July, who'd have thought eh?

Hello lovelies. How's it going?

It's been a busy time what with one thing and another. Writing hasn't been terribly high on my To Do List that seems to have a reproduction system akin to a rabbit. 

The last scan Dave had at the end of Cycle 4 showed no difference in the main tumour's size. Given the side effects have been getting worse and the damage to his right kidney after a consultation with his oncologist, Dave decided to call a halt to the chemo and go for the radiation treatment. We are waiting for his appointments to come through. After that course, there will be another scan and hopefully, a long period of inactivity on the tumour's part. 

Dave however, will be very busy. He's really looking forward to going back to work at Strangers Roastery. Although, he's been popping in and doing tastings and the odd bits of work, he's missed it. 

I've managed to get a few days in the garden with Dave's lovely sister and we are beginning to tease the shape of things to come out of the mass of nettles and ground elder. She has promised to come visit in the autumn for a mega planting session, but in the meantime, I've got a lot of work to do. 

My application to do the MA has been turned down. It's a "no", but not a permanent no. It was felt that I had too much to deal with emotionally and the training would be distracting and too demanding at this time. As disappointed as I am, I realised that they are absolutely right. I need my energies focused in my life right now. I have other things to do and the training won't be going anywhere.

The chickens are nuts as always. While I was away for my training, the little tinkers treated Boy and Dave like substitute teachers. They played up so much, I was embarrassed. Jenga in particular was a right dick about coming home at night. He thought he'd continue his disobedience on my return. It earned him a few days in the hen house while the hens played. I think he realised the shortness of my fuse when I ran him down twice. I picked him up and carried him home in the end. Since that time, he's behaved reasonably well. 

Boy has his results and now has a BA in Marketing and Advertising. He's spending the summer having fun, working in various music festivals and intends to do his serious job hunting based with me, come the autumn. The job market for graduates sucks so incredibly much right now; it seems like an uphill struggle to get a foot in the door. He's got a good work ethic, oodles of determination and mad skillz, so I'm not worried about his future. 

And then of course, there has been farce and catastrophe of Brexit. I've spent enough time rating about it on other social media and if I'm sufficiently moved, perhaps I'll throw my tuppence worth on here next week. 

I decided to do some mindfulness training and learn to meditate properly, that will keep me out of mischief for a bit. There's also the arting that continues in dribs and drabs. I wrote a poem the other day and there's still my novel to get stuck into. One thing is for certain, Life is all about Change. Some within this woman's control, most not at all so. At the moment, I'm going with the flow.  

Notes from the mid-Life Crisis

These are just a few of the thoughts I've had recently, in no particular order, because that's pretty much the way I think...

• I like living in the country. I like the silence and the darkness.
• It's funny, but apart from the deer, I see exactly the same species here, as I saw at home. I prefer being here.
• I'm not enjoying the commute. 
• I try to leave the house at 7.30. I am usually not successful. 
• If I leave 5 minutes late, it adds another 15 minutes to my journey. If I leave at 8 am, I still arrive at work at 9 am. Go figure.
• My intention is to have that extra half an hour in bed tomorrow.
• It's been a challenge to figure out how to continue to shop cheaply. The nearest big shop is a Co-op, which adds at least another £10.00 to my weekly shop. 
• Calling into Lidl, my discount supermarket of choice, after work requires a lot of will power. I'm usually so knackered after my working day.
• However, if I do that, the traffic has a chance to clear a bit. 
• 
  

• I called round the flat. I picked up a few bits. Locked up and left.
• I don't miss it.
• I don't regret leaving there.
• Technically, I'm living in a bungalow.
• That's like living in a flat on the ground. But with lots more space than I had before.
• I definitely like it. I didn't think I would like living in a bungalow. But I do. 
• I'm beginning to think past my year here. Wondering where I'd like to go next. 
• I'm not sure I'll be ready to move back into Norwich. 
• However, as I don't know what I'll be feeling like in 11 months time, I'm keeping an open mind about things. 
• It's good to have options. 
• 
  

• I ran the other day. 
• It was so good to move again.
• My back has hated me since. It seems I have to work on building up the strength in my muscles before I can go back to running.
• I look like a bright lemon knob when I run.
• Don't care. I don't want to be flattened running on country roads.
• Besides, it's not like I look wonderful when I run anyway.
• I have started on my 5-a-day diet again. Once I've got that sorted, I'll start upping it. My aim is for 9-a-day. You know I like a challenge.
• I am also trying to cut down sugar.
• I had an iced donut at work today. It tasted magnificent, but it left me feeling very weird for hours after. 
• Fatigue is still dogging my heels. 
• This weekend, I am starting my fitness routines again.
• My aim is to start off very gently and build up to my previous levels.
• I also want to get into meditating regularly. I'm still very sporadic with my meditation practice.

