just a few minutes ago they headed off to the hospital. It's so nice. Bless.

So, what do you think it will be? They think it will be a boy. I hope it will be a girl, so I am going for Girl. Whoever guesses correctly will get A Special Lodgerlow Prize.

cat people

2006-03-26T00:58:00.000Z

I am not, in the slightest, a Cat Person (mainly because I am full-on anaphylactic allergic to them)... but come onnnnn... look at this weird wee one. It's stolen from Cute Overload. Which I pop into every now and then... when I'm not looking at sailors, or tranny men, or bathroom suites. Or complaining about Blogger, or trying to map my new domain, or spending the evening weeping, or well, whatever it is that is currently diverting my attention.

Note to any who are interested: I did not have icecream for dinner tonight.

sans menu bar

2006-03-25T15:27:00.000Z

Do you know what? It doesn't seem possible to publish your weblog to your own webspace. I have the ftp details, and all the directories, and permissions, and yet I get a series of error messages from Blogger. You can see my lovely shiny new domain, which is unimpressively empty... because I can't get the blasted weblog into it.
www.lodgerlow.com
Please don't suggest contacting Blogger Support the consensus from the Blogger Help Group is that they don't respond to your emails. I've recently tried my ISP, but oddly, they don't have any info about publishing weblogs. Which I think is odd since I am certain that a very large percentage of their business will now be coming from from weblogs. I may phone them tomorrow.

[Does anyone know how to get rid of the Blogger menu bar at the top of this blog? You know... the one which starts with the Blogger icon and ends with the "Next Blog" link.]

the drowned girl

2006-03-24T19:56:00.000Z

I get sick of the sound of myself complaining, and whilst it may prove entertaining reading for others, I'm afraid I'm not going to indulge you. In summary:

I look like shit
I feel like shit
I don't know what I am doing
I have too many options
I can't make a decision
I am confused about my job/career
I am lonely but would never admit it
I can't abide people
I had icecream for dinner again tonight, again.

I don't even like icecream. I'm off to do some food shopping, and to write some lists.

the last thing you should do

2006-03-22T19:49:00.000Z

Thanks to CBQ for, er, letting me steal this wonderful picture of his cat (whom I very much resemble today). It's been a long while since I've compiled a list, and today seems a perfect day to resume the old habit. It's been a patchy, bitsy, uncomfortable day. So here is my day, as a series of (numbered) bullet points:

Woke up twenty minutes before having to leave for train.
Forgot wallet so had to use staff ID to withdraw some money - they wouldn't accept it initially. They changed their mind when I told them that that was OK, because I'd just go back to my office and close my account online.
Bought a baked potato with hummous for lunch. The hummous had entire cloves of raw garlic in it, which I'd not discover until it was too late (i.e whilst chewing).
Had mega whinge with colleague about our jobs/department. Very very insightful...
Received probably the worst email I've received in my career. Manager (J) of another team (whom I like very much) told me, and I am so sorry that I am going to quote her email because only by doing so will you understand how equally horrible and surreal it was: "I had bad news too, my mother was killed last Monday, 13th, by a delivery lorry which went into reverse gear, didn't see her, and drove right over her." I had to read it several times to make sure there wasn't a joke in there which I was missing. Very sadly there wasn't. It did happen.
Met up with J after work to offer support, and to discuss our Cunning Plan. I felt very teary because of her bad news. I also stunk of garlic (see point 3 above). She turned the fan heater on and blasted me with it.
I noticed when buying icecream in the Co-op that there is Braille on the packaging.
I noticed an old woman miming along to Thorn in my side (Eurythmics) which was playing in the supermarket.
Had aforementioned icecream for dinner.

What a day.

dancing with the big boys

2006-03-21T20:27:00.000Z

In this post, back in January, I mentioned that my friend L was in hospital waiting for tests to be conducted to see whether he had malignancies on his liver and pancreas. Well, last week he got those results. It was harrowing watching him be passed from pillar to post, with delay after delay - twice he was prepared for operations and left in a room/corridor, only for them to be cancelled. Once he waited like that for six hours.

Anyway this is the email I got from him last week. I was pretty upset, and couldn't think about it. He'd sent me a text in which he told me they'd found malignancies. That's what it's like, now, isn't it... "I have malignancies on my liver" by text, on your phone, read on the train.

Thanks for text. Had a much better consultation with the chemotherapy guys yesterday. Nice change after the surgery lot who basically said there was not a lot they could/would do.

So the upshot of it is that there is a new kind of chemo drug they are proposing to use – still at the trial stage - better results at the cost of worse side effects. So I elected to go for that. Initial course will be for 8 weeks. Weekly metered injections as an outpatient on a Thursday. Will take about a half day each time – a strain on Amanda cos I probably wont be able to drive home. I was told to expect lots of nausea/sickness and debilitation but what the hell – I have to go for it. There are a very wide range of possible outcomes – depending on whether I am a good responder or bad responder. Poor outcome would be about 6 months as a non responder, as a good responder maybe 2+ years, and the ultimate upside would be that it’s so successful that the liver secondaries are eliminated and the situation becomes operable again. Sounds a whole bunch better than the zero chance outcome given by the surgery lot.

So there we are – chemo it is. I remain positive and in a good state mentally."

He went on to tell me that he is going back for his personal training sessions, and that he went for a spin in his flashy car. I've emailed him every day since. He had his first chemo session yesterday, and is feeling OK.

I'm not sure what to say here. My writing this feels like I am trivialising it - when I am really just quite inept at this. I'm not really sure what to do, and I feel like a succession of cliches. I am doing my best though, I promise.

alabama song

2006-03-20T00:57:00.000Z

Well, I've ordered my domain name and server space. The domain name should be winging its way to me in 12-72hrs. Then I am going to host this site there (still using Blogger). If there are further problems with the Blogger service I'll abort Blogger and move to TypePad or WordPress.

[Note to John: I've spoken to loads of folk this weekend about whether you can migrate a Blogger weblog into other blogging software. The answer is yes, and it's easy.]

I suspect that the lodgerlow ship will set sail next weekend. I'll tell you the time and place so that you, my fellow sea-dogs, can eat stale bread, drink whisky, and sing bawdy songs* with me. Though, depending on the weather, departure may be delayed. Keep your eye on The Shipping Forecast.

* Let's all practise this one.

[Edit: it would appear that the lodgerlow ship will be leaving the harbour sooner than expected. Blogger is still misbehaving - as I write this the weblog has no side menus. So, will try to move in the next couple of days. Also suspect I'll be moving to another blogging software.]

now

2006-03-19T01:27:00.000Z

This is where I am sitting, as I type this - on that deckchair with the faux tiger fur (oh I am Glamour, through and through) cushion.

I am not that impressed with the digital camera I bought (it's a Nikon Coolpix, 5600). This flat is a lot brighter that it appears in any of the photos I've taken of it. Might this be something I can adjust in the camera? Hmmm, ignore that question. Of course the answer is 'no'. Anyway, this is where I am sitting. This is taken standing at the back of the flat, looking towards the front, and into the loungeroom.

yada yada

2006-03-18T19:58:00.000Z

Well guys. I think you know me well enough to know that I don't suffer fools gladly. Indeed I am not well known for my patience, or tolerance. I am mightily jacked off with Blogger especially because they say that the problem is resolved. Anyone coming to this blog will know that it is not. It is down more often than it is up. I am therefore signing up to Typepad or something similar.

March 18:
A clarification about the filer we restored yesterday: This machine is indeed up and functioning again, so the affected blogs are no longer entirely inaccessible.

They go on to say that you just need to refresh your browser to view the blog. Rubbish.

When I've set Typepad up I'll link to the URL.

sulk

2006-03-17T23:44:00.000Z

In case you are thinking that this succession of no homepage, or only sidebar, or no sidebar, or complete loss of template, or Blogger maintenance message, or generic error message... has anything to do with something I have done, you are misguided. It is all Blogger's doing.

pissed off

2006-03-17T09:30:00.000Z

With reference to this (read entries for March 16 and the couple before it). My weblog is clearly on the Crap Server - which is why it's a lucky dip recently as to whether you can see it or not.

[Note to Diana and Serial Loser: I suspect this is also why I had so many problems subscribing to First Drafts. If Blogger resolves the probs I'll try again... if so put your safety suits on... and buckle in.]

This crap service is getting tedious.

knock on wood

2006-03-16T21:06:00.000Z

[Edit: this is bullshit. The server that my weblog is on is misbehaving. It has been misbehaving for the last couple of weeks. For fuck's sake Blogger - buy another one. I can't post new posts, nor can I post comments. So I am having to edit previous posts. Bollocks. Hurry up and fix it Blogger.]

Ernie was here when I came home. I wanted to blog whilst he was here, because (shit) I was subjected to his Radio Two listening, whilst he worked. Deep breathing Lodgerlow, deep breathing. I am so intolerant. Blogger was misbehaving - and so I couldn't. There has been so much maintenance in the last couple of days, that I see the maintenance message more often than my homepage.

Anyway... Ernie is now on holiday. I've arranged to see him again in a month. Then he returns to finish the bathroom, and do the kitchen. In the meantime I am to buy all the kitchen stuff (tiles, cabinets, washing machine, stove/cooker). So, it'll be a trip to Ikea tomorrow. Oh, and a phonecall to my mortgage company for a small loan.

Oh, ah, well... I have a bath!. The bath is installed, in all its lion-footed splendour. The lovely taps are on, and they feel fab. It works exactly as I hoped... because being a standing-bath you can see underneath it, so you see much more floorspace. As a result the bathroom looks bigger. The bath is heaps bigger than the ugly bugger it replaces - and despite that the bathroom looks bigger. Ooh I am so clever with my exploiting of optical tricks.

The tiles are a little disappointing. Ernie put a little too much spacing between the tiles. I can't be bothered explaining what that means, but suffice to say that they don't quite look like mosaics, as they were intended. However I don't care. It looks a hundred times better than before. And I'm not staying here anyway.

I'll not be talking about The Bathroom for a while. So, whilst there has recently been a frenzy of activity (which, sorry, I know feels like it has gone on forrrrever), there will be some reprieve until we start again in a month. Collective sigh of relief.

rep(tile) ha ha

2006-03-15T22:19:00.000Z

[Note: This is a print of a photo by the enviable talent, Irving Penn (torn unceremoniously from a book of prints). It is on my bedroom wall - one of a set of three.]

I phoned C tonight. I just got off the phone after talking for nearly 90mins. I said here that "This marks the end of a chapter, in a book I no longer wish to read." I guess my curiosity was aroused. Actually it is more complex than that. I has more to do with my being in control, and not having to accept that I am in the wrong... when I am not. I was not going to behave like the-person-with-the-problem... when I'm not.

The most important part was how she responded to me. When she picked up the phone she was immediately friendly. That made all the difference. The previous times I had spoken to her she had held back, and it was a real effort to get her to talk, and I felt like an imposition.

Bathroom update: the tiles are three-quarters up. And I had to contain myself because they look Shit Hot. Since they are textured they catch the light very differently, on different walls. I've just gone in there again to have another look. And they feeel so nice. Much better than the shitty shiny white crappy tiles that were there before... with little blue motifs every ten tiles or so. Honestly, most people have no taste.

slow burn

2006-03-14T20:28:00.000Z

Wow. My lodgerlow homepage disappeared all day... because I signed up to First Drafts. It took me about twenty attempts to be accepted (thank you to the patience of Diana)... and then this happens. So I am taking it as a sign that the world isn't ready for my bad writing. John, however seems to be a glutton for it - he visits my private little bookshop, with its plate of stale biscuits, cat-sick near the front counter, and uncongenial sales staff.

Now. Bathroom. I think we are a day behind schedule. It does now have a lovely floor (the kind you want to run your hands over). And a lovely new toilet (the kind you want to run your hands over).

I've just come off the phone from Ernie (the kind you want to... hah only joking). He howled with laughter at how badly made the bathroom cupboard was - it is "the worst home-made job I've seen". Given that he renovated flats professionally (prior to having children) that's a pretty rich comment. And... tomorrow he is doing the tiling, and finishing off the flooring.

Oh, this is all trivia. Something awful happened today, which I haven't processed. I may speak of it soon. That's a note to myself, rather than a statement of intent.

a small plot of land

2006-03-13T19:25:00.000Z

At this moment I have 2 baths sitting to my left (in my dining room). One is the hideous little cheapo B&Q thing. One is the huge proud standing-bath. Which means that there is currently no bath in my bathroom. Indeed. Ernie seems to have done very little today. I'd expected him to lay the flooring and replace the toilet. Neither of those have been done. I feel the Wrath of Lodgerlow rising. My bathroom is a building site, with a toilet.

