When Life Goes Scary

I tried to post yesterday but had to stop as I was on the verge of embarrassing myself in a public place. It was a very bad day yesterday. I cried during the dissertation hand-in, although it was fortunately at a point when students were still lining up at the printers and weren't actually present. My Dad went into hospital on Tuesday night as a result of chest pains and then was told he'd had a heart attack and needed to stay in a week. We were all in a state of high panic but having got to the hospital and having Dad sit with us in the waiting room for a bit we'd all calmed down, but this news suddenly made it seem much more serious.

I closed off yesterday. I couldn't tell anyone except my boss at work so that I could leave early. I hadn't slept particularly well the night before and tiredness combined with a barely suppressed panic meant I just couldn't let anything out or I wouldn't stop. Dad's health since has been really good;, good blood pressure, good heartbeat but it's difficult to relax. I feel more relaxed but there's still a niggling thought in the back of my mind that when I'm not there, anything could happen. I wish I had the tools to defend my family against everything. A doctor and a warrior and a magician all in one. They are so precious.

I would break if anything happened to my Dad. I was trying to phrase it yesterday and couldn't find the words. I can't think of anything that expresses it better. I would break. I do not know anyone with more passion or the ability to express that passion and be so infectious with it. Although he can stumble with the words, his excitement is lifting and his sincerity is palpable. People are drawn to him and his talent and what is an indefinable air of being just kind of cool. Many's the time have I been told by people, or overheard, how awesome my Dad is. He's devoted to my Mum, and she to him, and their relationship is one of the best I've ever seen. Although he sees himself as curmudgeonly and grumpy, which, don't get me wrong, he can easily be, he is an optimistic and romantic bon viveur.

That last point may have to be trimmed somewhat with a post-heart attack diet but what can you do? I think evidence of his awesomeness can be seen in the response to me telling people; emails and phone calls and visitors have been popping in and I'm so grateful for all of this. People are amazing.

Crazy Lady

So, I'm back on a diet and back to obsessing about food. I'm sure you're not exactly fascinated by this and I know that I can get a bit repetitive but, as with Herself and her drinks list the other day, sometimes it is good to use the blogs for our own means as opposed to providing entertainment. I have managed to eat very little this week, which I am quite surprised by. I was ratty when I came back from a training session this morning because I hadn't eaten and there were biscuits and everything. I have now eaten and my mood has been restored. I'm eating a bowl of cereal for lunch as I hate sandwiches that have been around for a while. I only eat sandwiches at home because they're fresh. I think it has to do with getting cheese and cucumber sandwiches at school; when I got to them at lunch, the bread and cheese would be soggy from the cucumbers. If I remembered, I'd take the cucumbers out when I got to school and store them separately. I can't remember if I ever actually told my Mum or not, that probably would have been easier.

Anyhoo, yesterday was a work hand-in and I was up and down like a yoyo so decided not to do the cereal thing and got a gross wrap that was 9 Weightwatchers points. I threw half of it away so it counts as 4.5, I reckon. Had to do the same thing just now with a sticky toffee Mullerlite thing. There weren't any apples at the corner shop and I'd seen a persuasive advert of a Mullerlite and a chocolate button, saying that they were about the same fat content or something so thought that the Mullerlite would be brilliant because so much more filling. Unfortunately it was really sickly, so have wasted £3.55 this week on food that I have thrown away. Very frustrating. And really, who sells crap yoghurts over apples? I went to Tesco Express while walking in to work this morning (get me) and they didn't have any of the apple type that I am currently eating so didn't get any there. I'm into Granny Smith's at the moment, before that it was Cox's, before that, Gala and Braeburns and I really only ate Granny Smiths in my teenage years. It does make it slightly awkward that not only do I only eat one type of fruit but that I also only eat one type of the one type of fruit that I do eat. Does that make sense?

I have been to the gym Monday and today and walked either to or from work every day. When I get home, MuleBoy has generally cooked something massively unhealthy, so that is something to change for next week! But as a cap to the day I've been having pure sugar. I had five After Eights on Monday and four Minstrels last night. It's something to look forward to. This restraint will last until the weekend, I reckon. Then I'll probably be just as crap as before. But at least I'm trying now.

