Dusting Myself Off

Hi! Remember me? I used to blog here regularly. Well, I think I've fallen off so many horses recently it's got beyond a joke. Last week, I had to take some time out and have a proper think about things. Not small things like laundry or shoes or eyeliner. But big things - what do I want to do when I grow up?

That was not the first time I have asked myself that particular question. I suspect I will ask it again many times before I leave this earth. Again, I found myself coming back to my place of creativity, of writing. I haven't written anything since last summer that hasn't been work related; and my intermittent blogging...well, it became more and more intermittent.

I had put my head down, put all thoughts of writing to one side and went to work. The problem is simply, it's not who I am. I can do it in short bursts. Certainly, I am so blessed that the people I work with are actually prepared to put up with me. I must be the world's biggest pain in the arse for them - wafting in and around. But the fact of the matter is, I am never going to manage being a full time anything. I require flexibility and creativity.

I have come to terms with the fact I am going to die a very poor woman. I console myself with the fact that I will have a lot of fun along the way.

Getting back on the Exercise Horse, has not been so painless (if you can call the process of giving up 2 days work to write, painless). My physical activities in May petered out to the point of disappearing. All of my previous physical niggles started to creep in again. My back, my knee, my shoulders. I got myself moving again.

Let me tell you, the biggest lesson I've learnt in the last 6 weeks is: it is much harder to start up again, than to notch the intensity down.

I am not beating myself up about it; there would be no benefit in doing so. I know why I paused and I've learnt my lesson. I am going to take every step I can, not make that mistake again.

Part of the mistake I made was to 'exercise'. I bailed out of doing the City of Norwich Half Marathon in November because I wasn't at all confident I would be fit or strong enough to run it, without serious risk of injury. It seems I am more motivated to 'train'. I need a reason to exercise beyond the 'it's good for me'. Over the weekend, I signed up to run the Wroxham 5k in the middle of July. This Saturday, I will take part in the Norwich parkrun to set my first bench mark. I know my time will be rubbish. I know it'll be a miracle if I don't kill myself. I will be walking bits of it. It doesn't matter.

If I am to eat regularly, I have to rethink my writing activities. That's what today is all about. I'm getting back on this horse and I'm going to ride this sucker until we both drop dead from exhaustion. 

The difference now is the exercise has taught me self-discipline and to put my motivation in action. Perhaps I am still unable to set clear goals as per NLP structures, but I'm all about the moving in the general direction. 

I really do hope I'm moving in the general direction of Financial Sustainability...

Why, it Must be That Time of Year...

...when I stand on my scales and frown.

Except that obviously frowning gives me wrinkles.

Technically, I'm not over-weight. 

I am now 9 stone. According to the BBC BMI calculator, I'm within the 'normal' range. Normal caveats apply (BMI is only particularly accurate if you're bed-ridden). The fact of the matter is: I don't feel healthy. I feel unfit.

And before you start ranting: no, I'm not a fashion-plate. I don't believe a woman must be emaciated. Images of anorexic models, don't make me wish for that body.

I would like to be leaner and fitter.

My ideal weight is: 8 stone.

In the past, I've been 8 stone and desperately unhappy. The best diets I've ever come across is remains the Bad Relationship diet or the End of Relationship diet. Both have meant I've been svelte within no time at all. The minute I'm content, I eat like a fecking horse. I've been in a stable happy lovely relationship for over 14 months now...and don't my jeans know it!

I did say to Lawrence that I blamed him, it's all his fault. He just looked smug. The bastard.

And of course, it's been a cold winter.

I've noticed my craving for stodgy, stick-to-your-ribs food increases as the temperature drops.

But the nights are drawing out, the days are lightening up. When I look at my backside in the mirror, I'd rather it weren't half way down to my knees. I am really not enjoying the bags of peas look either.

Let's be real about this: I'm 42 years old. I do this every year. The fact of the matter is if I was left to my own devices, I'd be lying in bed reading a book, munching through a bowl of popcorn (buttered and salted). 

Let's also be real about this: I'm 42 years old. My diet isn't bad, but it could do with far more fruit and veggies and far less processed shite. I don't move enough to burn off what I eat and the weight is just going to keep creeping up. I also have back, shoulder, neck and knee issues. Exercise relieves these discomforts. If I don't start moving now, in 30 years' time I'm not going to be moving much at all. I'm going to be looking back and thinking 'why the fuck didn't I move when I had the chance?'