Similarly SQF (my village) is seemingly undergoing a reburbishment. A little green fund-raising whatsit seems to have raised some money - enough for the Council to be putting in a new little cycle path around the river (and waterfall). I'm actually quite excited about it. It'll be nice to have somewhere else to walk, other than the same tired old route I normally do.

I like change. I'm pretty damned bored. And boring too, admittedly.

vom ertrunken Mädchen

2006-03-12T22:24:00.000Z

Don't you dare tell me you don't love this painting.

This is the first photo I've put up from my my new digital camera. This glorious piece hangs above my bed in all its wonderous 5 foot x 3 foot splendour. It's by an Edinburgh College of Art graduate, and I bought it not long after the graduate show (in 2003, I think). It has been painted in acrylics, on fibreboard. It's most certainly from a life drawing class, and has that rushed and unfinished look about it - which I love. In many ways it's almost a self-portrait, since I have that witch-like look about me, and a similar body.

I bought it unframed, and put a simple box-frame around it. It's one of the favourite things I own. I only have portraits on my walls (photos, prints, and this single painting). That would be a nice little project, to show you them all.

[Edit: It is very odd seing this painting here... this thing I sleep beneath every night, here, in the public arena. How strange. If you added up all the time I've layed on my bed and looked at it... it would be several hours. And now you can see it too. Wonderful.]

diamond dog

2006-03-11T18:28:00.000Z

Maddog and I had a little writing thang going on for a short while, which I thought was pretty good. I like the way Maddog writes and I enjoyed responding to it. Perhaps to inspire him to emerge from his silence I'll post our repartee?

Maddog:

A weekend of debauching, far, far away beckons, and I don't want to be late. Fare thee well, fellow bloggers - I hope to see you on the other side. Good luck.

Lodgerlow:

Maddog was tired.

"Fer fuck's sake... I'm always tired. I barely have the strength to light a fag."

He shuffled to the window, and cupped his hands around his eyes so as to look through the glass, into the night. Nothing.

"No wonder I'm effin tired - nothing's happening. I need something different, something debauched, something free." His eyes glistened at the thought.

His phone rang. Maddog flipped up its cover... Joe The Lion.

"Yo buddy" JTL growled. "Debauched weekend ahead. We're needin' a lazy-arsed dog. You up for it?"

Maddog contemplated his hands - "My fingernails look like shoehorns..." he thought... "I could well do with a manicure. I'm really letting myself go - when was the last time I had one?"

"You there buddy?" JYL asked, irritated.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Where will it be?"

"Far, far away" JTL answered. "Look, I ain't got all day. You up for it or not?"

Maddog returned to the window. A small light had come on in a doorway across the close. A woman's voice rang out "Pancho!... Pancho!... PANCHO!"
"Meoooow" came the response.

Turning back to his phone Maddog said: "No, sorry buddy. I got work to do here." He flipped the phone shut, tossed it on the floor, and walked purposefully toward the door.

Maddog:

"Well, not here exactly..." he amended to himself, "But it needs doin' just the same."

He stooped, briefly, and picked up his old canvas travelling bag from it's spot by the door, went out back and was packed in moments. He paused long enough to scribble a note to his faithful sidekick and pat the dogs goodbye. "Sorry, fellas," he growled, "It's all cats where I'm goin'." And left without looking back.

Her name was Vertigo. She had begun the business with Maddog almost exactly twenty years before but never finished it. He was on his way, she knew, as surely as she knew her way along the trails through the mountains that surrounded her house. The cats were constantly restless now, no sooner in than wanting out again. She knew how they felt. Her cigarettes wore themselves down to her fingertips, burning her without her knowledge, leaving pain to be found in the morning. The Jack Daniels had little effect that she could discern. The moon was fat and the skies were clear in the brittle night.

She stretched, luxuriously, and flicked out a long sharp claw.
"Let it be soon," she breathed. "Let it be - soon."

Lodgerlow:

But no, life wasn't like that, she knew - the more you wanted something... the longer you'd wait. The trick, she'd found, was to convince yourself that there was not one thing you'd want less than X. Hence X would be certain to happen. Yep, "It'd then be certain to happen", she repeated out loud.

"What would be certain?" a voice asked.

Vertigo turned her head toward the voice, with a violent jerk. It was Maddog. Mad dog. She hadn't seen him for... how long?... over a year... possibly nearer eighteen months. They'd shared another careless year making plans, testing boundaries, changing The Rules. He'd left by the back door. Where had he said he was going? "I'm off to buy some fruit trees - maybe some apples or plums" she remembered. She'd watched first the cats, then the dust, circle his feet as he crossed the yard before joining the east-bound trail. "East?" she'd murmured to herself... "but there are no fruit trees to the East." She knew then to return his plate, spoon and cup to the back of the cupboard.

These weren't thoughts which had passed through her mind whilst he was standing there - nor when he said "Hello", hung his old bag on its hook by the door, swaggered over to the sofa, and kissed her ear - but later that night when she sat alone on the back steps, smoking to the stars.

"Hello?" Maddog said again, cautiously. Vertigo didn't respond.

Maddog, interpreting her silence, asked "Oh... by the look on your face I'm assuming you didn't get my letter?"

Maddog:

She detested swaggering, and loathed being kissed on the ear, but, she supposed, that was Maddog for you. There was still something about him that turned her blood to smoke, even after all these years. Even after all the lies they habitually told each other. There were no fruit trees in the East - they both knew it - any more than either one of them would write a letter to the other.

Vertigo knew it was the same whirlwater breakneck of tumbled emotions for Maddog. After all, She was Cats - and He was Dogs; but for now all they could do was circle each other, helpless in the grip of That Which Must Prevail.
"Me mangev te jav ando granita tumensa..." it was almost the snarl of a dog, and Vertigo glared at her tormentor, her green eyes giving off sparks.

The cats thrashed their tails as they writhed in the long dry grass that proliferated on the lower slopes of the mountain - Vertigo's mountain - and in the distance, across the far reaching green and grey valleys of The Lost Lands, there rose an anguished dischordant howl that sent the clouds shuddering for the horizon.

Lodgerlow:

After a disturbed sleep, they sat on the floor eating bread and blue cheese.

"Last night I had a dream. You caught my eye, I'm slicing the bread. I stop. An apple rolls onto the floor. It crosses the room, and follows the walls. Through the doorway. Down the step, step, step. Pause. Under your chair, then onto your knee."

Maddog shifts uncomfortably as Vertigo continues.

"You bit into the apple, knotted your face, then threw the apple in anger hard against the wall." She had raised her hand and was pointing at the wall. Involuntarily Maddog's eyes follow the accusing finger, and he half-expected to see the stain of apple pulp against the aged paintwork. "It was bitter. The apple was bitter." Vertigos voice falters as she says.... "I... I was the apple."

Maddog rose slowly before walking to the doorway. When he reached it he looked out across what was now a sea of long grass. "When I was last here it had been a bowl of dust," he thought to himself. "And it will probably be dust again by the time I leave."

"I was the apple" Vertigo repeated - unsure whether Maddog had heard her. "It was me who was bitter" she explained. "And you spat..."

Maddog intercepted. He was still leaning on the doorframe watching the grass dance in the wind. He spoke toward the grass... "Yesterday I asked to go to the border with you. This is something the young ask of each other, when full of hope. It is an honour greater than betrothal. It is an honour of kinship. An honour of blood. An honour of Eternity." Maddog drew a deep breath, held it, exhaled... the phantom cigarette of a 30 year habit... a flick of its phantom ash, then... Courage. "And yet you sneered. You -sneered-. And now, now you talk of dreams of bitter apples. No, the apple was not -bitter-. The apple was sure to be poison."

"Kay zhala I suv shay zhala wi o thav. Where the needle goes, surely the thread will follow." Which of them uttered these words I do not know. Perhaps one, perhaps the other, perhaps both, perhaps neither.

Join me in encouraging Maddog to pick up the bone... and run.

no control

2006-03-11T14:09:00.000Z

Don't tell God your plans.

knock on wood

2006-03-10T22:47:00.000Z

What a strange day. Lots of work gossip - stuff that could do me damage if it goes the wrong way - or them damage if it doesn't. I also had a power dinner with a very senior colleague. And am possibly having a power lunch with him tomorrow. He suggested coming out here to talk with me, at a local restaurant. I'd prefer him coming to my flat (massive bath sitting in the dining room and all) for a cup of herbal tea.

On the topic of the flat, I've come home tonight to a flat which has all the plastering done, the stainless steel light switches and plug inserted, and a note from Ernie saying that the bath can go under the window (along the wall). Which is nice. He didn't tell me how much more it would cost. Hmmm... I can see the cost of this project going up and up and up.

people from bad homes

2006-03-09T19:43:00.000Z

I now have all the bathroom bits in my flat. I worked from home today so that I could be here for the bath and toilet deliveries. The bath is enormous. It is so deep. It is nearly 60cm deep (not the 50cm quoted on the spec). And that's without the feet - when they are on you'll need a ladder to get into it. It's also wider than I thought - which in my narrow bathroom means, well, basically, that no fat people will be buying the flat that's for sure (unless they plan on sucking their gut in).

Ernie starts tomorrow. He is going to rip out the bathroom cupboards, and the basin. And also do that plastering and putting-in of plugs and switches, I mentioned earlier. On Monday he takes out the bath, replaces the toilet, and puts down the flooring. I'll be without a bath for about 3 days.

talk talk talk

2006-03-08T22:09:00.000Z

I had a crap day today. I miss having someone to talk with. I feel better now, having eaten, and listened to the radio, and done the washing up, and sent an email, and basically distracted myself. Long lavender bath now, then bed.

something in the air

2006-03-08T14:49:00.000Z

An hour ago as I was walking back from a two hour presentation I walked behind a bloke smoking a spliff. That's something I love about Edinburgh, smoking in the street, it is a city which is so conducive to it, and something I used to do a lot. In a former job I'd go for a lunchtime walk-around-the-block with a colleague for a smoke. He had a wonderful Spanish saying which translated to "don't let the wind smoke it" - meaning when you weren't smoking you should cup the burning end in your hand. This guy was doing that too.

The smell evokes such wonderful memories. Memories of lots of sex, and a thoroughly unsuitable boyfriend (for 4 years) 8 years younger than me, and a great relationship with my brother, and living in town, and lots of ecclectic friends, and having an interesting life, and not really being bothered too much.

These thoughts came to my head as I walk back to a job I am not appreciated in, having spent two hours demonstrating something I am not interested in.

maid of Bond Street

2006-03-06T21:40:00.000Z

By the way - this person is also an old lady. She's a total pain in the arse, with one of those fingernail on blackboard voices that cut right through me. This is an email, in response to her email (hers was inspired by our in-the-stair, then in-the-street, altercation on Friday morning).

Thank you for your apology. It is gratefully accepted.

I am sorry to hear that you've had difficulties recently. But without dismissing your problems - everyone has them - and we still manage to respect one another.

I'll not accept your "friendly advice" if you don't mind. If you treated people with respect I think you would find the way people engage with you much far more to your liking. Might I suggest you asking Jim for advice, because he has the most delightful way of interacting with us all - and he listens* when one speaks with him.

> After this, I will try harder not to park at the door.

Contrary to your belief, the entire household is fed up with your parking at the front of the house. So, don't shoot the messenger.

I consider this conversation to be over, and have put a block on my email, so kindly don't bother me about this again in any other format. I am however happy to resume normal neighbourly relations, and look forward to your co-operation.

Hermione

* please take special note of that word.

By the way her "friendly advice" was that I exchange pleasantries when I haven't seen someone for a while, before getting stuck into them. Wrong on two points. Firstly, I saw her a week ago - plenty recent enough for me. Secondly, you have to give a shit to be bothered doing that. I don't wrt her.

It's hard to be a saint in the city (II)

2006-03-05T18:45:00.000Z

I had another incident yesterday, of the type you are coming to expect of me. I'll tell you about it tomorrow, because today I'll tell you about something nice I did (in the hope of dispelling any belief that I am merely evil).

As I was walking to the flooring showroom yesterday, which is on the busy waterfront road at Seafield, an old lady went arse up in front of me. She'd slipped on a piece of metal, of the type the Council uses for their roadworks signs (and anyone living in Edinburgh will not be surprised to hear this since the Council leave roadwork materials wherever they fall).

I stayed with her for an hour until her daughter* came to get her - and talked with her to help keep her mind off the pain she was in. She thought she'd broken her arm, and she was soaking wet all down one side from landing in a puddle. I took photos of the Council sheet-of-metal that she'd tripped on, and gave her my phone number in case she wanted a witness for insurance, or for time off from work. She'd been a very brave lady and hadn't complained, despite the long wait, the wind, and sitting beside the road with a stranger. I was really disappointed that half-a-dozen salesmen, from the car yard it happened in front of, stood there the whole hour watching us. They could have offered her a blanket, or a chair, or some tea. Or at the very least asked her if they could help.

