The Itchy and Scratchy Show

For all of you out there who think you're having a bad week...

...all I can say is, at least you don't have shingles on your lady parts.

(Apologies to anyone who's dealt with death or violence or heartbreak this week, and is genuinely having a worse week than I am.)

Curse You, Universe, You Twisted Mofo

So picture the scene: the fair's in town, and you've been seeing posters for it for a few weeks. You really want to go; you love the fair and there's never anyone who'll go with you. This year, though, you have friends to go with. So you're looking forward to it. You walked past it yesterday on the way to the swimming pool, and it looks smaller than you thought it was going to be, but there is this one totally awesome ride that you're dying to go on.

Kinda ironic that you're terrified of throwing up, and love rides that make people throw up, but what can you do?

So you're at the fair. It's Saturday night, and you're feeling good. People are screaming in fear and delight. You can smell candyfloss and hotdogs. You warm up with one fast-and-fun-but-not-scary ride. And then it's time for the big one. You queue, not that there's much of a queue. You pay. You go put your handbag down and take your slip-on shoes off so you don't fling one off while you're riding and end up committing death by ivory pump. You go to get in. While you're trying to clamber up into the ridiculously high seat, you absently catch sight of the warning signs. You never bother to read warning signs on rides, because the contraindications are always the same: no riders less than 1.5 metres tall, no pacemakers, no back and neck injuries, no oh my fucking God I haven't had a period in three months.

What's a girl to do? Panic, it seems. Panic, mutter something to your friends about not being able to get into the seat because your legs aren't long enough, try to shake off the sweetheart of a ride operator who offers several times to lift you in, and move very quickly towards the exit while your friends yell at you, confused. And then leave the fair as soon as possible without seeming unfriendly, and take yourself off to Tesco to buy a pregnancy test. And then to Nando's, since you're already out, and dressed up for the evening, and most of life's problems seem less daunting when there's peri-peri chicken.

So far, I have a negative result from the pee-on-a-stick test, but I need to get a doctor's appointment this week. My body's been out of control for the last year or so, so there's no knowing what's going on. It's true that I've gained a lot of weight. None of my clothes fit, especially around the waist. I look pregnant, but then I've looked pregnant for the last year and a half. Could just be outta-whack hormones.

I can't even begin to express how stupid I feel for not considering the possibility. I'm an ex medical student, for pete's sake. And I deal with pregnant teenagers all the time. I give talks to teenagers at the youth center about pregnancy, how to prevent it, what to expect from it, et al. I guess that the lack of sex in my life kind of made me ignore the possibility. Not that there haven't been naked occasions. Just not many. And nothing recently. I sort of blanked out the stuff with personal-trainer-guy. Perhaps wrongly.

I long ago accepted the fact that the universe has a weird sense of humor, and likes to play jokes on me. Lakik the Trickster god, from Tamora Pierce's books, always comes to mind when I think of the stuff the universe throws at me. This stuff now may well be my just desserts for all the whinging about children I've been doing lately. I don't like kids, but recently I've had less patience with them than normal. But finding myself knocked up without even getting to have the fun of getting in that state in the first place...that would be a new low for even Lakik, that sick sonofabitch.

Meh.

I can tell it's just going to be one of those weeks.

I didn't even get my damn candyfloss.

Do Inzombiacs Eat Brains? Because I Prefer Pizza...

I told myself a week or two ago that if I couldn't sleep, I wasn't allowed to spend any more nights reading and playing video games. There's too much stuff that needs to be done. If I can't sleep, I work.

I've managed a lot of cataloging, and quite a lot of paperwork. No writing, since I don't have the energy or the mental awareness. I've managed very little sleep, dammit.

I don't know if it's something to do with the weather, or what. Usually at this time of year, things are getting warmer, but here in Alby it's freezing (literally) and periodically snowing, even though it's nearly April and most recent years we've had bikini weather by April 1st. I'm in that generally unsettled frame of mind and body, where I'm not quite sick but not quite right either. I do keep getting stupid health problems, things that come right out of left field - since I got back from Somerset three weeks ago I've had four ear infections (yeah, I get a lot of ear infections, but four in three weeks is pushing it even for me) and a urinary tract infection and then today I broke a rib, stupidly. I don't even know how I did it - I was rushing to get in and out of the bath, and then get dressed and dry my hair, but there wasn't a particular moment when I suddenly felt the pain. No cracking sound or sensation, or sudden sharp pain. It just came on over a period of about ten minutes - a twinge at first, then a pain that I thought was a pulled muscle that I could walk off, and then half an hour later I couldn't move at all. I'm guessing it's a rib, anyway, unless I actually tore a muscle. I've had strains and sprains and pulled muscles before, and they don't hit me anywhere near as badly as this. That said, I've also had broken ribs, and they haven't been this bad, although the one that I broke in a car accident five or six years ago still gives me trouble if I sleep on it wrong. Ribs are funny like that.

So I'm stuck in bed. I literally cannot move most of the time, although I'm managing to make it to the bathroom and back every so often (although it takes about ten minutes to sit up and walk down the stairs, so I have to schedule bathroom breaks). I can't sit in a chair. I find it hard to stand. I find it uncomfortable to lie on my back. Lying on my stomach is the only position that's even vaguely comfortable (the injury is in my back) - everything else sends my entire left side trapezius and latissimus dorsi into spasms. I'm surprised at how much the darn thing hurts - I've had back injuries before, but never any that made it impossible to actually MOVE. There is, of course, the possibility that I'm just being a huge pussy, but you'd think that as used to pain as I am, I'd be able to cope with this better.

I'm generally irritable right now, because of the pain, and the tiredness that I've been feeling since Christmas - well, okay, since the strep in Oct 2011 really - and the extra weight I'm still lugging around on my body (with all the health problems I've had over the last year, I haven't managed to stick to an exercise regime for more than a couple weeks) and the constant, gnawing hunger that never quite goes away, even though I feel like I never stop eating. (In reality I'm probably not eating that much. I can't afford to eat more, though. Money is really tight, but that's for another blog post.)

I'm also irritable because I have so much freaking stuff that needs to be done, and I can't afford to be bedbound. I've been decorating - my walls are now entirely pink - and I've been painting the shelves and brackets white, since I can't afford to buy bookcases. Unfortunately, this is a VERY long process. Each shelf needs two coats of primer and at least two coats of paint (they're going from a very dark colour to white) and this results in me having to run to Wilko to buy more paint on a regular basis. I should really just buy several cans and be done with it. I can only paint one side at a time, unless I want to end up with paint smears everywhere. And I have to do the work outside because of the fumes - and it's been pissing it down with rain most of the time. I can't work in the rain. Or the snow.

I've been working on the damn shelves for at least a week now, and I'm not quite finished. I thought it would take me a couple days. But then I thought there'd be sunshine and warmer weather.

The walls are looking pretty good. They could have done with another coat of paint, but I ran out, and I certainly wasn't going to go out and spend twenty quid on another can. I can't believe how expensive paint has gotten.

The frill you see isn't part of the paint, it's just the shadow of the lampshade. I should have taken photos in daylight, but we aren't GETTING any real daylight right now. Shelves will go in this alcove - I actually put the brackets up yesterday, before I did the ribs.

You can see that the window surrounding needs another coat or two of paint, so I bought some tester pots just to do that...and then found out that you're not supposed to paint with them, because they don't give a decent finish. Fuck.

My bed is about the only pretty thing in the room right now, aside from the walls. Oh, and my bedside table. If I had the money, I'd dump all the furniture - I've had it since I was eight. But I don't have the money to replace everything. Nor will it paint (it's cheap MDF, and I've tried, to no avail). So I'm stuck until I can at least buy a dressing table.

The thing that really drives me batty is that there is so much STUFF everywhere. Stuff that doesn't have a home. There's like, NO storage space in this house. This suits mom well, because she likes open-plan thing - shelves made out of planks of wood and brackets; everything sitting out on display. I hate open-plan. Unless you have a weekly housekeeper, it's horribly impractical. Everything gets dusty and grimy and you can't ever get it properly clean. I like cupboards and wardrobes and closets and everything stored neatly in its place except when you're actually using it.

The room looked so nice when I had just finished painting, and there was nothing in it. I seriously wanted to throw out everything I owned and have a room that was empty except for my bed. I like starkness. It makes me feel clean. Or at least less dirty.

I wanted to put coving up, and to smooth the horrible textured ceiling out, but I'm not sure that I'm going to have the time. Mom's talking about putting the house on the market in May. (Bad timing for me to paint, but I've been putting it off for four years because Mom keeps saying we're moving. You can't put off life indefinitely.)