Life without tobacco is content. I used to smoke. I don't now. Simple as that really. No drama there. So, if I can be smoke-free with no drama, no reason why I can't be fitter and leaner with no drama as well.

So, how do I do it? There's the question. According to Paul McKenna, it's about cutting down portion size, chewing slowly, move more and only eat what you want to. Incredibly sensible. Except I want to be 8 stone and I want to be 8 stone now! There's a new diet making the rounds - the 5:2 diet. You eat what you want for 5 days and fast for 2. By fast, you cut out 25% of your normal calorific intake. Unofficial feedback suggests it works. 

Lawrence says cutting down calories works, but you have to weigh everything and have to be constantly calculating what you put in your mouth. This is fine if I wanted to live off ready meals for the next two months to achieve this. 

Speaking of which, why is there suddenly a proliferation of these 'diet chefs' who promise they'll send you all your pre-cooked meals, straight to your door on your 'personalised' meal plan. Are people really that thick? Sainsbury's will do that for you at half the price. Actually, thinking about it, that approach would work. I could go through all their ready-meals, calculate everything so I stick to 800 calories a day. All I need is the money. It's a very expensive way of losing weight.

Before you start, my metabolism is so sluggish, if I eat the recommended 2,000 calories a day, I gain weight. This I know from experience. My naughtiness is crisps and chips. I don't binge on chocolate or biscuits or cake. My weakness is fat: butter, mayonnaise and double cream, preferably with lashings of grated cheese on top.

Ultimately, this has got to be about changing my lifestyle. Really, there's nothing much wrong with me that moving more and eating less fats wouldn't do. It's time I stopped talking about it and did it.

The Final Frontier

As the anniversary of my dad's death hurtles towards me, a post of lx's made me stop and think. Actually, not so much a think, as a reminder. I'm a great believer in being prepared. My first will was drafted when I was 27. My second will when I was 38.

I'm a control freak and I want things the way I want them. The great thing is, everything is paid for, so it'll be a doddle for the executors of my will to carry out my instructions. Thankfully, my executors are literate and they are my friends, so I have no particular worries about things being done.

But just in case:

I want to have an eco-friendly coffin, cardboard is fine, as I want to be cremated. My ashes, I would like sprinkled over The Rock, in Trinidad. My three parents had different final wishes. My mother wanted no fuss, no service, cremation, sprinkling on The Rock. Pops wanted a service to honour his sister's religious beliefs. My dad, not particularly bothered, wanted his ashes planted under a Royal Palm at my brother's estate (on the lee-side so my brother and nephew don't pee on him).

I think of the three, my dad's was the most awesome experience. An 'interesting' church service, he'd have enjoyed for all the wrong reasons and a brilliant wake. Really made me understand that the whole funeral thing isn't for the departed, it's for the living. It enables the living to get together remember, mourn and honour the deceased.

Though I will say, some funerals are better than others in terms of content and there are some funerals from which it's hard to come away with anything positive. I think of children and young people when I say this.

What amuses and amazes me is in my line of work is when people say they have not made a Will. Believe it or not, there are only two absolute certainties in Life: death and taxes. If you're alive now, one day you won't be. No getting away from it. Getting a Will sorted means when you do drop dead, everything is made clear about where you want your goods and chattels to go and if you're canny, the taxes part of the equation is mitigated. But talking to some people it's as if writing a Will is a death sentence.

I don't get that, but there you go. Apparently, it's just me being morbid.

Soap Box

I am without an employer. For me this is an opportunity to build the life I want. I am lucky enough to have a couple of opportunities for World Domination which I am pursuing like a greyhound goes after a mechanical rabbit. But for me personally, it means more than that. There are two areas in my life which have sadly whithered over the last couple of years and I need to get my gardening gloves out to nurture them back to full health.

The first is my education. I am one of the biggest supporters of Adult Education ever. Simply because the best things in my life have come about from my love of learning. I don't have a first-class brain, I will be honest with you there. Having studied and befriended people who are scarily intelligent, who process information and ideas as easily as they chew a museli bar, I know I'm not the best thinker ever. However, what I do have is an enquiring mind. I'm interested in everything and I believe in my ability to learn. This is why I'm able to go from cosmetics to ground source heat pumps in a single bound.

