Missing Title

The ear infection is back for the fourth time in five weeks, and this time it's both ears.

I could cry, I really could.

Oli's home. He told me a little about Nigeria, and I think I understand a little better why he was so depressed to be going there in the first place.

But he still seems to want me, which is a big plus. No declarations of undying love, but plenty of suggestions about places he wants to fuck me.

...somehow, that's romantic to me. With any other guy it wouldn't be, but...ehh. It's Oli. We have a strange romance.

I can't even exercise properly at the moment, because I'm so feverish from the stupid infections I drip sweat even from the stretches, before I get to the cardio or the weights. Yesterday I did 10 minutes on the crosstrainer and 15 on the treadmill - less than half of what I usually do happily - and I thought I was going to pass out. I hate fevers. I've had a temperature for more than a month now. It goes away for a few days, then returns with a vengeance. I thought I could exercise and sweat it out, the way I can usually do with a cold, but it hasn't worked.

*sigh*

I know I'm probably gonna have to go private, go see Mr. Pickles at BUPA, but he charges £100 a consultation - at least he did five or six years ago, it's probably more now - and I'd need probably three treatments to clear them out. I simply can't afford that. I guess I'm just gonna have to cope with earache for awhile, unless my GP manages to sort it out somehow. So far flucloxacillin hasn't worked, and the Otosporin ear drops work briefly, then it comes back. I don't know what they're going to try next. I'm open to just about any suggestions other than flumethasone.

Meh. I need food and a comfy bed and a back massage and lots of painkillers.

I'm sorry that I'm always moaning at the moment...I just don't have all that much good stuff to write about. The good stuff is stuff you've already heard about to the nth degree - Oli, the gym, etc. The rest of my life is just infections and not being able to find a new job.

It'll be better soon, I'm sure.

Vacation - Friday

So where did I get to on the holiday news, anyway?

I think it was the end of the first night. So I went to bed that night (Thursday), read my book - The Strange Power from L.J. Smith's Dark Visions trilogy (don't knock it 'till you've tried it) - and woke up the next morning feeling strangely refreshed. I say strangely because, as any of you who read this blog often will know, I don't sleep well. A lot of the time I don't sleep at all. But when I'm away from home, the spirits don't seem to follow me, and I sleep better than I've done in months. (Providing I don't have to share a bed with anyone - or if I do, that they're someone I can tolerate sharing with. I don't snuggle well while I sleep.) I really relish the times when I get to spend a night or five away from my house, because I'm almost guaranteed a good night's sleep. Oh sure, there can sometimes be problems, like if I have to sleep on a camp bed, or if someone keeps the room too hot and stuffy, but most of the time it's great. And the last time I really got away, aside from one or two nights at my Dad's house in London, was when I visited Oli in Liverpool last October and spent five nights on his floor.

Not that he didn't offer to share the bed, or even give me the bed, but honestly I kind of like the floor, as long as I have a sheet or a duvet underneath me to protect my skin from the carpet.

Actually, there doesn't even have to be carpet. My floor is wooden, and I sleep on it well enough. And when I was in Spain I slept on a duvet on a stone floor, quite happily.

Anyway.

Friday we beached. The Bournemouth Air Festival was going on for the whole weekend, so Brian didn't want to drive into Bournemouth, so we went to Poole Sandbanks. I like the Sandbanks well enough, but it isn't as compact and convenient as a couple other places, like Boscombe or Branksome. The main Sandbanks part, where the car park is, has a little shop and a cafe and an ice cream stand, but the bit where we usually go just has a restaurant called the Jazz Cafe and the posh hotel, no shop or place to get a drink (unless you want to pay restaurant prices). On the other hand, I like that little bit, because it's where I'm used to. I'm comfortable there. So mostly we go to that bit, and if we want the shop or a snack, we walk up the beach to it.

