Another poor working day, for various reasons, but lit from within by the return of my mate Charlie. So really a good day, with bad points. No work blogging, and no blogging about people with access to Google (i.e. the rest of the world) means that I am prevented from telling the story of my day, but that is no bad thing.
I love these items from Cafe Press, I must have them!
Been pretty unsociable this evening, spent a little bit of time on the phone to Sarah Adams, and spent the majority of the rest of the time writing. Check out my word count on the sidebar! Not bad, eh? Not sure if it's all good what I've written, but it's certainly wordage, and at the moment wordage is what counts. I don't write in a strictly linear fashion, and the fact that this is technically a second draft isn't helping that. I know, for example, that the next big chunk of what I'm going to write, is going to be mainly revising what I did before, and not actually creating new stuff, which is what I've been doing. Anyway, I'm happy with just being able to write, although it's late, and I'll probably be tired tomorrow. I've actually decided to take a day's holiday on Monday to devote some time to writing, and also because I'm feeling a bit fed up with the work situation.
There's someone at work who I really like, not the guy on Guardian soulmates, someone else, although Charlie accused me a few weeks ago of just loving all men, this one person is rather lovely, and stuttered very appealingly when he spoke to me this morning. Sadly, I am not brave, and I am not courageous, and he is, I suspect, in love with someone. But at least I've not given up hope quite yet that he might notice me, somehow.
I am really enjoying Kate Harrison's new novel, also on the sidebar...
Good news! Bought my ticket for the Cornbury Festival! Now just got to make sure Pip and Amber do too!
Thursday, 31 May 2007
Tuesday, 29 May 2007
The Information Age
Cautionary tale 1: I am not about to get dooced, but one of my authors found my 'amusing journal' at twitter. It's twitter, not a journal, and yes, it is amusing. My twitter is all office worker mundanities, photocopying, cuppa soup and going to the pub. However, it was enough to make me worry. I consulted my boss, who assured me that as long as I'm not moonlighting as a satirical writer about my time at work, I should be fine. Then I spent a large portion of the morning attempting to remove my internet footprint, anonymising my blog all over again. Removing links. I might have to go undercover, mes amies. I also had to delete various entries on twitter, because some of them weren't too flattering to a colleague with eagle eyes. Now I feel bad. So lesson one: no work blogging, or twittering. I miss twitter, I should use it more. Especially seeing as I now have a cult following in Canada.
Cautionary tale 2: at lunch yesterday I spotted a guy who works on the other side of the office, who has a very distinguishing physical make up. I said to Philippa and Amber "Oh, there's the --- guy who works in social sciences." Philippa said, "Yes, that's the one who's on Guardian soulmates." Me: "The one you felt you already knew intimately?" Her: "Yes." So, lesson two: do not use the Guardian soulmates, unless you want all your single colleagues to know that you, too, are single and lonely. Oxford is too small a place to risk it in. I was reminded of this in the kitchen this morning. And the sorry thing is, for a tiny second, I actually considered asking him out.
Monday, 28 May 2007
Monday Night Loneliness
I don't think I could handle living alone. But maybe if I knew that I were totally alone, I wouldn't be constantly jumping at every car that drives past, every click that might be the door, wondering when my companions are going to get home.
Good writing today. I managed over a thousand words, which ain't bad going. Although I did have alot of time to spare, and a nice clear desk without distrations. I've been reading Bird by Bird to keep me going. I love that book, you can dip in and out, which is nice for a spaz like me who can only just about deal with dipping in and out. She knows all about why writing makes you crazy.
The WIP is progressing. In contrast to the last time I told this story, I'm not planning, I'm just writing through, and taking inspiration as it comes. It was wonderful this morning to be staring at the screen, wondering that the bleep might happen next, and the action appeared in my mind's eye like a child blowing a bubble, pure and clear. Lovely. I love it when it goes well, I love it when I feel like I can do it.
In the midst of the loneliness, called Emma. She answered the phone suspiciously. But she bolstered my confidence. She told me just to tell a bloody good story, and to draw on my own life. Good advice, and very similar to what Barbara said to me in the golf club on Saturday morning. I felt reassured by that, because if my mate thinks I can do it, that's one more person on my side.
Had lunch with Philippa and Amber at Coco's. Twice in a week, not bad, but it's a fun place to go, although it got a bit stuffy and the windows a bit steamy in the rain this afternoon and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Anyway, it was lovely to see them both. They are both wonderful. And I had the opportunity to actually talk about some of my stuff, which was helpful. I felt supported. Philippa said to me "oh, you're so creative" when I told her about my book. It was nice to hear, too. But I would say that about someone knitting (as she does), or sewing their own clothes, or making misshapen pots in pottery classes, or sketching, or whatever. Pretention alert: to me, writing isn't being creative. It's more like breathing. I've read other people say that, too, though. I'm not being creative or original. I'm cribbing.
I am still coughing. It hurts less when I swallow, which is an improvement, but I am still under the weather. This makes me miffed. An entire long weekend spent feeling grotty, and no amount of application of wine improved it. Hot water is the best thing, according to Ms. Lamott, for the sore throat, and yes, that turned out to be true. Although I put lemon and honey in mine. I have probably put on four pounds from all the honey I have ingested this weekend as a result of being lurgified. And I didn't do enough running over the past two weeks. Not a good move, when race for life is on Saturday. Oh well.
Good writing today. I managed over a thousand words, which ain't bad going. Although I did have alot of time to spare, and a nice clear desk without distrations. I've been reading Bird by Bird to keep me going. I love that book, you can dip in and out, which is nice for a spaz like me who can only just about deal with dipping in and out. She knows all about why writing makes you crazy.
The WIP is progressing. In contrast to the last time I told this story, I'm not planning, I'm just writing through, and taking inspiration as it comes. It was wonderful this morning to be staring at the screen, wondering that the bleep might happen next, and the action appeared in my mind's eye like a child blowing a bubble, pure and clear. Lovely. I love it when it goes well, I love it when I feel like I can do it.
In the midst of the loneliness, called Emma. She answered the phone suspiciously. But she bolstered my confidence. She told me just to tell a bloody good story, and to draw on my own life. Good advice, and very similar to what Barbara said to me in the golf club on Saturday morning. I felt reassured by that, because if my mate thinks I can do it, that's one more person on my side.
Had lunch with Philippa and Amber at Coco's. Twice in a week, not bad, but it's a fun place to go, although it got a bit stuffy and the windows a bit steamy in the rain this afternoon and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Anyway, it was lovely to see them both. They are both wonderful. And I had the opportunity to actually talk about some of my stuff, which was helpful. I felt supported. Philippa said to me "oh, you're so creative" when I told her about my book. It was nice to hear, too. But I would say that about someone knitting (as she does), or sewing their own clothes, or making misshapen pots in pottery classes, or sketching, or whatever. Pretention alert: to me, writing isn't being creative. It's more like breathing. I've read other people say that, too, though. I'm not being creative or original. I'm cribbing.
I am still coughing. It hurts less when I swallow, which is an improvement, but I am still under the weather. This makes me miffed. An entire long weekend spent feeling grotty, and no amount of application of wine improved it. Hot water is the best thing, according to Ms. Lamott, for the sore throat, and yes, that turned out to be true. Although I put lemon and honey in mine. I have probably put on four pounds from all the honey I have ingested this weekend as a result of being lurgified. And I didn't do enough running over the past two weeks. Not a good move, when race for life is on Saturday. Oh well.
Six Reasons to Stay a Virgin by Louise Harwood
With a title like that, who wouldn't be tempted? Nota bene all those cherries on the front cover...A sweet proper old-fashioned chick lit! Characters with no money worries, flitting around London and Cornwall. An actor, a gardener, a trustafarian, roses, skiing, and a virgin...
Enjoyable, but perhaps not as fully realised as I'd have liked. More about the roses was needed. She should have made the anti-hero a little darker, I think. But it was fun and cute, and diverting, that's for sure.
Sunday, 27 May 2007
Eleanor Rigby by Douglas Coupland
This is a book that came off the book swapping table at work, I nabbed it before anyone else could. It has been noted by many, that any half-decent book that appears on that table is gone by 10am that morning. Too many people walking passt thinking 'ooooh, I fancy a bit of that'.Kate once told me I ought to read Girlfriend in a Coma, but I couldn't get on with it. That was about eight years ago. Luckily, I seem to have come on a bit since then, because I quite enjoyed this book. I liked the way it seemed to take a turn for the surreal in the latter third. I liked the way the author used flashbacks. I liked its lack of mawkishness. One of the things I really liked about it was that the characterisation of all the characters rang true, but they were all slightly old fashioned, even though the book is very much set in the contemporary world.
I understand WHY it's called Eleanor Rigby, but I do think that the author was trading on The Beatles name a teensy bit there. Perhaps there was nothing better to call the book, or he was at a bit of a loss, maybe it was a working title, maybe it was where he got his inspiration. Either way, the narrator isn't called Eleanor Rigby, she has the same surname as me, which I have to say, after a while, I found a tiny bit weird.
Notice how I'm reviewing again, in my own idiosyncratic way. I still need to finish This Book Will Save Your Life - I'm thinking that it would make a good partner with this one.
Rain rain go away
I have joined the digital age, mes amies! I am all hooked up to freeview and my new digital video recorder. There was a sticky moment during installation when I forgot to plug the aerial into the new piece of equipment, and had a minor panic, but that was solved quickly when I realised. And now I haf menny menny channels! And not only that, but I haf the ability to record Doctor Who this evening! A whole week of obsessive David Tennant watching! Hurrah!!
In celebration of the new piece of kit, I rearranged aspects of and tidied my room. I guess it makes me slightly selfish keeping this equipment to myself, but the way I see it, it's so that I can catch up on stuff without disturbing the others. So even though it is terrible to watch tv in bed, that's probably where I'll get most use out of it. So it stays with me. My tidied room is much nicer, I was getting a bit depressed in the middle of last week. I still need to do a book purge, though.
Slightly surprising: my throat is much improved, and I now only have a slight cough, and it was rowing that did it, out in the pouring rain, in my anorak, I came back, had a hot toddy (lemon and honey in hot water with a splash of whiskey, which I got in a miniature Christmas before last, which lets you know how frequently I drink it) and felt much better. I also really really enjoyed rowing, and only hit my hand once! Hurrah!!
Plans for the rest of the afternoon are not much. Think I'm going to relax, maybe have a bath. I'd like to do some writing, and maybe I will, if I feel up to it. Of course, one of the digital age's disadvantages is that I probably will spend all my time watching telly and not much else. However, I also think it might help me to schedule writing better. Rather than stopping everything to watch a tv prog, I can tape it and watch later.