For so long I've had this idea in my head of what I wanted my room to look like, and now that I finally have the walls painted, I can no longer see the plans. I'm just so tired, and the amount of work that needs to be done in this house before we can sell it is weighing heavily on me. There are 200-odd boxes from the attic to sort through. I have to go through the emotional battle of trying to separate mom from her hoards, and the emotional battle of getting rid of some of my own books and clothes. I am not at my mom's stage of hoarding, where I keep things like dried-up tubs of paint and boxes of bricks, but I do find it hard to get rid of clothing and books. Stuffed animals, too, although those are in bags in Ryan's wardrobe right now, and have been for several years (my cardiologist told me I had to put them away until my allergies improved).

I guess the long and short of it is that I'm not feeling good, and I suppose I'm kind of depressed. Not suicidally depressed or anything; not focused on the futility of life, but exhausted mentally and physically. I can't see a way forward right now, except to keep plodding on. My health seems to get a bit worse each season, no matter what I try to do to keep things working. I don't sleep anywhere near enough, and for a couple months I've been waking up every morning in truckloads of pain in my back and neck. I thought it was my sleeping position, and have been working to change it, but so far it doesn't seem to matter what position I sleep in, I still have the pain in the mornings. I'm constantly shattered, constantly starving, and can't seem to lose any weight, even when I don't allow myself to overeat. If there had been any men in my life, I would wonder if I were pregnant, but barring alien abduction, that's not a possibility. Nothing I do seems to matter at the moment. Nothing touches the work that's piled up. No amount of money I bring home in my paycheck makes any difference to mom's debts at the bank and with the Visa. No amount of housework makes the house any cleaner or tidier. No amount of organising or throwing stuff away seems to make a dent in the shit that came out of the attic. I was looking into the possibility of hiring a storage locker to hold some of the stuff I had for my home when I have one - mostly stuff I bought when I was planning on moving in with C - but in this town, the cheapest storage unit I can get is £30 a week. A WEEK. I'd been expecting it to be about that a month.

Damn, this note is depressing. I'm just so tired. I seem to have a lot of blog posts over the years that say this. The fibromyalgia is kicking my butt, to be honest, no matter how good a fight I put up. I just wish I had someone who could and would help me out sometimes.

My Fitness Pal Blog - Day 22-25 - And Getting Impatient

Come on scales. Arrive already.

Thank you. That is all.

Yeah, I can't get away with posting that little. It's hard, though. I'm not someone who feels like they can really track their progress without having the numbers in front of me. At this point, taking measurements of things like waist and hips is fairly useless - with the intestinal blockage, my stomach measurement can vary as much as eight inches in A DAY - so I'm really needing to rely on weight to see if I've actually lost anything. And they haven't arrived. I paid Amazon a fortune for what should have been express delivery, and ordered on the 26th...and I got an email the other day saying to expect them on the 8th of January. FFS.

Everything else is - well, slow. I've had these awful pains in my upper back and shoulders for a couple weeks now. At first I thought I could exercise it out, so I tried that, but then it got a lot worse. So I rested. And it still gets worse. I'm a bit lost as to what it is - usually when I pull a muscle (or more than one) it heals in a week or so, and this has been getting slowly but surely worse for two, maybe two and a half weeks now. It's worse when I get up, so I suppose I'll have to buy some new pillows and see if that helps at all. Might be something to do with my body recovering from the infections. I know that when I'm getting over one, I often get a whole load of hypersensitive nerves once my immune system gets back online.

I saw the dentist today, although she didn't do any treatment. She says she doesn't want to do any more tooth work for at least eight weeks, unless there's an emergency - the jaw needs time to heal. Which kind of sucks, in a way, because I have an infection (no real pain unless I bite on it, but awful taste and stinky breath) in one of my upper back teeth. The idea of walking around with halitosis for eight weeks is not a thrilling one, but I don't see that there's much I can do - I brush and floss and use mouthwash, then two minutes later I smell again, or at least I can smell and taste myself. Ugh. Unless it starts to hurt, though, stinky breath and a taste that makes me nauseous is (supposedly) preferable to chancing more damage to the mandible.

Sigh.

It's been a pretty exhausting couple weeks. It's just like, as soon as I get one thing feeling a bit better, something else starts up, you know? All my good intentions about health get scuppered because I can't seem to rid my body of infection. It was like this after the strep in Oct 2011 - I'd manage to get one part of my body feeling reasonably good and then it'd crop up elsewhere. But short of paying for a private hospital stay and IV antibiotics there's not much I can do aside from rest, exercise and eat cleanly. Which I haven't been great at doing. It's a vicious cycle with me - eating decent food requires energy, for shopping, for preparation, and sometimes for chewing and swallowing. At the worst points in my illness, I starved not because I was trying to not eat, but because I literally did not have the energy to chew and swallow food.

I'm also coming down onto the half dosage of my daily meds, which is going to be hard for a month or two. I was happily adjusted to the half dose, but when I got the eye abscess in October last year, it was so excruciating that I had to increase to the full dosage of painkillers. That was supposed to be temporary, but after the eye abscess was the broken jaw, and the infected socket, and then the ear infections...and now it's gone on for two and a half months, and it's going to take a lot of effort to get back to the half dose again.

So yeah, things are hard right now. I'm exhausted and swing between being ravenous all the time, and not having any appetite at all.

But there's nothing to do but keep plugging away, I guess. Things will get better soon, once I'm sleeping better.

Conquering Everest - Or Maybe Just Bullshit Mountain, Your Call

This autumn, I set myself the goal of reading all the Point Horrors.

Yes, all of them.

I started in late September, and I started slowly. I didn't have a goal then. I just read My Secret Admirer, because I liked the whole new-girl-in-town thing, especially with school starting. I always feel very teenage in autumn. Okay, so I feel like a teenager much of the time, but never more so when the leaves are falling and school's back on and Halloween is round the corner.

So I read My Secret Admirer. And then I read Prom Date, because I'd had fun with MSA, and I remembered PD as having plenty of shopping scenes. I do like clothes shopping, particularly when it's someone else doing it.

I had other autumn books on my list. Many of my books are seasonal. Not all, but many. Children's classics - L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables series is my favourite, but I have plenty of others - are for early spring days. The spring of Easter and daffodils rather than cherry blossom. Teen romance belongs to December, and the coziness of Christmas. And teenage horror and suspense? That's for September and October.

Excuse me, my autism is showing again.

But whatever. Nobody cares if I indulge my controlling tendencies by reading books during the right seasons. (Yes, I said RIGHT. Right for me may not be right for you, but nothing is going to convince ME that Anne feels as good to read any other time as on a warm spring afternoon surrounded by lambs and narcissi.)

Anyway. I had other things on my list. Not just a mental list. I had - have - an actual list of teen suspense / horror stories involving teenagers starting in a new (American, inevitably) school at the beginning of their junior or senior year. What? I like to have a theme. Anyway, the list included the aforementioned My Secret Admirer by Carol Ellis, Richie Tankersley Cusick's Trick or Treat (also from the Point Horror imprint), Beverly Hastings' Home Before Dark (from the Nightmares imprint, which was similar to Point Horror, although a little darker and less extensive), Christopher Pike's Last Act and L.J. Smith's Dark Angel and maybe her Secret Circle trilogy.

Nearly sixty books later, I've read nearly all the Point Horrors, nothing else except a few Harlequin romances, and I am SO close to finishing...and I'm not feeling it anymore. I'm horrored out. I've read, at last count, 58 Point Horrors in two-and-a-bit months. I have 5 left that I own, all of them Caroline B. Cooney books that I've always loved and now don't know if I can summon up the energy or imagination for. I have 4 left to order out of the Britishly-published ones, not counting the Unleashed series (which I didn't like), the Mutant Point Horror (which I didn't know existed) and the Nightmare Hall series (which is a task for next year).

(There are also a handful that were only published in the US, but I need to wait till I have more money to buy those, since shipping is gonna be costly. I figure it'll be my back-to-school present to myself next fall.)

Ugh. 9 books left - Cooney's Vampire Trilogy, Freeze Tag and The Stranger - some of my favourites - still in the box. R.L. Stine's The Boyfriend and The Witness / I Saw You That Night, Barbara Steiner's The Phantom and Peter Lerangis' The Yearbook left to order from eBay. Oh, and Janice Harrell's Vampire's Love duo. I forgot about those, since I didn't like them and didn't think they belonged under the PH imprint. (I also don't think L.J. Smith's Forbidden Game Trilogy belongs under the PH imprint, and indeed I totally forgot it was published as such in the UK, since I have it in a different form, until someone pointed it out to me recently.)