She phoned me this morning to say thank you. She told me that she had waited at the hospital until 7pm until medics saw her (she left me at 2.15pm). Shameful. The doctors were probably shagging the nurses in the broom cupboards, or having another round of golf before turning up for work.

It's the second time here that I've mentioned helping an old biddy. Like most people though, it's a pretty regular occurence within an increasingly aging population.

* [The fat chain-smoking bitch of a daughter clearly resented having to pull herself away from daytime TV, because she took 40mins to make the 10min journey to collect her injured mother. The bitch looked at me as if I was trying to muscle in on her inheritance, and pushed me out of the way as she feigned concern for her mother's health. Off they drove in their SUV whilst I walked in the light rain.]

I took a trip on a Gemini Spacecraft

2006-03-04T19:53:00.000Z

I've actually got quite a lot to say today, however I am instead going to show off the final selections for my bathroom. They have all now been purchased, and Ernie has been booked to sort-of start on Friday. And to properly-start on Monday. It may only take a week, he thinks. We have decided to leave the basin (oh gorgeous basin, oh lovely basin) fitting until the kitchen is done, because the plumbing behind the basin is shared with the washing machine and kitchen sink (both of which will move). I know you've seen a the first three of these images before, but the rest are new. Anyway, it is Saturday night and what else would anyone wish to do... than purvey bathroom bits?

	Bath: Free-standing roll-top bath. I decided to not go for the shower-like whatsit tap thingo. But instead have simple modern hot and cold taps.
	Basin: Gorgeous basin, lovely basin. What can I say about this? Except that it is more beautiful in real life than it is in the picture. It's quite large too... about 40cm diameter.
	Toilet: As I said earlier: I wanted a toilet whose cistern was hidden behind the wall. But my wall is made of stone and it's not worth the effort/expense to do that. Shame though.
	Wall tiles: The tiles I have chosen are Formations Mica (Johnsons). Here they are shown hung vertically. I am hanging mine horizontally to widen the room. I am having the smaller mosaics (i.e. mirror wall in pic) cover the bath and basin walls from floor to ceiling. And the wider tiles (i.e. shower robe wall in the pic) below the window... the wall you face when you enter the room.
	Flooring: In the end I went for laminate. I do like this one though. It's very good quality, and doesn't look cheap (neither was it cheap!) Smoked Oak, by Feelwood, in case you were wondering.
	Bath taps: I got these taps off eBay. Ooh, they feel so lovely to turn.
	Basin tap: I got this tap off eBay. It looks nice, but I'm sure it'll be a right pain-in-the-arse to use.

The only thing I haven't included is the table/cabinet thing or whatever I decide, that the basin will sit on. I am thinking of a dark piece of timber. But I may have to put it on a small cupboard (to hide the pipes).

it's no game

2006-03-03T12:55:00.000Z

It's Friday. I have been trying to use my cross-trainer again. Remember that my knees became really shot? Way back in November, when I had been using the cross-trainer for a week. I wasn't sure if the cross-trainer caused the problem, or whether it was coincidental. However no amount of using the cross-trainer could be tolerated by my knees. It has only been in the last couple of weeks that I've had almost negligible pain from them.

For the last week and a bit I've been trying to use the cross-trainer. Starting at 5mins in the morning, and 5mins in the evening. I am up to 8mins. I don't think that my knees can cope.

I find this utterly surreal. Utterly unbelievable. Go now, right now, and do a Google search for knee injury and exercise. The top of the list is always cross-trainer (also called elliptical trainer). I've seen no mention whatsoever of cross-trainers *causing* knee problems.

I'm going to try just a little longer with the damned thing. Otherwise I am going to have to sell it. And given where I live, and that I am in the unhealthiest country of the UK, and that it weighs a small ton... and it's not cheap (though I'll be selling it for half of what I bought it for) it's really not going to be easy to sell. Imagine selling this flat and buying another and having to take the blasted thing with me?

Donal Og

2006-03-01T20:17:00.000Z

"I had wanted to post Donal Og. Lovely. But will do that the next time I have nothing to say." Well, today is that day - I really do have nothing to say but DIY-related stuff. So do please read this poem, it is sublime.

The poem was translated by Lady Augusta Gregory of Goole Park. Donal Og is an 8th Century Irish ballad that speaks of love and loss. It was written by Anonymous; and is published in The School Bag, edited by Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes, 1997.

Donal Og

It is late last night the dog was speaking of you;
the snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh.
It is you are the lonely bird through the woods;
and that you may be without a mate until you find me.

You promised me, and you said a lie to me,
that you would be before me where the sheep are flocked;
I gave a whistle and three hundred cries to you,
and I found nothing there but a bleating lamb.

You promised me a thing that was hard for you,
a ship of gold under a silver mast;
twelve towns with a market in all of them,
and a fine white court by the side of the sea.

You promised me a thing that is not possible,
that you would give me gloves of the skin of a fish;
that you would give me shoes of the skin of a bird;
and a suit of the dearest silk in Ireland.

When I go by myself to the Well of Loneliness,
I sit down and I go through my trouble;
when I see the world and do not see my boy,
he that has an amber shade in his hair.

It was on that Sunday I gave my love to you;
the Sunday that is last before Easter Sunday.
And myself on my knees reading the Passion;
and my two eyes giving love to you for ever.

My mother said to me not to be talking with you today,
or tomorrow, or on the Sunday;
it was a bad time she took for telling me that;
it was shutting the door after the house was robbed.

My heart is as black as the blackness of the sloe,
or as the black coal that is on the smith's forge;
or as the sole of a shoe left in white halls;
it was you that put that darkness over my life.

You have taken the east from me; you have taken the west from me;
you have taken what is before me and what is behind me;
you have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!

hours

2006-02-28T22:22:00.000Z

Oh God, it is late, and I am tired, and I have nothing (of interest) to say. I could pad out a post telling you what DIY Ernie has done today and how wonderful it is. And what has been finished. And the bathroom fixtures which have arrived. And those which I've ordered on eBay. And what sort of state the flat was in when I came home today. And how long I spent getting it clean-ish. And how tired I am for getting up at an obscene hour to go to a conference. And how I have been eating shit for the last week. And how I look and feel like shit. And how tomorrow I try to get some routine back into my life. And how I am loving my PhD study... but am struggling to find any time at all to do any. And how I am bringing work home (which I morally object to, but have done it ne'rtheless). And how I am looking forward to the weekend. And how this really isn't the way to live... wishing for the weekend.

I had wanted to post Donal Og. Lovely. But will do that the next time I have nothing to say.

Louie, Louie go home

2006-02-27T14:01:00.000Z

Whether it's because I am no longer talking with C - whom I used to have hour-long proper conversations with every week - however, I am now talking to myself. I stopped speaking with C two weeks ago, and I am not certain if this talking-to-myself predates that. I have a feeling that it does, but only just.

Anyway the talking-to-myself has now assumed a grand scale. On Saturday night, for example, I walked around my flat talking out loud until 1am - roughly three hours. Right now I can't remember what it was about... the roof repairs?... or something equally as rivetting. I think it was Thursday night when I did something similar. Plus I spent a decent chunk of the afternoon on Sunday having a 'discussion' with my boss. Plus I've caught myself saying a few words out loud at the shopping centre... and whilst walking home from the train station. [Clearly the shopping centre incident is more of a concern.] And again at work, when no-one was in the office.

I'm not sure if it's part of me getting better - i.e. I'm expressing a need to talk, rather than think? Hence this represents a transition from my previously reclusive anti-social self, to a future social integrated self? [Note: In the past I'd have stayed awake til 1am thinking a conversation about the roof repairs - so the conversation would have happened only now it is being vocalised.] Or whether it means I'm getting worse? Talking out loud to yourself is supposed to be worrying, isn't it?

no one calls

2006-02-26T21:45:00.000Z

Despite my saying I would not contact C again, I did. I phoned her as I walked up to Tesco to do my food shopping.

[I edited out a tedious I said this and she said that paragraph. Be very pleased I edited it out because it went on for a tedious several tedious hundred tedious words.]

She didn't engage. And, oddly, she spoke a very thick Australian accent - which I'd never heard before.

shopping for girls

2006-02-25T22:12:00.000Z

This bathroom refit is expensive.

Ernie's fees: £950 (which will go up because I've asked him to do double the tiling, and to lay the floor. But this fee also includes about a day and half of non-bathroom stuff.
Standing bath: £400
Tiles: £190
Bath taps: £45 (eBay)
Basin tap: £35 (eBay)
Toilet, basin, plumbing stuff (+ delivery): £300
Flooring: £200 (I'm getting it for bathroom and kitchen at the same time)

That comes to £2100. It'll go up by about £500, I reckon, to pay for the extra work Ernie is doing, plus the bits and pieces that he is buying (plumbing supplies, plasterboard etc), plus wallpaper and paint and skirting boards - that I will do once he has gone.

Oh, and possibly having to buy a new vacuum cleaner. Ernie used it without putting the filter or bag in - and it no longer works. I'm hoping I can take this off his bill. But will not tell him this until later, in case it goes onto the bill as something else.

The kitchen won't be anywhere near as expensive.

see Emily play

2006-02-23T20:31:00.000Z

Ernie the Tradesman is to make a start on some of the work on my flat, tomorrow. He is going to be doing some plastering. I closed off a doorway a few years ago, and made a new one (linking the loungeroom to the diningroom and hence enabling the most wonderful through-light)... however... even though I did it properly, and built a frame in the old doorway, and made everything flush with its surrounds, and finished it off properly... it is really obvious where the old doorway was, because the walls have about 120 years of wallpaper on them. To you and I this means that there is half an inch of wallpaper making the surrounds of the doorway higher than the doorway.

You haven't a clue what I have just said, have you?

Nevermind. Trust me, it is needing someone to replaster. And Ernie is the man. He is also moving the lightswitch, which was on the left of the old doorway, to the left of the new doorway. And he is going to climb onto the roof and check out how the watertank is attached. I have a massive 2m by 1m by 1m watertank in my kitchen. It is taking up the space which would normally be occupied by kitchen wall units. But no, I have a behemoth of a watertank instead, which no previous owner has bothered to remove.

Apparently the lead it contains (it'll be a lead tank) is worth A Fortune. I'm not entirely sure what 'a fortune' is exactly. Possibly 20 quid from a bloke down the pub? Oh, I was told this by a man on the train today. And that the Council are falling over themselves to remove these things... and hence get their £20-from-bloke-at-pub. So, ask me again... "When are you paying someone to remove your watertank?" Yes. thanks for asking. "Tomorrow". Yes, I am paying someone to do something the Council does for free, tomorrow. Stop laughing.

[p.s. If you think it is impressive that I have written three paragraphs on the work Ernie the tradesman is doing on my flat... well... wait until you hear that I talked for 45mins with a bloke on the train (it was late) and walked him home... talking about the bathroom/kitchen renovations. Oh, and to the roly-poly dog-walker, on the bicycle path, as well.]

truth

2006-02-22T23:50:00.000Z

I don't have anything to say today, so out of curiousity I had look if I had any Draft posts here. I did. I found the one below, dated 30-Sep-05. I can't remember writing it, however this is what I chose to write on the day. I tend to do that - avoid thinking about things - so it doesn't surprise me that I wrote of mundanities. The day before's post was a little more telling, as was the one before that. Actually, I am slipping into another low mood now, illustrated here by my not having anything to say.

30-Sep-05:

Anyone who's been watching my weblog for anything more than a couple of weeks will see the repeated recurrence of depression. The lows don't last as long as they used to. I'd argue though that they are as bad as they've ever been, but that I am getting better at pulling myself out of them. Self-management. That's all it is for me. That's all it takes to get myself out of the hole. Sheer will and routine. So, when I have my lovely rigid routines I'm OK. I'm stable, I'm in control. I have all my bases covered. I'm moving forward.

I've had 8 good weeks. And now I am in my second really bad week. Plus I have a cold, again. So I can't even get on my bicycle. Not that I want to.

Not so long ago I used to impose positive-ness on myself by making and refering to lists of Things I Enjoy and Positive Things That Happened Today. I still have the lists. I remember looking over them a few months ago and feeling sad that I thought to find solace in minutiae. Biting an apple. Feeling the wind in my hair. Stretching. Putting on nailpolish. Is it Really Necessary to remind yourself of these things?? Is it not humiliating to do that? Is it not just a bit too fat-middle-aged-lady-at-yoga-class-ish? Do we just keep on sinking sinking sinking unless we buoy ourselves up with this trivia? Is that what normal people do? Do normal people ignore the moods and focus on the trivia, whilst I, evidently, do the opposite?