In celebration of the new piece of kit, I rearranged aspects of and tidied my room. I guess it makes me slightly selfish keeping this equipment to myself, but the way I see it, it's so that I can catch up on stuff without disturbing the others. So even though it is terrible to watch tv in bed, that's probably where I'll get most use out of it. So it stays with me. My tidied room is much nicer, I was getting a bit depressed in the middle of last week. I still need to do a book purge, though.
Slightly surprising: my throat is much improved, and I now only have a slight cough, and it was rowing that did it, out in the pouring rain, in my anorak, I came back, had a hot toddy (lemon and honey in hot water with a splash of whiskey, which I got in a miniature Christmas before last, which lets you know how frequently I drink it) and felt much better. I also really really enjoyed rowing, and only hit my hand once! Hurrah!!
Plans for the rest of the afternoon are not much. Think I'm going to relax, maybe have a bath. I'd like to do some writing, and maybe I will, if I feel up to it. Of course, one of the digital age's disadvantages is that I probably will spend all my time watching telly and not much else. However, I also think it might help me to schedule writing better. Rather than stopping everything to watch a tv prog, I can tape it and watch later.
Saturday, 26 May 2007
Top telly and Dad's Life by Dave Hill
Hmmm, I apologise for any pixellation of the book cover. I'm a bit stuck, to be honest, using Matthew's computer this time. I don't want to be leaving a trail of evidence and downloaded images (not that he'd notice) so I just got this one straight off librarything. Probably not a good idea.Anyway, I picked this up because I've been reading Dave Hill's blog. I may have a crush. What is it about daddies that makes women go weak, eh? Monsieur Dave is probably old enough to be my father, but I love his blog, and I really enjoyed The Adoption.
This one was cute. Just the way to pass the time with a headcold, actually. It distracted me doing the following today:
- waiting to pick Matthew up from football
- waiting in the car park to pick Matthew up from football
- waiting at the golf club for Matthew to finish his lesson
- waiting at home to go out for the afternoon
- waiting for dinner and Doctor Who
Bit of a shame, then, that when I got to the end, I realised I'd read the sucker before!! I distinctly remember TEBWSNBNITB reading it once, and me taking it over. I can even remember lying in his bed in his parents' house reading it. And him getting stroppy with me, because I had been 1) snobby about it, and 2) then prevented him from reading it. But he was a very slow reader, and it was kinder just to let me get on with it for a couple of hours. Upshot of this story is, I really do have to stop reading throwaway literature (which this is, I'm afraid, not that most books that I read aren't, but this was perhaps more throwaway than lots, although perhaps not so much as Lucy in the Sky (grrr)).
In other news, telly tonight was fantastic! God Bless the BBC for the return of Doctor Who to form!!!! Unfortunately, Dad is a plonker, and not only talked alot of the way through it, but then had the cheek to ask me where my book was, after he admired the writing of the show. Firstly, does he not think that if I could, I wouldn't be writing for the best tv show on British telly at the moment? Secondly, writing is sodding hard work. And I don't care how easy it looks, believe me, at the moment my head feels like it's full of sawdust and snot, and the last thing I want to do is write, even though it's the thing I want to do most in the world. So I'm annoyed. But still cheered up by the Children's TV on Trial prog on BBC4... there was a little Northern boy on it who was adorable. Is it wrong to have a crush on a child (uh, yes!)
And therefore, here is a totally overexcited pic of tonight's episode. Because I love him, her, the writing, the everything. Bloody fantastic. I've had excited text messages from Sarah, and could even be heard to mutter tour de force...
Furtive, with chips
Since I am currently tapping away on Barbara's computer, despite having taken my laptop home for the weekend, I have decided to take a sneaky way round and blog via Google Docs. This is because I don't want Barbara reading my blog. Not that there's anything in here that would upset her (I think), but because we were talking about blogging this morning and I got a bit shifty. Erk. So that is why I am furtive.
I have got the real lurg, mes amies. I am going to get Isa for coughing with her mouth uncovered and not taking to her sick bed meaning that the house must have been riddled with germs. And Eve too and her martyr-like coughing at the end of the super-pod. I have had a sore throat, aching joints, headache, felt not hungry in the slightest, only wanted to sit and watch telly and do nothing. What a waste of a day's holiday, eh? I just about managed to keep going through the Thursday but then I relaxed on Thursday night, and the illness overtook me. The reason I am with chips, is that I have been eating chips because I don't fancy much else, and I need to keep my strength up. Oh yes.
Fantastic time at home, though! Had dinner out last night (cold ice cream, mmm, soothing), and my presents rocked! Dad and Barbara gave me what I thought in no way in a million years would I get! A digital video recorder with freeview! This means that not only now do I have digital tv, but I can record it!!! Hurrah!!!! And it also means that I schedule my television watching to what I like, when I like, instead of being hidebound by tv schedules! I am so looking forward to setting it up at home. I only hope that Sarah doesn't mind. Although I'm sure she won't. If worst comes to the worst, I'll use it in my room.
This afternoon, Barbara, Matthew and I took a trip out to Moors Valley Country Park in the New Forest. I had to wear my wellies, as I forgot my trainers, but that was okay, and I had to borrow a pashmina to keep my sick neck warm, but that was also okay, and was nice walking round with Barbara, chatting, as Matthew cycled forward... and then back when he felt he'd gone too far. He's got really tall and lanky now, and his feet look too long for his skinny legs. However, he is an annoying teenager, and constantly needs directing, which is annoying. Despite that, we all had a nice time, and it was good to get out and about. The weather has held, although it isn't great, very disappointing for a bank holiday, but then again, I'm disappointed that I've been sick, it's absolutely typical.
The accountability phone calls have tailed off. Sarah has perhaps been calling the house? I don't know, but I've heard nothing. Will have to talk to her on Sunday, if get the chance. Mind you, I am supposed to be rowing on Sunday, but I don't know if I'm going to feel well enough. I'll have to go, they don't need to be one short in the boat, it's bad enough steering already!!
Thursday, 24 May 2007
Lucky Me
Ooooh, I am feeling some retro Bachelor Girl singing coming on. Lucky, lucky meeeee!!
It's not been a brilliant day in many respects. Two hour traffic jam on the way to work. Much awaited new book project published with the wrong cover laminate and a spelling mistake on the cover. Tired. But in other ways, a good day: lots done. Got out of two hours of work due to massive traffic. And the book came out. Then in the evening Isabelle and I went to Cafe Coco at the bottom of Cowley Road. It's smaller than I thought, and so obviously owned by the same person who owns Kazbar and The Grand Cafe. We had pizza and wine, came home and put the bins out, and made hot drinks. It was then I thought that I'm lucky, when Isabelle got a mug out for me. It's the little things that make you realize that there's love in your life. Okay, so it's friendship love, not fall over and die love, but even so, I'm lucky.
In bed the earliest I've been all week, I think. My throat is a bit sore, and I'm not sure why. I hope I'm not getting Isa's cold. I'll have to drink my hot water and suck a strepsil and hope, I think. Perhaps it's hayfever. I'm so looking forward to the weekend, I really don't want to get sick, but Eve at work has been coughing all over the place too, so perhaps it's really my turn. I hope not.
It's not been a brilliant day in many respects. Two hour traffic jam on the way to work. Much awaited new book project published with the wrong cover laminate and a spelling mistake on the cover. Tired. But in other ways, a good day: lots done. Got out of two hours of work due to massive traffic. And the book came out. Then in the evening Isabelle and I went to Cafe Coco at the bottom of Cowley Road. It's smaller than I thought, and so obviously owned by the same person who owns Kazbar and The Grand Cafe. We had pizza and wine, came home and put the bins out, and made hot drinks. It was then I thought that I'm lucky, when Isabelle got a mug out for me. It's the little things that make you realize that there's love in your life. Okay, so it's friendship love, not fall over and die love, but even so, I'm lucky.
In bed the earliest I've been all week, I think. My throat is a bit sore, and I'm not sure why. I hope I'm not getting Isa's cold. I'll have to drink my hot water and suck a strepsil and hope, I think. Perhaps it's hayfever. I'm so looking forward to the weekend, I really don't want to get sick, but Eve at work has been coughing all over the place too, so perhaps it's really my turn. I hope not.
Wednesday, 23 May 2007
moderob
The problem with being derob at work is that there are too many welcome distractions. Lunch outside in the sunshine, for example, followed the end of a strawberry cornetto at one's desk. And one's iPod, in conjunction with one's blog. Soundtrack plus inane thoughts = blog writing session.
When a cornetto is the highlight of your day, you know you've reached nearly rock bottom.
I refuse to whinge about my job at this precise juncture. It's not my job that's the problem. It's the very specific task I have to do. I've been procrastinating on it for ages, but now the time has come to face the ring binder and go through all the nitty gritty details. It is just a soul destoying boring boring thing to do.
And with that whinge, I'll be thee adieu.
Tuesday, 22 May 2007
Pretentious, moi?
Well, I am hoping that I'm not going to get Isa's virus. I've been coughing... it's not a good sign.
The Freedom Course tonight was so much better. I am so relieved. We talked about feelings of rejection, and that, again, is something I suffer with. The group was a bit depleted, but I didn't mind. I actually felt it was better because of that. Before Freedom, I went to Sarah's, where she had sweetly laid out a gift for me, and a dessert to share with candles. It was delicious. The combination of the good Freedom session, identifying feelings about rejection, and identifying that I felt rejected when Sarah brought up her concerns about our prayer partnership, made me realise that I had been grumping about stuff last week. On the ride home, I confided in Sarah about some stuff, telling her that when God disciplines me, I want to have a tantrum. She pointed out that God only disciplines those who he loves, who are really in Christ, he disciplines like a loving father, because we are growing and he wants to help us. This is good stuff. And now I feel so much more positive about everything.
Man, I am tired, though. It's exhausting being busy all day. Nipped home before going to Sarah's, and opened cards and displayed them, they make a lovely spread. Spoke to Barbara this evening who was teasing me about 26 being old. I don't feel old. I feel that 26 is a really good age, actually. She asked if I felt like I was at the age I am supposed to be, and I had to say, yes! All my life I felt like I was waiting to catch up to the age I am now!!
Pretentiousness: so I was researching a book I thought I might like to read on Amazon, and it said "people who read this also read..." and there were a load of Mary Midgley books that we publish. It was weird to encounter them on Amazon by accident. I very rarely come across my own books in the process of doing something personal. Rather, I come across them when I'm researching other things for work. Then I felt pretty cool that clearly I want to read intellectual books in my own time. Exactly. Unbearably pretentious.
Second level of pretentiousness: in the occupational health suite, I stole a copy of New Scientist, because it had a really interesting section on Creativity in it, including (oh yes), a section of interviews with songwriters, including (you guessed it), mister main music man himself, the one I've been raving about. But also Franz Ferdinand and some cool stuff about the workings of the creative brain... and stuff about Intelligent Design in the non creativity section. Anyway, I think I'm going to have to take some more time to read non-fiction decent stuff... although it might be a bit ambitious, and I have a tendency to buy self-help books, instead, which don't count, and which I skim read. Like the Pocket Life Coach which has sat on my bedside table for weeks, and I haven't used it once.