Nine books left. Eleven if you count the Harrell ones.

I'm not sure I can do it.

Nine is such a silly number to bow out on when you've already read 58. Of course, the whole thing was a silly bet ANYWAY, but still. I cannot be beaten by nine slim YA books.

When I thought I was going to be finished by Halloween, I was happy. That was when I thought I had twenty books instead of forty-odd. It was before I started buying the remaining ones, two-at-a-time, from eBay. But here we are on November 27th. Halloween is a dim memory, even Thanksgiving is over. The leaves are no longer falling but have been crushed underfoot. The weather went from hot to freezing in the space of a week, ensuring that I had no time to revel in my cute autumn dresses, heels, cardigans and cropped jackets - I'm having to wear turtlenecks and leggings and ski boots to class because it's so freaking cold. There was virtually no real fall weather, just Indian summer and then straight to shivering throughout the day if you're not dressed warmly enough.

I want sweet teenage romances. I want my Jane Claypool Miners and Mary Francis Shura's Summer Dreams, Winter Love (sometimes published as Winter Dreams, Christmas Love) which is one of my favourite books ever. I am so done with the scaries.

Pike and L.J. Smith will wait until next year, as will the Nightmare Hall series and the US-only books, but the thought of those nine UK-published Point Horrors is grating at me.

I. Do. Not. Like. Quitting.

I will certainly never set myself a book-a-day target for more than a week's period again, so if I don't complete this challenge now, I won't do it at all. And there is the distinct possibility that I'm disillusioned with reading because I'm disillusioned with EVERYTHING; because I've had a badly infected eye abscess and a badly infected tooth socket which have required two courses of antibiotics in the last month; because my serotonin levels - lacking at the best of times - are at a very low ebb, and nothing pleases me right now: not food, not books, not resting, not exercise, not computer games, not baths. I feel dirty right after bathing; I'm too sick to work out; food doesn't taste right or satisfy my hunger (except for pizza and McDonalds, both things that have no place in my normal diet); books and video games and the few TV shows I watch seem dull and make me feel emotionally itchy; I crave company when I'm alone and aloneness when I have company. It's just my low hormone levels after the infections, and I should feel better within the month (fingers crossed!) but I can't discount the possibility - probability, even - that my boredom with the books I'm reading would be there regardless of my reading material.

Nine books. Nine books, not because I want to say that I read them all, but because it's important to me to finish what I set out to do. For once.

Even if what I set out to do was something as stupid as read sixty-odd teenage horror novels.

England Is Still Here...I Repeat, England Is Still Here

Full of alien creatures whose behaviors I cannot understand, but still here.

Although the last few weeks have been strange enough for me to wonder if something's up with those prophecies after all. ;)

Signs that the world may be coming to an end:

1 ) I actually bought something in Primark. This only happens once in a blue moon, since I don't really like Primark. I'm more of a Jane Norman / Calvin Klein / Tommy Hilfiger person - or at least a New Look / H&M person - but I couldn't resist £9, 100% cotton sundresses. You know how hard it is to find 100% cotton anything?

2 ) After many years of running small, Primark's sizes now run big, and the size 16 dresses - US 12 - are considerably too large. I should have bought the 14s, but they were too small up top. I guess not everything changes.

3 ) I've been ordering new dishes from the Indian takeaway. Normally I am not inventive when it comes to restaurant food - home cooking, sure, but I eat out (or takeaway) seldom enough that I usually stick to things I know that I like, and am not allergic to. But I missed the college days when Sanjeeta and Ivy and I would go to new places all the time, so I experimented. And it was good.

4 ) I found a gorgeous pair of cream satin pointy-toed shoes...and THEY WERE IN MY SIZE. I'm always finding and coveting shoes like this, and they're always a size 4, whereas I wear a 7-8 in heels.

We Hold These Truths To Be Self-Evident...

...That some men are awesome, and some are created douchey.

Note to self: do not read WhyWomenHateMen while eating. Now I have ice cream in my lungs. Gak.*

I've been dating around on some other sites recently. I've kind of given up finding men here, most of the ones who email me are guys who've mailed me before and I have no interest in, and the few that I would be interested in dating live too far away. But you know, those other sites aren't that easy either. Now, y'all know that I'm not really one to bitch about how men don't listen - because I think women are the masters at that most of the time, and because I think that most people won't listen when all they hear is whinging. Kwitcherbitchin', ladies, and maybe your guys will listen more.

Not that I'm tarring all women with the same brush or anything. *rolls eyes*

But in recent weeks I've found out that it's actually fairly true: a lot of men don't listen. On here, I kind of expect most men who mail me to not have read the profile. It goes along with all the glitches that we know and love about the A-Double-Eff. (That's sarcasm, btw.) Yet on the other sites that I use, there's much the same problem.

Case in point: one of the sites allows you to put a song on your profile. And in the last month, AT LEAST a dozen guys have mailed me to tell me how much they like Nirvana too. Yet not one of those has cottoned onto the fact that the song I have playing is not, in fact, Smells Like Teen Spirit - it's the Weird Al version, Smells Like Nirvana. To me, this is fairly obvious, especially since I don't believe Kurt Cobain ever started a song of his, "What is this song all about / Can't figure any lyrics out..." but apparently what is crystal clear to me is not so evident to a person whose blood is obviously being diverted out of his ears (and other unimportant bits) into his dick.

*shrug*

And again, I would find it obvious that when a girl takes a long time and much thought composing an extensive profile that tells you a great deal about her, in the hopes of finding a match that actually has a chance of being compatible, she would not be particularly responsive to a message that says, "Unlike these other fools, I'm a very busy man, and don't have the time for small talk. Are you interested? Let me know." Particularly when said busy man was too busy to fill out his profile. But perhaps these truths are not self-evident after all.

Yeah, I'm whinging. The new blog is not yet up and running. It's been a hell of a couple weeks.
___________________________

*That first sentence had nothing to do with the rest of this post, it was just an aside. Unless you consider the fact that WWHM is one of the awesome ones, IMO.

Who Wants To Help Me Rochambeau Wayne Rooney?

Oy veh. This has been one of those days when I lose hope that I'll ever be able to move up in the world, karmically-speaking. Not only did I eat two bags of Quavers that Christie bought me, when I'm supposed to have given up potato chips and chocolate (along with being antisocial, LOL ) for Lent, but I also called Wayne Rooney a cunt, twice, and said that I hoped someone sniped him with a rifle. Ouch.

The chips are forgivable - sometimes I don't even do anything for Lent, since I'm only "Catholic-ish", not really fully Christian. It's just that I hate saying I'm going to do something and then not following through, especially for a stupid reason like temptation. At my age I should be able to make a choice and stick to it, rather than doing exactly what I want exactly when I want. The swearing, not so bad, although I do kind of wish I hadn't used that word in front of my mother. But wishing death on someone...yeah, that's pretty harsh. I don't do that. And even though I know I don't really wish someone would shoot him, it's still a pretty awful thing to say.

And oh God, my boy Djourou. What a tragedy. FIVE FREAKIN' MINUTES he lay on that pitch before they felt confident enough to carry him off. You know how serious an injury has to be for someone to lie there five minutes with a game in progress? A couple minutes later the commentators said that it was a confirmed shoulder injury, and I said, Bollocks to that. I know that boy - I met him through work - and I know how tough he is physically, and he would NOT lie there, unmoving, for five minutes if it were just a mild shoulder injury. Latest news says definitely a dislocated shoulder, and probably a broken collarbone. That sounds more like it, those things are excruciating. I've dislocated my shoulder before - unfortunately when I was in the shower at the gym - and it didn't have *me* lying there paralysed for five minutes, but the collarbone would do it.

But hell, at least it wasn't a crushed or bruised spinal cord, which it could have been.

(You can probably see why I don't watch a lot of sport. Or, for that matter, read the news. I take attacks and cheating personally.)



*sigh*


So yeah, not the best of days. I went shopping this morning with Christie, because Jane Norman were supposed to have a big sale, but everything in the whole freakin' sale is a size 6 or 8. I don't even KNOW anyone who wears a size 8 as an adult, at least not a Jane Norman 8 (which is more like a 6). And I tried on the dress I wanted (not on sale), the one I was thinking of getting to wear to weddings, and it's too tight in the boobs, and waaay too short to wear to a wedding. Christie said wear it with leggings, but I don't know what type of weddings she's been going to.


