I went to Blackburn today. I saw lots of things. I didn’t take my camera. And it’s been pointed out that maybe I shouldn’t blog tired.
And I have several High School Musical earworms so I am going to sleep instead.
So instead here, for your entertainment, is a song I am liking (and am using to get rid of said earworms) at the moment.
Enjoy.
Celebrate people! This is the 101st post of this blog! Hurrah, Hurrah!
To mark this moment, and for no other reason that it fits quite well, this post is dedicated to Room 101. Now, literary types will go,
“Ah, Room 101, 1984, rats… yes”
And those who have read the book may even quote,
“You asked me once, what was in Room 101… The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world.”
to remind themselves of the horror ( and to show that they can quote from books.), but I refer, not to the literary Room 101 but the TV Series.
Although it was cancelled last year, it is one of those shows that will never be forgotten. For thjose who never saw it the basic premise was each guest on the show listed the things they hate most in the world and nominate them to go into Room 101, and never be seen again. You could nominate people, animals, things, places, anything you like from the sublime (Disney) to the ridiculous (the small piece of cotton which holds new socks together). The host would decide on the strength of your argument whether it would go in…
The things I would nominate to go in Room 101 are:
External speakers on mobile phones. They are unnecessary and annoying. And they never sound good. They are just offensive in every way. Being stuck on a bus with one of these pumping music out is just the ‘perfect’ way to start or end a day.
People Who Talk in the Cinema Going to hell they are, but while they are here ruining movie goign for the rest of us
Cigarettes in public places I know they have been banned from public buildings and pubs and the like, but that just means that the smoke is outside now being blown into our faces as we walk along the street. You can’t drink alcohol on the street any more, so lets put cigarette smoke inside private spaces, and while I’m on this subject…
People who have kids and smoke These people either a) don’t care about their children’s health, or b) don’t realise that smoke is dangerous. Just the other day I saw some girl light up a cigarette in front of her very very young baby and then wave the cigarette in front of its face. I wanted to beat her to death with the pram.
So, come on, play along. You can nominate as many things as you want, but you must say why… Then a decision shall be made whether to put it in or not (if anyone has any strong feelings either way then pipe up!)
Yes, well Dan nicked the title I was going to use.
So, last night I had finished my emailing and all the other palaver I do on the internet and was just closing the Mac ready to settle down. The clock on the Mac had just ticked over to 1.00am… and then it hit. The things on the shelves jangled, a badly stacked pile of books fell over (they were very very badly stacked though) and my bed shook in a very disconcerting way… all for about 5 seconds
My thought process went like this:
Something has crashed nearly… Oh Christ, terrorist attack… Earthquake? Nah… Loosing my mind… possibly?
I peered out of my bedroom curtains and watched four or five lights go on for about 30 seconds and then go off again as, I imagine, the same process was worked through. I couldn’t see any massive fireballs so I assumed the crash/attack ideas were out; and, yes, seeing the other lights go on did make me think that maybe I wasn’t crazy, but I wasn’t ready to hang my hat on the earthquake just yet. i mean, I live in England for God’s sake. As Dan says when we have extreme weather, you could fit it in most of the world’s back pockets and use it as an appetizer to their extreme weather. When we have a crisis it is always an ‘English’ crisis - you know something where we can make a mountain out of the hill of a mole.
So, as the others were trying to get back to sleep I was clicking refresh on various news sites and googling like crazy trying to find out what was going on. But it was all apparently nothing. I thought about getting up and putting the news on but after a half hour of debate with myself decide I was too tired and went to sleep.
I know a 5.2 earthquake is nothing but it frightened the life out of me - God forbid I ever be involve in a powerful one - I’ll be the one sobbing in the corner.
And no I’m not talking about the Monkey Wedding in India. Although, seriously?! 3,000 people showing up?! That’s a hell of a lot of sugared almonds…
Or even the story about German police dogs being trained to wear shoes so that they don’t damage their feet on broken glass.
Neither is about our Government’s announcement that instead of one big ’super-casino’ in Manchester there will be 16 smaller ones dotted around the country… but not in Manchester at all. Yes, people are pissed.
Nope, the news I’m talking about is this.
Apparently, according to a new study, there is no point in taking medication if you are mildly depressed. You may as well just take a placebo for all the good it’ll do you. This plus other stupid and sensationalist bollocks was on the front cover of the Guardian (as above) and The Times - the freakin’ Times! Now I am very VERY sceptical about this study as it comes shortly before our government (well known for getting things laughably wrong) announces plans to treat people with depression with pretty much anything but drugs.