I took a quiz in The Guardian this week. It turns out that I'm neither happy, nor unhappy. Neutral, describes my results. I felt that was pretty accurate. I've lost that awful trapped/claustrophobic feeling. I wake up every morning and feel blessed. I am truly grateful for the life I lead. I've been very lucky. 

Existential Angst/Mid-life Crisis

Yes, it's true. I am having a mid-life crisis. I have come to hard realisation of two important things:

1. Life is Meaningless. We are born, we are taxed and then we die. Therefore, the only meaning in Life is that which we create.

and

2. While I every major thing I have every wanted has been denied to me, I have actually had a pretty awesome time considering.

These two truths along with some other things, have meant that since August I've been wrestling with both the Big and the Little Pictures.

The flat where I thought I'd die in, over the last 8 weeks became my prison. I hate being here, I can't abide being in Norwich anymore. I've lived here since 1996. In fact, I'm moving out pretty much 18 years to the day. I am having a Don McLean moment.

This midlife crises leaves no relationship, no belief or activity unquestioned. This process hasn't even come close to finishing yet. I'd go so far as to say, I've only just begun.

Tomorrow, I move. I am being packed up and I am running away to the country. I've been offered sanctuary by the most lovely Z. It's only for as long as it takes her to sort through her own stuff and then I'll have to move again. Where to after, I can't say. I can't say, because I don't know. I honestly don't know.

To deal with the first issue. What is the meaning I want to create in my Life? 

I'm going to do an Introduction to Counselling course in the New Year and after that, I will have more options. Or not.

I've started a course at the Norwich Buddhist Centre. I haven't been a pagan magical practitioner for a good few years now. Not because I don't believe magic doesn't work, but because I believe it does. I no longer believe I have any answers to Life's dilemmas/questions. I would rather take each step as it comes and trust the outcome is as it needs to be. 

Which kind of leads on to #2. The times I didn't get what I so very dearly wanted and craved were hard. Really hard. But I learnt some very valuable lessons. And pretty much, without exception, although I wanted a different outcome, in hindsight it was such a good thing. Relationships that I wanted to succeed and failed spectacularly, even though I tried so hard - they would have destroyed my soul. Work situations that would have crushed me in the long term, despite the excellent potential for enormous salaries and career progress.

The little I've learnt about Buddhism matches up to my experiences so far. I will never be Christian again and I am no longer a magical practitioner, but my belief in spirituality remains unshaken. I've had too many weird things happen to me, to believe otherwise. 

But I digress; tomorrow I move.

Tomorrow, I pack up and leave the flat where I've lived on and off over 16 years. It was supposed to be our haven and it hasn't been. It's not big enough for me to live in the way I need to. 

I've been laughing with friends today about the fact that in my 20s I did a BA in Development Studies, in my 30s I did a BA in Creative Writing, now in my 40s I'm looking for more learning. I think I will do a counselling course, though what flavour, I don't know yet. Or indeed, I might do something completely different. Who knows? If someone up there does, they haven't made me privy to that info. 

In a couple of weeks, Boy is coming home for the weekend. He's going to hold my hand as I have my first tattoo done to mark the occasion. I'm really looking forward to it.

Ultimately, I could have continued to pretend that everything was alright. I'm sure I could have had a stab at ignoring how I feel. Instead, I've decided to embrace this. Whatever "this" turns out to be. Wherever "this" takes me, at least I know I will have stood up and met the challenge head on.  

Drunk and in Charge of a Keyboard

I'm sure this isn't a good idea. One I will regret and perhaps delete when sobriety hits. But since when has that ever stopped me? Never. I'm going to tell you a little about why I'm such a fundamental optimist. Why I feel compelled to help the talented people around (and yes, there are many). This isn't a "OMG, Poor me" post. I've only had a gin and tonic, I'm not quite there enough to let the Self-Pity Gnome in.