Plus the asshole bank have taken money out of my account to pay my last set of overdraft charges, which has pushed me over AGAIN. I get that I have to pay them, but couldn't they at least warn me when they're taking money out, so I could make sure I have enough in there to cover it? This happens at least four or five times a year - I have plenty of money in the bank, then they take out a whole bunch of charges (which can be up to £88 a month - about $150) and those charges push me overdrawn, consequently incurring more charges.


And I found my diary, after misplacing it for a few days, and found out that I missed a meeting on Thursday with my financial consultant. I did not, however, find my keys. I don't care about the keys themselves, I have other copies and can get new ones cut, but I had a nice little blue lace agate piece on there, and more importantly, a really lovely keyring from Tiffanys that LOML gave me for my 21st. And I don't have the heart to tell him I lost it, so I'm gonna have to figure out a way to save up and replace it, and then own up later.


In addition to this, Christie has been sick to her stomach all week, and didn't think to tell me before I met her. She's insistent that it wasn't a bug, since her mom and Tony didn't get it (YET), and says it was either a reaction to new medication, or food poisoning. But I don't know if she's just being optimistic. So now I'm living in fear of catching a stomach bug.


(In case you haven't read the rest of my blog, this is not an irrational fear; the last 48-hour stomach bug that mom brought home had me bedbound for 2 months and off my food for 9 months. No immune system, or at least a barely functional one.)


I think Anne of Green Gables called this a Jonah Day. I read the first one the other day, and I'm currently on Anne of Avonlea. :)


Ugh, I have a fever. I think I need an early night, and then fingers crossed, I'll be fine tomorrow, and bug-free (and will stay that way).


And Wayne Rooney, you nasty little troglodyte, I hope everyone realises what a thug you are so even a POS like Alex Ferguson won't hire you, and Colleen divorces you and takes all your money.


Please tell me you had a better day than I did!

If You Ask Me If I Want Six Inches Of Hot Meat In Me...

...you'd damn well better be taking about a Meatball Marinara Subway sandwich.

Yeah, I went to Subway today. First time ever. And it was awesome. Enough salt to kill my kidneys, but still awesome.

And then I came home and shuffled through the crap in my inboxes. I'm not sure if the above guy was being tongue-in-cheek or not. I don't think six inches is particularly bragworthy - not particularly cringeworthy either, but not something that I'd consider unusual enough to mention as a selling point - but who knows.

It's been a strange week. After my lack of internet (where I couldn't do any paperwork unless I posted it by snail mail), and after all the ear infections that show no signs of letting up (and the doctors still won't refer me to a specialist, and I can't afford to go privately), and after a couple weeks of dizziness that may or may not be related, and after several months of wanting to sleep all the damn time, my boss finally said: Go home. And don't come back for a few weeks. So I have no work - although that also means no income, so I'm trying to pick up a couple of temporary things.

I should be happy for the free time, but I don't have enough energy to actually get anything constructive (like spring cleaning) done. After hauling Ryan's massive television (since both my little ancient one and Massimo's medium-sized one have broken) and killing my eyes playing Spyro the Dragon 1 through 3 on my PS1, and reading my way through Beverly Barton's The Protectors series and Charlaine Harris' Lily Bard Mysteries and a couple of Tamora Pierce series as well as several stand-alone Dean Koontz books, and spending two afternoons retraining myself to squirt, and making a pest of myself flirting with LOML by text when he's supposed to be studying, and sleeping blocks of fifteen hours at a time (bear in mind that I usually sleep four or five hours a night), I'm not sure what to do with myself next. Sleep and eat, I guess. Like a bear. Rawr. Except if you want to sweeten me up for something, meatballs work better than honey.

I saw Christie today, for the first time in a month. I sent her another FB message, saying get in touch sometime, and then she texted last night to ask if I wanted to go shopping today. So we did, and I got a strappy fairy dress (that's how I think of them; it's one of those ones with all the flowy panels in the skirt) in a bright turquoise color. Great for summer. And they finally got the black ballerina flats back in New Look, so I got some of them too. Now I have black flats and white flats, I'm set for shoes for the next six months at least. I also spent a disgusting amount of money on stupid things like cosmetics and groceries.(£8.95 for razor blades! £16 for Coca-Cola, orange juice, two red peppers and a New Scientist magazine!) Somehow when I run out of one thing, I run out of everything else at the same time. I still need pore cleanser and facial scrub, but those will have to wait till next week. And I found a beautiful, three-of-a-kind (i.e. LIMITED) scarf in New Look, white with a paisley print in pastels. Not a busy print, just a little bit here and there, enough to make it interesting. They only have three, but I'm trusting to fate and hoping it's still there on Monday or Tuesday, whenever I next get into town.

Hum, what else? Tommy Jay, my twin, is thinking of enlisting for the Air Force (American) and if he gets in, is hoping to get posted to England. That would be really neat, since he lives in Ohio right now. I'm proud of him, and I hope that the military makes a man out of him. Normally I think that psychics have no business serving in the armed forces, but somehow this decision feels right, in my stomach. And, of course, it'd be nice to be able to see him. :)

Curt and I are planning on spending a couple days down in Somerset at Easter, but it'll depend on his schedule, and on my parents'.

So yeah, it's been a nice couple days. I wish that I weren't so tired and on so much of an emotional rollercoaster, but hey, you can't have everything.

How was your week?

Sati Loses Her Temper

[This is one of the few posts that I decided to leave off in its entirety, not because it could violate privacy, but because I really felt rotten for writing it. In general, I am not comfortable with deleting or editing past posts that I feel rotten about; perhaps it's a result of suffering from the life reboot that comes with amnesia, or perhaps it's just that creepy Orwellian feeling that I suffer from sometimes, but I have never been comfortable with rewriting history to make myself look cleaner and better than I was. When you say or do a thing, it's said or done, and whether you regret it or not, you made the choice to say / do it, and you need to own that decision.

So choosing to omit a post of mine, even one that is painful to read, is an unusual choice for me. All I can say is that there are some things that I find it appropriate to say to strangers but not to friends, and this post - along with a few other posts that I don't feel comfortable bringing up - was written on a site where there is at least a veneer of anonymity, a site where nobody knows any of my friends and family and most likely nobody will ever meet them.

Sometimes a person needs to rant, I think, and when you care a lot about the people who are driving you round the bend, it can be a lot easier to rant to people who will never have the chance to condemn them (at least not in person) based on the things you say. Rants are, by nature, one-sided and unfair. For the most part, everything in me struggles against injustice, or perceived injustice, and I don't find it easy to say negative things about the people I love, especially when they are not there to defend themselves. I have never got the hang of that teenage girl habit of bitching about friends to other friends, because even when I am at my angriest - and that can be very angry indeed - my moral compass indicates to me that trying to influence a mutual friend against someone is horribly, digustingly wrong. Hence my occasional habit of taking grievances to outside sources who will hopefully give me a (more) objective perspective on the situation - and failing that, at least will never cause me to feel like I've turned people against each other. This is why I blog. This is why, for the last four or five years, I've blogged anonymously. And this is why, now that my blog - or a near-enough carbon copy of it - is open to friends and family members, I have made and will make the occasional choice to omit a post that I know would cause hurt feelings over a thing that was over and done with a long time ago.]

Woot, I Got Offered My First Money For Sex On This Site!

I feel so loved.

Yup, opened my inbox today to find an email with the title, "£300", and inside it said something along the lines of, "Petrol money to come to Uxbridge for NSA sex right now."

They like me. They really like me. *cries*

And that's all I'm sharing tonight, since my connection is kicking me off every three minutes, and it's driving me freakin' nuts.

Sorry about the rant last night. I lost two watchers from it, so perhaps it wasn't a good idea. And I know that aside from leaving the site, there's very little good that I can do by whinging. But it did make me feel better.

A Very Merry Unbirthday To Me, To You

So, you want the rundown of my day?

Well, of course you do, that's why you're here. Unless it's with the hope of seeing goofy pictures or random thoughts. I'm all out of those for today.

All benevolent powers be blessed, I slept well last night. "Well" being a relative term, of course, but I was asleep by 4am, which is fairly good for me. No checking FB or here all night. No compulsive blog writing. Let's just hope tonight goes as well.

So, I was up in the late morning. Beautiful morning, sunshine everywhere, birds quacking (gimme a break, this isn't Disney), everything really feeling like spring. Mom was restrained and only whispered happy birthday when I came downstairs, instead of making a big production like I expected. Papa and Stepmama texted me, but that's to be expected since I didn't tell them about the May thing. Christie sent me a big excited "Whoop whoop, hope u get loads of prezzies!!!" text and I didn't tell her to fuck off.

My dress arrived. It's beautiful. The only thing redder than this dress is my bank balance. So I tried it on, and it's too freakin' short! This is what comes of buying clothes made for normal girls when you're built like an Amazon.