The Freedom Course tonight was so much better. I am so relieved. We talked about feelings of rejection, and that, again, is something I suffer with. The group was a bit depleted, but I didn't mind. I actually felt it was better because of that. Before Freedom, I went to Sarah's, where she had sweetly laid out a gift for me, and a dessert to share with candles. It was delicious. The combination of the good Freedom session, identifying feelings about rejection, and identifying that I felt rejected when Sarah brought up her concerns about our prayer partnership, made me realise that I had been grumping about stuff last week. On the ride home, I confided in Sarah about some stuff, telling her that when God disciplines me, I want to have a tantrum. She pointed out that God only disciplines those who he loves, who are really in Christ, he disciplines like a loving father, because we are growing and he wants to help us. This is good stuff. And now I feel so much more positive about everything.
Man, I am tired, though. It's exhausting being busy all day. Nipped home before going to Sarah's, and opened cards and displayed them, they make a lovely spread. Spoke to Barbara this evening who was teasing me about 26 being old. I don't feel old. I feel that 26 is a really good age, actually. She asked if I felt like I was at the age I am supposed to be, and I had to say, yes! All my life I felt like I was waiting to catch up to the age I am now!!
Pretentiousness: so I was researching a book I thought I might like to read on Amazon, and it said "people who read this also read..." and there were a load of Mary Midgley books that we publish. It was weird to encounter them on Amazon by accident. I very rarely come across my own books in the process of doing something personal. Rather, I come across them when I'm researching other things for work. Then I felt pretty cool that clearly I want to read intellectual books in my own time. Exactly. Unbearably pretentious.
Second level of pretentiousness: in the occupational health suite, I stole a copy of New Scientist, because it had a really interesting section on Creativity in it, including (oh yes), a section of interviews with songwriters, including (you guessed it), mister main music man himself, the one I've been raving about. But also Franz Ferdinand and some cool stuff about the workings of the creative brain... and stuff about Intelligent Design in the non creativity section. Anyway, I think I'm going to have to take some more time to read non-fiction decent stuff... although it might be a bit ambitious, and I have a tendency to buy self-help books, instead, which don't count, and which I skim read. Like the Pocket Life Coach which has sat on my bedside table for weeks, and I haven't used it once.
Shiny Birthday
Just for me, the weather's turned. Or at least that's how it feels. An end to the misery of grey grey grey, hello blue skies, fluffy clouds, sunshine that makes you tip your face upwards and smile.
Happy birthday to me, anyway! Presents abounded! Lovely things in the post from Andy, Neil and Max. Gifts at work from Amy and Aileen. A funny card, quite, "Being Bossy and Domineering is Allowed on your Birthday" (ho ho ho) and cakes. Matt gave me the staple-puller-outer. He bought in his own from home, and gave me his as a permanent present. The end of an era. We've argued over that for the past two years and a half. He said he thought it would cheer me up, as I seemed depressed yesterday. That was clearly thinking on his feet, I think he just finally bought his own in, and it was a fortunate coincidence. I got a phone call this morning from the 'rents, emails from various folks (lovely peeps them all!) and some nice texts too!! I'm a lucky lucky girl. And the celebrations continue through the week. I love the birthday festival element of extending the event.
I was quite tired this morning after watching Neil's gift, which arrived early, Peep Show series 1-3 boxset, into the night. Silly me. Tonight I am going to pop home quickly before going over to Sarah's pre-Freedom/Alpha. I want to see if I have any more cards. Somehow opening them in daylight is more birthday-y. But I've had a good work day, which means that I could cope with it all. It's a short work week for me, too. Also, last night, Sarah called me medium-late, which was fine, but I was planning to write, and now I won't get the chance for a couple of evenings, probably until Friday, so I am feeling a tiny bit impatient. Bad Gemma.
New loves, more David Gray songs. Neil and Max's generosity gave me my own copies of A New Day at Midnight, and Life in Slow Motion. The song Slow Motion is already my favourite on the latter. I had my favourites from the first already, I just didn't own it. His songs are the soundtrack to my book, I have decided, and they're gorgeous.
Happy birthday to me, anyway! Presents abounded! Lovely things in the post from Andy, Neil and Max. Gifts at work from Amy and Aileen. A funny card, quite, "Being Bossy and Domineering is Allowed on your Birthday" (ho ho ho) and cakes. Matt gave me the staple-puller-outer. He bought in his own from home, and gave me his as a permanent present. The end of an era. We've argued over that for the past two years and a half. He said he thought it would cheer me up, as I seemed depressed yesterday. That was clearly thinking on his feet, I think he just finally bought his own in, and it was a fortunate coincidence. I got a phone call this morning from the 'rents, emails from various folks (lovely peeps them all!) and some nice texts too!! I'm a lucky lucky girl. And the celebrations continue through the week. I love the birthday festival element of extending the event.
I was quite tired this morning after watching Neil's gift, which arrived early, Peep Show series 1-3 boxset, into the night. Silly me. Tonight I am going to pop home quickly before going over to Sarah's pre-Freedom/Alpha. I want to see if I have any more cards. Somehow opening them in daylight is more birthday-y. But I've had a good work day, which means that I could cope with it all. It's a short work week for me, too. Also, last night, Sarah called me medium-late, which was fine, but I was planning to write, and now I won't get the chance for a couple of evenings, probably until Friday, so I am feeling a tiny bit impatient. Bad Gemma.
New loves, more David Gray songs. Neil and Max's generosity gave me my own copies of A New Day at Midnight, and Life in Slow Motion. The song Slow Motion is already my favourite on the latter. I had my favourites from the first already, I just didn't own it. His songs are the soundtrack to my book, I have decided, and they're gorgeous.
Monday, 21 May 2007
Lazy ways to make a living
I stole the title of this blog post from this book, by Abigail Bosanko, which I once got free with a magazine, and loved, and refuse to get rid of on any of my charity shop book purges. Why the title? Well, I was looking at the Guardian media pages at all the other similarly fluffy girlie jobs I could have gone for. It's a blessing of sorts working in publishing. I just wish I didn't have to work at all. Rose, the main character of 'Lazy...' ends up being a kept woman, I recall. Anyway, I'm not going to run off and be an education representative for a ballet school or whatever. But in the fantasy world of my mind, it's so much more appealing. Also, I'd love to be one of those girls who's like "Oh, I am a freelance boutique lingerie designer!" rather than one of the GIPs (Girl in Publishing). And let me tell you, publishing isn't the soft option it sounds like. I'm not dealing with creative souls and starving artists. Oh no. I spend alot of time writing exceptionally polite emails to academics, lest they should suddenly take offence. I could have been a contender. Instead, I'm a nobody, another girl with pretentions of being a writer, working in a job that I don't even have the energy to truly hate. I am slightly depressed by Monday, which is to be expected. See above for the desire to have a more glamorous career, that's enough to depress anyone in the first of a run of five days in the office. But in addition to this, today is the last day in my life as a 25 year old. I have enjoyed being 25. I am sure I will enjoy being 26 too, but it hasn't escaped my notice that 26 is on the slow track to 30. Holy cow.
My mind is busy. I didn't call back my friend Sarah last night to tell her I wasn't going to church, confused and slightly upset by our recent conversation. I stayed in, watched the Baftas with Isabelle, who's off sick today. I'm a horrible person, because I desperately wanted to say to Isa, please please please don't make ME sick too, as she snuffled on the sofa. I think Isabelle needs to put on a stone, and relax more. But that's just me.
Neil and Max's birthday pressies for me arrive from Amazon today - hurrah! Good timing, Neil!! I asked for some very specific things, which I got, so I can go home and enjoy a Peep Show festival, should I so choose. Which I might choose to do. Neil is picking up writing tips from our Dad, and actually signed the Amazon giftnote "Your Brother" oh ho ho.
I read this article about why it is better to spend your birthday at work, but I am not actually convinced. Yes, it's true that if I spent it at home, being boyfriendless and having friends who aren't slacker layabouts, I expect that I would indeed spend it in a fug of gloom, depression and double episodes of Neighbours (RIP). But surely that's got to be better than a cheese and pickle baguette, squares and a twix as the major excitment of one's day? I probably peaked too soon with Saturday night, now I am dreading the extended birthday festival all the way up to the weekend when I will finally get to see my family. And pick up my presents. Grabbing, moi? I like being made a fuss over, probably indicative of my deep insecurities.
Sunday, 20 May 2007
More celebrity lookalikes
The truth is that I look nothing like Meg Ryan, despite the facial analysis done on my terrible passport picture that I posted the other day. Isa and I were watching the Baftas this evening, and Victoria Wood was on stage, and I said that when I was younger people used to say I looked like Victoria Wood, and that it was probably because I had a pudding bowl haircut. And Isa said, "In the mornings, with your hair and your glasses you make me think of that kids cartoon, Scooby Doo."
This does not surprise me. It has also been mentioned before. However, what is frightening is that in order to get this picture of Linda Cardellini (hot chick!) geeking down as Velma, I ended up googling someone else's blog, and she looks way more Velma than I do. However, she deserves her privacy, even if she is a blogger, so I won't link and create a storm of internet traffic to her site (that was sarcasm, blog fans).
Better than the Routledge Editor do, though, surely? Especially as clearly being a living homage to Scooby Doo is even more evidence that I am, in fact, Daisy Steiner:
And now I will stop pissing about with google images/ youtube/ etc and prepare for the week ahead. I am more than slightly depressed that tomorrow is the start of another week.
This does not surprise me. It has also been mentioned before. However, what is frightening is that in order to get this picture of Linda Cardellini (hot chick!) geeking down as Velma, I ended up googling someone else's blog, and she looks way more Velma than I do. However, she deserves her privacy, even if she is a blogger, so I won't link and create a storm of internet traffic to her site (that was sarcasm, blog fans).Better than the Routledge Editor do, though, surely? Especially as clearly being a living homage to Scooby Doo is even more evidence that I am, in fact, Daisy Steiner:
And now I will stop pissing about with google images/ youtube/ etc and prepare for the week ahead. I am more than slightly depressed that tomorrow is the start of another week.
writing
Last night's crisis of confidence remains. I've spent this morning so far chilling in the garden, with notebook and pen, basking in the sunshine, reaching my hands up to heaven in the hope of soaking up something more than rays.