I actually really like the Jazz Cafe, despite the fact that the prices are a bit painful. (Although not as painful as the hotel brasserie prices - those are extremely ouch.) Part of me likes the cafe because of the decor - the outside is bland, but inside it's really cool, with an old wood floor and surfboards on the walls, with all the menus painted in bright colours on blackboards - but the main reason is Keri.

Yes, Keri. I'll have to tell you more about her in a minute.

Anyway, we went to the little bit for awhile, but we didn't get lunch there. We usually do, but not this time. This time we walked up the road, past the watersports places (finding out that it's £50 for an hour's waterskiing lesson - eek!) and settled up by the shop. I ate a cheese and bacon panini and bought a bikini from the shop, white with little pink flowers on it, that funnily enough I thought about buying last year. Through the year I'd regretted not buying it, although at the time I figured that I didn't need yet another string bikini, and I was really surprised that they were selling the same ones again this year. I lay on the beach for a good long time, happily soaking up the sun and reading my trashy novel. I ate ice cream. Why is it that sea air makes a person so hungry all the time? Hungry and tired. When I'm down there, I eat like a hog and sleep like a dog.

Although not like my dog, actually...my dog snuffles and chases rabbits in her sleep.

We ate lunch in the cafe by the shop - a hamburger for me (I'm such a hamburger hound, I'd eat them every day if I could, but I mostly just eat them when I'm on holiday because of the calories) - and then lay in the sun some more. I swam two or three times, and for a long time I just lay in the water watching the air show. From Sandbanks you can see pretty far, probably as far as Boscombe, maybe even Christchurch way in the distance. The jets flew in some amazing formations, arrows and darts and crosses and it was so cool to watch. And then, something that I'd never ever seen before: they released coloured smoke that turned the jet streams different colours. They split into thirds, and had one third in red, white and blue. It was so pretty to watch, I just bobbed there in the waves and watched for nearly an hour.

In the evening we went home and ate leftover chicken. Nausea and exhaustion struck at about 8ish - that often happens after my first real day at the beach - so I went to bed early with a chicken sandwich and read my book until I basically passed out at about 9. I woke up in the middle of the night, starving, but didn't want to disturb Mom and Brian, so I ate potato chips and chocolate - very healthy, LOL - and read some more until I fell asleep again.

Aside from the nausea, it was a nice day. I love the ocean more than just about anything.

I wanted to write more about my vacation, but I have to go...dinner needs making (although I did just eat some wonderful fried parsnips that Mom made) and I want to watch Criminal Minds.

Fucking Infections!

Yeah, I know. I'm not around much. I have a life, y'know? Looking for a new job, which isn't going terribly well. Nobody wants to hire a 24-year-old with fibromyalgia and no real qualifications who's never worked anything that was both permanent and full-time.

I have a throat infection, that I picked up from my rat of a lodger. Yes, we have two new ones now. The one I picked up the infection from speaks NO English, so I'm having to learn Italian (Come sta? Non troppo bene. *sigh*), and although his sister - who lives here - speaks good English, she hasn't managed yet to convey instructions to him. Like, Don't go near Sati when you have an infection. Or, Don't use her blue dishes, those are for Christmas and dinner parties.

Or, for that matter, make sure you flush the toilet.

Men!

Now I know that's not a fair comment to make, but there do seem to be an astonishing amount of men around - at least of male lodgers - who don't think it's necessary to flush. I don't know if it's a male thing or a cultural / national thing (maybe in hotter countries you're supposed to save water? Even though you'd think that hygiene would be MORE important if it's always warm, but...ehh) or if we've just had bad luck getting lodgers with no sense of cleanliness. *shrug* He seems good enough at washing the dishes and keeping the bathroom relatively clean, so it mystifies me even more.

ANYway, he gave me this thing which I thought was going to be a cold, but it seems to be a nasty strep throat type thing. Hasn't gone to my lungs, touch wood, but my throat is agonizingly painful.

The other lodger's from South Africa. Tribal SA, not White SA. I can't remember what he said his tribe / language is called, although he did say it was one of those clicky-sounding ones. i.e. ones that I'll never learn in a million years. He seems nice, although he only moved in day before yesterday, so time will tell.