I'm a bit of an outsider in my Life. 

During my childhood, I didn't look like my family. I was adopted. I didn't know my racial origins. I was scrawny, short-sighted and had teeth and a smile only a mother could love. I didn't know what I wanted to do when I grew up. I was socially awkward, unathletic and preferred the company of animals. I liked books, but was rubbish at school. I liked people and had a weird kind of confidence with them, but didn't really connect with anyone for any length of time. All in all, I was a bit of a mess. 

I wanted to be like my brother. He always knew what he wanted to do. I respected that so much. That passion to exclude all other things, to just know what path needed to be trod. That was just so cool.

I though this passion could be found in relationships with the opposite sex. But no, I chose badly; it all went horribly wrong and I've since learnt to love very carefully. It can be a bit of a compromise, but I love as much as I feel safe to, so I'm not hurt by rejection too much.

Writing as my preferred form of communication has been with me since I nicked my father's Brother typewriter at 13. It was only at 33 that I began to learn how to construct a story someone might actually want to read from start to finish. Ten years later, I haven't really written anything apart from my random blogging and a novella.

I have commitment issues.

That's why I'm so utterly inspired by talented people who follow through their passions with actions. I am blessed with friends both online and IRL who are writers, artists, poets, musicians, photographers and entrepreneurs, I just want to help. That's part of the reason why I did the NLP, I thought it would enable me to help people who wanted to do something different.

Simple really.

Too see people who are prepared to walk to the ends of the earth to make their dreams come true, who do that bit more different, that's really something. 

Rubbernecking at Car Crashes

I am not what you would call trendy. I choose comfort over style any time. If I had my way, I'd go to work in jeans and trainers. If it's cold, I layer up starting with my M&S thermal underwear. Nor do I watch soaps, reality tv or anything vaguely 'now'. My conversation in an office is limited. I refuse point blank to spend my hard earned cash on fashion, celebrity or even women's magazines.

Am I interested in what Katie Price did next? No, not really. Do I care which X-Factor star is trying to cop off with Simon Powell? If I say I couldn't give a flying fuck, it would indicate too much emotion on my part.

And yet...

I can't wait to get to the doctor/dentist/orthodontist's waiting rooms. I always arrive early. Not because I'm a punctual person (I'm not. I operate on Pagan time, which means I'm always late), but because I love to read the magazines I publicly revile. Hello and OK draw me like a slice of double chocolate cake, seduces an anorexic.

The older these magazines, the better. I've found myself happily reading about Peter and Katie's fairy tale romance in a waiting room this year, the grumbling when I was called in for my consultation, was audible and expletive-ridden. I don't know why Angelina being reviled for seducing Brad pulls me in.

I pour over pictures of minor celebrities, major A-Listers and members of the upper echelons of British society, decked out in their best formal-wear as they 'lounge' around their humble weekend pad that is the size of my house X 4. I tut over Camilla's choice of dress to an opening event. Openly mock the stylist who convinced the Queen that the apricot suit and matching hat really worked for her. The recovering alcoholic rock-star in his mid-forties with his new soulmate, who has 2 years on his oldest child from his previous soulmate, is not above my bitchiness.

The article in Cosmo on the top 10 tips to have the best orgasms with him, her or them, gets read from beginning to end. As does the 'How to have a perfect Christmas' in the 2003 edition of Woman and Home. I've shaken my head at the 75 year old woman who has been having an affair with the same married man for the last 35 years. I've been suitably horrified for poor 19 year old Chardonnay whose 17 year old rat-bag husband ran off with her mum (aged 30) in Take-A-Break. The best 10 minute exercise to get my body ready for the summer. The latest fad diet: no carb, no proteins, food combining, starvation and upchucking as the best ways to loose weight for the LBD for the Christmas party. Serious debates about plastic surgery, size 0, curvy women, skinny women, real women choose botox. I can't get enough of it.

I realise that I can do this because of one fundemental fact: this is environmentally friendly trash. It's all recycled. It doesn't matter if I don't buy the newest copy of Elle, because the content will be pretty much the same in 5 years time. It'll still be filled with cosmetic ads, the latest anti-aging product from Olay, and articles on how to attract the right bloke, keep the right bloke, get over the wrong bloke and carry on without a bloke.

It doesn't stop me getting to the waiting room early and reaching for the copy though.

Hi Hoooooo!

