Random Teeth-Brushing Thoughts

It will come as no surprise, given the title of this post, that I had random thoughts last night while brushing my teeth. Actually, the thoughts started on the loo, as all good thoughts tend to, but I thought a post entitled "random thoughts while weeing" may put people off. Some of you may be put off now, and I apologise. I just thought we should all be honest with each other.

So the thoughts themselves were regarding religion. This is generally something I've had an uneasy relationship with over the years. I went to Sunday School, church every Sunday, a Christian youth group, a Catholic secondary school, sang and acted for the Lord and yet am now an atheist. Which, let's face it, is a bit of an about-face. I was thinking about a few points from my Christian education that should have signposted the turn. Basically, although my parents were Christians as well, they were always a bit relaxed about various things. I had friends whose parents were dead against Halloween because it was felt to be a worship of things opposed to Christianity. My Dad, on the other hand, used to be really interested in the crossover of religions and beliefs and I remember particularly him mentioning Norse mythology, in which a god dies a Christlike death and is reborn, and reincarnation. In an RE class at secondary level, my attempts to raise the question of whether the heaven of Christianity could in fact be Earth and our afterlife could be reincarnation in the same place was shot down in flames. Not by debate, just my teacher saying repeatedly that she couldn't discuss it. Unsurprising in a school where we had to pretend that the pages on contraception in our biology textbooks didn't exist. The thing is, I didn't and don't necessarily believe that reincarnation is true and wasn't trying to be rebellious or anything, I just wanted to talk about the possibility of it. Because it's interesting.

I should have also realised when I couldn't get my head around the idea of martyrdom. In my youth group I remember having a discussion about it where an example was used of a long line of people who were being asked by a guy at the top of the line whether they were Christians and if they said yes they would be killed. Now, my response to this was that if you said yes, you were an idiot. I understand about sacrificing your life for your cause and Christians believe in heaven and life after death but that doesn't mean I necessarily think it's a good idea for me. At the time, I remember thinking that it would be okay to lie because then you can just carry on being a Christian without the unfortunate side effect that is being dead. If they got all the Christians in the world in that line and they all said yes, then everyone else may go "ooh, they believed in their religion so much that they all died for it" but they're not necessarily going to jump on the death bandwagon. Who would teach them Christian beliefs anyway? I think I surprised the youth group leader a bit but it isn't as if there weren't precedents; all the secret Christians in Ancient Rome with their fishes etc. To conclude, in the words of someone a lot funnier than me, "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it by not dying" (Woody Allen).

My lack of belief is something that I mourn occasionally but actually can't convince myself to believe in an external, omnipotent being. I respect people who believe in something so much that they are willing to die for it (despite the earlier "idiot"comment) but feel that I could never do the same.

Strangely these thoughts were processed in about five minutes and they instantly stopped as I raised my head to the mirror and realised my frizz had transformed into about four or five perfect little corkscrew curls, whereupon I ran through to MuleBoy to exhibit fantastic hair phenomenon and show him how cool it was when they pinged. He puts up with a lot.

Obligatory Blog

I felt like I should post because I haven't done for a week and it is frustrating when you go to a blog that you like and the bastard hasn't posted for ages. They may have an excuse, like Beanie's "oh, my computer doesn't work, blah, blah, blah", but it is annoying. However, I am concerned that my frequent updating of my weight/clothes-buying/working out status may become somewhat repetitive. Unfortunately it generally means that I am shallow. I am also apathetic and therefore have no views of a political nature that I can bring to the bloggy table. I did however, state to the MuleBoy on Sunday that we must watch the news more. We haven't yet but I haven't been in (appropriately have been at WeightWatchers and the gym, so one form of life betterment has succeeded another - I will get good balance and more knowledge, I will). There is a bit of my mind that is still resistant to the watching of the news though as, as a child, that is the only thing I remembered watching regularly on TV. MuleBoy often mentions TV programmes from his youth that I have little or no knowledge of to his disproportionate amazement. But the watching of the news became something of a chore; many was the night that Big Sis and I would beg for our parents to watch just the headlines so that we could watch something exciting on the other side. Moving to Uni and not having to watch the news gave me a sense of freedom that I'm still not willing to relinquish. But feel that I should in order to tick off one of those boxes I have in my head relating to being a fully fledged grown-up.

Photos

Working among arty types as I do, I occasionally get strange requests from people. Last year a colleague was asked if her hands could be photographed as she typed, I had to touch lots of different textures and answer questions about them and at Christmas we had to make decorations for a special tree out of office supplies. Today I had to have my photo taken with my ID badge. Now, when I was younger, I used to think that people were being silly when they hated having their photos taken and ran away from the camera. As someone who has grown up and realised that they are the very opposite of photogenic (as opposed to my cousin, who is the very definition of the word - it's not that she's drop dead gorgeous, although definitely good-looking, she just has poise) I now understand what those people meant. Many's the time I have turned up to some event feeling fabulous only to be confronted with a photo several weeks and realising that I didn't look as amazing as I felt. I have decided that I don't mind having my photo taken as long as I don't see the results. I now, after relinquishing my image to two students and not checking what they are going to do with it, am living in fear that I will be exhibited around the building in my office-clearing clothes and impetigo-y lip.