The Italian guy's probably nice too, I just can't understand him well enough to be sure. But either way, I'm glad the lodger problem was sorted that quickly. We had a lot of calls, actually. Heaps more than we usually get. There was one boy called Patrick who I adored, and was hoping that he'd take one of the rooms, but he ended up getting something closer to work. I think he might go to my gym though, I've seen someone who looks like him there, and when he met me for the first time (here) he seemed to recognize me. Although I can't be 100% sure; I don't wear my glasses when I exercise, and I don't have contacts yet, and anyway I'm always so caught up in my body and the music that I don't notice much.

Three ear infections and a throat infection in the space of a month...not having the best luck right now. *rolls eyes*

I did my first hour of cardio at the gym. Which is good, since an hour is what I was hoping to work up to, and then stay there for a couple months.

Did it, and then promptly dislocated my shoulder, but I don't think that had anything to do with the exercise. It was strange, I was just reaching back between my shoulderblades while I was in the shower, and it popped out. What surprised me most, aside from the fact that I actually did it in the first place, was that it wasn't all that painful. Oh, it hurt quite a bit, but it wasn't the immense screeching pain I was expecting. So I just yanked down and out the way they taught us to do in first-aid class, and it popped right back in.

I feel a bit bruised today, but I don't know if that's due to the shoulder or the fact that MY MOTHER CRASHED MY CAR THE DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY. Yes, my beautiful car, my almost-perfect-condition MX-5 now has a scrape along the whole passenger side, and the door has a huge dent and will probably need to be replaced. I know I shouldn't complain, because frankly I'm lucky to be unharmed - if the other driver had hit us at an angle 5 degrees different, I probably would be lying in a hospital bed right now, if I were lucky. But my car...I have spent the last three years keeping that car looking beautiful, and shiny, and generally having the pride of ownership that a person should have. (And before you start berating me, get off your high horse, I'm not saying that a person should be more proud of things than personal qualities, just that my car is a beautiful item and should be treated as such. I don't get a whole lot of nice things, because we're poor, and I think that if you're lucky enough to have nice stuff, you should treat them with respect - ESPECIALLY when you still owe two years to the bank on them.)

So I've been so nice to my car, and even though it's coming up 19 years old, it's always been in good condition. Just needed the standard repairs - new tires, new brake pads, etc. And now it has a huge great chunk out of it.

Nobody was hurt though, except me, and that was just bruises. At first I thought I might have cracked a rib, but it seems to be getting better already, so I guess it was just a bump.

Hell. Strep throat, ear infection that's just getting better now, car crash. My car's in the shop, and I can't understand my lodger, and I can't find a job, and I can't afford to go to college this year, and about the only good things that are going on are my gym workouts. Cute gym guy number 1, the one I thought might be called Chris, is just gone. Kaput. I don't even know anymore if I actually saw him or if he was a figment of my imagination. But cute gym guy number 2 is still cute as ever, and his name's Tyrone. Ain't that just the coolest name ever? And cute gym guy number 3, I don't know his name, but I heard him speak for the first time the other day, and I think he's Australian. Which makes his already significant hotness go up to three times what it was, since I really have a thing for Australian accents. And in addition to these fine specimens of manhood that I get to watch surreptitiously, there are a bunch of other people - mostly men, but some women - who are all really nice to me, and smile and occasionally chat when I'm in there. Because I - yes, I, Sati Marie Frost, the Most Unlikely Candidate Ever, am now a gym regular. Hear that? Not a weekend exerciser. Not a Monday guilt-tripper. A regular. Hah. It's so surreal I can't quite believe it.

I think that's all, aside from the fact that Oli's back in a few days, and I'm praying to god that he still wants to know me.

So there's my news, and once again what was meant to be a short post saying "Go away, I'm not well and don't want to write right now" has evolved into an actual news bulletin. Hope everyone's doing okay, and enjoying the autumn. I hope that I get better soon, because fall is my favourite season, and I'd really like to get some enjoyance in soon.