I do, however, marvel in the minutiae. It was only minutes ago that I felt so very grateful for chamomile tea. So, right now, this is a list of what I am grateful for. It's not a self-help cheerer-upper list but an Inventory of current inspiration.
chamomile tea
a silent flat
my bed
a long bath

within you

2006-02-21T21:13:00.000Z

This evening I went to the dentist, the appointment was for 7pm. It was wonderful. I sat in a reclining chair for an hour whilst two people had their hands in my mouth. In a banana yellow room, with a blue ceiling. I almost fell asleep. It was very Zen-like: no anaesthesia.

Next appointment is in 3 weeks, when I get a cap fitted.

twentieth century boy

2006-02-20T17:45:00.000Z

I had a long phone conversation with Ernie the Tradesman on Sunday. We talked in fine detail about the bathroom renovations.

I know that you will be as interested in my new bathroom as I would be in yours, however I am going to link to all the bits I've either bought, ordered, or intend to buy/order.

Yesterday I bought a basin online. I love the basin, and this is exactly what I would get were I not selling the flat.
Yesterday I also bought a WC online. The toilet is nothing special. The bathroom wall is made of stone, so I can't get one of those cool pedestal only ones, which is what I'd go for were I staying (and there wasn't the stone wall, obviously).
Today I bought a bath. I am not fussed on the feet. But I have no intention on spending another £70 to upgrade. I'd go for nice Zen type feet, if I were staying.
I also bought basin taps + bath mixer taps, online. Again, these aren't what I would get were I staying. They are about £100 cheaper. But they are modern and look OK.
The flooring I'll probably have to go to a showroom to see - but I have my heart set on real wood, oak. I wonder though where the timber comes from? Can you have sustainable oak forests?
The tiles will be a nightmare, because likewise I will have to visit a showroom. I have neutral mosaic tiles in mind.

I need to make (or more accurately, Ernie needs to make) some sort of shelvy-platformy thing for the basin. I'll no doubt let you know what I decide on.

Narcissus and the Succubus

2006-02-19T08:58:00.000Z

This is the short story I mentioned here - which I wrote about a man whom I was obsessed with.

----------

Narcissus. Ah, Narcissus. Nar.... ciss..... sus. I can see you. I’ve come a long way to touch the hem of your garment. Narcissus lives and sleeps in a large square room. He is prevented from leaving his room by virtue of a locked door. Oh but why does he not unlock this door and wander the greasy streets like the rest of us? Well my dears it is because of the key. This key is unlike King Arthur’s sword, which assumed normal physical proportions, but conferred them to only one. By all appearances one would presume that our sweet Narcissus could fold thumb and forefinger over this key, toss it high into the air, catch it..... a dextrous twist of the wrist, and moments later we would hear its scrape in the lock. A push, and the door would swing open, greeted by the oh so welcome influx of new air. Ah, yes. But this key, which you or I could twirl above our head like a vertiginous cat, would for days, or weeks on end assume dimensions (either imagined or real, we will not know) well beyond Narcissus’s capabilities to wield. Hence he would be imprisoned in this room until the Gods deigned to release him. I can see you. Nar.... ciss... sus.... ciss.... sus. I’ve come a long way, to touch, your garment.

Our Narcissus was a dancer by day. Inspiration for his movements he did not lack. A floor-to-ceiling window at the rear of his room looked out onto a walled garden, indeed, resplendent with wall but little else. Narcissus danced to the tune of beetles that crashed into the window glass leaving their viscera in starbursts; to the tune of cats that crept along the wall; to the tune of fat-bellied clouds that slid across the floor of the sky; to the tune of swarms of dust wrestling each other amongst skeletal shrubbery. To the tune of the memory of his own beauty. To the memory of his own beauty. To the memory of his own beauty. To the mem..... mem.... or.... or..... or..... ry..... of...... his...... own..... own...... own...... beauty.
Oh cursed day when will you end?
This day has passed so slowly. The hours fell on their knees.
The Nadir of the Day: the moments before dusk.
Is that the gloaming approaching?
Is that the night attaching itself to day?
Is that his reflection that he can begin to see?
Is that his memory returning, the memory of his beauty?
This agonising amnesia that descends daily with the advent of dawn, lifted by night when he will once again be in the loving company of his glistening reflection. Oh Gods, to pass each eternal hour of daylight without catching even a glimpse of himself. Oh ye cruel Gods. To be proud, to be mean, to be so stern, so hard, so good. Mmmmm....... I’ve come a long way. Why should such pain hang between you and me?

The dance, during the daylight, utilised the full dimensions of the room by skimming around the skirts and criss-crossing from one corner to the other. Now, with the encroaching half-light, it increasingly focused itself in front of the large window. This time of the day teased with blithe malice. Narcissus was never sure whether he saw himself before he appeared, or whether he appeared before he saw himself. He assumed that it was the former. A slightly dark shape, nebulous, initially diffident, didn’t quite catch the light the way that it should. This shape gradually grew more stubborn as the dark descended, and with increasing meticulousness mimicked the movements of his dance. Then, with the game won, it played the gracious winner and conceded the discernment of colour, of texture, and of Narcissus’s beautiful eyes. To a child with a fear of darkness, the Mr Binky who he evokes each night to calm himself to sleep, is a very real friend. Narcissus’s reflection was his Mr Binky, his friend, his beautiful nocturnal visitor: celebrating dusk and cursing dawn. As Narcissus danced before Mr Binky, he would become increasingly engrossed by him, and to the observer he resembled a clockwork doll, unwinding incrementally. Then the mechanism finally stopped and there he would stand, naked, in front of the blackened window. But Mr Binky would whisper to him. Mr Binky would whisper to him, so to hear him properly Narcissus would have to inch forward until I’ve come a long way I can see you I’ve come a long way to touch the hem of your garment until his face was almost touching the glass. Then this icy cold 2-dimensional man would taunt him for a kiss. Oh to kiss such a beautiful face, thought Narcissus. Oh could I? Oh joy. And so he fixed his eyes on the man-in-the-window and sequestered an open-mouth kiss. His breath condensed on the glass.

Oh...... Oh I have come a long way to see you. I have come a long way to touch the hem of your garment. Oh please let me in. It is cold out here. It is black out here. Open your window and let me in. Let me into your room. Let me inside you. Let me climb onto you and wrestle with your soul. Let me tear it from its resting place between your ribs. Let me reside there and reappear each night to dance with you. You’ll not miss your soul. We will dance as one in your sleep. You’ll not notice that I have been and gone. You will awaken each morning knowing something, but not sure what, is awry. You will awaken each morning knowing that something, but not sure what, was stolen from you. Each successive night that we dance you’ll lose a little more of yourself to me. Whilst you dream, I will gratify myself on your writhing body. I will dance my dance with your sleeping body. Until one morning you will not waken. And then you will be mine forever. Oh, I am the Succubus. I have come a long way to touch you. Let me in. Let me in.

An old woman is calling her cat. From one of the buildings facing onto the garden a rusty-can voice calls out the name of what could only be a cat. ‘Tinkerbell? Tinkerbell? Tinkerbell?’ Mr Binky asks Narcissus for another kiss. He is saying ‘Kiss me. Kiss me again.’ Narcissus closes his eyes to savour the sensation of his lips on cold glass. The vapour of his breath forms a nebula. Bang. Bang. ‘Tinkerbell? Tinkerbell?’. Bang. A triumphant bang slams a door open onto the garden - throwing light, as intense as the midday sun, upon the window. Panic! Dawn is here! Narcissus opens his eyes. Mr Binky is still kissing him. Mr Binky? As the nebula dissipates the now transparent face of Mr Binky fades out to be replaced by a solid form with a halo of fiery red hair. A pair of muddy green eyes are fixed on his, and semen-encrusted lips complete the circle that forms their kiss. The kissing stops.... and she mouths ‘Let me in. Let me in.’ Narcissus recoils in horror.

some weird sin

2006-02-18T22:37:00.000Z

I had my second Bowen Technique session, with the lovely masseuse, J, yesterday. It's not made any difference to my hip (or knees) but it has awaken my libido... rather significantly. My hormones are abuzz. I told this to J. She considered it for a while and then said "Go with it... masturbate, go to the pier, watch the boys and say 'ooh he's nice'". What a cool woman! How many of you have practitioners who prescribe masturbation? I did hmmmph though - since is highly unlikely that any tall thin cross-dressing blokes are to be found in these parts. There are plenty of roly-poly dog-walkers though - who, even whilst under the influence of rabid hormones most definitely remain: Not My Cup of Tea, At All, Ever*.

* LodgerLow quietly throws up in corner, at the thought.

across the universe

2006-02-17T19:56:00.000Z

I saw a shooting start tonight as I was walking home from the train station. That's the first one I've seen since I moved to Scotland, 11 years ago. In the months before leaving Australia I used to drive with my boyfriend and friends to Mt Gravatt (on the edge of the city) and we'd lie on a grassy hill looking up at the stars. I'm pretty sure that we'd have seen a few shooting stars. So, one of those would have been the last one before tonight's.

do anything you say

2006-02-16T18:18:00.000Z

I am listening to "no more shall we part", by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds. It makes me feel ill, in much the same way looking through a photo album of past loves/lovers feel. It represents a period of my life, and listening catapults me back there. Painfully. There are two songs especially, two men, two men I was obsessed with (not at the same time - of course - an Obsession has but one object).

As I type "We came along this road" is playing, and yes, I feel ill. I love so much about this song: the pace, the phrasing, the gun-and-murder reference, the lyrics, Nick's voice, the tapping on the high-hat, the plodding melody, the lazy piano chords, the awkward orchestral bit at the end. It drags me down into a pit, in which I want to stay forever and ever. My Beans and Bones poem was written with this song in my head. The dust, the futility, the self-abasement, the unrequited-ness... reflect the sordid mess which was my obsession with this man.

The other song I adore is "Sweetheart come". This one evokes a different suite of feelings. They are ones of protection and comfort and support. The man I adored was in a low place, and this is something we listened to. "If he touches you again with his stupid hands his life won't be worth living." I have an acrid memory of lying with my head on his chest, thick tears in my eyes. I wrote a short story about him, which I'd like to share here, sometime soon.

A life devoid of obsession is not a life at all. You can see why I lurch from drama to disaster to drama. "I left by the back door, with my wife's lover's smoking gun, I don't know what I was hoping for, I hit the road at a run." Oh cruel Obsession, find me again.

everyone says hi

2006-02-15T20:37:00.000Z

Yesterday I received a letter from my parents. Just a chatty, newsy one, with no mention of the overdue emails from my brother (whew!). Some snippets from therewithin (green - father, pink - mother):

The leak in the water tank has to be sealed by me standing in the water approx 4 feet deep with cement.

She [my mother] had a front tooth broken by eating one of B's [my brother] sweets that were lying on the coffee table!

About the Barmah Forest Virus, please do not worry about it, it comes and goes.

The reason for the 4 tons of gravel we have fetched is because of all the devastation on the driveway, and down to the house and on the side.

Here is a bit of trivia - we read the other day that a pregnant gold fish is called a TWIT, very apt I think.

My it has been hot again at the Nanango Market on Saturday. Everyone had had it for it was 38+ degrees. We got home and just couldn't stop drinking all the afternoon, it was terrible.

I find their letters amusing and endearing. Their's is a very different life from my own. Not simply because they are in their 70's and I am in my 30's (only for another 9 months, mind). But they were doing completely different stuff to me, when they were the same age as me. My brother's jumping-out-of-planes life is nearer to what their's was like. Rebellion is something we all share though.

it's gonna be me

2006-02-14T20:33:00.000Z

I sent C an email asking for the return of the DVDs I lent her 6 months ago. It wasn't a brusque email. I've blocked her emails so I don't know if she has replied. It doesn't really matter. I'm not bothered by it anymore. Yesterday evening was when I was being tested. That was when I had to resist the urge to phone or email or write a letter saying how unjust it was. But I don't care enough now to do anything more than just forget, and move on.

sweet jane

2006-02-13T19:31:00.000Z

I seem to leave a trail of destruction behind me. Readers of this blog will be familiar with the brother incident, the friend incident, the boss incident. Not bad for 7 months. Well, dear reader, it is with great sadness that I add another one to my list: my dear friend, C.

C has been a saint, and a total delight. She has supported me, and listened, and advised, and humoured, and empathised, and told me off, and laughed at me, and laughed with me. She has forgiven so much from me, I who have a desperate need to give and take, but confuse the two. In return I have been a loyal friend. She knows how very grateful I am for her friendship, and I tell her a lot. Only a week ago I bought her a massage from the lovely masseuse we both see, because she was tired, and because I wanted to say thank you for some advice she had generously given me.

Things have been odd the last couple of weeks. She's been quiet, and has told me it is because she is tired from her new job and because she is fluey. So I've done what I do... and that is to do most of the talking. Actually, do you know what, I can't be bothered telling you the who-said-what and the why-it's-gone-to-pot boring details. Suffice to say that we had a 2 hour discussion at lunchtime today, and my fragile trust has been damaged. I don't think I've done anything wrong. Which is quite a pronouncement, from me, the most neurotic and self-flagellating person you are likely to meet. I am always willing to accept blame for everything, so it is significant that I Know I am not at fault this time.