P O'd

I am annoyed. I have many plans in motion for this evening, involving being dressy and going out for dinner with Mr and Mrs Drunken Accomplice. Drunken Accomplice and I have rambled through several emails about wanting to be classy and pretty this evening. So imagine my dismay when I woke up this morning to find the evil demon impetigo had surfaced on my top lip. It was brewing last night but I hoped it would go away. Even when I was awoken by a dull throbbing in that area at 2.30 in the morning, I prayed it would not be true. But alas and alack, it is. As it is the fourth year that I have suffered from this affliction (it started September 2002 and has popped up every so often), I ended up going to my local drop-in clinic and telling the nurse that, yes, it may look like a cold sore but it is definitely impetigo. The second time I had it I went to the pharmacy at Boots and was told by the pharmacist that it was definitely a cold sore and I should just put Zovirax on it, which I did, causing my top lip to swell to the size of a golf ball (if it hadn't been my lip, it would have been funny). Now I wouldn't mind if it was anywhere else but I have a problem with stuff on my face. It's gross and embarrassing. People do double takes as I pass. It's understandable as the infection that causes impetigo is all straptococci-ish and therefore springs from nose and throat, so it is natural that the blessed thing roosts in the meeting ground between the two. I just wish it wouldn't.

My only consolation is that the antibiotics I have to take don't get messed up with alcohol, so if I can't be pretty, at least I can be drunk.

In other news, I looked at the dress and have gone off it so that fever has abated but I still bought some trousers and a Matthew Williamson jacket in the sales. So cute! And ridiculously cheap - from £90 original price together to £22. It's like I've made £68.

It is over, I am finished

The cold turkey period is well and truly over. I bought three tops on Friday afternoon and then bought a pair of shorts on Saturday morning (if only the weather was short weather, ah well, they were reduced and it will be soon). My willpower has broken and I am now desperate to go to my nearest Monsoon to check out this green dress that I saw the other week in London. In my defence, the purchasing of the tops was very necessary as many of my tops for work are either falling apart or worn so many times a week that they will be soon. I'd like to say that the newly rediscovered urge to shop has now abated but unfortunately I can make no guarantees. It is lucky that I hate the current Dotty P range otherwise I would be lost.

Folk On!

That headline is supposed to be a pastiche of "rock on" but it doesn't quite work. Go with me on this, though. I'm not changing it. I went to a folk club with Mum and Dad yesterday. It was definitely a new experience. I knew that it was a "singaround" but assumed this meant that someone would start a song and we'd all join in. Nuh-uh. We snuck in late, trying to avoid the competitive playing of a game involving green baize and long sticks (they are indistinguishable to me) on our way through a pub to the folk club residing in the skittles alley at the back. The MC was chatting and then the guy next to him did a poem about King Harold being stuck on a hillside on (everybody!) a horse with a hawk on his hand. I was quite surprised about everyone joining in something spoken but am, despite allegedly being in a folk band for three years, very ignorant of this folk malarkey. However, it wasn't until the guy next to him began singing on his own that I twigged. A singaround isn't really the same as "singalong". Yes, people, we were taking turns. Now, I wanted to do the folk club thing to be heard and find a new band to sing with. Anywho, when confronted with the opportunity to get myself heard etc, I couldn't really back down so had to go for it. The words to the first song I did literally dropped out of my head. I stopped halfway through the penultimate verse, tried to go on to the next one, then, with nothing in my head but white noise, had to stop. Fortunately, the group being apparently quite small (with about a quarter of the people there saying "pass") I got another chance to redeem myself and managed to remember all of the words. I obviously did quite well with the redemption thing as the MC did a request bit at the end where he went around and asked specific people to sing or play again and I was his first choice. Result! By that point I had run out of folk songs that I knew well so ended up singing a Billie Holliday.

I really loved it, the people were really friendly and I got to hear people just unselfconsciously playing and singing, which is so unusual. There was no false modesty and people just got on with it. I got to hear a dulcimer, a man playing the blues and a woman who sang with an amazing folk voice and sense of rhythm. I'd definitely go again. And next week Mum and Dad are going to prepare something too. Now, what to sing, what to sing?

Babies

I am not going to have babies any time soon. I do not want babies yet. Being asked continually will not speed up my decision. If someone could let MuleBoy's family know, I would really appreciate it. I keep telling them but they don't seem to listen to me.

I bought two t-shirts on Saturday. I tried so hard but I just couldn't do it any more. I wanted something new.