Creativity: a very insecure process. The rush and the misery, the rise and the fall. All I want is to get it out how it is in my head, but that's harder than you might think. And it's that gap between what you actually can do and what you wish you could do that causes the insecurity. I'd love to be able to just get it right first time. And I'm sure no one does. I'm sure every writer has these moments (oooh, look at me, calling self a writer), but what's really depressing is that some of the good ones have them, they overcome, and then they manage to improve. Is my rubbishy don't-look-down draft going to improve? I really hope so.
Creativity: a very insecure process. The rush and the misery, the rise and the fall. All I want is to get it out how it is in my head, but that's harder than you might think. And it's that gap between what you actually can do and what you wish you could do that causes the insecurity. I'd love to be able to just get it right first time. And I'm sure no one does. I'm sure every writer has these moments (oooh, look at me, calling self a writer), but what's really depressing is that some of the good ones have them, they overcome, and then they manage to improve. Is my rubbishy don't-look-down draft going to improve? I really hope so.
Falling in and out of bars
Aileen and I arrived early enough at the Cape of Good Hope to be able to procure a large sofa and two drinks. After that I put away another three drinks and now I am mostly drunken. It was a lovely evening. Aileen left early, but then Minh Ha appeared, and came over to talk to me and Amy, and after her boyfriend spilt his drink and Amy's bought us more. Therefore I am now totally knackered and hoping the rooom won't spin when I actually come to lie down. Sarah and Richard were still up when I got home, but I acted very very tired, which probably didn't persuade them in the slightest that I was tired, but just a silly drunk girl, and so I am now sitting in bed typing defiantly. Drinking horlicks. Rock and roll.
Why is my life so fucking boring? Where is the romance? Where's the drama? Where's the falling in and out of bars, the music, the poetry, the movement, eh? The problem with getting drunk is that when you close your eyes you see all the things you don't want to. In my case, I have realised my writing that I've been doing is a pile of poo. Sadly, that is the case. Sadly, don't think I can remedy it.
Why is my life so fucking boring? Where is the romance? Where's the drama? Where's the falling in and out of bars, the music, the poetry, the movement, eh? The problem with getting drunk is that when you close your eyes you see all the things you don't want to. In my case, I have realised my writing that I've been doing is a pile of poo. Sadly, that is the case. Sadly, don't think I can remedy it.
Saturday, 19 May 2007
hairapy
I've just been down to Versus in Cowley to have my hair cut, and I realised half way through that my left hand was clenched into a fist over the black gown they make you wear. Last time I had a hair cut, I loved it, although it was entirely unexpected. Today, I wanted to replicate that, and it's not quite the same. It's still nice, though, and I can live with it. That's the important thing.
But everyone knows that human beings, and particularly the female of the species, have a complex relationship with the fur that grows on the top of our heads. It's just another evolutionary throwback, admittedly, not as useless as male nipples or the appendix, since it does actually help to keep our heads warm in the winter, but it is mainly regarded as ornamental. So of course it does matter what our hair does. That's why my friend Amy goes to the same hairdresser in Manchester when she needs a haircut. She doesn't trust anyone else to get it right, and I don't think that's actually so stupid. I spent mornings and mornings walking to school next to my alleged 'best friend' Pascale running a brush through her straight brunette lucks, whining "It's not fallin' properlay!"
We project our personalities through our hair. Which is why it slightly bothers me that I do seem to have adopted 'the Routledge editor' as my hairdo of choice. The Routledge Editor is a short-ish do, layered throughout, essentially a combination of two elements: practicality and boho scruffiness. It says, I may now be a corporate drone, but underneath, I'm still an interesting person. It hints at a youthful past of rebellion and fun, but assures with its easy-falling layers and non-aggressive volume. It's the haircut of women with the second job, with the baby, with the settled life. Am I emulating this unconsciously? Is it simply coincidence? I hope so, I feel that I've got a great deal of potential wild past waiting to get out, I'm not ready to settle just yet.
With that in mind, I am very very grateful to have my friend Amy. "I've got the Routledge editor!" I whinged, last time I had my hair cut, "I'm turning into one of them!"
"No, you're not," she replied, reassuringly. "Your haircut is asymmetric, it's much more interesting then theirs."
And that, mes amies, is when I realised that the lovely, flattering hairdresser, who was so excited by my proposed new hairdo, all those months ago, had cut one side longer than the other. And it wasn't a deliberate design ploy.
But everyone knows that human beings, and particularly the female of the species, have a complex relationship with the fur that grows on the top of our heads. It's just another evolutionary throwback, admittedly, not as useless as male nipples or the appendix, since it does actually help to keep our heads warm in the winter, but it is mainly regarded as ornamental. So of course it does matter what our hair does. That's why my friend Amy goes to the same hairdresser in Manchester when she needs a haircut. She doesn't trust anyone else to get it right, and I don't think that's actually so stupid. I spent mornings and mornings walking to school next to my alleged 'best friend' Pascale running a brush through her straight brunette lucks, whining "It's not fallin' properlay!"
We project our personalities through our hair. Which is why it slightly bothers me that I do seem to have adopted 'the Routledge editor' as my hairdo of choice. The Routledge Editor is a short-ish do, layered throughout, essentially a combination of two elements: practicality and boho scruffiness. It says, I may now be a corporate drone, but underneath, I'm still an interesting person. It hints at a youthful past of rebellion and fun, but assures with its easy-falling layers and non-aggressive volume. It's the haircut of women with the second job, with the baby, with the settled life. Am I emulating this unconsciously? Is it simply coincidence? I hope so, I feel that I've got a great deal of potential wild past waiting to get out, I'm not ready to settle just yet.
With that in mind, I am very very grateful to have my friend Amy. "I've got the Routledge editor!" I whinged, last time I had my hair cut, "I'm turning into one of them!"
"No, you're not," she replied, reassuringly. "Your haircut is asymmetric, it's much more interesting then theirs."
And that, mes amies, is when I realised that the lovely, flattering hairdresser, who was so excited by my proposed new hairdo, all those months ago, had cut one side longer than the other. And it wasn't a deliberate design ploy.
Friday, 18 May 2007
What on earth is going on in my heart?
Wow, what a challenging week! Who would have thought that what seemed like a perfectly normal Monday start would, by the Friday, have metamorphosed into a series of days of misery?
I'll skip to the end, though, and just whinge about today. Neighbours is moving to Channel Five in 2008. Now, I'm sorry, but Neighbours belongs on the BBC, and while I totally agree, particularly about recent storylines, that the quality has been diminishing, and the BBC shouldn't have had to pay through the nose for a teatime soap, I think it's disgraceful that the program makers sold out to Channel Five. As someone in the Guardian said, it's because the soap is shown on the BBC that it's continued despite poor ratings in Australia. I'm upset about it. It's the end of an era. Perhaps one day I'll scan in the pics of me in Ramsay Street, scarily enough with the same haircut I've got now. Plus ca change, plus ca meme chose, mes amies.
Secondly, a difficult conversation with Sarah A. my prayer partner/ disciple this evening. I hot footed it over to her house after work, and we prayed, and soaked in the spirit, which was very refreshing, and I'm glad we did it, but she also wanted to talk to me about our mutual Christian development. I got the horrible feeling that she's disappointed in me, because I'm not the most passionate Christian you can find. She thinks this is partly because she displays a negative example for me. This upset me, because it means that I am going to have to make more of an effort, not to please her (the only person I need to please is myself. I mean, my God. Oh, I shouldn't joke), but to reassure her. And all these things require effort. I came home and was restless, Isa said I looked pensive. Isa dismissed Sarah's worries, slightly, as because of her 'American' Christianity, meaning 'intense'. I don't know whether I agree about that. I love Sarah, we have fun, we danced around her living room this evening, and I thought there are so few people with whom I can do this with. She's sweet and kind. I think she's too hard on herself, that she expects too much, perhaps? But perhaps that my worldly negative spin on the normal Christian life? I suspect I need to dig out Watchman Nee and read him again. Oh and my Bible. And to pray in general. I am not the hottest Christian out there, I must confess.
I'm overheating under my covers. Need to brush my teeth. Get some water. Get some sleep. The weekend, total bliss. If only I didn't have to think about all the things that have hurt me this week.
Things that have concerned me this week:
Monday: my talk with Charlie
Tuesday: spiritual emptiness (not going to Freedom, being rebellious)
Wednesday: confrontation with a colleague
Thursday: the guy I saw, but didn't meet
Friday: issues of jealousy and feelings of rejection; feeling that I'm a disappointment, and I've let Sarah down, AND God.
This weekend, I need to write. Me, my iPod, my laptop. Bliss.
I'll skip to the end, though, and just whinge about today. Neighbours is moving to Channel Five in 2008. Now, I'm sorry, but Neighbours belongs on the BBC, and while I totally agree, particularly about recent storylines, that the quality has been diminishing, and the BBC shouldn't have had to pay through the nose for a teatime soap, I think it's disgraceful that the program makers sold out to Channel Five. As someone in the Guardian said, it's because the soap is shown on the BBC that it's continued despite poor ratings in Australia. I'm upset about it. It's the end of an era. Perhaps one day I'll scan in the pics of me in Ramsay Street, scarily enough with the same haircut I've got now. Plus ca change, plus ca meme chose, mes amies.
Secondly, a difficult conversation with Sarah A. my prayer partner/ disciple this evening. I hot footed it over to her house after work, and we prayed, and soaked in the spirit, which was very refreshing, and I'm glad we did it, but she also wanted to talk to me about our mutual Christian development. I got the horrible feeling that she's disappointed in me, because I'm not the most passionate Christian you can find. She thinks this is partly because she displays a negative example for me. This upset me, because it means that I am going to have to make more of an effort, not to please her (the only person I need to please is myself. I mean, my God. Oh, I shouldn't joke), but to reassure her. And all these things require effort. I came home and was restless, Isa said I looked pensive. Isa dismissed Sarah's worries, slightly, as because of her 'American' Christianity, meaning 'intense'. I don't know whether I agree about that. I love Sarah, we have fun, we danced around her living room this evening, and I thought there are so few people with whom I can do this with. She's sweet and kind. I think she's too hard on herself, that she expects too much, perhaps? But perhaps that my worldly negative spin on the normal Christian life? I suspect I need to dig out Watchman Nee and read him again. Oh and my Bible. And to pray in general. I am not the hottest Christian out there, I must confess.
I'm overheating under my covers. Need to brush my teeth. Get some water. Get some sleep. The weekend, total bliss. If only I didn't have to think about all the things that have hurt me this week.
Things that have concerned me this week:
Monday: my talk with Charlie
Tuesday: spiritual emptiness (not going to Freedom, being rebellious)
Wednesday: confrontation with a colleague
Thursday: the guy I saw, but didn't meet
Friday: issues of jealousy and feelings of rejection; feeling that I'm a disappointment, and I've let Sarah down, AND God.
This weekend, I need to write. Me, my iPod, my laptop. Bliss.