Ghost Stories

So I know I owe all you guys the rest of my holiday news, but there was something else I wanted to talk to you about:

When I was a kid, my mom gave me this cool book. I was an avid reader as a kid, read everything I could get my hands on - actually it's only in the last couple of years that I've found I don't read so much. As a kid I liked almost everything, but my favourite subject was the supernatural: werewolves, vampires, spontaneous human combustion, witches (both of the pointy-hat and the Wiccan type), but especially ghosts. So my mother, who always encouraged the aquisition of knowledge (of whatever type) bought me a lot of books. Some of which were probably too grown-up for me, but I remained blissfully ignorant of this fact for many years.

This was a really neat book, though. It was a book of ghost stories, and I'm not entirely sure if it was meant for kids or adults. Perhaps both. It was my first introduction to several authors who I consequently read more of - Franz Kafka, Guy de Maupassant, Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, Ray Bradbury, Philip Pullman, Robert Westall and a couple others - and although I haven't seen the damn book for years and years (I can only assume it's packed away somewhere in my black hole of an attic), most of the stories have stayed with me for the last eighteen years.

SO...what I want to know is, does anyone know what this book is called? Because I can't remember, and even though I'm pretty good at searching things out over the internet, so far I've had no luck.

It was a big fat hardcover book with a black cover, and a picture of a skeleton with a hooded cape on it. I think it was just called "Ghost Stories".

I can't remember all the stories, but the ones I remember are:

~ A Knock at the Manor Gate by Franz Kafka
~ Video Nasty by Philip Pullman
~ Was it a Dream? by Guy de Maupassant
~ A Pair of Hands by Arthur Quiller-Couch
~ The Emissary by Ray Bradbury
~ The Boys' Toilets by Robert Westall?

There were also stories called:

Not at Home (maybe)
Thurnley Abbey (I think)
A Legion Marching By

by authors whose names I can't remember. And a story by Philippa Pearce, the title of which evades me.

No more info that I can think of, but bear in mind this is from when I was six!

So if anyone remembers this book, or even any of the stories in it, send me a message.

And That's Summer Gone For Another Year...

So I'm sure you're all dying to hear about my holiday, right?

Right?

Heh, so I had a pretty good time. Three full days and two half-days of sun (mostly) and sand and sea - and yes, suntan cream and the smell of coconut - as well as just that wonderful sense of relaxation, knowing that there's nothing urgent that needs doing. I didn't get to the gym (I wanted to try out the one in Bournemouth, because it has a pool and an aromatherapy room - I've never been in an aromatherapy room before) but we shopped a little on the one day that it rained, and went to the beach every day (even the rainy day - and yes, I swam in the rain, although not in the lightning and thunder).

And we ate a LOT of food. I can see I'm going to be working it off at the gym for a long time.

I actually made a detailed diary, in a pretty little notebook, that I'm going to give to Oli when he gets home. But I'll give you a short run-down:

Thursday we drove down there. I like the drive down because it's always the same. We leave early in the morning, early enough that I don't want to eat much and feel a bit cranky because I'm still half asleep. Drive through town, down to Chiswell Green, and take the M25 West to Heathrow. At Heathrow we change to the M3. At Fleet services we rest the car, since it's old and tends to get a bit hot on long journeys, especially ones where we're carrying a lot of weight. At Fleet I use the bathroom, buy a couple of those chewable toothbrushes that I never find anywhere except motorway rest stops, drink a cup of coffee to wake me up a bit, perv over all the army guys who you can find there on any given day, gasp in shock at the price they charge for meals (no matter how many times I make the trip, the prices still astonish me), buy a baguette - either tuna or chicken salad - and sometimes a burger from KFC. It irritates me that every time I get there I want McDonalds, because I love McDonalds breakfasts and the only time I'm ever up early enough to get one is when we're driving down to Brian's, but although there's a McDonalds sign when you pull into the service stop, there isn't actually one there, it's on the other side of the road. But that's just life. *shrugs*

Mom uses the bathroom and then stands outside smoking three cigarettes in quick succession, because I don't let her smoke in my car, even with the roof down. Occasionally she eats a pastry from the coffee shop - a cinnamon danish this time - or gets KFC with me.