The cats' diets are going pretty much as I expected. Having been back for their second weigh-in (they have to go every six weeks) Steve has lost 250 grams and Meatball has gained 100. I'm not quite sure how she's managed this. I put on weight because I can go to the shops and buy more food, which I can't really imagine her doing. So we're going to exercise her more, which currently involves us running to the top of the stairs with her food. She stops and looks at us from the bottom and waits for us to come back down again. I was in a rush this morning so gave up after she sat on the fifth step and refused to go any further. In light of this, the cat harness that we've bought in order to walk her is starting to feel like a wasted purchase. I'll give it a go at the weekend, I think. Maybe at night so that no-one can actually see me walking a cat.

Waking Up

Happy New Year everybody!

I've been in hibernation. It's been very nice. Taking the first week back at work off is becoming something of a tradition and it is generally extremely lovely. I sleep a lot, eat a lot, play games, spend time with MuleBoy, watch old films, stay up late and avoid the shower. I know, I know, the last bit's gross. It's just really nice falling out of the world for a while.

So now I'm back. Can't say that I've done anything constructive yet, except plan to not eat very much today and I made myself bring in my gym bag. Early days. And to be honest, I'm not really convinced that I'll get very far with any resolutions that I've half-heartedly formed in my head. But I'm currently feeling content and warm-glow-ish, which is worth a lot. Excited by the future and all the possibilities. I can see an end to MuleBoy's degree, he has a new job at the mo, I can see an end to my job and the start of something new. Everything seems shiny and new, just like it should do after a decent hibernation.

Identity

So, first night of the play last night. I think it went well, we heard some positive stuff, which was nice. Very difficult to know when you don't spend that much time actually onstage, but the bits I was on for seemed alright.

Finally, to return to my much delayed blog from Wednesday, I am sick of being mistaken, misspelt, mispronounced and misunderstood. I understand, on the phone why someone may get my name wrong as I speak quickly and the sibilance of the end part of my name does run into the word "speaking" so that it often disappears. I do not understand email and letter confusion. It is written down. How, in any way, can people be so dense that they just don't double-check something before they reply? Somehow, they just seem to assume that I've got it wrong.

Similarly, I have a problem with being mistaken for somebody else. This happens a lot as Big Sis and I are similar-looking and for some people this constitutes us being the same person. Every time this happens I go and rant at Big Sis because I don't understand! We have similar faces, similar mannerisms and similar body shapes but there are enough differences to stop us from being the same. I choose to be ginger, she chooses to be blond. I'm three inches taller. I have a much longer face and goofy teeth. She has a smile like a normal person. Part of the problem is that Big Sis has a public role in her job and a number of people around where she works know her. They then see me, not knowing she has a sister, think I'm her, smile and say hello in a friendly way. As I don't know them, I'm not quick enough to twig and will give them a variety of responses a) confused smile, b) confused frown, c) blank face and, on a bad day, d) glare. I worry about this. It concerns me that I reflect badly on my pleasant and personable sister and makes me feel not so much a person in my own right but merely the bad side of her personality.

Of course, it's worse when the person in question does know both of us and still gets us mixed up. Surface differences are all well and good and I do get mistaken for any number of tall red-headed girls my age with glasses, not just for Big Sis. This just confirms my suspicion that people are basically stupid. But after talking to us both a certain amount and seeing us fairly often, I do get insulted when we're mistaken. Our personalities are markedly different and this, in itself, should overcome any superficial similarities of appearance.

I think where my real problem in being referred to by the wrong name or as the wrong person is that it makes me feel diminished. Every time, I feel like my uniqueness and my identity are being eroded. I moved churches aged about 14 because I found somewhere where I wasn't referred to constantly as someone's granddaughter, daughter or sister and wanted to be known in my own right. The main problem being that Granny was in the Guild, Dad was a steward, Mum ran Sunday School and Big Sis did the creche. There was no niche for me so no-one, except my friend FernBoy, knew who I was unless it was in relation to my relations. I didn't really start socialising at the Bench until I got cast in a few things because I didn't want the same thing to happen.