I have a well earned reputation for being a Lazy Shite. Given any opportunity I will assume The Position on my sofa, which is very, very comfy. I don't like mornings and will happily potter around smoking and drinking my coffee until...well...the afternoon. My Get Up and Go, got up and left years ago, slammed the door on it's way out and hasn't been seen since. Not even a postcard.

This reputation has been shaken and stirred Ladies and Gentlemen. I am once again gainfully employed with The Alternative Healthcare Practice. I have a long history with them. When I was doing my Creative Writing qualifications that led to my degree, I would be their emergency receptionist. When I wasn't working for them I was sampling the many treats of accupuncture, osteopathy and hypnotherapy. Earlier this year, I thought some accupuncture would be good for me. And it was. After a treatment, I casually dropped into the conversation that I would be available again for any work they could throw my way. The few days work then turned into a 2 day a week job. Before I had the chance to get to comfortable, I got the phone call from my brother, saying it looked like my father had lung cancer.

I went to my employer, explained the situation and then said I was going to Trinidad for 2 months. Any other sane employer would have thanked me for my time and bid me farewell. He did not. He sent me off with his blessing and said the job would be waiting for me when I got back. I did say to him if he got someone he liked, to hang on to them. It's a small business and they can't afford not to have a key member of staff. I understand the pressures that running a small business brings.

As soon as I was coherent the day after I landed, I rang to say I was back. Did they still want me? Would they mind if I had a week to get my shit together before I started (if they still wanted me back)? Yes, they wanted me back and of course I could have a week before I started. Not only that, but if I needed to take more time, I could have it. I was both suprised and pleased.

The Monday after my return, I went along to have a financial review with my financial advisor. In the course of our meeting, after he finished telling me off for going through my cash reserves like a wolf in a sheep's pen, he offered me a job. Temporary, for the other days of the week I'm not working. The temporary part is a convenience on both sides. We need to see if we like each other and to see if it's going to work.

So much for continuing my life as a bum.

Since I've come back from Trinidad, I've gradually been getting the house and garden sorted. Jobs which were piling up have now been dealt with. I've not been terribly energetic about it, less blazing and more of a gentle pottering, with Couch Time being factored in.

I still have no idea what I want to do when I grow up. For the moment, that's okay. I'm not in a position to make any long term decisions right now. One way or another, this year has been hard work. I've been battered and blown about. That's okay too. I've learnt a lot and I hope with the learning I am a wiser and stronger woman for it. Time will tell. Everything is as it should be.

Priorities

As my plans for World Domination near fruition, I find myself faced with a dilema: what on earth am I going to wear?

I hit Norwich yesterday to answer that very question. I had in the back of my mind a dress I'd seen in the window of Karen Millen. I found some fantastic dresses. They were Oh My God expensive, but hey, the event in February (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) is when I step out and there's no point looking like something the cat threw up. My normal dress code is: jeans, comfy jumper and walking boots. I like being comfortable and I'm not willing to totter around on high heels on a daily basis, just to go into town to pick up some essentials. So, the opportunity to dress up in girls clothes is always welcome. And if I'm getting a new dress, obviously I need new shoes, new bag and accessories. My gran used to say, do it properly or don't do it at all.

Back to Karen Millen. So there were these fabulous dresses, which as far as I were concerned, were perfect. Unfortunately, Karen's idea of a size 10 and mine are two different things. The dress I wanted I could not breathe in properly and it stretched in places, I'd rather it didn't. In all honesty, a diet of bread and water would sort that out by the time the event rolls around. However, there's a part of me that is very resistant. I'm buggered if I'm going to starve myself just to wear the dress once. Either it's perfect now, or I will have to walk away.

Humpf.

Sometimes being a grown up sucks. So, I'm going once again into the breach this morning to look for the dress that says: smart, stunning, not a woman to be triffled with. Wish me luck. Expect more whinging when I start looking for the shoe and bag combo.

Wearing Purple

Over the weekend, someone made a throwaway comment about being 40 and living like a student. It suddenly occured to me that I'm getting old. How weird. I mean, I like celebrating my birthday. Like most pagans I'm always up for a good celebration, and events which come with pressies, friends and wine, are just good by their definition. But, I really am growing older.

In my head, my parents' friends were always going to be middle aged, and when I grew up I would then become the same age as them. So it came as a shock when they and my parents, not only aged normally, but then had the temerity to die. How rude!