I'm covered in bees!**
US comedian Jerry Seinfeld dressed as a bee to publicise the animated comedy Bee Movie at the Cannes Film Festival.
What is really scary is that I saw the non-captioned version, and thought "why is Jerry Seinfeld dressed as a bee?" I did not ignore it, like a normal sane person would.
** This is, of course, a pop-culture reference, to an Eddie Izzard sketch. I can only apologize for the inane nature of my blog post titles.
Thursday, 17 May 2007
The Beautiful Boy
What's worse, no embarrassments, or no guts to do things that are potentially embarrassing (like talking to a boy in a pub) but that could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship? Rhetorical question, clearly. I saw the most beautiful boy down the pub this evening. He was tall and rangy, blonde-ish, maybe even towards the strawberry end of the scale, and when he smoked his cigarette I died a little death inside. He was lovely. Philippa and I followed him out towards to the Radcliffe Camera, past the university church. The architecture was beautiful in the light and the shadows, and the stars were shining, and I will never get to meet him. This makes me feel so impossibly sad. I've come home, plugged myself into my iPod, and I'm sulking that I never get to meet anyone I fancy. I'm supposed to be going out with Amber and Hannah tomorrow. I'm not really depressed, just, down. It goes a little something like this:
Melancholy! Alone forever! 26, single, unable to write novel!
Nice evening out. Philippa's off the booze, so stayed remarkably coherent while I slurred. Amber is convincing me to join My Single Friend (as if Facebook weren't bad enough already; apparently Prince William is on it), and I convinced them to come to a festival with me. Lovely.
But I'm sad. I'm sad that no one ever notices me in a bar. I'm sad that the voice in my iPod is the nearest I get to sweet nothings in my ear. I'm sad that I've wasted my week. I'm sad that I'm not happy. I'm sad that booking days off work is the only way I can get through. I'm probably sad because I was drinking gin. And you know, maybe Mr Gorgeous wasn't that beautiful in daylight, or inside. But I'm sad that I won't get to find out.
Melancholy! Alone forever! 26, single, unable to write novel!
Nice evening out. Philippa's off the booze, so stayed remarkably coherent while I slurred. Amber is convincing me to join My Single Friend (as if Facebook weren't bad enough already; apparently Prince William is on it), and I convinced them to come to a festival with me. Lovely.
But I'm sad. I'm sad that no one ever notices me in a bar. I'm sad that the voice in my iPod is the nearest I get to sweet nothings in my ear. I'm sad that I've wasted my week. I'm sad that I'm not happy. I'm sad that booking days off work is the only way I can get through. I'm probably sad because I was drinking gin. And you know, maybe Mr Gorgeous wasn't that beautiful in daylight, or inside. But I'm sad that I won't get to find out.
Gordon Brown
I had a very uncomfortable experience, perhaps about six months ago, when Barbara was relating the story of trying to get her elderly parents to understand that they had to do something to safeguard their money into their old age. And Barbara said: "I told Mum, 'Otherwise Mr. Brown will have it all!'" and I thought "Who?" Of course, once she'd mentioned "the taxman" I knew who she was talking about, but until that point, I was a little bit mystified and confused.
The reason for this anecdote is that it looks certain that Gordon Brown will be the next Prime Minister. I like him. I like him a lot. He is a Christian, he has a PhD, he has written a book. He is friends with J.K. Rowling!! And, typically me, there is something I find terribly attractive about his bad tempered persona. I also feel sorry for him about the alleged 'deal', that he and Tony Blair struck. Do I think it's true? Maybe. But what I feel most sorry for GB about it is that the speculation has tarnished him with the brush of second-best.
I must be shallow, because I am not that bothered about who the next Prime Minister is. Does it really make any difference to me if Gordon leads the Labour Party to victory or defeat in the next general election? (On or before 3rd June 2010). I am lucky and fortunate to have been born British in England. However, society here seems to be going off the rails, and I don't think that the political leadership can make a vast difference to the things that matter to me. Like house prices and the cost of living and the fact that if I wanted to give up my car it would take me over an hour to get to work. Or that companies making £513 million pound buy outs of other companies still pay their workers a pittance. But I hope that it will make a difference. Maybe Gordon's the guy to turn this place around?
The reason for this anecdote is that it looks certain that Gordon Brown will be the next Prime Minister. I like him. I like him a lot. He is a Christian, he has a PhD, he has written a book. He is friends with J.K. Rowling!! And, typically me, there is something I find terribly attractive about his bad tempered persona. I also feel sorry for him about the alleged 'deal', that he and Tony Blair struck. Do I think it's true? Maybe. But what I feel most sorry for GB about it is that the speculation has tarnished him with the brush of second-best.
I must be shallow, because I am not that bothered about who the next Prime Minister is. Does it really make any difference to me if Gordon leads the Labour Party to victory or defeat in the next general election? (On or before 3rd June 2010). I am lucky and fortunate to have been born British in England. However, society here seems to be going off the rails, and I don't think that the political leadership can make a vast difference to the things that matter to me. Like house prices and the cost of living and the fact that if I wanted to give up my car it would take me over an hour to get to work. Or that companies making £513 million pound buy outs of other companies still pay their workers a pittance. But I hope that it will make a difference. Maybe Gordon's the guy to turn this place around?
Wednesday, 16 May 2007
Rowing
Firstly, let me say, I know that rowing is supposed to be hard. It's a skill, it requires technique, practice and dedication. I knew that the point of learning to row was that there was something to be learned.
But none of that prior knowledge prepared me for the knackering truth of what it was like to be actually out on the water in a boat with seven other people, plus a cox who kept on swearing, to have your oar (blade) get sucked under the water, not to be able to keep time with the person in front of you for no apparent reason, to bang your hand really hard against the side of the boat, and finally just to be totally and utterly exhausted after an hour and twenty minutes of not massively strenuous exercise. I was so tense my shoulders were meeting my ears. I don't think I've actually relaxed yet.
It's been a hard week so far. Stresses and strains at work and at home. Feeling under pressure. Not wanting to show that I'm distressed. A colleague leaving today, who I have loved, and who made work a nice place. If either of my immediate pod-mates were to leave, I would cry, I know I would. But instead I ate cake, and said goodbye. Like I said, hard week so far. Roll on the weekend, that's what I say.
But none of that prior knowledge prepared me for the knackering truth of what it was like to be actually out on the water in a boat with seven other people, plus a cox who kept on swearing, to have your oar (blade) get sucked under the water, not to be able to keep time with the person in front of you for no apparent reason, to bang your hand really hard against the side of the boat, and finally just to be totally and utterly exhausted after an hour and twenty minutes of not massively strenuous exercise. I was so tense my shoulders were meeting my ears. I don't think I've actually relaxed yet.
It's been a hard week so far. Stresses and strains at work and at home. Feeling under pressure. Not wanting to show that I'm distressed. A colleague leaving today, who I have loved, and who made work a nice place. If either of my immediate pod-mates were to leave, I would cry, I know I would. But instead I ate cake, and said goodbye. Like I said, hard week so far. Roll on the weekend, that's what I say.
Sore
Last night I skived all my commitments, went home, sulked, and drank wine. By the time Isa got home I had consumed too much and was in a stinker of a mood. A chat with Emma reassured me that she would not be disgusted with me, and in the end we stayed up chatting, and she gave me some good advice.
One thing I've noticed is that since I went to the gym on Monday, my stomach muscles hurt. I've also noticed that typing ALOT at home as well as at work does exacabate my tendency towards RSI. It's a shame. But I think it has more to do with me typing with my laptop (bad hand position) than the actual typing. But I'm not going to stop, I'll just have to get wrist supports. I love my book too much. Last night, when I'd calmed down, gone to bed, and relaxed a bit, I started typing, and the world just came alive in my head again. It's like magic.
Today I am cheerful. Not only am I wearing my new dress (like the Paolo Nutini song, except with a dress instead of shoes, shoes don't do it for me like clothes do), but we are having a pub lunch out at work, and I have lots of work to do. I prefer being busy and having deadlines, you see. In addition to that, tonight I'm rowing, and I just chatted to Polly about it, who's going to be rowing with us. And it's not going to rain! Hurrah!!
One thing I've noticed is that since I went to the gym on Monday, my stomach muscles hurt. I've also noticed that typing ALOT at home as well as at work does exacabate my tendency towards RSI. It's a shame. But I think it has more to do with me typing with my laptop (bad hand position) than the actual typing. But I'm not going to stop, I'll just have to get wrist supports. I love my book too much. Last night, when I'd calmed down, gone to bed, and relaxed a bit, I started typing, and the world just came alive in my head again. It's like magic.
Today I am cheerful. Not only am I wearing my new dress (like the Paolo Nutini song, except with a dress instead of shoes, shoes don't do it for me like clothes do), but we are having a pub lunch out at work, and I have lots of work to do. I prefer being busy and having deadlines, you see. In addition to that, tonight I'm rowing, and I just chatted to Polly about it, who's going to be rowing with us. And it's not going to rain! Hurrah!!
Tuesday, 15 May 2007
Smile Like You Mean It
Spent my early morning drive to work bopping along happily to The Killers. Hot Fuss is such an excellent album; I still haven't got around to Sam's Town.
Charlie has departed! This is sad, but also good, because when she comes back, she will be accompanied by Tom, her boyf, and hopefully that will cheer her up a bit and help her to feel more supported. I went round last night to pick up a cardigan, and stayed too long, feeling some guilt about how I would be responsible for her packing being late, and her getting stressed. I'm sure she got off fine. At this point, I am imagining her sitting in the airport, waiting for her flight.
We had a long talk last night, about my feelings about two people in the office. For fear of discovery of ce blogette, I won't reveal much more, but it was a very useful talk, and also I felt that it was the Spirit nudging Charlie to challenge me about my assumptions and emotions about this situation (ooh, cryptic). Of course, it's hard to face things about yourself that are painful, especially when you've been holding on to the pain, and even more especially when that pain is somehow a little something that defines you, so you don't want to let it go. I went home and read the section on Forgiveness in the Freedom course booklet again. I do not think it is unrelated that Charlie brought this up, when I am in the process of working through my issues. God works in our lives, sometimes whether we're aware of it or not. Last night, even though it was unsettling to be confronted with it, I knew that it was the right thing to be faced with. But it's hard to smile like you mean it, when you feel like you've been caught out, that someone's looked at your soul and seen the dark part.
I was knackered last night, and fell asleep with the curtains open, which meant a nice early wake up call this morning. I had been dreaming about Simon Pegg. How pathetic is that? I have lots of 'men of my dreams', but no man of my dreams! Or at least, not yet. It's gloomy outside, and it's so chilly I'm back in my opaque tights, but it's a good day already, and it's hardly even started.