I don't know why I need to have such a fervent ownership of those things that make up who I believe my self to be like my name and appearance. It probably says something about my self perception that I have to have some grip on these relatively unimportant things to know who I am. This extends, unfortunately, to other elements of my life. Once I have got really close to people, I find it difficult when they are close to other people. I need people to tell me that they like me, especially MuleBoy. I remember getting freaked out when I was younger because I realised that other people could sing better than me because this meant that I did not own that talent. It is a constant effort not to touch things and people and aspects of my personality and scream "mine". It is an effort not to show how upset I can get by things that other people don't even notice. My Dad wrote a thank you letter to a family member for a birthday gift and told them what had happened on his birthday. He wrote that Mum cooked the meal, Big Sis baked a cake and Kitten poured the wine. For a start, the wine thing is a very minimal contribution and what was worse, I didn't even pour the wine. I was an afterthought and a slightly grasping conclusion to make a neat sentence. I can still remember how gutted I felt that I was so marginal. I reminded Dad that I had, in fact, written him a poem that had taken me a good deal of head scratching to get right so he wrote an addendum to the sentence that went "and wrote a poem". Now I felt marginalised, my achievement negligible and I had corrupted a nicely paced sentence with my melodramatic response. One of the most striking things about it is that I remember it so clearly now.

What I would like to know is what this says about me, other than deranged. Is this a sign of being spoilt, as my Granny told me and my parents repeatedly as I was growing up? Or is it a sign that I didn't have anything I considered truly mine growing up because everything I did, Big Sis did first or did with me? This would explain my scary need to have friends that are mine because this was one of the many things that we had to be fair about. We still have a number of mutual friends and it is still something that I struggle with. I don't go so far as when I was a teenager and questioned friends about who they liked best and why when Big Sis wasn't there, feeling cheated when they didn't immediately and fervently say that it was me.

Basically, I don't understand how identical twins cope. I love Big Sis to bits and don't resent her for this. I just have to suppress a lot of instincts when dealing with situations and spend a lot of my time angling for praise and reassurances of my place in the world and my position with other people. A lot of this blog is almost making excuses for myself and explaining certain personality quirks. I guess that's not what I intended. I don't want to make excuses for myself but I want to make myself clear. This is me. It's not pretty, it's not rational and I probably am crazy in a lot of ways. I do know that other people have crazy personality quirks and flaws like me and I don't consider myself to be special in this way. But I do like to articulate these quirks because it helps me not over-obsess about things. I've been obsessing about something that happened last week and trying to work out why I felt emotionally bruised by something extremely insignificant. So this is the outpouring of a week of obsession. Sorry.

Mean!

Talking about fist shaking. I was fully intending to kick someone who was rude to a colleague yesterday. Here is a transcript of their conversation, see whether you think it deserves a kicking:

Rude Man: Where are your catering facilities?
Colleague: What do you mean...(intending to ask whether he meant our humble canteen or the official University caterers based in another building)
RM: What part of 'catering facilities' do you not understand?

Colleague pointed him to our canteen, which he dashed to and then dashed from and outside. I saw him out the window and shook my fist. Later on, I saw him again and stared at him in an angry way. I don't like unnecessarily rude people.

This isn't even the thing that I was thinking about posting when I mentioned that I was thinking about posting. This is something else entirely that sprung to mind as a result of the bracketed fist shaking that I perpetrated towards my Pa, almost as proof that fist-shaking does occur in the real world, even though I don't know anyone else apart from me that actually does it. It's a very good way of venting frustration though. Partly because it makes me giggle when I do it so the frustration is vented through the healing power of being an eejit.

Kick Off

This is the week that the huge endeavour actually has to happen. No, not my birthday, sillies (it's on Saturday, by the way). The play starts tomorrow, which is somewhat stupefying as it's been something of a Sword of Damocles for a year, hanging over all of our heads, from the production team to the cast members, to the families of the production team and cast members. I've had a slightly special view of it, as have only been a part of Play One (see Boanerges for a more detailed explanation of the play) due to slightly diva-esque tendencies that I have been simultaneously chastising and congratulating myself for as the process has gone on. But it is actually quite nice being part of a production, so getting all the nice stuff that that entails, camaraderie etc, and being able to look forward to seeing the show too.