(LOL, I just wrote "made FROM normal girls" - WTF?)

Possibly I can wear it with tights, or what do Americans call 'em, panty hose? I hate the things, but it's a possibility. Or stockings. If I have to wear anything on my legs, it's stockings and garters / suspenders - hold-ups don't hold up on my chubby thighs, and hose seems so unhygenic - but the tops might show. Hmm, something to think about. I moaned about it this morning, and Bubbles and LadyU both volunteered to go shopping with me - yet another thing to add to the ever-growing list of reasons to visit the US. *grins*

I may still wear it tomorrow, though, assuming I actually get out tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then when I shed a few pounds, because I think the hem will drop a little. It's annoying, though - in the picture I showed you, the width : length ratio makes it look like it's knee-length, so I can only assume that the dress they photographed was like a size 4 (US 0).

However, the fact that I can now get into Jane Norman clothes is something to celebrate.

So I decided I'd better buy some groceries and birthday presents for Mom, whose birthday is on Sunday. So I washed, and got ready to head into town. Unfortunately I was daydreaming in the bath, and daydreaming = losing time, so I didn't get moving until the 3.36 bus (which was late anyway). Got to town, with NO idea of what to get Mom, a little bit panicked since I usually buy early, in the January sales, and I think it must have been ten years since I left it this late. Went to the Dorothy Perkins section of BHS, only to find that their prices have risen to ridiculous levels. Earmarked a couple of T-shirts as possibilities, but I don't really want to buy her clothes - I bought her like half a dozen items of clothing for Christmas. Went into Robert Dyas to check out kitchen stuff, and found to my disgust that Marmite are now making dishes and eggcups and shit. Wondered when Kidfos' birthday is, since he loves that devil's food. Didn't find anything that Mom might need except a wok - the one Tony gave her for Christmas has something wrong with it, some step that was left out of the sealing process, and every time I cook with it I get big black lumps everywhere.

Went to HMV (record store). Happy Guy aka Colin (he only told me his name last time I saw him; I'd been thinking of him as Happy Guy for months at that point, and still do) wasn't there, but I checked out books and CDs. Nothing in the book section that she would want that she doesn't already have, except maybe Tsotsi. DVDs are a possibility, but I know perfectly well that when I leave home the DVDs are coming with me, so it seems a bit tacky to give them to her as presents. CDs she always appears to be happy to get, but then listens to a handful of times in a year - my mom is not a music person. Or maybe she just can't work out how to use the CD player. I browsed anyway, looking to see if there's something I want. The only thing I can think of offhand is Elton John's "Rocket Man - Greatest Hits", and they don't have it, I checked last week. Cranberries, Coldplay, Leonard Cohen...AHA! I nearly bought her a biography of him from W H Smith at Christmas, that I'd forgotten all about until just now.

Headed to Smiths (newsagent / books / stationery). Searched through all their books. No Leonard Cohen. Drat. Went to Waterstones (big bookstore, hundreds of thousands of titles available either on the shelves or to order). Walked in the door, inhaled deeply - I love the smell of bookstores, they're one of my happy places. Realised I couldn't remember what I was in there for. Went back to Smiths, knowing I'd only remember if I stood in the same place. Stood in front of the shelves in Smiths. Leonard Cohen. Kept repeating, "Leonard Cohen Leonard Cohen" as I backtracked (or re-backtracked?) to Waterstones. Checked out the biography section. No Cohen. Checked out music. No Cohen. Discovered that they have an entire section, where the erotica used to be, titled "Painful Lives". Yeesh. Aside from the fact that it's replaced the erotica, this is just fine by me, keeps all that stuff off the rest of the shelves. I noticed in Smiths that every fourth title was something along the lines of, "Stolen Childhood" or "Why, Daddy, Why?" or "Please Help Me, Mommy."

(Aside: I get that abuse happens in A LOT of homes. I get that writing about it is therapy for people. In person, or in blogs, I see a lot of survivors of various types of abuse, and have the greatest respect for you all. I do NOT want to be bombarded with it every time I pick up a book. Books, for me, are for relaxation.)

In the music section there's an Eric Clapton book that she might like, but reading the back I find that it's really the story of his rock-and-roll days i.e. lots of sex and drugs and alcohol. Not my mom's thing (well, apart from the sex). Now, if they had a story about Clapton's pain, about the loss of his son, she'd eat that up. My mom and my brother love all those painful-life books. Mom and Tony are the opposite of me in this way - they have a great deal of compassion for Humanity in general, in theory, but tend to be impatient with people one-on-one, whereas I am a whole lot kinder and less judgemental when dealing with individuals than I am when it comes to the general population.

I ask at the desk, and they say they can order it, but do I know the exact title? Uh, no. And it'll take four weeks. No thank you.

No other bookstores in town except the second-hand ones. We used to have five or six, but since Waterstones (which started off Hammicks, then Ottakars, as the companies kept amalgamating) came in, they took all the custom and Alban Books and Paton Books and Methuens and whatever the fifth one was, have all closed. I go to the card shop to buy a card and some wrapping paper, and when I leave the clerk smiles and says, "See you next week." Ha bloody ha. She's not even joking, either - I probably don't buy fifty-two birthday cards a year, but I'd guess that I buy more than twenty-six, meaning I'm in there on average more than once a fortnight.

I check out a couple other shops, but by now nothing else will do aside from the Leonard Cohen book. I buy a heart-shaped mixing bowl for her in Paperchase. It's kind of a joke - Mom started buying me heart-shaped kitchen equipment years and years ago, which I thought was really weird, and then I kind of got into it. And now we have an apron with hearts on it, heart-shaped measuring cups, measuring spoons, chopping boards, cake tins, muffin pans, a whole cookie cutter set with different hearts (normal, linked, with an arrow through) as well as a cherub and an L, an O, a V and an E. A toast stamp that says I <3 you. (You press it onto the bread before you put it in the toaster, and then the pressed-in bit comes out lighter.) Somewhere there's a heart-shaped silicon egg ring for frying eggs, even though we eat fried eggs like once every two years. Tony and Debbie got in on it last year, and bought me four little individual Le Creuset heart-shaped ramekins for creme brulee or mousse. Mom has a heart-shaped cereal bowl and breakfast mug. It's totally tacky and totally glorious. Now she'll have a mixing bowl too, although it won't be easy to stir things in.

Went to Jane Norman to see if they still have the pale aqua handbag that I had my eye on. No handbag, but Lori's there, and I chat to her for a few minutes. She seems in a better mood than she was when she was living with me, thank God. Nothing for Mom there either.

Went to Wilkinson (mostly toiletries, hardware, a little bit of furniture). Bought a body brush for Mom so I can throw away the old one. I should have bought one from the Body Shop, where I get mine, but they're five times the price and I just know that she's going to drop it behind the bath or leave it in a puddle till it gets moldy. I come by my absentmindedness honestly.

Guys keep staring at me while I'm out. I check to see if there's anything on my face. Nothing. Are my boobs showing? Negative. They're not lustful stares as much as surprised double-takes. I remember a post I read this morning that says A F F has started advertising us as escorts again. I looked for my name, and didn't find it on an escort site. I DID find it under Orgy Cam Girls. I wonder if this is why the guys are looking at me, and nearly get mad, but instead I burst out laughing. I know a lot of people weren't amused by the last debacle with the other domains, but to me it IS funny, at least a little bit. I suppose I can afford to be amused, since I don't have anyone in my life who wants to make trouble for me (except a couple people who are currently serving time). But after all, if I feel ashamed of it I shouldn't be putting on cam orgies, should I?



Bought groceries. Went home. Blisters on my feet from wearing heels that I haven't worn all winter. Took another bath and sang along with Neil Diamond, just because I felt like it. Ate roast chicken and sausagemeat stuffing (ummmm, stuffing) and the Victoria Sponge with chocolate icing that Mom made today. Snarl at Christie about birthdays, which I feel a little bad about, but I think she finally gets it, and I did apologise for snapping (while making it perfectly clear that I stood by what I said). Ordered meds from the doctor's. Checked out Amazon. WTF? There's about twenty Leonard Cohen books, all with mixed reviews - even the ones that average four or five stars still have a handful of one and two-star reviews to them. Picked out the biography with the highest overall rating, and the CD of Jonathan Livingston Seagull music, which Mom's mentioned many times over the course of my life, and I've never remembered to buy for her. There's a Cohen poetry book with excellent rating, but that'll have to wait till another time. Paid the extra P & P so they'll deliver it tomorrow or Saturday, since there's no mail on Sunday.