Charlie has departed! This is sad, but also good, because when she comes back, she will be accompanied by Tom, her boyf, and hopefully that will cheer her up a bit and help her to feel more supported. I went round last night to pick up a cardigan, and stayed too long, feeling some guilt about how I would be responsible for her packing being late, and her getting stressed. I'm sure she got off fine. At this point, I am imagining her sitting in the airport, waiting for her flight.
We had a long talk last night, about my feelings about two people in the office. For fear of discovery of ce blogette, I won't reveal much more, but it was a very useful talk, and also I felt that it was the Spirit nudging Charlie to challenge me about my assumptions and emotions about this situation (ooh, cryptic). Of course, it's hard to face things about yourself that are painful, especially when you've been holding on to the pain, and even more especially when that pain is somehow a little something that defines you, so you don't want to let it go. I went home and read the section on Forgiveness in the Freedom course booklet again. I do not think it is unrelated that Charlie brought this up, when I am in the process of working through my issues. God works in our lives, sometimes whether we're aware of it or not. Last night, even though it was unsettling to be confronted with it, I knew that it was the right thing to be faced with. But it's hard to smile like you mean it, when you feel like you've been caught out, that someone's looked at your soul and seen the dark part.
I was knackered last night, and fell asleep with the curtains open, which meant a nice early wake up call this morning. I had been dreaming about Simon Pegg. How pathetic is that? I have lots of 'men of my dreams', but no man of my dreams! Or at least, not yet. It's gloomy outside, and it's so chilly I'm back in my opaque tights, but it's a good day already, and it's hardly even started.
Monday, 14 May 2007
Rainy, Shiny, Night or Day
So, a cheese and tomato baguette and a packet of twiglets. Fantastic. Who's to say that working doesn't have its benefits? So perhaps I just described today, Monday, and working as "sapping my will to live", but is that not more to do with the necessity of paid employment and the inevitable boredom and routine that hits after the weekend than true dislike?
I was so depressed on Saturday about the propspect of Monday, that Sunday felt like a gratis day off. I squeezed out some more words, in a rowing sandwich, emerging from my room in my tracksuit to head out to the University Sports Ground, returning and retiring back upstairs again, only to head out again in the late afternoon early evening for church. It was a good service last night. I enjoyed it, lovely worship, and it didn't finish too late, so I was home well in time for Frost and Pegg's Perfect Night In. Very important televisual date.
In my heart, I feel that change is afoot. But I need to pray on it, I think. I think that I might be daydreaming too much, but something is going to happen. I can feel it. Perhaps this is because of the beautiful writing feeling I get. Anything is possible, I am not a failure. That's why I've put that verse from Jeremiah into my profile, because I have hope for the future. Perhaps I'm just put in an abnormally positive mood by the fact I've been able to write at all (after all, it doesn't mean it's any good), but I also feel like I've been making firm decisions in my mind about the things that are important. And what I actually want from my life. And what makes me happy.
I was so depressed on Saturday about the propspect of Monday, that Sunday felt like a gratis day off. I squeezed out some more words, in a rowing sandwich, emerging from my room in my tracksuit to head out to the University Sports Ground, returning and retiring back upstairs again, only to head out again in the late afternoon early evening for church. It was a good service last night. I enjoyed it, lovely worship, and it didn't finish too late, so I was home well in time for Frost and Pegg's Perfect Night In. Very important televisual date.
In my heart, I feel that change is afoot. But I need to pray on it, I think. I think that I might be daydreaming too much, but something is going to happen. I can feel it. Perhaps this is because of the beautiful writing feeling I get. Anything is possible, I am not a failure. That's why I've put that verse from Jeremiah into my profile, because I have hope for the future. Perhaps I'm just put in an abnormally positive mood by the fact I've been able to write at all (after all, it doesn't mean it's any good), but I also feel like I've been making firm decisions in my mind about the things that are important. And what I actually want from my life. And what makes me happy.
Sunday, 13 May 2007
Eurotastic Saturday
Hurrah for the weekend! After two whole days of work, I was ready for the weekend. Of course, minor problem is that after two whole days of weekend, next week I have to go back to work for the full five days of work. I have ambitions, and vows, about next week, about getting lots of work done and being positive, going to the gym, etc.
The first highlight of my day was shopping in town. I met Charlie, we mooched, had coffee. When she went to catch the bus, I did a quick nip round, buying the stuff I'd mooched over, and it was excellent to shop, but I was pleased to leave by the end of it. Oxford gets incredibly crowded, and it wasn't very nice. I was also tired, and had bags to carry. But I got my White Ladder replacement CD, which was lovely, amongst some other stuff.
The second highlight of my day was having an hour or two to write this afternoon. And write I did. It's exciting. I love writing so much. And it's so exciting when things crystallize in your brain, at last. I know where I'm going now. I know what's going to happen. I have to admit, fool that I am, my recent obsessive watching of 13 Going On 30 has helped, as has the listening to David Gray, because both have an essence of what I'm trying to write about. How can this be? Well, imagine the melancholy of David Gray mixed with the features of Mark Ruffalo, and you have the love interest of my story. Lovely.
The third highlight of my day was mine and Charlie's ultra-glamorous Eurovision Party! Okay, so it wasn't glam, but it was nice. We slobbed out in front of the telly, were scandalised by yet another year of East-European political voting, and ate sausages and mash. There was also much musical criticism, as you can imagine, that revolved around various insane entries. Despite our support, and accompanying arm movements from the sofa, Scooch only very narrowly avoided getting nul points. Charlie blamed it on Tony Blair, I blamed it on our entry being too good. Why did Serbia with the little lesbian woman singer win? Their song was rubbish! And our favourites (Sweden and France) barely even got a look in, either! The evening was topped off to perfection by the wearing of comfy house trousers, slippers, and stimulating conversation revolving around (in no particular order):
And now it's time for bed. It's officially Sunday.
The first highlight of my day was shopping in town. I met Charlie, we mooched, had coffee. When she went to catch the bus, I did a quick nip round, buying the stuff I'd mooched over, and it was excellent to shop, but I was pleased to leave by the end of it. Oxford gets incredibly crowded, and it wasn't very nice. I was also tired, and had bags to carry. But I got my White Ladder replacement CD, which was lovely, amongst some other stuff.
The second highlight of my day was having an hour or two to write this afternoon. And write I did. It's exciting. I love writing so much. And it's so exciting when things crystallize in your brain, at last. I know where I'm going now. I know what's going to happen. I have to admit, fool that I am, my recent obsessive watching of 13 Going On 30 has helped, as has the listening to David Gray, because both have an essence of what I'm trying to write about. How can this be? Well, imagine the melancholy of David Gray mixed with the features of Mark Ruffalo, and you have the love interest of my story. Lovely.
The third highlight of my day was mine and Charlie's ultra-glamorous Eurovision Party! Okay, so it wasn't glam, but it was nice. We slobbed out in front of the telly, were scandalised by yet another year of East-European political voting, and ate sausages and mash. There was also much musical criticism, as you can imagine, that revolved around various insane entries. Despite our support, and accompanying arm movements from the sofa, Scooch only very narrowly avoided getting nul points. Charlie blamed it on Tony Blair, I blamed it on our entry being too good. Why did Serbia with the little lesbian woman singer win? Their song was rubbish! And our favourites (Sweden and France) barely even got a look in, either! The evening was topped off to perfection by the wearing of comfy house trousers, slippers, and stimulating conversation revolving around (in no particular order):
- the map of Europe
- tab browsing
- Cliff Richard's seedy past
- the dodgy innuendo in Bucks' Fizz 1981 Eurovision Classic "Making Your Mind Up"
- miming on top of the pops
- work chat
- music tastes
- growing into your face
- lamp shades
And now it's time for bed. It's officially Sunday.
Friday, 11 May 2007
Happy Friday
My Friday drastically improved at 4.30pm. Actually, it drastically improved at 4.24pm when I said to Charlie "I am leaving in six minutes, do you want a lift?" and she said yes, then asked if I fancied a post work cup of tea. I also got a tasty quorn-based tea, we watched Neighbours, and Home and Away, and had a lovely lot of chat. Friends who can you relax with - priceless.
There's not much news, things are going on at work that I can't really blog about, and I've been musing on my life (hey, what's new?) I missed a call from Bek, who I won't see before she goes home, by the sound of it (this made me feel so sad, but then again, I guess I could attempt to get up north to see her. But that would require going up north... In combination with Lorna leaving work, there are two people I'm going to miss. It sucks.
There's not much news, things are going on at work that I can't really blog about, and I've been musing on my life (hey, what's new?) I missed a call from Bek, who I won't see before she goes home, by the sound of it (this made me feel so sad, but then again, I guess I could attempt to get up north to see her. But that would require going up north... In combination with Lorna leaving work, there are two people I'm going to miss. It sucks.
A nice little housewife
who'll give me the steady life,
and not keep going off the rails.
Sylvia's on my mind. Since my dissertation, I've tried hard not to think too much about Sylvia Plath, because my dissertation got slammed. But I love her, I love her poetry. I love the story of her life, I love the way she's become mythologised. Anyway, Sylvia proved that you could be a nice little housewife, but still go off the rails. That underneath the domestic goddess, is that insecure girl.
She also wrote about Balloons:
I'm bringing this up, because in my head, all these things are linked.
This morning I looked in my entire CD box for my White Ladder CD. I have the case, but it is empty. Replacement is required. HMV on Saturday has my name on it. I also found three copies of Hello Lisa by Lisa Loeb (one of them isn't mine, one case is empty (stolen), the other I bought as a replacement, and two copies of Read My Lips by Sophie Ellis Bextor. I wish I'd never swapped Natasha Bedingfield for Girls Aloud, too, by the way, with TEBWSNBNITB. Who's on my mind, too but no longer in my heart. I guess in my head, I know that I was a bit too Sylvia for him.
and not keep going off the rails.
Sylvia's on my mind. Since my dissertation, I've tried hard not to think too much about Sylvia Plath, because my dissertation got slammed. But I love her, I love her poetry. I love the story of her life, I love the way she's become mythologised. Anyway, Sylvia proved that you could be a nice little housewife, but still go off the rails. That underneath the domestic goddess, is that insecure girl.
She also wrote about Balloons:
Delighting
The heart like wishes or free
Peacocks blessing
Old ground with a feather
Beaten in starry metals.
I'm bringing this up, because in my head, all these things are linked.
This morning I looked in my entire CD box for my White Ladder CD. I have the case, but it is empty. Replacement is required. HMV on Saturday has my name on it. I also found three copies of Hello Lisa by Lisa Loeb (one of them isn't mine, one case is empty (stolen), the other I bought as a replacement, and two copies of Read My Lips by Sophie Ellis Bextor. I wish I'd never swapped Natasha Bedingfield for Girls Aloud, too, by the way, with TEBWSNBNITB. Who's on my mind, too but no longer in my heart. I guess in my head, I know that I was a bit too Sylvia for him.