I look at other 40 year olds, they have careers, marriages, mortgages, children, businesses...they're all so terribly grown up. I've got Boy, Cat and a home, but I don't feel grown up. I just feel more me. Which is difficult to explain, but I think I'm begining to arrive.

Just as my body prepares to go south.

I was sitting in my favourite eaterie this morning, contemplating my cappuccino and I started thinking of 10 things which I have found great about growing older (though the wiser bit is questionable).

1. I am now less concerned about being liked, and more concerned about being accepted.

2. I quite like my appearance. I like spending my time on make-up. Not because I want to be more attractive to anyone else, but simply because it gives me pleasure. It's a treat to myself.

3. I am less of a control-freak. As I have got older, I'm less interested in being sensible and more interested in having experiences. And you know what? I'm still keeping myself safe. I haven't turned into a crack whore, yet.

4. I value my vices. They bring me great pleasure.

5. Being compassionate is far more important than being right. Though I suspect that's still a work in progress.

6. My tolerance for day-to-day cruelty and rudeness has plummeted. Life is too short to waste time on such things. Yes, I'm perfectly aware this completely contradicts #5.

7. Quality is far more important than quantity. I would rather go without than put up with something cheap or substandard. That applies to more than goods and services.

8. I have learnt I can survive the most awful things and flourish.

9. Perseverance. As long as I keep breathing in and out, all will be well. Again, similar to #8, but not quite.

10. And perhaps most importantly, the inadequacey of the word 'love'. The horror and atrocities perpetrated in the name of love...I sit here and shake my head. I have no need of it to be said to me ever again. A bit dramatic? Perhaps. I would rather someone say to me 'you exasperate me beyond belief woman, but I brought you dinner and a bottle of wine', than say 'I love you' and not call.

Your turn, what gems have you learnt while growing older? Make it as funny or as heartfelt as you like. I'm nosey.

Over to You

As you know I am often found on Facebook, one of the great time thieves of the Interweb era. In reply to a cheeky response to my status update, I misquoted the famous saying I'll try anything once, except incest and folk dancing.

So apart from incest, what do you refuse to try?

All answers gratefully accepted. Don't be shy.

Population Control

I was neutered Monday morning, hence this being a slow blog week.

Apparently, I should have experienced mild abdominal discomfort easily assuaged with paracetmol and ibuprofen. The first 24 hours I should have been uncomfortable, but back to normal by Day 5.

Yeah right.

Let's summarise my experience with 'OW!' and leave it at that.

I'm not sorry I had the op and I'm looking forward to test driving my newly sterilised bits....anon. Very anon.

In the meantime, I am taking it slow watching trashy television (of which there is a great deal) and reading trashy books (of which I have many).

May I just say the Great Ursus and his lovely, are fabulous people? I will be having words with the Powers that Be to ensure that there will be stars shining in the Heavens just for them.

Suspension of Belief

I have a question regarding the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer.

Bearing in mind that I'm happy to buy into the whole Vampire thing. Bram Stoker's Dracula is my idea of soft porn. Darkly sexual, predatory and scary.

I'm also a fan of the early works of Anne Rice. Interview with a Vampire etc. Queen of the Damned is one of my favourite books, though I can happily leave the movies.

I'm a big fan of Buffy. Joss Whedon writes bloody good dialogue. Last night I spent happy hours on Wikiquote reading through the best quotes from the series.

The Vampire mythology, darkly sexual and predatory. Emotionally unavailable, sexy, strong what woman wouldn't want to try and tame and be tamed by tall, dark and handsome? Count me in. I'm there with my corset and black eye-liner.

So, if you were immortal, craved human blood, tell me...why would you want to spend your time in high school? I mean, not being funny or anything, but the worst part of reincarnation has got to be going through puberty yet again (ad infinitum)? Being spotty, horny, inarticulate, socially dodgy and smelly. Bleugh.

Why would you, a tall, dark and handsome immortal, want to do that? Voluntarily? Is Edward just thick? He's 90 years old and he still can't get the hang of algebra? American history? He can't manage to figure out prepositions, clauses and split-infinitives? Is this his punishment for drinking human blood? Having to repeat Grade 10 over and over again? Since when is thick as two-short-planks, sexy?