Answered FB wall posts from various A F F members and my older sisters. My younger sisters forgot - no surprise there. Got reminded that even if I intend to leave my birthday cards till May, I need to open the one from Papa and Stepmama since there's likely to be a check. There is, and it's a third of the value of a cheap return ticket to the US. My fund is off to a good start. It's a shame I can't pimp myself out to 20 of you for $25 each.

This trip is looking more and more likely to happen, which fills me with joy. Every year Mom says, "This year we'll get back to America," (she's from Minnesota, btw) and every year something gets in the way - health or money, usually. She's estranged from her family - I'm the one who had to make contact with them a couple years ago, even though I've never met any of them - so we've never had a concrete reason to visit, i.e. a person rather than just wanting to see things. Stupidly, if she bothered to nurture a relationship with her family - it's only her mother she really hated, and she died a while back - we could probably move to the US and get jobs with the family foundation. My mom's paternal grandfather was a leader in the industrial world (and a good friend of President Eisenhower, LOL; one of my most treasured possessions growing up was Ike's sterling silver golf tee which I wore upside-down on a chain around my neck) who invented some sort of generator thing. I don't know much about the company, except that they sold out to Studebaker-Packard (in the fifties, I think) and made a vast amount of money, with which they started a charitable foundation. And who better to give charity to than the poor relatives, right?



Kidding. Sort of. I don't want charity, but I DO want family, and wouldn't mind a job. But Mom freezes at the thought of family the same way as I freeze at the thought of using the phone (more about this in the next note, I hope) and has been blocking me at every turn. Cousin Dave, who is now the head of the family, wants to hear from his little cousin, not from his cousin's oddball daughter who has pictures of her undies up on her FB page (which he politely ignores, and instead comments on the pictures of the garden). And there are only so many times I can make excuses for why she didn't send a Christmas card, and I signed mine from the both of us.

So yeah. I could probably form a relationship with my American relatives, and find a way to support myself in the US. A visit would have to come first, though. But I'm making plans - nothing concrete yet, but hopeful ones - to come at the end of summer, spend some time with my relatives, and then ramble around a bit. If not that, then just a week or two visiting friends. We'll see. Either way, I want to see you. Yes, YOU.

OK, I've talked quite long enough. It was an eventful day. Certainly not the worst unbirthday I've spent - not even on the top five, in fact - even if I didn't get any Pokemon in.

I do wish I had someone special to spend it with, but there's always next year.

And remember - May 3rd you all get to say Happy Birthday (again) and send virtual sparklers and balloons and cookies.

So Many Targets, So Little...Actually, There's Plenty Of Time

"NO! I TOLD YOU! ALL THE FUCKING TIME, NOW LEAVE JESS' SEAT ALONE!"

This is what the woman sitting opposite me - the one who, five minutes ago, was ignoring her crying baby while she sent text after text on her cell phone - is currently screaming at one of the other two children. Who is approximately three years old. Granted, both of the little girls (minus the one in the pram) are running wild, and I would have liked to see them have a little more decorum. But hell, if that's the kind of parenting mom does, what can you expect?

Yes, I know. I'm judging too soon. She could just be having a really, really bad day. Maybe she got dumped. Maybe she got fired. Maybe her father has just found out his AML has come back after a long remission. Who the heck knows? All I know is that I'm in a snarky mood right now, and that woman is very close to getting a tongue-lashing from me. Especially since she told one of her kids to sit in my (reserved) seat, without even asking me.

I booked my ticket online. I checked the boxes to request a seat on a table, with a power point for my laptop, and explained to them that I'm disabled and cannot sit comfortably in a normal seat. I paid the extra for the privilege and was assured that my seat would be there. I paid my booking fee. Of course, I got to the train, and it's not the seat I paid for. If I sit in the seat they gave me I'll be in agony after ten minutes, and this is a two-hour journey. So I'm sitting here on the floor of the train, because three men - who aren't even using electricals, for fuck's sake - have occupied the table seats.

Oh, lovely, the older child - probably five - has just asked her mother, "Where shall I put my bloody wet ones?" Not sure what wet ones they are, I'm hoping it's just tissue or something.

In addition to this, when I was at Farringdon - which is the first leg of a three-leg journey - some asshole - heck, some DOUCHEBAG - was in such a hurry, he pushed my suitcase over, knocked it down a step, and the base of one of the wheels shattered. And of course the wheel came off. And because the wheel base shattered, there's nothing to attach the wheel to. I have no idea if there are people out there who repair suitcases, although I hope there are, because I am miserable at the thought that my beautiful, expensive, hot pink Pierre Cardin suitcase, which I've only used twice, may now be unusable. I did buy travel insurance with the ticket, which I know covers theft, but frankly I'm not overly impressed with the company's record so far, so who the heck knows if they would pay for damage?

I know that by tonight, or at least by the time I get home and no longer have to lug 45lbs on one wheel, I'll be laughing about this. All the crap is a learning experience, right? But right now, I'm snarky, because I'm in a great deal of pain because of someone else's screwup.

This is on top of the really fucked up text message I got this morning from the BFF:

I am not using this phone for this week so please don't contact me on it. Will ring you later. Don't reply to this text.

Never in my life has he sent me a text like this, and he always, ALWAYS encourages me to text him back. Even when he's at work, he'll take five minutes out to have a little conversation, even if it's just one or two messages before he tells me he has to get back to work. Whatever it is that's preventing him from getting in touch with me would have to be pretty serious, because my Mom - a woman he calls Mom, too - had a serious accident on Friday, and last time I spoke to him he was very anxious to get the news of whether there was internal bleeding or not. (There wasn't, she just cracked a couple ribs, and after four days of running around 24-7, trying to do everything she needed, in addition to everything I needed, she's insisted that I go down to Somerset, albeit a day late. And Ryan's looking after her now, to set my mind at ease a bit.)

So there are at least three people that I want to flame right now - wifey, yelling mother and inane trainline people - and I expect, that when I'm in this kind of mood, I can probably think of a couple more if I really try.

Shit. My back is killing me, and my legs hurt.

I'll try and post you something a bit more upbeat tonight, but for now I'm going to go and listen to some fuck-off music, and maybe find a cup of coffee. That'll help my moods, right?

And if I ever, EVER use the f-word when screaming at my three-year-old, you all have my permission to hunt me down.

Dammit, People Keep Disappearing!

Dammit, every day I seem to be gaining a watcher, and then losing a watcher. But when I go to look to see if it's the same watcher I've gained and then lost, it never is - it's usually someone I've been communicating with for awhile. In the last couple days, InnerPeace07 and evil_lolita have both disappeared, and they're two of my favourite girls on here.

In normal times I'd assume that they'd turned their profiles off to get some rest, but with things how they are, my first thought is, "Oh God, did someone else get banned?"

I'm starting to change my mind about LadyUnlaced's suggested exodus. I thought things were going to blow over after awhile, and we could all go back to blogging peacefully, but it just appears to be getting worse. It looks to me like a reaction (as in, the scientific term) that's reached its critical point: up until now it could have been stopped if we'd just turned the heat down a bit, but now I'm not sure that anyone can stop it. It reminds me of nothing so much as a phosphorus burn, and I think it's going to keep burning until either all the reactant - in this case, hate and resentment - gets used up, or until we're left with nothing but ashes, and have to rebuild from scratch.

Hopefully I'm just in a pessimistic mood, and this is not a premonition. As an empath, though, it's very hard to remain here when there is so much negative emotion flying around. I often feel emotion, whether it's directed at me or not, as a physical force; people's feelings affect me the way physical blows affect you. Some are worse than others - anger can either be like a fever or like a drug, but the hatred that some people feel is like a third-degree burn to me. And yes, I've had third-degree burns before, albeit on only a small part of my body. Add to which the bubbling resentment that I get from a couple of people on here, resentment that they shove down deep inside them, and this place is making me nauseous and cranky and generally uncomfortable. The deep resentment in particular is a strange thing. In some of us here, it's shoved down so far that only a tinge of it is visible to me. So I "meet" a person (in a blog) and instinctively don't like them, but I don't know why, I only know that something about them makes me uncomfortable. And I can't figure it out, because I feel like I SHOULD like them - they appear to be kind and sweet and generally nice, and their characters seem to smell sweet - until I realise that it's the sweet smell that maggots sometimes get.

No, that paragraph wasn't targeting anyone in particular, although I can tell you, I am quite resentful that I feel that I have to make this disclaimer each time that I say something. I've encountered several people who feel this way to me, both in and out of Blogland, and most of the ones I've met in Blogland are now gone, thank goodness. IRL I've met quite a few recently, too.