As someone who attributes the only reason she is still around to the medication she took in the past this winds me up. Yes, I’m all for sorting your problems out and alternatives to drugs (and, yes, I am probably reacting before I think but there again I am quite tired) but as there is currently an average 12 week wait for psycho-therapy on the NHS - what are you supposed to do until then? I was lucky - the drug I was on wiped me out so bad that I didn’t have the energy to do anything ’stupid’, and even though the thoughts were running through my head I just didn’t care enough… Prozac. Nope. Just made me feel sick. Numb… but sick.
But numb was good. Numb made me detach from all the insanity out there and gave me the emotional rest I needed before I ‘coped’ and ‘processed’. Had I still had the energy who knows what I would have done?
You see? This is why I need to blog earlier in the day. i had it all in my head and now… Just fuzzy cotton wool nonsense. For a much better post about depression and anti-depressants go see Miss Britt. I needs my sleep now!
You will probably be delighted to know after yesterday’s mammoth post this is going to be short.
Apart from last night when I couldn’t sleep and spent a lot of the night watching Sarah Connor Chronicles (a tasty bit of violence was what I needed after the post) I have been having the same dream on repeat for a while now.
I am standing in a garden surrounded by Chinese lanterns and white fairy lights in full trees creating a border of kinds. The air is warm and fragranced with flowers I don’t know the name of. A party is in full swing and important people from my past, present and a few I don’t recognise (my future?) are there all talking and laughing while well dressed waiters walk between freshening glasses and offering tiny canapes. There is a small jazz band in the corner playing mellow standards and the mood is light.
I wonder around not being ignored, but apparently unseen.
I hear a noise from beyond the trees and put my glass down to investigate. As I reach the edge, about to step through to the other side. I look back and see one of my friends trying to stop me. She races towards me but I step through.
On the other side I see the world burning. Buildings are falling and explosions are going off left and right. I see the faces of the people I know twisted in pain and terror, screaming and I step forward to help but am pulled back into the trees.
As I land back on the other side I see my friend sitting on the ground beside me. She is shaking her head telling me to stop. then she rises and goes back to the party. I glance up and it is like nothing has happened. I turn back to the trees and hear the sounds of destruction but don’t move.
I’m a little unfocused at the moment as I have nearly finished watching Sweet Home Alabama, so am thinking this post in a bad Southern US accent which I will never ever do in public. Ever. Unless there is alcohol involved. Which, right now, I kind of wish there was.
Anyway, of course, like any good chick flick it has depressed my lil’ ol’ single heart and made me feel inadequate and unlovable… and all that crap… which is strange considering I was feeling the exact opposite of that earlier after watching Hairspray.
Singing along to any good musical always cheers me up - especially one that doesn’t have a stick figure as its female lead. I think had my ridiculously small teenage brain allowed me to acknowledge any musicals outside of the Lloyd Webber/Boubil-Schonberg/movie musical range then I would have dreamed of being Tracy Turnblatt on stage as opposed to Eponine (Les Miserables) or Christine (Phantom of the Opera) or… well, you can put any great love affair stick figure with a great tune in here. I wanted… no, needed, to be on stage singing.
I know I posted about this recently, and, as soon as I sound less like a fog horn and more like myself (whatever that is) I am going to do something about it. I am. I have to.
I think one of the reasons I am feeling so tired (other than whatever the hell is going on with me physically) is that I am… no, bored is that wrong feeling for this. I can feel myself becoming smaller (physically would be lovely, although I did get back into some jeans I thought I would never again). I can feel all the dreams that I kinda know will never come true, not coming true. Like when Tracy sings in ‘I can hear the bells’
‘Everybody says
That a girl who looks like me
Can’t win his love
Well, just wait and see…’
I used to feel that… it didn’t matter what happened or what I looked like, that one day he would show up and…
…on the day when my book hit number one of the New York Times bestseller’s list…
…and my album was a success…
…and my hit West End show…
…and my architect would come and tell me the house was finished…
…we would marry in a lavish wedding…
My dream now is, y’know what?
My mind has gone blank. I feel an emptiness inside where the bells used to be. Would this be what Tracy would have felt, 15 years later, had she never found Link?
Dammit people. I know it’s not important, but in 46 days I’m going to be 30. I was supposed to be… not this. Not living at home. Not alone. Not totally unaccomplished. Not desperate… yes, desperate for some indication that I am not going to become crazy cat lady who had all her big romantic adventures before the age of 22.