I had a conversation with my ex-H today about the difference between training and an education. I was ranting before I realised how strongly I feel about it, and how our school system is letting everyone down. Our schools and universities are focussing more and more on job preparation and less and less about education. Courses are being created around work-experience and job related experience. Now I don't have a problem with that per se, however, one of the things that struck me in the art college was the students attitude 'why do I have to do this course?' when confronted with the opportunity to learn something completely unrelated to their degree. Because it's interesting, because it will challenge you, because you will have the opportunity to learn something that you wouldn't normally think about in your daily life now and in the future.

Training. The learning associated with a profession or a job. GPs are trained, not educated. Their time at university is focussed soley on their profession. Which is why they have no idea about the wider world. They do their GCSEs, A levels and go straight into university. Do they have any understanding about socio-political issues that surround their patients? These will be informed by the choice of newspaper they decide to read, if they do at all. Is it any surprise they have no social skills?

Education. Learning something because it's interesting, might be useful, has no relevance to the student. Thirty years ago, Latin was drummed into grammar school students. Boring as fuck I'm sure. But I tell you what, I wish I had that opportunity. Someone who has been taught Latin has the immediate advantage over me, because they have grammatical building blocks which allow them to deconstruct and understand other foreign languages. Which is essentially why, people who speak 2 languages are able to pick up others really quickly. Me? I like communicating, I have no grasp of grammar, so for me, I make do with a reasonable vocabulary and depend on my body language to fill in the gaps.

The next few years I want to hone my analytical thinking. I want to explore theories and ideas which have no relevance to my employment, but which relate to me as an individual. I want to do an MPhil. The next few months will be about me kicking my brain into gear again. I did an exercise over the summer and even though I didn't get it, the process of doing it brought everything into sharp relief. There's no two ways about it learning is a really, really good thing for me.

A few weeks ago, I sat next to my book shelf and picked up the poetry I submitted for my degree. I was struck with a sense of disconnection. Did I really write this? Can I really do that? Write? I am so far adrift from my creative self now, I barely recognise it or believe it exists. And when I write this, believe me when I say I feel a real sense of panic. I feel as every day drifts past that I'm losing the most fundamental part of myself.

I'm breathing deeply through the terror, trying to calm myself down. I tell myself it's a muscle that hasn't been exercised. I haven't lost it. It's still there, waiting to flex. All there is to be done is to start off slowly again. There are writing exercises that I can do, I have a great camera to take out, there are buses to travel on.

Maybe that's the place to start again. Good grief, I think I'm about to go round again, not in a circle, but in a spiral. Will you keep me company? Please?

Times, they are a-Changin'

There have been a couple of reasons why I haven't been blogging regularly. Firstly, I've been in a particularly foul mood that started when I came back off holiday and has continued unabated. I'm perfectly aware of it's causes but I was reluctant to inflict it on you, my good virtual friends. I've been so vile that Boy greets me at the door with alcohol and my Viking...well I'm petitioning the Vatican on his behalf. I'm convinced he is a saint. The patience he has shown me, I've been like a porcupine with PMS; that he still wants to be with me is an absolute miracle.

Juggling two jobs, doing 6 and 7 day stretches ground me down. Trying to keep it together, being tired and grumpy has been a mammoth task. My thanks goes out to my personal chefs, Mr Tesco and Mme Marks & Spencer, without whom Boy and I would have starved.

Then I got offered a permanent position at the heat pump company as a Sales & Marketing Assistant. I don't think I quite bit their hands off to accept, but they were left in no doubt how much I wanted the job. Since the beginning of the month I've been working through my notice period which has crept by. Each day on the shop floor has been a challenge to keep the Editor-in-my-Head working at full speed as I struggled not let the sarcasm slip from between clenched teeth.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. Tomorrow, I'm in the office and Friday is my last day. Woo Hoo!

It's really weird, but as much as I'm looking forward to starting my new job, I am sorry to be leaving my glamorous past-time. I will miss the girls on the floor. They've been fabulous. They showed me the Girlie Way and I'll never look back. We've stood together through shop lifters, rude customers, weirdos and good looking men in uniform. I will miss them.