I learn from these things though. I watch and I listen, and I think about what is happening and what has happened. And how I can avoid it happening again. The main thing I've learnt is: Even if someone encourages you to talk about how you are feeling, they don't want to hear it.. That saddens me.

The CBT is making me look for something positive in this. And the positive is that I've learnt a lot about myself. And that I've had the support and friendship of a lovely person. I am on my own again, and my thoughts and worries will again be a swirling mess in my head. There is no longer anyone to talk them through with. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't relieved.

So, I am putting a block on my email, and unplugging my phone. I'll have an excuse ready if she phones or drops by the office. This marks the end of a chapter, in a book I no longer wish to read.

I keep forgettin'

2006-02-12T23:59:00.000Z

A dear friend of mine (who lives in Australia) emailed me today saying that her father had died last week. Very sad news. She has had a very colourful family life. Her father, like mine, had military training. However unlike my parents - who recently celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary - V's mother married 4 times, and her father 3 times. Her father was her mother's second husband, and her mother her father's second wife. She is hence one of eleven children, but had two full siblings (a brother, and a sister). V is like me in that she left school early, then did her senior by night classes, and then went to university. Unlike me she left with a Pass Degree, whereas I stayed on another year and completed an Honours Degree. She went back and did her Honours 2 years ago... 8 years after first graduating. She got a First Class.

I've spent the entire weekend doing housekeeping for my PhD. I have sorted through dozens of emails, visited websites, made lists of references, and printed reams of reading material. Hmmm... I'm supposed to have suspended. The reason for this frantic activity is because I promised my parents (and they phoned to remind me) that I would send them copies of the emails my brother and I exchanged during our most recent spectacular fallout. It was a slight suggestion on my part, back when it happened. I really don't want to read them all again. I really don't want to read them again. I am not wanting to read them again. To collate them into some semblance of order I have to read them again. And I really don't want to read them again.

goodbye Mr Ed

2006-02-11T20:16:00.000Z

For anyone rushing off to Real Foods in the hope of finding the "Sarsaparilla + Fennel tea" I mentioned yesterday, I'm sorry but you'll find no such thing. The tea was in fact Fennel Liquorice. Liquorice is good for male hormone regulation (yes, women have small amounts of testosterone) - so it should balance my rather wayward hormones.

I dig everything

2006-02-10T22:25:00.000Z

At the moment I'm generally pretty happy. I'm opening up, and things seem to be easier. I mentioned here that two weeks ago I went to Real Foods for the first time in two years... well, that visit was Terrifying. I went again today. Today's visit however was fine - I was relaxed, had a wee browse, bought some sarsaparilla + fennel tea, waited in the queue, paid, and left. No trouble.

I went for another massage today, to the same woman I saw two weeks ago. It wasn't a massage actually... it was Bowen Technique, a therapy which she also practises. I can't tell you anything about it, because it seemed completely random. I doubt it'll work [Note: when I said this to C she told me off for having the wrong attitude. But I'm not a believer in the placebo effect, so I don't even try to pretend otherwise]. No, I'm not expecting it to work, but I don't care because I'm more interested in the Human Contact thang. It's just so foreign to have someone touch me. I like this woman, so I'm happy to pay £35 to have someone I like touch me*.

The therapist is a lot like me**. Well, a lot like me if I'd not lost the plot for three years. In other words she reminds me of who I would have been, had I not gone off the rails. She is an interesting slightly-unattractive quirky-hair slightly-sporty woman. She has a lesbian look about her, but she probably isn't. That's pretty much how folk would have described me.

* Oh my if she offered gratuitous sex I'd sign up for a course of ten.

** In light of the previous comment this would suggest any sex transacted would be tantamount to masturbation. What fun.

louie louie go home

2006-02-09T21:38:00.000Z

This evening a man from Ikea came to measure my kitchen... for a new kitchen. I had a minor crisis because, well, it's all so very Grown Up. Buying a kitchen - it's just like buying life insurance, and drinking coffee (I don't do this) and wearing sunglasses.

I'm not entirely besotted with the plan, because of its grown-up-ness. I do like the steel and silver and glass idea though. But this is what I am thinking of:

I am going to go for pale grey blue doors, a couple of glass and steel cabinets, no plinths beneath cupboards (errgg) but stainless steel legs (square not round) because I want to see the floor and I hate a boxy feel.
The cupboards mounted on the walls are going to be lovely and high - taking them almost to the ceiling.
I'm going to rip out the flooring and sand the floorboards, so that it is like the rest of the flat. Hmmm... but it will make a disgusting mess... so I'll think about that one.
I'll rip out the breakfast bar which has 2 brick pillar-like legs (errgg) and have a nice clean bar with a single steel leg.
There is currently wood panelling on the ceiling (puke) - which will be ripped out. I'm going to replace the hideous off-white tiles which cover two walls and replace with small aubergine coloured tiles.
I'll get a new stove (stainless steel), and washing machine (silver/grey).
And turn the sink around to face the window rather than the wall.

I know that my kitchen sounds hideous. It isn't. It's not anywhere near as bad as the new orange one in K's flat - which is just Bad. Or the Country Kitchen that C has (fuck I hate country kitchens).

beat of your drum

2006-02-08T20:52:00.000Z

I had a meeting with my PhD supervisors yesterday. It went well. We discussed my plan to suspend for a year to take effect immediately. We've decided to keep in touch, but to do so informally. So I will read and keep up-to-date as I see fit. We had a good chat about the project, and what I am wanting to do with it. I felt good, and I felt that I'd made the right decision. If only all sizeable decisions were this easy.

betty wrong

2006-02-07T22:24:00.000Z

It's getting easier... the social stuff. Today I took a colleague out for a meal, then caught a bus to her place, and spent the evening chatting (about work and men and flats and relationships). It was easy. Something I am noticing is that I am not as bad as I think I am. I am no more socially hopeless than any other socially hopeless person. K, whom I spent the evening with, is a buzzing little wasp... an angry buzzing thing... who is wonderful. I guess she is wonderful in the same way that my awkward personality is wonderful to some people. We who are Losers, unite.

I've mentioned this many times... that I tend to spend much of my time in social settings observing. I notice how other people do it - and they aren't all as good at it as I thought they were. Or more specifically: they aren't that different to me. They too sometimes find eye-contact difficult, or silences uncomfortable, or forget what they were saying.

In my job I use my Performance Personality, a personality which is slightly left-and-up-a-bit to my regular personality. I've noticed that I am borrowing the performance personality when I'm in social-like situations. It feels phoney, using this personality, because, after all, it is a performance personality. But fuck, how many of you are uniquely yourself in every social situation? How many of you are the same person to your colleagues, your neighbours, your friends, your relatives? And more to the point... how many of you know who the Unique Self is?

You are a Chimera you phoney prancing performer you.

[I am supposed to be going to lunch with American Teen Christian (see no. 5) on Friday. I am going to cancel. I can't be bothered. I'll reschedule to next week.]

I wish you would

2006-02-06T22:05:00.000Z

In 2000 I had yet another falling out with my parents. It was no worse than any of the dozens I'd had previously - however this time I decided I'd had enough, and wanted nothing more to do with them. I cut all contact and told them to Get To Fuck. I returned their letters unopened with a note on the envelope saying Further letters will go straight into the bin, unread. My parents are not the type of people who will tolerate not being allowed the last word... and so they certainly weren't going to be told to not write to me. Ah but Power To Me - because this made it oh so satisfying to toss those subsequent letters straight into the bin.

A flatmate saw me throwing one out and asked if I wasn't curious as to what it said? My response was... If I get another one from them I am going to post it back to them with "Return to sender: Addressee Deceased" written on the envelope. That should shut them up.

This was only 5 years ago.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

2006-02-05T23:08:00.000Z

If you have not read this poem before, then please do. I happened upon it yesterday (on the radio) and hearing it again reminded me what a strong and wicked poem it is. Yes, please do take the time to read it. It's by Keats, and this is 1819 version.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said -
'I love thee true'.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! -
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!'

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

I hope that you enjoyed that.

candidate

2006-02-04T20:09:00.000Z

I spoke with C this evening, about my thoughts on terminating my PhD studies. C suggested that I suspend them for 12 months. So this is what I will do instead.

jump they say

2006-02-03T18:22:00.000Z

[Can I first say that when I feel frightened and powerless I swear a lot. When I can't quite tap onto how I am feeling I deflect listeners with fuck this fuck that. And hey, well, I am frightened.]

I have been trying to find the person I was. Which is a really stupid thing to be doing, and is bound to end in tears. As it has dozens upon dozens of times over the last three years. Notably a few weeks ago that I made a slight shift... to not reclaim who I was, but who I am. Does this sound like an esoteric wank? All I am saying is that the penny dropped and I have stopped chasing the past, and have started creating the future.

Letting go of something you desperately want is a powerful experience. And a humbling one. The last two weeks have been difficult - I've not been public with just how difficult. I've been walking away from myself, and walking towards something new. Which, fuck it, I want less than what I had.

I've learnt that I am emotionally very immature, and emotional growth doesn't come easily to me. I don't want to do it. I am angry with myself that I am putting myself through this - when the alternative of incrementally wind down until I disappear (suicide) was such an alluring one. I am tired of growing up. I am shit at it.

I had another CBT session this morning. Rather than come home afterwards I spent the entire day walking around town.

Why did I walk around town? Because I was frightened. Why so? Because I am about to make another decision... and the effects are far-reaching. They affect my job, whether I return to Australia this year, or not (and if not what I tell my parents - whom I told I would return when I finish my PhD). I am thinking of terminating my PhD. Why? Because I am not the person I thought I was. Because I can't do it. Because I can't do what I want to do. Because I don't know what I want to do.

There is so much change happening, and I can't quite cope with it. I want to cry and cry.

5.15 the angels have gone

2006-02-02T23:19:00.000Z

On Monday I made a cucumber salad for my lunch, and took it to work in a new tupperware container. When I was on the train my leg felt really cold... but because the weather temperature had dropped about 8 degrees from the previous day I presumed it was the cold air coming into the carriage when the train doors opened. However it turned out to be the cucumber juice dripping out of this damned new container. I hence arrived at work with wet trousers and coat, and stinking of cucumber.

It had leaked into my bag and had soaked the bottom inch of my New 2006 Diary. Diaries are a big thing for me - and I choose each year's diary with care - going to many shops until I find one that suits what the next year feels like. This one is white, with clear frosted plastic, silver numbers, and is spiral-bound. So... I'd not even finished January and I had warped my diary. The same thing happened last year - I warped it early in the year. And look how that year turned out?

I am thinking of buying a new one and transcribing everything for January into it. It'd not be too hard... I haven't exactly done much. And... I didn't start writing in it until Tuesday 17th. I was a bit uninspired before that.

ricochet

2006-02-01T18:28:00.000Z

I had a chat with my neighbour this afternoon. He is the husband of the couple who are having the baby (and who share a bedroom wall with me). They are selling their flat this year - something I had forgotten when I decided to sell my own. So I thought I'd best talk with them about it, so that we avoid selling our flats at the same time. They had brought their selling date forward to May (I thought it was October). I am thinking of selling in August. So it appears that it might work well.

Ernie, the tradesman, sent me an estimate for the work I showed him. It was a fair bit lower than I had expected. However, after talking with my neighbour re what he expects these flats to sell for... he gave me a figure which is about £20K less than I thought it would be. Oh well, swings and roundabouts.

kettle black

2006-01-31T22:55:00.000Z

My kettle died last night. A jar of cayenne pepper fell off the herb/spice rack and broke the switch. I couldn't fix it. So I have been boiling water in a saucepan for my numerous cups of herbal tea (I'm still finishing off the nettle). What a chore. Oh how one becomes reliant on modern appliances.

sacrifice yourself

2006-01-30T21:43:00.000Z

[Edit: this was written on Tuesday]

I was ill yesterday (I'm not sure if it's flu but I feel like I've been beaten up, and have swallowed razor blades). Oh, that's a sore back and a sore throat to those of you who are less melodramatic about your ailments. Anyway, I was knackered, and went to bed early as I had a full day of workshops to deliver today.