I'm not in a fighting mood, or even a defending mood. There are times when I'm happy to stick up for what I feel is right, and take on the world if need be, but I'm not in one of those phases at the moment. I'm tending towards reclusiveness right now - I'm tired, and sick, and I don't feel able to function very well or cope with any demands, even simple ones like doing my paperwork. Mostly I just want to be left alone with my books and some food and the couple of hours a week of TV that I watch. And my Tommy Jay, because none of my wishes to be left alone apply to him. He is my spiritual twin - my mirror, my soul, my shield - and we are bonded tightly enough that I don't think he could leave me alone if he tried. But as far as everyone else goes...yeah.

I've been coming out of my shell a bit in the last week, going to Sainsburys twice (yes, I did go back today, and I did manage to get writing icing for the cookies and three more blue T-shirts, plus a black one, as well as two pieces of New York vanilla cheesecake *drools*) and making cookies and answering emails and talking to B and Zia, and preparing for the hordes of kids that will come tomorrow and flat-out DEMAND candy rather than asking nicely. (In this neighborhood, kids are generally not taught manners.) And tomorrow I will dress up in my long black velvet coat-dress, and my black sequinned bat mask, and blood-red lipstick - my fingernails are already dark red and sparkly - and I'll hand out candy and be generally gregarious, at least for a couple of hours. And I'll spend several hours with the spirits of the Ancestors, because that's what we do on Samhain. So yeah, I can force myself to be social, when necessary. But I'm not quite feeling it yet, and it IS a forced thing rather than something that's coming naturally.

You don't need to be worried about me, though. Like I said, I go through phases. There'll be times when I'm a hermit, and then other times when I'm the life of the party, and socialising comes as naturally to me as breathing.

I can't promise that I'll be posting on anything resembling a regular schedule - although I will try to get that cookie recipe put up, and perhaps a couple more pre-Christmas baking recipes - but even if I disappear for a little while, I'll try and keep myself apprised of what's going on in Blogland, at least the pseudoapocalyptic stuff, and if you need me you can always look me up on Facebook.

Words To Live By

[I do miss AFF occasionally, because some of my posts - this one, for example - had a LOT of views. This one had over 12,000, and that doesn't even take into account the people who viewed it as part of the whole blog. It's hard to give that up for a blog where you currently have one follower and a handful of views a day.

That said, I don't miss the rounds of drama and nastiness that went on there. It's amazing how cruel people can get sometimes when you challenge them. I posted this in response to a month or so of "war" (*snorts*) on there. And probably fed the flames by doing so, but ho hum, them's the breaks.]

I created this post as a reaction to the recent blog drama. I have chosen not to participate in any of it, but I do now feel that I need to have my say. Therefore I offer this to you: my code of blogging conduct. This is a code that is personal to me, not something that I believe all bloggers should live by, but I urge you to create your own so that people may know who you are and what you stand for without needing to resort to names and labels that can have multiple interpretations.

I cannot promise you a blog without drama. I write from life, and my life is dramatic. Or so it seems. Perhaps you, too, feel that way about your life.

I can promise you that my drama is *my* drama, and that while you are here bearing witness to it, you will never need to get involved unless you choose to.

I cannot promise you a toxic-free blog. I write for therapy; my journal is my way of purging the emotional toxins that would otherwise build up and poison me from the inside out.

I can promise you that I am just as willing to share the love and lightness in my life as I am willing to share the shadows. And there is a lot of love and lightness, despite the sometimes grim posts that I make.

I cannot promise you that the numbers mean nothing to me. I see comments and watchers as a validation that I am doing something I love, and doing it well, and I see nothing wrong with feeling this way.

I can promise you that I am not here to be adored by everyone. In the outside world, I live a life where it is necessary to play everyone's sweetheart, and I tend to find it as much of a burden as a blessing. I am here to escape that.

I cannot promise you that I will never have a problem with you. I can be impatient at the best of times, and not everyone is my cup of tea. I have played the open-armed, love-everyone goddess for many years, and I am not willing to play it here.

I can promise you that if I have a problem with you, I will contact you directly to see if it can be resolved, and if it cannot, I will let you be.

I cannot promise you that I will never offend you. Sometimes I will, and you are free to either leave, or to tell me exactly what it is you find offensive - just as I am free to consider your point of view and either write it off or make changes to my own opinions and / or actions.

I can promise you that I am basically a kind person, whose brain damage occasionally causes her to say unintentionally hurtful things, and when this happens I will do my utmost to apologise and atone. I can also promise that I am not someone who is hesitant to change their opinion. Life is a continuous cycle of learning and adapting, and I am (almost) always willing to listen to people who believe that something that I have said or done is wrong. I may not agree, but I will listen.

I cannot promise you that you will not have an issue with my friends. Your relationships with people, whether I know them or not, are not my business.

I can promise you that I will never rely on my friends to defend my honor. My honor does not need defending; it is not at risk. Nothing that you can say or do will damage my integrity in the slightest. Only I can do that.

This is my pledge, my manifesto, the code of conduct that I intend to hold myself to. I do not believe that arbitrary labels are useful: I believe that only by creating a personal code and attempting to live by that code can we create a definition of ourself that others can understand.

~ Sati-Marie Frost - October 2010 ~

(Please feel free to repost.)

Exhaustion - And Not The Nice Sweaty Sexually Sated Kind

WTF, A.F.F. keeps screwing with my blog settings. One day I'm watching a blog, then it's deleted, then I'm watching again. A little while ago, my whole watch list was deleted. Luckily I could recreate most of it from the pimping post I made last week, although not the blogs I've added since. Anyone else experiencing this glitch?

I called the uni today, and classes start the week of the 12th. The woman I spoke to said there are still places on my course, so get my form in before Thursday. I've filled it in and will mail it tomorrow.

See, I can be pro-active. Sometimes.

I still haven't organised my underwear cabinet, though. Or, god forbid, cleaned out my closet. It makes me exhausted just thinking about it.

To be honest, I don't even really have the energy to blog. I've been doing this thing on facebook, called a 30-Day Meme, where you have a different question to write a post on every day for a month. I'm mainly doing it because my friend asked me to, and I've managed for four days, but tomorrow's post (today's, really, or at least when I wake up it will be) is about my definition of love. I reeeeally don't like that topic, and don't know how well I can write on it. What the hell do I know about love?

I'm not sure why I couldn't sleep tonight, because I came upstairs all mellow and sleepy, thinking I'd put my head on my pillow and not know anything until aches and pains woke me in the morning. But no, I've been awake the whole time, and now it's nearly six and I'm just starting to get sleepy - at the same time as I start to get a stomachache. I don't know if it's a hungry stomachache or an over-full stomachache. Hard to know, with me.

I think that once I get my room cleaned and tidied, and get the college stuff sorted out, I may have to just rest and hide away from the world for a couple weeks, try and get some of my energy back. I need to stop worrying about all the things that I haven't done - nobody is going to die if I don't get my bedroom painted, or the shelves fixed, or the closet cleaned out. Nobody is dying, and the rest is just details. I worry about Mom, though, and I feel guilty. She's sicker than I am, in more pain than I am, and she still manages to do what needs to be done. I don't know why I can't seem to get it together. I'm used to pain, I'm used to tiredness, and I usually manage to get my ass in gear when it's needed, so what the hell is different now?

Maybe I need vitamins. I'll try and remember to buy some of those tomorrow. And ACTUALLY TAKE THEM.

Anyway, I suppose it's time for the next load of meds, and then I need to think about sleeping. I'm sorry all these posts have been depressing lately, it's just this terrible fatigue, it's really getting to me and I can't seem to find anything interesting to write about. I'm really enjoying reading new blogs, though, so that's an upside.

As Dark And Twisty As I Get - So Not Much

Sati-Marie, providing smart ass-comments since 11.05 this morning.

For some reason I've been in a strange mood today. It could be due to the fact that I'm not getting any, but I don't think it's just that. I don't know what it is, but I've been full of flippancy and smart-assery all day. In fact, at times I've even been a little bit mean, although not to people who can't take it. (Luckily I talked to my friend Ricky earlier, and he's happiest when I'm a bit of a bitch. I love having him around, at least online, because he's one of the few friends that I don't have to be nice around - he's happy to take my shit as well as dish out plenty of his own.)

It could be the weather change, or being tired and sore and cranky, or missing Oli. Or it could be the fact that I've grudgingly gone on a diet. I've put on a lot of weight in the last eighteen months, since my dad had his stroke, but mostly it's gone on slowly so I haven't noticed it so much. But in the last couple of months it's gone onto my stomach and boobs, and a little onto my back, and now none of my bras fit properly without leaving a roll of flab hanging over the side and back. I've always had a fat ass and thighs, so I'm used to that, but when it goes on my stomach and back it really pisses me off, and I know that I seriously need to lose it asap.