It was also quite a relief to get some time to finish puppet making last night while everyone else was rehearsing. The wolves (on for three appearances tops) are something of a burden. I was really hoping that I could get away without giving them bodies but the director has requested they be bodied up, so I now have to make bodies and work out the mechanics for the actors holding the bodies so it was good to get cracking on that last night. Wile E. Wolf (the second one I made had a coyote-ish snout, hence the name. The first one was relatively dull so he has been monickered Kevin) also needs a face so I have to get cracking on that, too.

There was another reason for relief as my foot, the one that I busted on holiday, has started playing up. No doubt my antics as a puppeteer have upset it rather but wearing a slight heel yesterday and going over on it probably didn't help. I am now wearing my sports trainers and have a little limp. It'll be fine by tomorrow, I'm sure. Being a puppeteer has been a huge challenge for me but one that I've definitely relished. Considering I did what I thought was a terrible job in the puppeteering part of the audition, I was rather surprised to get one of the main puppets (which basically means one with a line or four). Main problems have been trying to remember I'm invisible, trying to remember I'm invisible but remembering that I can still be in the way, trying to get other people to remember that I'm invisible. Difficult job when a large person already. I've managed on the whole, although a couple of scenes where the introduction of the set changed the physicality have resulted in something slightly nightmarish. Going up and down the (extremely vertical) ladders, playing pass the puppet, very tricky. Going up the stairs, do-able, coming down the stairs, slow and clumpy. The balloon scene, which was re-blocked last week, is a complete nightmare. This is currently my bete noir and I have to spend the interval psyching myself up for it. I have to squat, back against the wall, arm outstretched holding puppet in position in front of me, completely visible albeit in blacks with a hood. This is through the audience coming in after the interval, through voice-over introducing second half, through minute-long conversation. Then I get to move finally because the puppeteer in front of me moves to get into position and makes me less visible, so remove back from wall (hopefully without toppling as I did on Monday) and put weight fully on feet which are starting to go numb. Then have to act with puppet without being able to see puppet (I have a horrible feeling wire and inner workings of puppet are visible) and then, finally, beautifully, I can get up as the set is closed. I then spend the next scene before I go back on, stretching and walking and trying to get some feeling back in to my feet and legs.

Discomfort aside, I have loved doing this play. I enjoyed the day-long puppet making sessions. I enjoyed rehearsals. I like everyone in it, although certain cast members have driven me mad, one in particular who has been getting very stressed (uncharacteristically so, I might add) about people doing things correctly and then who doesn't turn his mobile phone off and does not possess the ability to whisper. My Dad has defended PD, who I personally feel doesn't deserve it. He might have got on a bit better if he'd aimed for the cast-call time rather than the play-start time. That's all I'm saying. I am trying very hard to resist the call of the inner prefect though. I'm not exactly on top of it but I'm getting there.

Wow, this is a very rambly post. Apologies for those reading this who are bored with the play already. I may post again later today. I was going to post about something quite different and then got derailed by reading Boanerges (shakes fist).

This week at work...

...I have managed to look through a holiday brochure for the US to get holiday ideas. I'm pretty stuck on Stowe, Vermont and Boston as destinations other than New York. The pictures of Fall leaves make me stroke the pages. Talking about it over with MuleBoy, realised that he has much more confused idea of where everything is than me. Glad I now know where all the states are - yay, the Geography Game (also played at work)
...I have gone back to a story idea that I never got off the ground and have written some actual words. Not many but they exist
...I have designed a Chocolatl (sic) wrapper for the play
...I have requested rights information for a play we're planning to pitch for next year
...I have decided on a new hair colour for when I get my hair done next Friday
...I have hunted eBay for wedding shoes, mainly because the wedding bit in BHS has closed down, which was where I planned to go. Still nervous about buying stuff I haven't tried on so haven't gone so far as to purchase anything yet. Also looked at Irregular Choice shoes. Gorgeous but the ones I really like are so vertiginous, I can't imagine wearing them for more than five minutes at a time. Also looked at possible Best Lady garb for Big Sis. Still haven't found anything that looks right, although looking back at Kate Winslet's Alexander McQueen for Givenchy Oscar outfit, that's kind of what I want. But one that's less likely to keep Big Sis stuck in an embarrassingly lengthy toilet trip a la Kate.
...I have looked for hotels in the area for the wedding night. I am not obsessed. Really.
...I went dancing twice, first at Salsa, second at Urban Funk. First one, not that keen on dancing that close to someone as can't hide sweaty-face easily and not allowed to just do whatever the hell I want. Also, looked down at my feet at the wrong point and realised that dancing partner was slightly more excited than he had any reason to be (I mentioned sweaty-face, did I not?) Made me want to run away and never come back. Urban Funk was blessed relief following that.