Despite physically feeling like shit, head-wise I feel OK. I've been talking a lot more:

A couple of times recently I've found myself initiating mini-conversations (i.e. chatting) with colleagues.
I've been going for a walk during lunchtime. For anyone who isn't aware of just how fabulous walking around the block for 15mins makes you feel... start doing it now. Plus, this is the bizarre bit, I've been asking people if they want to come along with me. Twice it was the socially-challenged colleague who shares an office with me came (he hardly talks, so it was me doing all the talking). Another time my line-manager came with me.
I've walked home from the train station a couple of times with a bloke I know from the post-office. I quite enjoy these little chats and have sought him out.
Yesterday I sat next to someone on the train whom I know from work, and talked with them the whole way (well, OK, it's only 15mins... but I could have easily read my book instead).
I was invited to lunch by an attendee of this morning's workshop. She put me on the spot and asked me in a weird way... and before I knew I had committed myself. She is odd. As in like-a-teen-Christian-who-invites-you-to-a-party (which turns out to be a Bible reading) type of Odd. She is an American.
An academic who came to both workshops flirted with me all day. He is also an Amercian. It took me a while to work out that he was flirting (cos I am not used to it). He asked me twice where I was going for lunch. And twice I said "Probably to the women's toilets - I don't feel well.". Errgg, he was horrible. Had I had a lunchdate with him I probably would have indeed climbed out the toilet window. I hate people who talk about how much money they make. Spend it on some counselling, buddy.

I had another lavender bath last night. It was glorious. I floated off to sleep on a sublime bubble of lavender loveliness.

south horizon

2006-01-29T21:31:00.000Z

screemb posted to this post about my CBT session asking that I write about what CBT is. I'm happy to do that because it's something I've been meaning to do for a couple of months. So thank you for asking me to. It'll probably take 2 or 3 posts, because whilst it is very simple there are a lot of layers (for me) to what is happening in the sessions.

I am going to commence with a little story.

I have no sense of direction. My sense of direction is so poor that when I moved to Edinburgh 10 years ago I would literally have to walk in the opposite direction to that which I knew was the one I came from, in order to get back home. I was 180 degrees out every time. It's an eery and uncomfortable situation to be in - to be doing something contrary to what you know to be true - because this contrary way will work and your way won't.

So, I'd begin walking in the 'wrong' direction... and I'd pass a shop which I thought I recognised. I'd keep walking and I'd see something else I'd definitely seen before but wasn't certain if it was on my going-home-route. I'd keep walking and then there would be a ping moment when I would realise that I knew where I was and I was indeed going in the right direction. I'd arrive home and laugh at my poor sense of direction, and how getting home involved going in the contrary direction to that which I knew was right.

That is what the CBT journey has been like for me. I went into my first appointment saying to the counsellor: "I know that my way is the right way. I also know that I won't like what I am told to do, because I know it won't work, but I will do it anyway." That wasn't rhetoric. I DO believe that my methods (control, discipline, perfection) are the only way for me to regain stability and happiness. But the CBT way is not one of control. It is one of finding the compassionate voice, and adopting a healthy self-talk. My way is of the father, the CBT way is that of the mother.

I am tired, so I going to stop there. I'll write next about Automatic Thought Records, and other exercises I am asked to do.

suffragette city

2006-01-28T21:16:00.000Z

I developed another sore throat last night (I had been really tired all afternoon). When I get clusters of nasty sore throats it usually indicates that I need to go to the dentist. So I felt like utter shite last night and for most of today. I followed my how-to-get-over-a-cold regime. I think I've had about 10 cloves of raw garlic since in the last 24 hours. Yes, I did say ten.

I had a great day yesterday. I wrote 9 things on that day's Positive Things Which Happened Today list. I will share a subset.

J&J: There is a couple who live near me, and catch the same morning trains as I do. I see them between 2 and 5 times a week, either as I walk to the station, or at the station itself. Yesterday we talked properly for the first time. They told me their names, J(boy) and J(girl).
Massage: I'd made an appointment to see a masseuse straight after work. She is someone whom C recommended. And I loved her. She was wonderful. The massage didn't do anything for my sore hips (in fact they are now worse than they've been all week). However it was Human Touch. Glorious wonderful sublime human touch. And I bit the bullet and had the session completely naked. I've made an appointment to see her twice more (in two weeks, and three weeks). But not for a massage but for Bowen Technique.
Real Foods: As I said yesterday, I hadn't been to Real Foods for over two years. This was to the Brougham Street branch. I used to live in Tollcross, and I absolutely loved it. The masseuse's flat was in the back part of Polworth (an area I would have still called Fountainbridge). So I spent a wonderful wonderful hour walking from my work on The Royal Mile to Tollcross, The Filmhouse, and then to her flat in Fountainbridge. It so so so confirmed my desire to move back into town. I am so looking forward to it.

Yes, it was a pretty good day. I met some interesting folk, I had my naked body massaged for an hour by an ecclectic masseuse, and I spent an hour walking through parts of town which I loved. Great!

we shall go to town

2006-01-27T21:28:00.000Z

It was a good day today. I am knackered now and am going to have bath and go straight to bed. I'll write about my day tomorrow. I went to Real Foods this evening (for the first time in two years). None of these things can be bought in SQF. Isn't that crap? There is more to life than Lorne Sausage and family packs of Mars Bars guys. All of the following are organic, and 500g

aduki beans
butter beans
unhulled sesame seeds
red kidney beans
pearl barley
hulled millet
chick peas
roasted buckwheat
quinoa
ume boshi plum vinegar
nori sheets

I had to really hold myself back. I will be going that way again in two weeks, so will certainly be buying more seaweed, and some dark tahini, and some mugi miso... and, and.

sweet thing

2006-01-26T20:02:00.000Z

Well, for the first time in ages I am going through a heightened phase. This has been noticed by some of my colleagues, who've said things like "You're very cheery today." My lovely line manager whom I share an office with is wise enough to know that it's not typical Lodgerlow behaviour, and hence he isn't quite sure what this change in behaviour means. If you share an office with a miserable cow, and then she's talking ten to the dozen... well, you wonder.

But aside from that it feels great. I'm getting organised, and am doing lots of things, and am working like a crazy thing. I know it will crash, it always does. But for the moment I don't care. I don't feel anything enough to care. I have a shiny silver forcefield of happiness encasing me. Berzz berzz.

It's been a decent six months since I last felt like this. These are precious moments, but I am not without suspicion. It's like I'm being told "Here, have one of these, and these, and you must one of these too, and oh one of these, and a bit of that, and shall I wrap it for you, and you'll need something to put it in, and now it's too heavy so Bruno here will carry it all home for you." Yes, well, it's all very nice, thank you. But tell me: Why are you being so nice to me now?

I put no faith in these moments. I know they are emphemeral. And do you know what? I no longer care.

turn blue

2006-01-25T20:59:00.000Z

I've been off medication for exactly two weeks now. Suffice to say that I've not had any trouble. My knees have improved a lot in the last week and half, so perhaps (or rather perhaps) they were a side-effect. After all there are lots and lots and lots of known side-effects. I have however also pulled out Deadly Nightshades* from my diet - since they are supposed to be avoided by people with arthritis. No, I don't have arthritis, but do have joint pain.

*[Oh come onnnnn. Don't tell me you don't know that tomatoes, peppers (capsicums), aubergines (eggplant) and potatoes are from the Deadly NIghtshade family??]

try some, buy some

2006-01-24T19:36:00.000Z

Ernie the tradesperson came around yesterday to look at my bathroom and kitchen, and a few other jobs. It was interesting and exciting, and it means a massive adventure. I've had a rough idea what I want, but when someone is coming in to do a job you need to tell them exactly what you want it to look like. Hmmm... I suspect it is time to browse some bathroom sites. The kitchen is easy (I think) because I will get Ikea in to do a Kitchen Planning. They come to your house, measure everything up, and tell you exactly what you need to buy. Then, my good man Ernie the tradesperson will install it all.

Of course, I don't get his quote until the end of next week. So it may all go horribly wrong when it comes to way more than I anticipated.

south horizon

2006-01-23T17:05:00.000Z

My parents phoned me last night. It was a lovely surprise. I may have mentioned before that the three of us are planning to meet, in Germany, in the middle of the year? Does that ring a bell? I wrote them a letter before Christmas asking them if this plan was still on. And it is... that was what the call was about.

So, we have arranged to meet in Berlin (I loooooove Berlin) in late July. Then we'll spend 4 days in Potsdam, and a short time in Pulsnitz (where my grandmother is from), and then a few days up north with a friend of theirs... then back to Berlin. I'll spend a day or so there by myself before heading back to Edinburgh.

I told my father I was selling my flat, and there was a moment when he said "Yessss..." in expectation. I suspect he thought that I was going to continue on to say that I was moving back to Australia. Mercifully I pick this up in his voice and went on to tell him that I was moving into Edinburgh, and then when I am finished my PhD I'll return to Australia. I did say that I may well move back this year if I see a resurgence of the work bollocks I experienced recently.

I seem to frequently be a day behind with my weblog entries. Tomorrow I'll write about what happened today. I prefer to keep to one topic, when I can - unless I compile a list of course.

[Note: the picture is an old postcard of Pulsnitz]

all the young dudes

2006-01-22T19:02:00.000Z

[Edit: One more thing to add to my list... my parents phoned and I talked with them for 40mins. I do declare that I've had a right old chatty day.]

Rather than sit in my flat on my lardy arse all day, not talking to anyone... I spoke to quite a few people today. You'd be surprised.

Went for a walk and on the way back met a neighbour (not one I've mentioned before) and turned around and walked and talked with her... for nearly an hour.
Offered to be a kinesiology case study for her daughter, who might come around today. It turned out she couldn't do it today, but the point is that I would have done it if she had. She is going to phone me and arrange a date.
Spoke to a neighbour on stairwell (the one who lives next to me), not for long, but I didn't just say 'Hi' and keep walking.
Had a phonecall with C - we kept it to under an hour because we are seeing each other on Friday.
Shared a few texts with L

I'm hoping that one of these might contribute to my 2-a-week quota from my CBT counsellor.

watch that man

2006-01-21T22:04:00.000Z

I've been texting L daily since I first heard about his hospital stay. On Monday he had a CT scan. The results were expected on Tuesday, but instead came on Wednesday, and were inconclusive. On Thursday he had an ultrasound. Yesterday he had a liver drain put in. He phoned me briefly last night, telling me that he was surprised at how painful it is (he was put on morphine) and how hard it was hitting him. L is an emotionally very strong man. He's been in hospital now for 12 days... which would reduce even the strongest of us to a degree of frailty. When he spoke to me I felt I could hear the pain in his voice - which was an awful thing to experience - hearing your friends in pain is horrible.

I was explaining to C that I've not been through anything like this before. I've not known anyone whose had a serious illness. I've not known anyone who has had a protracted hospital stay. I've not known anyone who has waited for results testing for malignancy. This is uncharted territory for me. I am doing my best... keeping in contact, and supporting him as best I can. I'm hoping that that is the right thing.

seven years in Tibet

2006-01-20T22:01:00.000Z

The CBT session was very good. I talked at a hundred miles an hour and the counsellor fought me to get a word in edge-ways. However it's been an OK month, since I last saw her, all things considered - so what I conveyed to her was positive (despite my deathly dull holidays). My next appointment is in a fortnight and in the meantime I have the following tasks to do:

continue to make complete Automatic Thought Records
continue to keep diary of positive things which happened that day
see C once a week (lunch), and another person* once a week

*[When she suggested this my body language changed. Much wringing hands, holding of breath, and loss of eye-contact. Hoolly bleedin doolly. OK. I'm not going to like this.]

I am OK about seeing C once a week... the CBT knows that the seal has been broken and that weekly lunch with C is not going to be a struggle. What I mean by that is that she knows that for me 99% of the problem is seeing the person for the first time, once I've done that I'm sorta OK about seeing them again... as long as it is fairly soon. If it's left too long I go back to scratch. How the hell am I going to be able to do one extra social thing a week? Oh dear. I'll be fine, I'll be fine.

Oh, one thing I promised myself wrt the CBT counselling is that I would do what I was told to do. The logic behind my willingness to comply is that doing-things-my-way isn't working. The worst thing that could happen if I try something else is that this will also not work. I hate the tasks I have to do. But I do them all ne'rtheless.

sell me a coat

2006-01-19T20:23:00.000Z

I had lunch with C today. She started the new job (I mentioned here) last week. And it is so odd having her in the same building. One of my PhD supervisors is now a colleague of hers. And so is this person (number 5 in list) whom I had lunch with before Christmas. I haven't seen C since my birthday (November). It was nice. She has started going to the gym this year, and has been exercising almost daily, in some form or another. Quite funny seeing her because I was chat chat chatting and she was quiet... in that sleepy dull way that people who are tired out from exercise become.

It was nice to be able to just wandering down the corridor and up the stairs to see her, having a big hug, and chatting. She'd bought a great faux sheepskin coat too - quite unlike the hideous one in the pic above.

p.s. I have my first appointment with the CBT counselling since December 16... hmmm... which I said I'd write about, but didn't.

knock on wood

2006-01-18T21:28:00.000Z

I spoke briefly to the handman on Sunday afternoon. I am trying to arrange for him to come and give me some quotes on a day that is convenient for my neighbour (the one on the ground floor, who also lives alone, and whom I recently had had coffee with) too. But she doesn't seem to be around. So, I phoned him again today and arranged for him to come over on Monday. My work has kindly allowed me work from home that day.