I'm as open as the next woman, to eye candy. But the thought of being seduced by a 90 year old, thick, vampire, it just doesn't work for me. Darkly brooding or no. I just can't suspend my belief enough to forego the 3 hours or so to read the book(s) or see the film. As I'm not immortal, my time is too precious for that.

Dressing the Mormon Way

Every year the Mormons descend on Carrow Road for their big get-together East Anglian style. Riverside becomes swamped in freshly scrubbed, suited men and their women of all ages, shapes and sizes.

I was dragged out of my home, kicking and screaming by the Great Ursus who has decided to 'look after me' in my time of need (I am more and more coming to understand the comfort of agraphobia and am considering lining it up as my next neuroses, but he's not having any of it. *mutter, mutter*).

So, we're driving past Carrow Road and there are the throngs of freshly scrubbed Mormons and I was struck by the thought, when exactly does the Dowdy Fairy come visiting? As you know, I'm looking at my 40th in a matter of months and I'm just wondering whether being Pagan is protection enough against her wily ways.

When do polyester, A-line, pleated, paisely skirts start to look good on a hanger? Especially coupled with flat shoes and frilly blouses?

The younger women, in their long flower printed skirts, are lovely, but next to them are their mothers, because families that pray together, stay together. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of long skirts, they hide a multitude of sins and are cooler in hot weather. But, any woman who grew up in the 60s and 70s, there's really no excuse for it. Or is it the religion? Along with the many wives, at middle age, out go vibrant colours and in comes lilac and baby blue (both of which should never, ever be put together, especially if one has reddy tones).

I know this isn't particularly Politically Correct of me, but quite frankly, the Editor-in-my-Head is off on holiday. Any hate mail, make it interesting 'burn in hell' isn't going to cut it. And besides, I already know I'm not going to Heaven, I won't know anyone there.

Private Spaces

Commuting out of the city every day has given me a new insight on human nature. You'd think I'd have grown bored of human nature - you'd be wrong. People never fail to fascinate me.

A car is a private space, an extention of one's home if you will. And people treat their cars like they do any other private space, even though it's got 5 windows and half the city's population trying to get to work.

While waiting for lights I have seen:

• a guy have a really good dig around his nose, and give the results a thorough inspection before consuming.
• a woman apply full make-up
• another woman squeeze her spots
• a couple argue, with lots of hand flinging..
• a mad woman sing on the top of her lungs to Bohemian Rhapsody...

Oh yeah, that was me.

Blessings for the Solstice

A while ago, Sanddancer asked me about my beliefs. Today, the Grauniad did a particularly good article.

I suppose, because I'm not a particularly flakey woman, I find some of the more 'way out' pagans quite irritating. I think it's because I don't think it's an entirely comfortable belief and people who think it is, are missing the point.

Life is a raw experience. There is Light and Dark. Each with their own place and purpose. I think magic is like that. I think trying to ignore the darkness, in the favour of light, is daft. Understandable, but daft.

My practise tends to be more devotional, rather than based in spell-craft, though I can cast a mean spell when required. I try and be a live-let-live kind of person until pushed too far. Most of the time, I leave it to the three-fold law of Karma - that which you do comes back to you times three. But I will help things along if necessary. Recently, I've been feeling like I need to give Karma a little push in the right direction.

Quote for the Day/Week/Month/Year

If there were in the world today any large number of people who desired their own happiness more than they desired the unhappiness of others, we could have paradise in a few years.

Bertrand Russel.

Quite.

*sigh*

Part of my job description involves fielding calls from tele-sales operators. Given that I most of what I do at work involves sales, and I'm overly sensitive about rejection, I tend to be fairly gentle when dealing with these people.

However, yesterday did not get off to a good start when a muppet rang up and asked to speak to my COO, who wasn't there and then asked for:

Rosie Blackbourne.

I said my full name and asked how I could help.

He asked again for Rosie Blackbourne.

I said my full name again and asked how I could help.

He corrected me.

When I explained through clenched teeth that he had the right person but the wrong name, he then rang off in a huff.

I am doing a lot of deep breathing exercises these days.

It's not working.

Snow (again)

I looked out the window and it snowed during the night. Joy.

It looks that sparkly frozen type which has the potential to be lethal. The Viking says I need to get over it and spend some time doing handbrake turns in an empty car-park. Bless him, he has leant me his copy of Roadcraft - the Police Drive Faster manual. If I wasn't going to salsa tonight, I'd start reading it.