Ages ago, on another blog, SJ asked me a question about “the one who shattered your heart and made you afraid to love again.”
I answered the question but never published the post. never finished the post actually. It took all the strength I had not to fall apart… Damn, a bloody song lyric… and I stopped. I realised I wasn’t ready then for that kind of openness.
My story is not one of great passion. It’s not one of hearts and flowers. There was a relationship before but that’s not the one that made me afraid. In fact the one that made me afraid wasn’t even…
We met at university. He went to another one. He visited our halls of residence once every two weeks to see his fiance. Yes. You can begin to hate me right about now. One weekend she had double booked and her sister was down so he was booted out. Me and a friend were dying streaks of blonde into our hair. Look this isn’t the important bit. We were friends, we went through some things together… mostly about how his fiance wanted to sleep with my bestest female friend… and then me… and other things. He got me, he wore the softest jumpers, had the cutest face, was funny and geeky and gentle and…
One night we were sitting on the floor of the kitchen and he’s leaning against me chest as I’m holding him. Radiohead is playing from Winamp… The lights are off… I’m muttering something about the length of time the bottle of vodka has been in the freezer. His fiance is upstairs making another play for my friend. It’s all about friendly comfort… I have never been, or since, more comfortable… And then… He says… Quite out of the blue…
“I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”
My great response?
“Oh.”
Then he chuckled and said, “Do you know your heart just skipped a beat?”
And he leant up to kiss me and… we heard footsteps on the stairs.
It was a couple of months later that he finally kissed me, it was so erotic and beautiful and… then all hell broke loose… His fiance with a knife, me trapped in a train station, death threats and then she told me that he laughed about it, that he never meant any of the things he said about me, that he sneered at the deep personal things I revealed to him. That he would never ever want a disgusting creature like me. I remember that she was wearing a brown leather miniskirt at the time, and knee high boots. She was frightening and I genuinely thought that was it for me.
He was going to leave her. I genuinely believed that. How unbelievably stupid was I? After that the walls came down. I saw him once after that. He blanked me. I stopped caring.
There I was. 21 and, as far as I was concerned, over. My heart broke into so many pieces and I left it scattered. The few people I’ve wanted to let myself get close to since then have been kind enough not to expect me to… and then I have let them go.
It was my own fault. I should have shut it down with the kitchen floor. I should have stopped being anywhere near him after the first time we fell asleep together on the couch. I should have forgotten about my happiness and realised he wasn’t mine to have. I have to remember, with hindsight, that I never made the first move - maybe if I had the pain of the following years would have been worth it. Maybe if I had the rejection would have been swift and momentarily painful and I wouldn’t have had the happiness beforehand fuelling it. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
I know it’s just stupid but I just want to hear the bells again. I don’t really even want the big dreams again. A small dream would be nice. Two arms to hold me tight. That is the only dream I have now.
It is a fact, little known or otherwise, that I enjoy a good game of rugby. Not playing it because I, well, don’t want to die… but to watch. Lovely. Especially since they have stopped looking like this
quite so much and have started looking like this…
It is a well known medical fact (unfortunately am having trouble finding a link to verify this… oh dear) that gazing at male prettiness takes pain away. And because I was stupid earlier today (I took my Mum to lunch and bit down on a lovely crunchy chip on the wrong side of my mouth - little twinge) and then a little bit more stupid later on (I bought a Byron Bay Cookie Company cookie… and did the same thing - bigger twinge)…
This evening my brother accidentally hit me in the face with a cushion (It was a whole giggling play fight thing) and there was a little shockwave thing (ooo, he looked guilty about that but there was no real ‘addition’ to the pain, but then my stupidity returned a half an hour after that when my brother offered me a glass of wine to make up for smacking me in the face… I accepted and stupidly forgot I had taken a number of painkillers today… The wine seemed to counteract all the good work the painkillers had done. Let’s just say I needed to take pain away.
Luckily for me The Six Nations have been on all day on and I have been watching in bits… and then watching a bit more… Lovely.
Wales did a sterling job in kicking some Italian butt, and then Ireland (that’s Republic of) danced a happy jig around Scotland… But the big one for me the England v France match… was all about pre-match pain because well, England have recently been playing, much like our football team, shite.
Today though was a shock. We won.
Sorry. Shall I say that again?