He seems like a really nice bloke. When talking with him this evening I learnt that he used to renovate houses/flats before he had his family. I've told him that I am planning to sell, and that I would appreciate an objective eye about what work is essential to be able to do so. [The last thing I want is to emotionally commit myself to this, and then find that I was the only knob who'd have contemplated buying this place. It is a beautiful flat with a jaw-dropping view... and I want to make sure that the crappy bathroom (and the few bits of untidy DIY) doesn't let it down.]

I have loads of things I want him to comment on:

complete refit of bathroom (rip everything out, and replace with decent stuff)
I have a massive water tank suspended from my kitchen ceiling. It is behind panels and to the unknowing it resembles kitchen cupboards. I want that damned thing removed and the water to come from the mains... not this tank.
Faux fires (gas) in lounge and dining rooms... sorry, but they gotta go.
Odd bits and pieces (small amounts of plastering, handing of sliding door)

shades

2006-01-17T19:17:00.000Z

I've taken myself off the Fluoxetine. It followed the conversation I had with the osteopath last Thursday. I'd forgotten to take it that day - I bring the tablet to work in a little pill-box and have it mid-morning with a cup of herbal tea - and after our talk I decided to stop them for good. So, including today it is 6 days without medication. There is, so far, absolutely no noticable difference. Which reinforces my belief that it hasn't had any effect on my mood. I should avoid being too convinced that it is indeed useless until another week has passed - because it may well be a drug which is very slow to leave the body.

I'll be certain to let you know, either way.

profile views

2006-01-16T20:03:00.000Z

It's been stuck on -302- for several months. Any idea how to get the thing moving? Does anyone else have a stuck Profile Views?

tin machine

2006-01-16T19:18:00.000Z

"I went for a short cycle ride this morning... only for about 15mins. My knees seem to be OK about it. So if they don't suddenly flare up I am going to set up my cycle-trainer in the flat, and try and cycle for 20mins, or so, to build up my knee strength - or at least do some exercise."

I wrote that yesterday, but decided to focus on the news about L, instead. I have indeed set up the cycle-trainer, but I haven't used it today. I had an odd night's sleep, and didn't get up until 7.30am (rush out the door for the train at 8am). And I've just eaten, so won't do anything tonight either. Tomorrow. I'll start tomorrow.

wild-eyed boy from freecloud

2006-01-15T16:02:00.000Z

I suppose that I am approaching an age where this will be increasingly happening? I got a text last night from a friend, saying that he'd not been in touch for a while because he has been in hospital. Before you go "Hang on, I though you said you don't have any friends?". Well, that is true... except for C. This friend, L, is someone whom I have never met, but have been emailing, texting, phoning (OK, only phoned 3 times) for the nearly 3 years. We met on the Internet, in an online community which we belonged (past tense) to.

L is male, 52yo, very social, lives with his girlfriend (year or two younger than me). She is beautiful, and a lovely person. L is very wealthy, and has all the boy toys: boat, light plane, several cars, racing type thingy car. He's a smart bloke who has wangled a very nice venture capital deal for a software company which I've watched him start over the last couple of years. He is also morbidly obese. I add that bit because it is significant to the point of this post (which I am deliberately delaying, because I want to provide some perspective first).

Despite not having met L, I know him very well indeed. And likewise he knows me very well. He is the only person whom I've thought about giving the URL of this weblog to. No-one I know has been given it. As far as I'm aware, no-one I know knows it exists. [Can I please ask that if someone I do know does read it, please don't tell me? Knowing that someone-I-know reads it would really fuck with my head.] Because I've not met him I've been more candid about my issues than I have with any person-whom-I-have-met, aside from C. He's one of those people whose offers of support don't sound like platitudes. And my God, he has watched me go through 2 more years of dramas than I have recorded here. So, clearly he is a saint wrt tolerance.

You can feel what is coming, can't you? Yep, he is in hospital awaiting test results. He had a haemorrhage earlier in the week, and has had 6 weeks of odd symptoms prior to that. Through a series of texts exchanged I've found out that he has several lesions on his pancreas and liver. The results he is waiting for are testing for malignancy. He finds out the results this week. He's confided that it doesn't look good.

that's a promise.

2006-01-14T23:09:00.000Z

I bought a digital camera last night, online. It will come in the post this week. That is my first step towards selling my flat. I bought the camera so that I can photograph all the stuff I wish to sell on eBay. C gave me her handyman's phone number on Wednesday, but asked that I wait a couple of days before giving him a call, because she is booking him to install a bathroom for her. So, tomorrow I'll give him a phone. That will be step number two. [Note: I suspect there are a hundred steps to selling a flat, buying another one, and moving into it. Groan.]

life is a circus

2006-01-13T16:29:00.000Z

I'm not devoid of inspiration as to what to blog about, but instead have a half-dozen things zipping around my head, and can't settle on one thing. So I have followed madabandon's example and include an ABC meme, for your delectation.

Accent: Soft Australian. I've been here for 10 years so the barbs have fallen away.

Breakfast: Today I had dandelion coffee, and poached egg on pumperknickel.

Chocolate or chips: Chocolate. I can't remember the last time I had either chips (crisps) or chips ('French Fries')

Dad's name: Walter Gustav.

Essential everyday item: Vitamins.

Favorite film: Lost Highway.

Gold or Silver: Silver.

Ice cream flavour: I don't eat icecream, but my father used to make boysenberry sorbet... which is Heaven.

Job: Learning technologist.

Kids: Mercifully, none.

Living arrangements: Me and my three goldfish.

Mother's birthplace: London.

Number of Significant Others: Does this mean people whom you've loved? If romantically, then two. If obsessively (+ unrequited), add another two. If very dear platonic friend, add another one. If partners who have loved me, but I wasn't bothered by, and in due course dumped unceremoniously, add another three. Plus all the miscellanea. But we aren't counting them, are we?

Overnight Hospital Stays: One. Adenoids removed, at age 8.

Phobia: Crowds, policemen, doctors, public transport, karaoke bars, fat naked men with beards.

Queer: Queer-friendly.

Rock or Pop: I don't know. I'm thinking... sometimes some rock, sometimes some pop, sometimes a bit of Bach. But never, ever, ever Jazz. Ever.

Siblings: Groan... one.

Time I wake up: 6.30, 7.00, 7.30... depends. On the weekend I never get up before 9am.

Unnatural hair colors I've worn: Blonde, orange, chocolate brown. Never red, never black. I've been blonde a lot, and orange a lot.

Vegetable I refuse to eat: Raw red peppers (capsicum). I burp up the taste for hours afterwards. I don't mind stuffed cooked red peppers, but raw... erggg.

Worst habit: How quaint that it is 'Habit', singular. I really can't decide.

X-rays: Teeth, and chest.

Yummy: I'm assuming that this is in reference to people? David Bowie in his 30's. Men in drag. Swearing. Forearms. Long fingers.

Zodiac: Scorpio.

baby can dance

2006-01-12T20:42:00.000Z

I had my second osteopathy session this evening. I haven't noticed any improvement since the last one, nothing significant anyway. My knees are grumbling along at level one (out of ten), and have been like this for several weeks now. They flare up whenever I do any exercise. Great. I'll not go back again for my knees, but may return in a month because it is good for my posture.

Anyway, the session was really good. For a reason other than the treatment. It was supposed to be a 30min session, but she extended it to an hour. It is odd (for me, who is sooooo hung up about the weight I have put on) to spend an hour in my underwear, uncovered. She is a very touchy therapist... who talks with her hand on my knee, and moves my bra-strap back when it falls off my shoulder, and lifts my feet to where she wants them (rather than saying 'move them to the left please'). And you know what a barren wasteland I am wrt human touch. I'll spare you by not linking to posts where I have mentioned this before.

But that's still not the reason the session was good. It was good because she is another person who thinks I'm not depressed. Now you all know that the whingeing and ranting and complaining and moaning I do here confirms that I am depressed. But, I keep on returning to that possibility that I am not (see this post for comment), and that it is instead my attitude/self talk which destroys me. The other thing that was good was that she can't find anything physically wrong with my knees. So, in her opinion I would not damage them if I do exercise and they flare up. Hmmm... I'm going to think about it.

So, ha ha ha... ha ha ha... ha ha ha... someone who has spent 2 hours in the company of me in my knickers and doesn't think I am a fruitcake.

[Lodgerlow skips around the flat in delight]

a new career in a new town

2006-01-11T18:35:00.000Z

I've made a Life Decision. And now that I've made it I feel better. I've been thinking about this for months, and may have mentioned it when the -eggad!-my-neighbour-is-having-a-baby conversation was happening. My decision is: To sell my flat.

Now, before you retort Big deal, tell me something interesting - cool your heals because it is an interesting big deal. Selling a flat for no-one is easy and straightforward, but I will list those things which make it a little less easy and straightforward for me than for other folk. However I acknowledge that other people will have their own share of difficulties.

I suffer from depression - which means I turn everything into a drama
I am single - so it will be me who does everything, everything, everything, without help
I have some outstanding repairs to be done first - so will have to get a tradesman in to do those
I want to put in a new bathroom (or a new bathroom + a new kitchen)
I don't have a car
I work full-time and am doing a PhD PT - so I don't have a lot of spare time

I know that I will regret selling my flat after putting in a fab bathroom and kitchen. But I want to live in the city. I need to be in the city. My depression is made worse because I am bored out of my tree here. I have nothing to do here. There is nothing to do in SQF.

Yes, this flat is lovely and I have a priceless view. I live in a super house, surrounded by private gardens in a street with only 2 other houses on it, right next to a bicycle path. This flat is like having a beautiful boyfriend who you can't have a decent conversation with. The flat is lovely, the house is lovely, the street is lovely, the view is lovely. However I commute every day... which I hate right to the core. There are no shops. There are no cinemas. There are no coffee shops. There are no decent galleries. There are no decent museums. There is nothing for a non-drinker to do. There is nowhere to go when it is dark.

I've not long come off the phone from C, and had a little talk about it. She supports me completely and thinks that it is the best thing I can do. I want to be lazy and stay here, but I'm not happy here. It doesn't take a genious to work that out. I've gotten the phone number of a tradesman, from C, whom I will contact to come and give me a quote re doing the handyman stuff. C is arranging for him to come and put her bathroom in, so I have to wait a short time until she's done that. But that's the first move. The second is to get a valuation on my flat, and talk with them about whether it is worth getting the bathroom and kitchen done - and what repairs are essential for putting it on the market. Then I need to contact my solicitor - to ask him what sort of things I need to be doing. I don't expect it to go on the market until May/June.

It's a beautiful flat. It's a really beautiful flat. And the flat I get in town will not be a patch on this one. However, I'm not happy out here. And being so isolated is not good for me. Is it?

battle for britain (the letter)

2006-01-10T19:19:00.000Z

When I arrived in Edinburgh 10 years ago I was in heaven. I utterly loved it here. I was happy and free and making my own mistakes. It is a wonderful city to be young and poor and naughty in. But with increasing frequency I am overwhelmed by feelings of hating living here. Not Edinburgh, not Scotland, but the whingeing whining Great Britain. The great leech has sucked my life blood. Any of the following reasons could make me buy a plane ticket and never come back:

the word Chrimbo

the word beasties wrt insects (and irrational fear of all insects)

the rail service

the postal service

the health service

fresh food (poor quality thereof)

I am now tired of the short days. The constriction of daylight means that I feel hemmed in, with less options available. I scuttle home like a beetle into its hole.

come and buy my toys

2006-01-09T21:31:00.000Z

For the last couple of days I have been reading Belle de Jour. Purchased from my local Tesco supermarket. Who would have thought it? First who would have thought a weblog (though many, myself included, believe that it is an object of fiction) written by a London prostitute would have been offered a mainstream book deal? And secondly that that book, less than 6 months after first print would be found, at Number Six, reduced to £4, on the shelves of Tesco?

As a weblog, I enjoyed it. It is written in that wonderful personal style which identifies a good blogger. As a piece of print media, well, it falls short. It's chick lit with body fluids.

It does remind me of a former self, a sexual self. Aside from the roly poly man there is not a lot on interest in Mlle Lodgerlow. Mercifully, I might add.

shake it

2006-01-08T15:28:00.000Z

I've re-read, again, my last three posts. Groan. Post-rant one can see that a rant is but a rant. Within a rant, a rant is Reality. I wish however that my stream of consciousness was... well... coherant, or insightful. How embarrassing that it reads like teen angst.