...I haven't told anyone that I am bored and have little to do because then they might get a bit suspicious about what I'm actually doing with my time. I have done some work, obviously. I sent some letters out already this morning. I did the post just now. Some students who've left will be getting exit awards. It's all good, it just takes up no time at all.

Bored now

I am looking at the clock and I am just so bored. I just rang MuleBoy to alleviate the dull and he started talking about dissertations and referencing which didn't exactly work. It isn't like I have nothing to do at work, I just have nothing very satisfying to do. My options are: ringing round and leave messages on students' answerphones for them to never call me back, sorting out a new and exciting way of organising the new annual reports procedure, and filing. I don't have a very good relationship with filing. My appraisal every year consistently contains some approximation of the phrase "I hate filing, please don't make me have to do it any more". I also have to work out how to manage Research people but still don't really understand how the whole thing works and once I've done it, this will involve more filing.

Instead I've spent a large portion of my day looking at things to do once I've left this particular episode of my life. There are so many reasons why I've stayed in this job for longer than I really wanted to and all of those things are still keeping me there, and it is really starting to make me chomp at the bit now. So I've been trying to decide what I want to do next! My plan is to do something postgraduate-y and my train of thought is currently rather bifurcated as I can't decide between two options:

Option No.1 - Study a 1 year diploma/MA type thing at a drama school and do the acting thing. Now this is lifelong dream territory. I have considered the acting malarkey before and have put myself off as I know I am not confident enough to actually do it despite really, really wanting to. I know I'm good but I lack certain other qualities that are necessary, like thick skin and the ability to make a good first impression (on average I'd say I make a good third impression, when the fear has subsided enough for me to not sound like a twat).

Option No.2 - Do an MA in Film Studies and either become a film critic or a film lecturer of some kind. When you start reading someone else's text books (for fun!), you realise that this is something for which you have a more than passing interest in. This is the more practical version but the problem with my practical ideas for a CAREER is that they fall by the wayside when I return again to the fact that I really want to act and that the idea of not acting fills me with horror.

I've also been doing stuff towards my wedding but I'm playing it down because I really don't want to be the sort of person who obsesses about her wedding. I never ever anticipated I'd get this excited about the whole business. I blame the dress.

I am Bad Mummy

The cats hate me. I'm right there with them.

We went to the vets on Saturday for a booster leukaemia shot (this boggles my mind and makes me want to look into leukaemia more as I didn't think it was something that could be treated preventatively). Afterwards they went in to see the nurse for Weight Clinic. I can't believe that I go to WeightWatchers for me and feel guilty, and then have to go for someone else and feel guilty too. It's like that show about killing the kids, where they torment parents about how terrible they are and how the children are going to die early. They do it for cats too - we got heart failure, diabetes, arthritis so they were really twisting the knife. Our only defence was that we've only had the cats for six months and had adopted both the food and the habits of the previous owners along with the cats themselves.

So we have mended our cat-feeding ways and they shall soon be on the road towards losing half their body weight (a goal which neither of us feels is particularly realistic). But, obviously, not being in control of their own food, they are hating us for the imposed regime. Particularly Meatball, the bigger of the two. She's generally pretty easy-going and will submit to any number of indignities when I'm feeling playful. However, she has turned into psycho cat now and will generally just sit by her bowl in the kitchen watching us with baleful eyes and waiting for us to fill it. Seeing as I have often let my diet slide due to general moodiness and turned back into a normal human being as a result, I can definitely sympathise. But it doesn't stop me from feeling rejected when I pick her up for a cuddle and she wails in her strangled motor way (occasionally she meows like a normal cat, but she's just not very good at it consistently) and struggles to be free. Its very demoralising. Steve, on the other hand, is much less tormented and even eats less than she is given. I spy a future Slimmer of the Year in the making. I wish I was like Steve.