This is a week of frustration. It is filled with 'one step forward, two steps back'. I understand it's caused by the most part by my complete inability to be patient. Changes are coming, but damnit I want them NOW.

I overdid things with my healthy living stuff, and my stomach told me in no uncertain terms how very unhappy it was with me. So, I've had to take things a bit more easy, the result, some of the weight I'd lost reappeared magickally on the scales. *sigh* At least the cramps have dissipated and I can't get off the couch now.

The house sale is sliding towards a wall with no brakes. Conveyancing and the survey have thrown up some issues which I'm not terribly happy about. These issues may turn into a bargaining point, or they may knacker the sale completely. I've not had the time to read the documentation fully, I've taken tomorrow off so I can deal with it properly, but I'm not prepared to make any decisions until I'm better informed. Perhaps I'll have another look around. At the moment, I won't say until I've read the papers and talked to a couple of people.

When I make decisions, I do tend to do so straight from the gut. Making decisions on instinct carries with it certain risks which I'm not sure I'm prepared to pay now. However, making decisions based on the head alone is too cold for me and compromise still seems to be the art of making everyone unhappy. Though, in this case, it'll be me rattling round a house I don't bond with.

*sigh*

I suppose it was too much to ask for, that my life would become more straightforward?

When the Going gets Tough...

...and the Tough have left, then it's only us chickens.

I added 'leaving wallet in car' to the list of Things I will Never do Again and moved briskly on. The car is brilliant, I loves it to bits. As long as other people leave us be, I think we'll be just fine.

This week also marks the beginning of my New Year's Resolution kicking into effect. Ladies and Gentlemen I actually got up early, two days running and exercised before I went into work! Go me. Go me. Okay so it's only two days, and two days do not make a routine, or an immediately fit body, but it's a start. Not only that, but I've been having soup at lunch times and, AND been eating nearly 5 a day! Oh yeah, I'm on fire!

I can't work up the enthusiasm for swimming as the weather has been so frigid. I know they heat the pools etc, but I'm a tropical flower and I need it steaming before I wade into any water. As it is I've got 3 layers on, which I think will ensure I continue to be single for a life-time. Lets face it 60 dernier tights and a thermal vest is not what you would call....alluring. I don't care, I'm comfy.

Despite the crap this week, I'm feeling more positive and energetic than I've felt for a long time. Long may it continue.

PS. Because I'm nosey...I'd love to know what's on your List of Things Never to do Again...go on, be brave, tell all.

Care

Last night I finally got around to doing something that's been in the back of my mind for a few weeks now, I wrote a thank you letter.

Since I started blogging, I've been an avid reader of medical-type blogs. Tom, Mousie - now gone, especially. It made me realise that although I think my GP is the closest thing to perfect you can get in a doctor, I've never said thank you.

I have suffered at the hands of bad GPs. There are some GPs in practise who I would go and get petrol if they were on fire in the street. GPs, who if I was dying, I would sooner see the local vet or take myself off to the mortuary, they were so incompetent, arrogant and lazy.

My GP, recently went up against the system for me. He was insistent I had a procedure done, because given the symptoms I was presenting, he was worried I had the onset of cervical cancer. I've had this procedure done several times and each time it was painful, traumatic and awful. With the NHS system as it is, it's pot luck who you get to do it. There was only one consultant who I felt was trustworthy. There's been a new referral system put into place and I couldn't be guaranteed seeing him. My GP wrote several times to the consultant and in the end rang and argued with him, until he gave in and I got my appointment - within 3 weeks! As it turns out all is well, and the procedure was fine - I'm not traumatised. But my point is - he did all of that for me. Above and beyond the call of his duty of care to me.

People who go above and beyond the call of duty should be recognised. Please do something for me today. Go see Tom. Time and time again, he puts his heart and soul into his job, both get broken and bruised in the process - but this broke my heart too.

There are good people out there. It's wrong to assume it's just their job, when they have such a profound impact on the people they serve. The kindness of others can make an awful, unbearable situation, survivable. To all of you who care: thank you.

A Quick Question

I was waiting in the orthodontists office this morning and as I was flicking through Harper's Bazaar a question occured to me:

Why is it all of the models photographed look vacant, even vacuous?

Is beauty really defined by how empty the head is?

It is ever so slightly worrying.