From Fleet we carry on down the M3 and then when it ends, onto the M27. The M27 takes us through Winchester to Ringwood, which is always a nice leg of the journey, especially when you're travelling through the New Forest and get to see deer and ponies. I was happy this year to see that they've fenced it off so the wildlife can't wander onto the busy road. At Ringwood, we basically follow the signs for Poole. We always end up going the wrong way on this last bit of the journey, because Bri's directions are wrong and in four years we've never bothered to change them. Every year Mom says "this doesn't look right" and every year I remember, oh yes, we should have turned left there. It doesn't really matter though, it just means we go the back way and add a mile or two to the journey.

A couple of things change from year to year. Sometimes I buy something from the gift shop, although I still haven't bought one of those beanbag pillows that I've been wanting for four years. Often it's a Ben & Jerry's ice cream sandwich (that's another thing that I've been looking all over for, and rest stops are the only places I can ever find them.) The flavour of my sandwich varies between chicken salad and tuna mayo, and sometimes I get chips with it. I may or may not get KFC; if I get it I save the sandwich for later. But the bathrooms are always the same. The toothbrushes are the same. The army guys are the same - different guys, but always there as a definable presence. The ridiculous prices - £8.99 for a cooked breakfast - are the same. The car always overheats slightly, and Mom always smokes like a chimney, and I always wonder whether I should leave my laptop in the car, in which case I need to worry about whether thieves (something I don't usually worry about until I see the signs on every lamppost warning you against it) or bring it inside, in which case I have to keep an eye on it every minute.

Did I ever mention that I like things that always stay the same?

The other thing that's always the same is this feeling of excitement. Fleet is Mart's territory, and there's always a little thrill that I get as soon as I see the signs for the turnoffs to Farnborough / Farnham / Fleet, always a voice inside me saying, maybe you'll see him this time. Most of me knows I won't - Marti lives in Fleet, and there is no reason he'd be using the motorway rest stop. I'm never disappointed that I don't see him. But every year I still get that shiver of anticipation.

So anyway, the journey's always the same. The first night is usually the same, too. I unpack in the guest room, put my clothes in the closet, my cosmetics on the vanity, and go over to Brian's apartment to take a shower. After I shower, I nap for an hour or two. Then Mom wants beach, so Brian drives us to Branksome Chine, because it's the closest to where he lives. I swim every year, even at 8 or 9 at night, since it's my first opportunity to commune with the ocean ( LOL ). This year Mom swam too. Usually we go home and shower and get Chinese takeaway, but this year Brian bought a rotisserie chicken from Tesco, and we ate that instead. It was a fantastic chicken, actually. I've never bought one of those ready-cooked ones, but I'll have to remember it for the future. The flavour was incredible.

I always go to bed early the first night. Travelling exhausts me. Last year I retired early and texted Oli all night, but this year he's not available, so I read for a while and then fell asleep. I like somewhat-junky books for the beach, either sweet teenage romances or big fat love-and-lust books in the Jilly Cooper vein. This year I took a little of both: Jilly Cooper's Wicked, which funnily enough is what I read while I was down there last year (and actually didn't get round to reading this year) and Laramie Dunaway's Hungry Women and Wicked Women for the fat paperbacks, and L.J. Smith's Dark Visions trilogy for the teen romance. Somehow, even though I'm 24, I still enjoy reading some of the books I read when I was 12. With L.J. Smith and Christopher Pike and a couple others, I imagine I'll still enjoy reading them when I'm 84.

Well lookie that, I've been writing for ages and I've only managed to tell you about my first day. I'll have to update the rest of it later or tomorrow, because my back aches and I need something to eat.

And yes, dear one, it's good to be back.