As you can tell, I am turning into someone ever so slightly obsessive about my cats. It's funny though, despite the cat hair, the expense (Meatball needs dental work - oi vey), and the fact that I quite often skip my breakfast in the mornings because I'm giving them theirs, I can absolutely state that they have improved the quality of my life. A few years ago, during a Christmas break from Uni, I sat around with my friends and we made a list of what we predicted for people. Despite not being particularly maternal and having no pets, they all unanimously decreed that I would be the one surrounded by children and animals in a farm somewhere (it was also decided that I'd be the least likely to be gay, which given the company was quite an obvious one). It's an idea that's stuck somehow and has become something of a mini-dream. I guess the cats, and the fact that I can care for them and look after them, has made it feel slightly more achievable.

I Aten't Dead

Hello. I spoke Mrs Funny Whistler last night who said that she was concerned due to my lack of posting recently. So this is a brief note to confirm that I'm okay. Big sighs of relief all round, I know.

I was off sick last week which meant that I don't have much access to a computer, my home one being booked by MuleBoy permanently for Fantasy Football, MySpace and the occasional essay writing. If I want to use it, I have to undergo a ferocious cross examination and produce a stamped and signed permission slip on request. It's just too much work for a simple post. This week I have been trying to catch up after being off sick for a week which has been a pain, especially considering I'm picking up work for a colleague who's now on holiday for six months (or maternity leave. The one thing that makes me want to get impregnated, especially now it's nine months).

In other news, last night I was talking to Beanie about a part in a play I had really wanted but hadn't got and sounded stupid when he was trying to explain why I hadn't got it. The thing is, I know why I haven't got it and I know that it isn't really about me but about what the director wanted, something I understand even more since directing myself. I understand the reasoning behind it and may have done the same in a similar situation. However, fundamentally, and I know there are actors reading this who can appreciate it, it is always a rejection. I can hear reasons and explanations, even compliments about my audition. But the only thing you really feel is the no.

Well, that's a patchy little post. I promise to do better next time.

I am the REAL Rod Hull

Is it Greeeen jelly?

I am aware that the above reference is slightly obscure but I don't care. You should have watched more Lee and Herring.

Anywho, I am very excited because this week I have discovered a penpal. I did not go out and try to find a penpal, she found me. This came about, I am guessing, because she decided to do that thing that we've all done at some point; typing her name into Google and seeing what comes up (my favourite is still MuleBoy's lifestory on film - it was made in 2002). She spied my work email and decided to make contact - so yes, my penpal has the same name as me. At the moment we're still amused by this and keep signing off our emails with our full name. Unfortunately our middle names are different, sadly for me as hers is particularly pretty, so the similarity ends with our first and last names.

We are very different in terms of lives. She's 13, which makes her half my age, and this, along with a very good standard of written English, makes me think of her as a smaller version of me. Henceforth, she shall be known as Mini-Kitten! She lives in Connecticut, which inspired me to enquire about it as a honeymoon destination as I plan to spend some time looking at trees looking pretty (the plan is also to go to New York so that MuleBoy doesn't go crazy - he's not a big lover of the countryside). She also thinks England is "elegant", which made me chuckle, and is going to be learning about Europe in school this year so "anything she doesn't know about England will be covered, hopefully", which confirmed my feelings about the US perception of Europe. We're very small, apparently. I bit back a comment on that one; she's bright, she'll work it out.

I'm guessing that, being 13, she'll get bored of it quicker than I will. However, it's quite sweet and fun for the moment so I'll keep it going until she stops replying or asks me to stop.

snazzle frazzle mazzle

As said by Mutley.