We won. Lovely. So I shall sleep the sleep of lovely dreaming of rugby sized thighs and wake tomorrow with no pain… ready to read… and comment… and be… zzzzzzzzzz…
It’s really very odd. Today, for the first time in about two weeks I wasn’t in pain. I mean, my jaw still feels like it was punched by whoever that guy is that beat Ricky Hatton but it wasn’t an ‘I want my Mum’ kind of pain. It was more like a pop 2 paracetomol in, wash them down and hold a warm cup of herbal tea against my jaw type.
And I had no idea what to do. I, of course, felt immensely tired, showed everyone at work the photos of the tooth (lot’s of comments from them much like the ones from you guys) and one lovely lovely person bought me some flowers to help me feel better.
I mean seriously, I have spent so much time and energy recently on being in pain that I now i am not in pain I am stuck for something to do.
I ended up watching Eastenders, Emmerdale, The Best of My Super Sweet Sixteen (for god’s sake), The Choir: Boys Don’t Sing, and the new episode of Torchwood in an attempt to get my brain to quieten down. Then I scratched the cat’s belly for about an hour while she curled up to me… and made many cups of tea but still racing.
Annoyingly it wasn’t until I came upstairs to get my Mac, blog and read Bloglines that the tiredness took over… and now I am fighting to stay away.
But, tomorrow, I am going to catch up on all the wonderful blogs I have been unable to read recently and will once again be ‘active’ in the blogging world.
I just wanted to take a moment and say a huge Thank You to you all for being so lovely during the past week - listening to me moan is never a good thing. Thanks again!
So, one horror is over at least. The (now confirmed) Wisdom Tooth has been extracted.
After a long train journey and a ridiculously long cab journey I arrived (just on time) at the Fylde Coast Primary Care Trust which smelled just like a hospital (ugh), filled in a form and then was told to wait. The painkillers I had taken earlier were wearing off and Mum (yes, I took my Mum) was doing her best to distract me, but the fact that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime was starting to make itself evident - good laugh about the rumbling.
Anyway.
A quick x-ray showed that this was no ordinary tooth. It curled round at the end bending towards the nerve sack at the base of the jaw. This meant if the extraction went badly and the nerve sack was damaged I would lose feeling in some of my bottom lip. I smiled as sweetly as I could with the local anaesthetic they had already pumped into me, and asked them to not screw up. Then the pulling started. I mean, I couldn’t feel anything but I could tell by the fact that he kept saying ‘this is a bad angle’ and ‘this is a tough one’ that things were not going well.
Loose feeling in my bottom lip? What would that mean? Would I become a terminal dribbler? Would I not be able to speak properly? Because I really like talking… These were the thoughts running hrough my head as he said ‘done’ and moved away.
The nurse/assistant packed a load of gauze in to stem the bleeding and started telling me all the do’s and don’s (luckily they come written down because I wasn’t really listening). Then she asked if I wanted to keep it? Hell, yes! she said something along the lines of that’s one for the trophy cabinet but all I was thinking was ‘that’s one for the blog’. So here it is.
The cause of so much pain… with the curly bottom.
My tooth.
Evil little bastard.
A day with very little pain, just lots of dopey-ness. Yep, that’s how I’d sum it up. The very nice people at work told me if I felt sick then I should go home (the only time I truly felt like throwing up was on the bus this morning) but, determined as I was to finish the day I stayed… and felt good for it.
Last thing tonight I tried to upgrade the RAM in my MacBook but couldn’t get one of the screws out so will find strength from somewhere and try again tomorrow.
Between work and there, however, one small thing happened. I went back to the doctor for my blood test results and found out three things.
1. I am not anaemic - so the reason for my tiredness etc is… something else.
2. I am not diabetic - so the reason for my tiredness etc is… something else.
3. 6ml of blood is not enough to run hormone/thyroid and other tests on.
So, another (what felt like) gallon of blood was taken from me and I have to go back in 2 weeks. Also have to go for a chest x-ray… so the medical stuff will continue on here for a while. Sorry. I can’t wait to find out what is actually going on and I am happy to say ‘the best doctor in the world’ seems to be as tenacious as everyone says she is.
Speaking of medical things - in the news today among all the bloodshed, murder and politics, there was a small piece about sciences latest discovery.
The G-Spot.
Yes, that’s right, Italian (of course) scientists have confirmed that have found an ‘area of thicker tissue among the women reporting orgasms’ that can be located with ultrasound. I can’t think of anything clever to say about that, so I won’t. I sleep now.
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