Thursday, 10 May 2007
Re-design
To celebrate A Hopeful Romantic's almost half-birthday, I've instigated a re-design. Also inspired by the re-design sub-plot of 13 Going on 30. Why yes, I am that shallow.
I spent all evening looking at blog templates, and there are some lovely ones out there, but the ones I chose I didn't have the skills to edit, or to get to work, and then, in the end, I had to admit defeat. Blogger's templates are lovely. And I even got my picture in. That's all that really matters...
The Balloons... a nod to Sylvia Plath, perhaps? Pink (predictable, I am perhaps the pinkest girl I know)... ribbony and pretty. Symbolic of freedom? Hope? There's something magical about balloons, I know I'm not the only person to think so.
Looking back, I notice I've stopped bloggin about books. This is my own pure laziness. I also didn't blog through Lent, like I was going to, and I've not really blogged about my own spiritual journey. This is because I like to witter about things that are unimportant, and pretend that other things which are important, aren't. Confused? Me too. I guess it's harder to bare one's real soul on a weblog than you'd think. I don't tell the internet much more than I would tell a work colleague. And the reason? Well, what if a colleague ever stumbles across this blog? And not the one I directed here, but the others? What if TEWSNBNITB finds it? What if, what if?
Midnight already. I drank coffee this evening. I'll be up all night.
I spent all evening looking at blog templates, and there are some lovely ones out there, but the ones I chose I didn't have the skills to edit, or to get to work, and then, in the end, I had to admit defeat. Blogger's templates are lovely. And I even got my picture in. That's all that really matters...
The Balloons... a nod to Sylvia Plath, perhaps? Pink (predictable, I am perhaps the pinkest girl I know)... ribbony and pretty. Symbolic of freedom? Hope? There's something magical about balloons, I know I'm not the only person to think so.
Looking back, I notice I've stopped bloggin about books. This is my own pure laziness. I also didn't blog through Lent, like I was going to, and I've not really blogged about my own spiritual journey. This is because I like to witter about things that are unimportant, and pretend that other things which are important, aren't. Confused? Me too. I guess it's harder to bare one's real soul on a weblog than you'd think. I don't tell the internet much more than I would tell a work colleague. And the reason? Well, what if a colleague ever stumbles across this blog? And not the one I directed here, but the others? What if TEWSNBNITB finds it? What if, what if?
Midnight already. I drank coffee this evening. I'll be up all night.
Say Hello, Wave Goodbye
Greetings, blog fans! Charlie told me off for not blogging enough during my weekend and day off, as she didn't know that I was alive... glad that the blog has some use, as a kind of alert system.
I'm in love. This is nothing new, but I'm in love with a song. Also nothing new. And it's a David Gray song. Even less new. Unusually, he didn't write the lyrics, it's a cover, and its ages old. I'm re-discovering White Ladder, after I couldn't listen to it for a while, due to DG being a favourite of TEBWSNBNITB. I'm in love with the way he sings it, I'm in love with the sadness of the lyrics. And yeah, sure, I identify, particularly "we tried to make it work, you in a cocktail skirt, me in a suit (but it just wasn't me)". Probably not the most original song to brood to, but it works, it works for how I feel at the moment, and I adore the introspection of his throwaway delivery of 'it just wasn't me.' Lovely. Normally I love a good cover (particularly a new interpretation) but somehow I feel sad that this isn't old Dave's own song. I wanted him to be the one who stood out in the wind and the rain, having one last argument with someone he loved by the glow of a nightclub light. Because it feels like my own song, you see.
It's been really lovely having Sarah at home, and now I'm looking forward to her coming home for good. Last night, Isabelle and I had to stake out our Desperate Housewives viewing positions (I am beanbag girl in our living room) because Richard was over and Sarah and he tend to hog the sofa for shenanigans when they can. They had a row. Flowers appeared. Tulips. They retired to Sarah's room while I drooled over the following men in Desperate Housewives: Mike the Plumber and Carlos (especially when he lifted Gabrielle up in a caveman lift - grrrr!). They shut the door. I'm sure they weren't doing anything naughty.
I was thinking in the shower this morning, that Sylvia Plath, when she was my age, was uncertain and unsure and didn't know that she was going to be one of the greatest poets ever. She was living in America with Ted Hughes, certain that he was shagging around on her. And knowing him, he was. It also helps (or perhaps not) that I'm not going to gas myself. The moral of this is that there's no rush.
Wednesday, 9 May 2007
Water
So, my rowing course started today. The coldest, wettest day of spring so far. So cold, and wet, in fact, that I spent a vast proportion of the time wishing I could go home, and hoping my nose would warm up. Things I learned in session 1:
Scary, eh? Next time, we're in the tank, at the university sports centre. I am looking forward to it, but apprehensive (again). However, hopefully not as apprehensive as I was about tonight. I got home and Sarah poured me a glass of wine, and she and Isa both told me how brave I am. Awww... didn't feel brave. Kept on thinking "if my God is with me, whom then shall I fear?" - and then seeing the cold cold Isis.
This is because last night at Freedom we did FEAR. Sarah A. didn't understand when I told her 'fear!' she was confused, because with my "Bridish accent" I said "fiah" apparently. Anyway, FEAR. If my God is with me, whom then shall I fear? Our booklets arrived, with checklists, and it turns out I'm a pretty fearful person. And that's not good, obviously, I don't need to be afraid. My group leader is lovely, she's got a lot of experience, and she always seems to know the right things to say. I was describing my past behaviour, and said "I was like a heat seeking missile" - and it's true, I was. I wish I could seek God with that kind of passion now. Don't be lukewarm... also, why am I so afraid of water? I have a living stream inside of me!
In other news, drove to Cambridge and back for work today. Not bad, eh? Absolutely knackered now, though. Even though it's a two day week for me, in effect, because of days off, and bank holidays, and today, I don't want to go to work tomorrow. However, it could be worse, I suppose.
In other, other news, my fitness test at the gym was a bit of a washout, not least because the person who was supposed to be taking it WALKED OUT, leaving some other poor schmuck to conduct the test and re-programme with no notice. I've not lost a single pound. However, that fitness test wasn't accurate, so now I've got measurements to be going on with, and also I've got time to reflect. On doughnuts. Only kidding.
The last of the non-news, is that this afternoon I enjoyed "13 going on 30", which I would like to continue enjoying since I didn't finish it. But it's late, and I don't know how much longer there was of it. So I really shouldn't. And Sarah's in, and me watching tv will probably disturb her. Perhaps earphones?
- oars aren't called oars; they're called "blades"
- how to lift a boat
- how to roll a boat
- how to lift a boat onto my shoulders (all as part of a team)
- how to put a boat on the water
- how to get into the boat
- how to get out of the boat
- that there is a bow and stroke side to the boat
- that you can only step in certain parts of the boat
- how to do a 'proper' rowing stroke
Scary, eh? Next time, we're in the tank, at the university sports centre. I am looking forward to it, but apprehensive (again). However, hopefully not as apprehensive as I was about tonight. I got home and Sarah poured me a glass of wine, and she and Isa both told me how brave I am. Awww... didn't feel brave. Kept on thinking "if my God is with me, whom then shall I fear?" - and then seeing the cold cold Isis.
This is because last night at Freedom we did FEAR. Sarah A. didn't understand when I told her 'fear!' she was confused, because with my "Bridish accent" I said "fiah" apparently. Anyway, FEAR. If my God is with me, whom then shall I fear? Our booklets arrived, with checklists, and it turns out I'm a pretty fearful person. And that's not good, obviously, I don't need to be afraid. My group leader is lovely, she's got a lot of experience, and she always seems to know the right things to say. I was describing my past behaviour, and said "I was like a heat seeking missile" - and it's true, I was. I wish I could seek God with that kind of passion now. Don't be lukewarm... also, why am I so afraid of water? I have a living stream inside of me!
In other news, drove to Cambridge and back for work today. Not bad, eh? Absolutely knackered now, though. Even though it's a two day week for me, in effect, because of days off, and bank holidays, and today, I don't want to go to work tomorrow. However, it could be worse, I suppose.
In other, other news, my fitness test at the gym was a bit of a washout, not least because the person who was supposed to be taking it WALKED OUT, leaving some other poor schmuck to conduct the test and re-programme with no notice. I've not lost a single pound. However, that fitness test wasn't accurate, so now I've got measurements to be going on with, and also I've got time to reflect. On doughnuts. Only kidding.
The last of the non-news, is that this afternoon I enjoyed "13 going on 30", which I would like to continue enjoying since I didn't finish it. But it's late, and I don't know how much longer there was of it. So I really shouldn't. And Sarah's in, and me watching tv will probably disturb her. Perhaps earphones?
Monday, 7 May 2007
Being Very Grumpy
Everything is fine. In fact, everything is lovely. The sun started shining after a grey morning. Sarah and Isa are both out. And no one seems to have noticed that I've tuned the radio in the living room to Radio 2. Wa ha ha ha ha ha... . But I was bored earlier, and grumpy. I solved this by going down to Templars Square and buying things I didn't need. A notebook. Like I need another bloody notebook. A life coach book. The new Jodi Picoult, in hardback. THE EXTRAVAGANCE! Luckily, I also bought "Not Buying It", which is all about living a non consumer lifestyle.
Sarah's family popped in briefly, and Isa's mum was over. Now Isa and her mum are out for a walk, but I don't know where Sarah is. They could all come back at any second, I guess. And then the peace will be shattered. I shouldn't be so territorial about a home that's shared. What I think I don't like is the idea that I might be observed. Doing nothing. Observed being lazy. And I am supremely lazy.
So, the news, there is none. Didn't run today. Not a stitch of exercise for an age. Feeling slightly depressed about it, if truth be known, not because I love exercise, but because despite exercising like a madwoman, it really seemed to make no difference. Ah, I'm being self-defeatist.
Last night, the three of us settled in for the evening and watched The Holiday. It's very cute and fun, I watched it around Christmas-time with Sarah and loved it. Hurrah! But of course, these sorts of things make you feel dissatisfied with your own, humdrum, non-Hollywood life. Where's my Jack Black/Jude Law? Where's my glam job, home in the country, dog? But it was fun all the same to watch with Sarah and Isa, particularly as they didn't guess that (SPOILER ALERT!!) Jude Law's 'other women' were his cute little daughters. Sometimes, it's a bit embarrassing watching sex and love and relationships with Isa and Sarah. I'm suddenly desperately aware that I'm the person in the room who's maybe been closest to the Hollywood Ideal, I've got the most experience, I've had Serious Boyfriends (plural, yes), and my recent non-action isn't just to do with my Religion, but actually has been more of a Lifestyle Choice. Getting my own head together. Doing without a man. Perhaps I'm bigging myself up too much here. But there's the fact that Isabelle told me that Sarah is very strict of sexual purity/morality. And Sarah's the one who's got the boyfriend. And all they're doing is snogging, that's for sure. When a film has people sleeping with each other, willy-nilly, what does she think? I haven't got the guts to ask.