I had to apologise to my colleagues yesterday. After borrowing Neanderthal Boy's phone directory and then realising it wasn't helpful, I did actually intend to throw it back to him with the intention of hitting both his phone and cup of tea. No accident. I was generally extremely irritable yesterday; I really had to stop myself from screaming at students and just shutting up the office. It may have been because I am trying to kickstart the diet again so my only sustenance during the day was a bowl of cereal and Diet Coke. It may have been because I had spent much of the weekend being grouchy and hungover so hadn't really felt like the weekend had happened, except for the two evenings where I was creating the hangover. It may have also been because Muleboy had come to bed at 4.30am Monday and woken me up, which was fine as I normally go back to sleep again but then he woke me up again because he thought he'd heard something. Of course he'd heard something - we have two overweight but active cats. Anywho - whether it was one or all of these things, it meant that I wasn't in the best mood, exacerbated by the proliferation of new and subsequently confused students needing help and a data-inputting job with a deadline for Friday that I'm only halfway through now despite doing constantly for two weeks.

I have resigned myself to being irritable on occasion. I don't have much control over it and can do nothing except wait for it to be over. I only ask that if you realise that this is my mental state, do not try to see if I'm alright, jolly me through it or tease me. I'm not saying that I will actually rip your throat out, I will just want to. Bizarrely, after years of living with this and occasionally being subjected to me in this state of mind now, Big Sis still does at least one of these things. I have come to the conclusion that she has no sense of self preservation. That, or she is an evil mastermind and, in a twist from my currently perceived view of the situation, I am the good sister (I sense scepticism from my gentle readers). Tips for the future - leave me alone without making it obvious that you are leaving me alone, do not draw attention to mental state in any way, wait until I start laughing at myself and then approach.

Attitude

Working in an educational establishment as I do can definitely have its ups and downs in terms of how old I feel. On the plus side, people mistake me for a student quite often, I get a student card and can pretend that I am forever 21. However, on the minus side, I can turn up to a class in "Urban Funk" (feel free to laugh at the image of me doing Hip Hop) at the Uni Gym and find myself surrounded by girls whose main aim in life seems to be to make me feel old. The worst part was when the instructor said that she was 21 and I felt very alone. I also struggled to possess any "attitude", a necessity for any dancer of the Hip Hop. The end of the dance routine that was put together was a move full of attitude and yet the only attitude that I had was looking slightly like a little teapot. Bless the students and their ability to look good in jogging trousers while striking poses. I'm going back, though, it's the best class I've done for ages. I may look silly and I may be old but I do like a dance.

Much love to the good people who have been carrying on the nice things. The nice things are reciprocated in triplicate. You are all very lovely.

Touched

I have been loath to commit anything to html for about a week for fear that I be flippant. Thank you (again) to Herself for being supportive and basically very nice to me. If you want to know why, there is a comment under the 0 comments link to the previous post but it isn't showing up. Please take a look if you would like to see nice things about me. Please go ahead and add things (no obligation). Please go ahead if you would like to add comments about Herself. Or if there is anyone else that you feel needs to know nice things about themselves for any reason and whom you know actually reads this blog, please feel free to continue the nice things thing. We could have a forum of sisterly love going on. I know that having a list has made me feel very good about myself and I have referred to it at the various points when I have felt a bit crappy about myself this week. So go on people, be nice!

Mo' Money

The heading is a reference to a film that I've never seen and which I remember primarily for the accompanying theme tune sung by Janet Jackson and Luther Vandross. In retrospect, it heralds the coming of the apocalypse starring, as it does, the Wayans Brothers. Admittedly the lead is Damon Wayans who is less evil than his brothers Shawn and Marlon who are responsible for Little Man (in cinemas now, run and hide), White Chicks and the Scary Movie franchise. These movies make these particular film makers (they write them too, dontcha know) as high up in my "I wish they didn't have a career" list as Michael Bay, Paul W S Anderson, Martin Lawrence and Renee Zellweger post-Nurse Betty. Damon, I can put up with for having starred in a Spike Lee film, albeit one that I didn't particularly like, and for not being involved in his brothers' output. Well played, Damon, well played.

That was a surprising detour considering that this was meant to be a post about the job that I applied for recently. I've been having that "stuck in a rut" feeling and have been applying for jobs that would be a big change, especially in the improving my finances department. This means that I have been applying for jobs quite a way above my experience level. However, I have had good feedback for my applications and managed to get an actual interview for one post. I got excited when I was shown what could be my office, which had but one workstation in it and a surprisingly pretty view but in the end this turned out to be more of an "and this is what you could have won" situation as I didn't get the job itself. Again, positive feedback but no actual job.