Changing the subject swiftly. Here are my tips for overcoming a cold:

raw garlic (chopped fine and swilled down with water)

vitamin C powder

nettle tea

lavender oil in bath

lavender oil on pillow

lots of sleep

soup (swede, carrot, parsnip, garlic, onion, ginger, cumin, stock cube)

Anne won, Anne too II

2006-01-07T22:24:00.000Z

[It's a long story. The short of it is that what follows was written on Thursday.]

How amusing. I intended to write: I feel ill. Here are two poems. See you on Saturday. Instead I have managed to besmirch teenagers, kittens, the pre-AIDS generation, and 19th century poetry. Illness makes my bile flow freely. Anyway... here are your poems:

Anne Won

She was busy fussing, as women do,
getting undressed, setting candles.

I slid into the kitchen, for a drink.
A chipped teacup of vodka, half filled.
I threw half of it into my mouth,
sloshed it around, before swallowing.

The oily vodka danced, about my teeth,
like a jar of live eels, biting
my swollen gums, exploring crevice.
Then... with menacing intent...
they focused a single eye, and
as one, one, one, one,
slid down the bottle neck, that was my throat.
The second mouthful went down like honey.

--------

Anne Too

I padded my way back to her room.
Sex with her was like origami.
We delighted in the animals we became:
dog, cat, cow, tiger.
We were a succession of edges and points.
The alcohol... oscillated between pituitary and prostate.
A destabilising current.
She placated me by...
Then she gave a look that said:

‘I want you to come now’.

Anne won, Anne too

2006-01-06T22:05:00.000Z

[Edit no 4. Fri 9.25am: Well, I fell asleep... after an hour. And all considered I slept fairly well. I'm going to go to work, but suspect (hope) I'll be leaving early.]

[Edit no 3. Fri 12.44am: I feel like screaming. I feel like screaming. I've had a lavender bath. I've eaten about 5 cloves of raw garlic (you chop it up into little bits and swill it down with water) for my cold. I want to go to bed. The doors are slamming. Where are the nosey neighbours? Where are the neighbours who watch me when I have a delivery, or carry my bicycle up the stairs, or ask me banal questions as I enter the house? Waste of time they are. Deep breaths. Sorry sorry, I am ranting. I just want to go to bed. This is horrible.]

[Edit no 2. Fri 12.22am: Blast. The party is still going. And they are slamming doors. My God do these little creeps even know that other people exist? Oh, and I can't bear it. The poems are moving to Saturday. So I'll be having two days off. I am ill and tired and now I am starting to rant. See you on Sunday.]

[Edit no 1. Thurs 11.24pm: re-reading this post I sound like a complete twat. Illness-induced bile? More like illness-induced crap. Ah well, it is here now. And so it will taunt me.]

--------

[Because I feel a miserable git tonight I am posting this up, dating it as tomorrow, and then having a long bath. With lavender oil. Lots and lots and lots of lavender oil.]

I feel like shit. There is a party in the flat below me. Have you ever heard teenagers having a party? They are the human version of kittens who bolt across the room, up the standing lamp, which topples with them to the floor... then they run straight to the window and climb the curtains. Why do they scream? I know I screamed. Well, I think I did. I used to hug, pre-AIDS. Post-AIDS the Grim Reaper TV adverts made us unsure about even shaking hands. 1983, that was an odd year. We didn't know what we could do. Touching finger-tips was popular. Anyway, they are screaming. And I am ill... yesterday's sore throat has turned into throbbing head and running nose. Oh God I am a bundle of laughs tonight.

I have written two more poems. Writing poems is so gloriously self-indulgent. Do you know what I really like? I like the fact that they are a slow death to read. Poems are not words you can look at, and scan your eye over... like you can prose. We can each speed-read a page of prose in 20 seconds. Pass me a poem and I will groan because it means I have to... read... every... word. What will 20 seconds buy me in poetry-reading-time? Four lines? A verse? Two lines? And if it is a long poem then I need a hard seat, a bracing wind, and a firmly-tied-bonnet. My carriage awaits M'am.

quicksand

2006-01-05T19:41:00.000Z

I had the osteopathy session. The osteopath was nice, French, 10 years younger than me. Seemed to know what she was doing. I'm not certain it's going to do any good. It flared my knees up quite badly afterwards, but that doesn't mean anything... I am just as inclined to believe that a successful treatment can initially make things worse. I've made another appointment for next Thursday. But I'm not that hopeful. I just didn't feel that what she did was going to make much difference.

It's been a while since you've heard me be optimistic about anything isn't it? I've never had a chronic injury before, which doesn't just sort itself out. And I'm not old enough to have old peoples' niggling aches and pains. So I'm afraid that this isn't going to be the topic where I adopt a positive perspective.

we prick you

2006-01-04T19:20:00.000Z

Well, I go back to work tomorrow, after 19 days away. And aside from a few walks, and a trip to the cinema, an appointment with my GP, and an appointment with the Occupational Health officer... that was it. I did nothing. Why not? Mainly because of my knees. I can't exercise, aside from walking. If I get up too late it is too dark to walk. And I also can't sit at my table for very long because they hurt.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with an osteopath. I am also pursuing a series of appointments with a bloke in Aberdeen, for allergy testing. The knee problem just turned up out-of-the-blue almost, disproportionately in severity to what 'triggered' it (aa odd little thing to one knee, whilst in my flat). It was one acute little thing with one knee then turned into a protracted and chronic different little thing in both knees which has gone on for 2 months now. I've not mentioned it much here because I don't want to think about it.

Oh, on a scale of 1 to 10, it's now settled down to a 1. But when I use my cross-trainer it flares up to a 4, and when I sit here with legs bent it hovers around a low 3. So we are not talking about crippling pain. But something which prevents me from exercising. And regular readers know how I need to exercise for my mood. Also I've put on weight by not exercising, restricted movement, and eating poorly. I'm no different from anyone else, and loathe weight gain.

Wish me luck tomorrow.

when the wind blows

2006-01-03T23:47:00.000Z

Do you know what I hate, and yet I have had the misfortune to hear it nearly every night this holiday period? The Shipping Forecast's awful theme tune... Sailing By*. I'm nearly always in the bath when it comes on, and the radio is out of reach, and I have to sit there soaking and relaxing to sound of Sailing By followed by the full general synopsis in:

Fisher, German Bight... south or southeast, backing east 4 or 5, but variable at first in West, rain, moderate or poor. Humber, Thames... variable 3 or 4, becoming east or southest 4 or 5, rain, moderate, occasionally poor.

Ergg. It intones for 15 mins - which is the main portion of my bathtime.

Oh, and it is followed by a booming national anthem. Which I invariably have to listen to when I am drying myself. No... don't laugh, it isn't funny.

*[From the BBC Shipping Forecast page: "The music played before the Shipping Forecast is 'Sailing By' composed by Ronald Binge. Unfortunately, the version of 'Sailing By' we use is not available commercially. However, a similar recording, featuring the late Ronnie Aldrich on the piano, has been issued by: Seaward Records Ltd, Strathallan Castle, Port St Mary, Isle of Man. The tune is also available on a CD, 'The Music of Ronald Binge', from Marco Polo Records, number 8.223515."]

dodo

2006-01-02T19:21:00.000Z

C is back! She returned last night, and went straight to bed because of the jet-lag. I wasn't expecting her return until tomorrow, so it was a nice surprise when she phoned this afternoon. I'd written her a letter each week of her absence, and she had just read them. She was uncomfortable (bless her) about my having had lunch with J, and evening coffee with K - because I turn her down all--the--time. But we talked through it, and I gave her my explanations, and once she'd processed them she was OK about it. It was good to talk with her, really good.

I've not left the house for 2 days, and aside from her phonecall and a couple of things I've posted up on message boards (one in which I made a total twat of myself) I've not had any human interaction in that time. I've made sure that I've not slipped into the catatonic fog, by trying to keep busy. Well, I've kept some semblance of order during the last 2 weeks of holiday by doing the basics, every day. But today, well... I am still in my pyjamas. And I haven't opened the blinds. And it took me until 5pm to wash my face, and make my bed.

I was intending to go for a walk. However I didn't go to bed until 3.30am, didn't get out of bed until 1pm, then C phoned at 2pm. And by the time I got off the phone it was after 3pm. And I hadn't had breakfast yet. Which meant there was bugger all daylight left by the time I had done that.

I'll be in bed before midnight tonight, definitely. I have a sore throat and a headache. Bugger.

loony dook

2006-01-01T18:12:00.000Z

I've been to the Loony Dook every year since moving to SQF. This year I didn't bother. If you look closely at the photos you'll notice that most people don't actually 'dook' but run into knee/thigh depth water wearing fancy dress, scream and flap their arms a lot, face the media for photos, and run back out again.

There are a few locals who do swim, for the half hour. But they don't wear fancy dress, scream, hang around near the media, or make a fuss. So no-one sees their faces in the papers.

Last year the dook went ahead, among the sombre mood of the Asian Tsunami. It was ironic watching people run screaming into the cold sea. Buckets go through the crowds collecting money for the Ferry Fair (and here). I was expecting to instead see them collecting for the Tsunami. But no, seemingly unaffected they collected for themselves. I thought that was insensitive.

a better future

2006-01-01T01:15:00.000Z

Happy New Year, all of you.

I am off to bed, and then to write my New Year's Resolutions, first thing tomorrow. Unfortunately they normally tend to be rather long - massive lists with headings and sub-headings. This year I'll try and keep it to under 10.

Oh, the fireworks I could see all along the Forth were lovely. At midnight a dozen little displays went off on both banks. Lovely.

she'll drive the big car

2005-12-31T19:36:00.000Z

As mentioned yesterday I went to the film with the woman I know from the train station (M). So much about it incorporated all that I detest. If I were the old me, the me who did things, with friends I admired, at places I wanted to go to, to see things I wanted to see... I'd have chosen none of the ingredients which made up this afternoon's dish. Metaphorically my dish would be a vegan stuffed pumpkin, whilst this was a bangers n mash in a yorkshire pud with fried onion rings on top. I only ate because I was starving.

Before I regail you with the events I want to make it crystal clear that I am very grateful to M for inviting me, picking me up, and for her company. I am not such a bitch that I can't appreciate this. However...

We drove miles out of town to one of those hideous... I don't even know what they are called... retails parks? The cinema was a multiplex - 13 theatres. It was to film enjoyment what a pap-smear test is to sex. Oh God, I hate those places. I hate how they look, I hate that a bottle of water is £1.50, I hate the music, I hate the people it attracts. If there was a place to inspire suicide then this is it. I was a packaged sausage being squeezed out of an extruder. I wanted to leave before I'd entered.

I had completely forgotten what it is like to sit through 20 minutes of ads, and trailers. I had forgotten what it is like to have people in your row get up and leave the moment the credits appear. I had forgotten what it is like to sit in a seat with a plastic holder for your Regular Coke.

I just don't go to places like that.

This multiplex cinema didn't stand alone. It was accompanied by those awful brick junk food family restaurants (KFC etc), a brick gym, a brick hotel chain, a brick family-pub-with-food. On the way in we drove past the family-pub-with-food and I could see couples and families eating in there. And I thought how I would hate nothing more than to go to a place like that. I wondered why people would drive all the way out to this ugly retail park to have a meal there. I thought how uninspired people can be.

You can guess what is coming, can't you? Yep, we'd arrived 45 mins before the film started and so M suggested getting a cup of coffee. And yes... she said As we were driving in I saw this really nice place, and we should go there. And yes... it was the place I'd also seen but had thought of as an object from a nightmare. A Brewers Fayre. This means nothing to me, because I'd not lift my eyes to find out what it was called. But M knew of them, and oohed and ahhed about what a nice one it was. It had as much character as a drive-in petrol station cafe, with carpet, and wood panelling, and Monet prints, and checked vinyl tablecloths. The staff treated us with as much disdain as I felt being there.

Of course they had no herbal tea.

We saw the film, which was OK, but not my sort of thing (Harry Potter). The poor wee little boy sitting next to me was terrified. As we left M suggested going again to the petrol-station-cafe-with-carpet-etc, for dinner. I politely said no thank you.

There were other things which pissed me off, about the drive home. So when I closed the door to my flat I leaned on it out of sheer relief.

video crime

2005-12-30T20:18:00.000Z

I'm going to see a film tomorrow with someone. Isn't that quite incredible? It's with a lady I used to chat with at the train station. I clearly gave her my phone number, but honestly don't remember when. Anyway, she is going to pick me up and off we'll go. She is completely non-threatening - so all my defences went down when she asked me what I was doing tomorrow.

Funny that I used to see 1-3 films a week. And this is the first film I've seen in possibly 2 years? I haven't seen one this year, and don't think I saw one last year either. What an amusing state of affairs!

Untitled No. 1

2005-12-30T11:54:00.000Z

I'm up now. Blah. I will have some breakfast and go for a walk. There is still some snow lying. This morning, at 2am, I watched the snow falling for a few minutes before going to bed. It was so quiet.