I'm not refusing to eat or anything, I'm just not eating anything junky, and that makes me crabby. But I'm thinking nice thoughts - cocktail dresses and designer jeans and little sweaters that show off my midriff - and every time I have a yearning for potato chips or chocolate I think of clothes, and The SBD's perfect body, and if one of those thoughts doesn't work the other does.

I am going to have to go to the doctor soon, because I'm pretty sure that part of the belly gain is due to ovarian cysts. Or at least last time I got a huge hard stomach, the way I have now, that's what caused it. Also last time I found I needed to pee all the time, and now that's happening again, and has been for six months or so.

Of course, I keep putting it off, as I put off many things to do with my health these days. If it's not making me really sick and it doesn't hurt, I tend to ignore it until it does. I know this probably isn't the healthiest way to deal with things, but hell, if I went to the doctor every time something goes wrong with my body, I might as well pitch a campbed in his office. At least once a week something happens with my health that would cause any normal, healthy person to make a trip to the doctor. And most of the time those things go away. Like, ten days ago my foot started hurting, a lot, and I thought that I had an infection, except that there was nothing to see. It just felt infected, deep inside. (I had a pain like this once, when I lived in Spain, but there wasn't much to see then either, just a slight colour change that could have been nothing, and it wasn't until the doctor cut into my foot that a whole load of crap came out. One of the most disgusting - and fascinating, to my scientist's brain - things that I ever saw.) But I didn't go to the doc, because I had nothing to show for it, and suddenly yesterday it cleared up and now - touch wood - it's just fine. And a lot of my health problems go that way.

So yeah, it's probably a mixture of the sore foot (and lack of sleep over the last ten days that's stemmed from it) and the sore teeth and the sore skin and the sore muscles, and the extra weight, and the dieting, and the weather, and everything else that has me acting like a snarky valley-girl. I'm probably making myself sound worse than I actually am - I know most of my male friends, and even my mother, are quite enjoying my sarcastic, overly cynical commentaries on people and life and television ads. But I don't much like myself when I'm this way - despite my chronic cynicism, I'm usually quite gentle and kind - and I certainly don't feel like myself. B, one of my oldest friends, says that when we were in high school I was always extremely sarcastic, and that anytime I said anything you'd have to double-check that I was being genuine...but having been blessed ( LOL ) with amnesia, I don't really remember all that much about my high school days, and what I do remember is viewed through rose-tinted glasses. I have a certain fondness for the memories that I have of those times, but I can't really relate to the person I was then.

I don't know, perhaps I just need sleep. It sounds ridiculous to say that, because I've been doing very little else lately, and still haven't found the energy to tidy my room or do my paperwork or...well, anything really. I emptied out my underwear cabinet about two weeks ago, and the lingerie has just been sitting in a huge (and gradually increasing) pile on my blanket chest. And there are books everywhere, and general junk, and DUST. I haven't cleaned in weeks. And I know I have to, I know that once the room is clean and tidy I'll be less tired and feel better emotionally...but I can't seem to find the energy to clean, or even to put the undies away.

*sigh*

In a way, I feel like I've been robbed of Autumn. I know that's a totally ridiculous feeling, as 1) we're only at the beginning of October, and 2) nobody's stolen anything from me, I'm the one who's been too lazy to get off my ass and do what needs to be done. But I just feel so shitty, and have since three weeks before Christmas last year - although it's slowly been getting worse - and I've sort of lost my ability to get happy. I don't think I'm depressed, I'm just kind of apathetic. Normally at this time of year - and for the last month and a half - I'd be full of plans and excitement, running around making chutney and gathering blackberries and taking long walks in the country every day, buying lovely clothes and excitedly poring over college prospectuses to decide what to study this year, putting together dozens of outfits from my wardrobe to find which top looks exactly right with which bottom, and which shoes or boots and handbag I should wear with them, and whether I need a scarf and hat and coat. This year I've had none of that, aside from buying a couple of items of clothing. I haven't even enrolled for uni, and I don't know if it's too late. I have to call tomorrow, although I've been saying that for the last month.

I don't know, part of me feels like I don't want to go back to uni, but that's a totally illogical feeling - I love the language, I love my teacher, I love my fellow students, I love the campus and the feeling of belonging. I love everything about my classes except for the long bus ride home at 10 at night. So why have I put off enrolling? Last year I was enrolled at the beginning of August. Surely if I really wanted to be there I'd have done the same this year? It's just this awful tiredness, it creeps over me and breeds this apathy that permeates every inch of my life. I don't want to go to class. I don't want to date. I don't want to go visit my father. I don't want to go to the gym. I don't want to see friends. I certainly don't want to clean the house - and neither does Mom, so there's huge layers of dust covering everything - or do my paperwork. All I seem to want to do is eat and sleep and read and fuck, but since Oli's gone there's nobody who interests me both mentally and physically, and food takes so much energy to prepare and unless it's high-sugar high-fat junk, I end up feeling bloated and sluggish. And I can't seem to concentrate on reading, and sleep gives me very little relief from the tiredness. I wake up and I feel worse than if I hadn't slept.

Fibromyalgia / ME / Chronic Fatigue is an extremely cruel disease, and I hope none of you ever get it.

Ehh, my intention here was to write a short post, and instead I've gone on and whinged for ages. Oh well, it's probably done me good, although I can't say the same for my dear readers. I hate whining, even here, and I always worry that people who are new to the blog will catch me on a whingy day and decide that I'm not worth reading. So here's hoping that any newbies don't judge me solely by this post - most days I feel a lot better, and write accordingly. (Although admittedly I've had a rough summer this year.)

Well, it's coming up 3.30 am, so I think I'll go grab some yoghurt - it's not chocolate, but it's pretty good - and a new syrupy-sweet Rebecca Winters book. If that doesn't cheer me up, nothing will.

My Plans Were Fucked With, And I Was Not

WARNING: This post contains sexual references.

If things had gone the way I meant them to, I'd either be having sex right now, or would be asleep, having exhausted myself doing so.

I would also have seen my Dad and stepmother this morning, checked in at work, and had dinner with Oli before following him to some (unknown) place where he would have had me on my hands and knees, begging for his cock.

Damn trains. My stepmother texted me just before nine this morning to tell me there was a tube strike on, and to check the overground trains 'cause they might be upset too. Sure enough, when I called the local station they told me that services were "experiencing some delays". On a standard day - especially a Monday - services tend to experience a lot of delays, so for them to actually ADMIT it means it must have been pretty bad.

Therefore, no visit to my parents, and they're going down to the new house tomorrow or the next day - they've bought a place in Somerset, and have been spending a lot of time down there, although they're not set to move until October - so God only knows when I'll see them. Whenever they're back in London and I have a spare day when I'm healthy, I guess.

No checking in at work...well, that wasn't a big loss. But no Oli definitely was. Not only have I been nonstop horny for the last week, but for the last few days he's been very forward about wanting me, and I think - I wouldn't bet money on it, but I THINK - he might actually be starting to let himself need me, just a little bit.

Maybe. Not that I'm holding my breath or anything.

After all, I have more important things to hold my breath for.

I keep telling myself that it's a good thing I couldn't get to see him, as 1) I have a nasty mosquito bite on the corner of my mouth, and even opening my mouth wide enough to eat - let alone wise enough to suck him - is quite painful; and 2) We've experienced the frustration of London meetings several times. London meetings mean nowhere to have sex, since I live here in Alby, and I can't go to his place since his parents don't know about me. Actually, I don't think any of his family knows about me.

Unfortunately my arguments don't help much, since he told me to bring condoms today, indicating that he's found somewhere we can go, and as for the mosquito bite...well, if he were here, I'd take the pain and learn to love it if it meant I could please him.

I think I could learn to love most things if it meant pleasing him. *sigh* But wouldn't you know it, he doesn't have another day off for ages.

So this girl is fairly miserable today. Phone sex would be better than nothing, but it's 4am now, and I'm guessing he's asleep since he didn't respond to my last message. It seems quite monstrously unfair that something as stupid as an Underground strike could scupper my plans, especially when things are finally going well between us. Because who knows how long they'll be good for, before he gets weird on me again?

Well, I guess I just have to hope that they stay good for awhile; that I've wormed my way into his heart and he lets me remain there for more than a few days.

Sorry - I know I said that I'd try and post more often, about more interesting subjects, but I got nothing for you guys tonight.