I want to elaborate a bit more on the driving course, and why I liked it so much. And I think what it came down to was the respect we were all shown. All called "madam" and "sir", and referred to as ladies and gentlemen, and told we weren't there to be told off, or have our wrists slapped, but to be educated, because we were all intelligent people. And I guess that's why I came out feeling as if I'd had actually quite an enjoyable time. It wasn't an ordeal. It was a learning experience. And I'm comfortable with that. Some people aren't, clearly. There was a guy who was doing a lot of doodling. But sometimes, I do that in meetings. And doodling doesn't necessarily mean that you're not listening.
Just as lots of typos don't mean you can't spell. They just mean you are rubbish at reading your work back.
Sarah C. broke up with Trevor. Poor guy. Dismissed for not being intellectual enough. I understand it, of course, but I do feel sorry for him. One minute, Sarah's chasing him via text, asking him for drinks. The next he's being unceremoniously discarded. But it's her choice. And her life.
Sarah's family popped in briefly, and Isa's mum was over. Now Isa and her mum are out for a walk, but I don't know where Sarah is. They could all come back at any second, I guess. And then the peace will be shattered. I shouldn't be so territorial about a home that's shared. What I think I don't like is the idea that I might be observed. Doing nothing. Observed being lazy. And I am supremely lazy.
So, the news, there is none. Didn't run today. Not a stitch of exercise for an age. Feeling slightly depressed about it, if truth be known, not because I love exercise, but because despite exercising like a madwoman, it really seemed to make no difference. Ah, I'm being self-defeatist.
Last night, the three of us settled in for the evening and watched The Holiday. It's very cute and fun, I watched it around Christmas-time with Sarah and loved it. Hurrah! But of course, these sorts of things make you feel dissatisfied with your own, humdrum, non-Hollywood life. Where's my Jack Black/Jude Law? Where's my glam job, home in the country, dog? But it was fun all the same to watch with Sarah and Isa, particularly as they didn't guess that (SPOILER ALERT!!) Jude Law's 'other women' were his cute little daughters. Sometimes, it's a bit embarrassing watching sex and love and relationships with Isa and Sarah. I'm suddenly desperately aware that I'm the person in the room who's maybe been closest to the Hollywood Ideal, I've got the most experience, I've had Serious Boyfriends (plural, yes), and my recent non-action isn't just to do with my Religion, but actually has been more of a Lifestyle Choice. Getting my own head together. Doing without a man. Perhaps I'm bigging myself up too much here. But there's the fact that Isabelle told me that Sarah is very strict of sexual purity/morality. And Sarah's the one who's got the boyfriend. And all they're doing is snogging, that's for sure. When a film has people sleeping with each other, willy-nilly, what does she think? I haven't got the guts to ask.
I want to elaborate a bit more on the driving course, and why I liked it so much. And I think what it came down to was the respect we were all shown. All called "madam" and "sir", and referred to as ladies and gentlemen, and told we weren't there to be told off, or have our wrists slapped, but to be educated, because we were all intelligent people. And I guess that's why I came out feeling as if I'd had actually quite an enjoyable time. It wasn't an ordeal. It was a learning experience. And I'm comfortable with that. Some people aren't, clearly. There was a guy who was doing a lot of doodling. But sometimes, I do that in meetings. And doodling doesn't necessarily mean that you're not listening.
Just as lots of typos don't mean you can't spell. They just mean you are rubbish at reading your work back.
Sarah C. broke up with Trevor. Poor guy. Dismissed for not being intellectual enough. I understand it, of course, but I do feel sorry for him. One minute, Sarah's chasing him via text, asking him for drinks. The next he's being unceremoniously discarded. But it's her choice. And her life.
Sunday, 6 May 2007
My Playlist
Greetings, music fans! Because I am a gimp, because I miss the art of the mix-tape, and because I wasn't sure I was going to have time to buy a bottle of wine, I made my friend Sarah a mix CD yesterday, so that I could have something to hand over when I got to her house. This is as well as the wine I did manage to buy, and the book she wanted to borrow (A Hopeless Romantic, the origination of this blog's name...)
I also burned myself a copy for the car. Well, waste not, want not. The track listing and the opportunity to purchase the songs are made available simultaneously, too, well, I have made it easy for you. Simply load up your iTunes softward and click this link, for I have published the beauteous CD as an iMix. However, it is only available for 1 year, so get your skates on...
I also burned myself a copy for the car. Well, waste not, want not. The track listing and the opportunity to purchase the songs are made available simultaneously, too, well, I have made it easy for you. Simply load up your iTunes softward and click this link, for I have published the beauteous CD as an iMix. However, it is only available for 1 year, so get your skates on...
Saturday, 5 May 2007
Speed Awareness
My speeding course was excellent. Not only do I now no longer believe that speed cameras are simply means of the police boosting their income. Not only were there computer tasks to do, and lots of mouse clicking at safe driving distances, safe speeds, etc, but also there was an interactive chat. I actually really enjoyed it. Really really enjoyed it, came out feeling quite evangelical about it all. And Dad has been right all along. At 30, keep it in third gear.
And then I saw Sarah. Which was also very enjoyable. And we watched Doctor Who (back on form with this episode, I felt), and I got home not quite in time for the start of Parky with David Tennant, but now I am relaxing, with a glass of wine, in front of the telly, Sarah's in, Isa's in, we're all home, and thanks to the beauty of bank holiday weekends and annual leave... I'm only 25% of my weekend done!! Yay!!!
Achievements feel few today so far, but actually I achieved a major thing (attending a course!) and I visited a friend. I guess it just felt too relaxing and nice.
And then I saw Sarah. Which was also very enjoyable. And we watched Doctor Who (back on form with this episode, I felt), and I got home not quite in time for the start of Parky with David Tennant, but now I am relaxing, with a glass of wine, in front of the telly, Sarah's in, Isa's in, we're all home, and thanks to the beauty of bank holiday weekends and annual leave... I'm only 25% of my weekend done!! Yay!!!
Achievements feel few today so far, but actually I achieved a major thing (attending a course!) and I visited a friend. I guess it just felt too relaxing and nice.
Friday, 4 May 2007
I can't wait for the weekend to begin
Hurrah! It's Friday night! I've opened the wine!! (Cheap rose, not very nice). I've had my dinner and I'm waiting for all the good tv to start! I'm not going to Amber and Olly's birthday parties because I know I have to be up early tomorrow, to make the most of the pre-speed awareness course day. So tonight is a restful, low pressure evening. I've been to Sainsbury's, I've stocked up on food, I've done tidying and putting away again. There's nothing left for me to do but just be.
Just being is sometimes harder than you'd think. My brain is on overload. Work this week has been a bit taxing on the old brain, and while it wasn't stressful, things have certainly been political. So I'll just try to empty my mind of it all.
Finally got round to choosing a birthday present list for the family. My Amazon wishlist is in the public domain, mes amies. And spoke to Dad last night for the first time in ages. Barbara was all "it's been an age" and I said "I was waiting for you to call me, I have been trying to call you." But they were being supportive about my 'training', which at the moment seems to be chiefly 'whingeing'. All that will change this weekend, my friends... new positive mental attitude.
Just being is sometimes harder than you'd think. My brain is on overload. Work this week has been a bit taxing on the old brain, and while it wasn't stressful, things have certainly been political. So I'll just try to empty my mind of it all.
Finally got round to choosing a birthday present list for the family. My Amazon wishlist is in the public domain, mes amies. And spoke to Dad last night for the first time in ages. Barbara was all "it's been an age" and I said "I was waiting for you to call me, I have been trying to call you." But they were being supportive about my 'training', which at the moment seems to be chiefly 'whingeing'. All that will change this weekend, my friends... new positive mental attitude.
Wednesday, 2 May 2007
Deeply Undignified
This evening I broke a wine glass before the wine had even been poured. How's that for a bad omen? This evening I also renewed my library books, chose five more, including some pretty recent ones that I've wanted to read for an age. I finished "Boyfriend in a Dress" and watched Desperate Housewives and Grand Designs. I tidied my desk, emptied my bin, washed my towels, cleared away my washing... and I still feel like there's something hanging over me. Sometimes no matter how active one is, one feels sluggish. I feel like I'm not doing enough.
I certainly should be doing something now - going to sleep!
I certainly should be doing something now - going to sleep!
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
Psssst
Apparently, not many people use the word pssst in written form. I love pssst. It says, "Oi, are you there?" and "I'm distracting you" and "I know we shouldn't really talk now, but I want to." Love it. Sadly it loses its power slightly when used via instant messenger, email and text, but it's still there.
Freedom 2 was interesting. We had a bit of a talk about group confidentiality today, so obviously I am aware that revealing stuff online doesn't really adhere to those guidelines. I like the people in my group, but I just feel they are in different places to me, both in their lives and their walks with God. Different on both counts. Of course, we're all different, but can we be too different? We had an excellent talk on passivity which is, of course, my problem. So that was helpful. And I finally got round to see Sarah, and after being grumpy about it, and feeling put upon, it was actually really nice. Clearly, me feeling grumpy about my prayer partnership with Sarah is part of the sin of passivity. I shall work on that.
In other news, there's no real news. Have hardly seen Isabelle over the last couple of days, and spending my time at work in a bit of a grump. And I'm tired now, so I don't feel like expounding about it all too much. But suffice to say, it's my usual gripe: too much to do, not enough time to do it. Not at work. In my life...
This Saturday I have to go on the Driving course. Yikes. Gotta work out how to get there, gotta work out what I need to take. Scary malary.
Freedom 2 was interesting. We had a bit of a talk about group confidentiality today, so obviously I am aware that revealing stuff online doesn't really adhere to those guidelines. I like the people in my group, but I just feel they are in different places to me, both in their lives and their walks with God. Different on both counts. Of course, we're all different, but can we be too different? We had an excellent talk on passivity which is, of course, my problem. So that was helpful. And I finally got round to see Sarah, and after being grumpy about it, and feeling put upon, it was actually really nice. Clearly, me feeling grumpy about my prayer partnership with Sarah is part of the sin of passivity. I shall work on that.
In other news, there's no real news. Have hardly seen Isabelle over the last couple of days, and spending my time at work in a bit of a grump. And I'm tired now, so I don't feel like expounding about it all too much. But suffice to say, it's my usual gripe: too much to do, not enough time to do it. Not at work. In my life...
This Saturday I have to go on the Driving course. Yikes. Gotta work out how to get there, gotta work out what I need to take. Scary malary.
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