Happy Blogday to Me

Today, this blog is a year old. In the next two weeks I will be coming to the end of this particular journey. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. This afternoon, after a particularly tempestous meeting with our external examiner, I went for a bus ride and tried to take some photos. I was really struck with the fact that it didn't feel right. I was happy enough riding around, listening to my MP3 player and being nosey about other people, but taking photos of the experience...it felt unnecessary and wrong. So I took others instead.

This time last year I had concrete plans: I was going to get a First, I was going to do the full-time MA in Culture and Communication, I was going to get funding, I was going to get a part-time job, I was going to become a lecturer. I was also worried about Boy becoming a teenager, having a long-term relationship (not being in one at the time) and feeling sad about not having any more children (that really bugged me).

This year I have come to terms with the fact that I'm not going to get a First, I'll be happy with a 2.i (well, not happy exactly, but not disappointed either). I get my results Friday. Fortunately, I'm going to be working, otherwise I'd be going on a weekend bender and my liver is a bit fragile at the momet. I've applied to do the part-time MA in Digital Arts at the college and await further instructions. I'm not going to get funding (certainly not without a First, or filling out the application form), I'd rather do the course part-time and work as it gives me more flexibility and I can't be arse to wade through 40 pages of forms (I kid you not). I have had a couple of part-time jobs, the second one has kept me sane, in money and make-up. The first, stressed me to dangerous levels even if it did pay a heck of a lot more. Boy has got taller, broader, a touch moody, a bit spotty, but is the same lovely lad. I still get loads of cuddles and we still have fun hanging out together. He has a cheeky sense of humour and a fabulous smile. I am still potty about him...you might have noticed, probably as I keep going on about him. I am in a relationship, one which I didn't expect, but am enjoying very much. I no longer feel sad that I'm not likely to have more children, I suppose I'm too busy being creative and trying to keep the rest of my life going.

I suppose the biggest change has come from my attitude towards life. I haven't got a clue what's going to be good for me. Rather than trying to impose my will on life in general, I'm just letting it happen and going with the flow. I think I'll try and follow this advice, which you can see over here as well. My energy levels still aren't much to write home about, but I've started exercising again and am pleased to say I've lost 2 lbs last week. I am getting there, just a bit slowly; and no, I still have no idea where I'm going.

When I started writing this blog, I didn't realise that I'd get loads of new friends. New friends who've kept me company when I was low, who encouraged me when I lagged, who gave me loads of virtual hugs when I was pleased with myself. So, thanks very much all of you. I'm really enjoying this journey, I hope you'll stick around to see what the next year will bring.

Admitting Defeat

I find it very difficult to do so, even when it's really obvious to those all around me that things just aren't working out. I hate giving up. I like to finish things. I want to be the person that can be depended upon in a crisis, the person who copes well, smiles and has time for everyone.

Yesterday, it became very clear to me that actually, I had some hard choices to make. It was my degree, or my job. My degree represents my future as a Creative/Writer, brokedom, more debt than several third world countries put together. Versus my job: represents money, self-esteem, professionalism. I love the people I work with, even the spikey ones. They are incredibly supportive and compassionate, i'm often spluttering coffee everywhere with their jokes and wry observations. Then, there are the callers who are Byronic: mad, bad and dangerous to know. I think if I wasn't doing my degree, the job would be fine, in fact, more than fine.

My underwear is firmly hidden by my tights. I am not Superwoman. I wish I was. I really do. I am just a single parent, trying to finish my degree, trying to sort my life into some semblance of coherence. Ultimately, I'm on my own. My family is not in this country and while I have an excellent support network, of which I now count my 'virtual groupies', at the end of the day, it's just me looking after a teenager and a cat.

Work have said that they don't want me to go. They will pretty much strew rose petals in front of me if I come back. And I do want to. I hate letting the people down who have shown me so much faith and support. If I didn't have a dissertation to finish...okay, if I didn't have a dissertation to start, I think I'd probably be okay. But I do have it, and this isn't my life's calling.

I get up in the morning to write, to blog, to do my bus journeys, not to talk to attention seekers about Polonium 210.

Fortunately, the agency who took me on seem to like me; they immediately offered me more work. I have agreed to do odd days for them, but until January, my time is now my dissertation. The good news is that I've borrowed more books out of the library. The bad, well I've yet to open them.