I had really mixed feelings about it, though. At one stage this weekend I considered the possibility that I may get offered the job and entertained the idea of turning it down and telling everyone that I just didn't get it. Obviously, that didn't happen because I wouldn't confess to it if I'd done it but the idea was there. I almost wished that I had done worse in interview so that there was no chance I'd get offered it. I fear change, basically. I would have said yes because I couldn't have turned down the money but I would have been shitting myself. It takes me a while to adjust to the idea of doing something new and even longer to convince myself that I can do something that I haven't already proved to myself I can do. My need for security, which I was explaining to Herself yesterday, extends to much more than my need to know where the money's coming from.

Likes and Dislikes

I've been catching up on book reading recently. I had a dry period before I went on holiday due to busy-ness and change of routine, especially walking to and from work which meant that I no longer had a good hour a day of platform and train-bound reading time. It took me a good two weeks to get through one book that would normally take me about four days. The last time I spent two weeks or more reading one book was Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, a sizeable work of fiction that took me a mere three weeks (seriously, it's huge. I'm still proud of that record. It's also awesome, read it). Now I feel I am returning to form once again as I am able to utilise my spare time for reading once again. I have borrowed a couple of Ian Banks novels from my boss recently and am quite awed at his ability to not repeat himself in style or content. Go from reading The Wasp Factory to Whit or Espedair Street and see what I mean. You need a strong stomach for The Wasp Factory though, there's a particular scene in it that still makes me go pale at the thought. I don't think it would have had the same effect if I'd seen it on film, which is the reason I keep picking up Chuck Palahniuk's latest at the bookshop, before returning it to its pile in fear. There's a parental advisory label on it for goodness' sake.

Speaking of censorship, I am currently reading The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas whose blurb was so enigmatic that I had to get it. Although the story can be assumed from the blurb, the approach to it in the novel is different to any others that I've read on the subject and I approve of the mystery as more detailed descriptions would spoil the gradual revelations meted out to the reader through the lead character's innocence. The censorship that I object to is that implied in the blurb, which states "you will go on a journey with a nine-year old boy called Bruno. (Though this isn't a book for nine-year olds)." I actually think this is a book perfect for nine-year olds. They may not know about the subject, they may not realise the situation but they will understand the feelings of Bruno and perhaps want to learn more because of him and what he sees. Thanks to Mum and the boy in her class who urged her to read it.

So there we have it, I like reading. I like other people reading and then having conversations about books. I dislike watermelon. Although, bully to me, I ate some on holiday. It was mildly traumatic and I still don't like fruit.

Tricky

The problem is, the more you refrain from posting, the more there is to post about and the next post can become a huge rambly update-y thing when you finally return. So do I describe my holiday in great detail, or do I take the lazy approach and just refer you to Beanie's description of the holiday so I don't have to?

Regardless, I shall inform you that I had a really, really excellent time, Muleboy's insect bites and my ankle-wrenching accident nonewithstanding. I spent some quality time with the Mule, spent some quality time with lots of other people that I really like, ate a lot, drank a lot. Didn't do as much exercise as I would have liked and despite my preference to spend ridiculous amounts of time in the pool ended up spending rather too much time using it as physiotherapy or not bothering because getting in and out was too much like hard work. We went on trips out and we had our first wedding present bought for us on my favourite day out. We danced, we sang, we talked, we watched Dog Day Afternoon in Italian and we slept.

Since then, it has been nicer than I would have thought getting back home as I did miss the cats (call me crazy cat-woman) and my house. I don't really want to be back at work but what can you do? I had a great extended weekend and popped up to London to talk to a man about a dog and spend some time with Mum, Dad and Big Sis, followed by a lovely wedding the next day. Mr Whistler and Funny Girl are now joined in holy matrimony and shall be henceforth the Funny Whistlers. It works for me. I also managed to tidy and sort some of the bedrooms that had yet to be done in our new and enormous house, which gave me a great sense of fulfilment before I spent bank holiday monday parked in front of a TV, first at Drunken Accomplice's and then at my very own. I didn't do as much concerted laziness as I had planned but as this is probably something I would say about my holiday as well, I would count this as a personality flaw.

While on my holiday, I made two decisions. One, that I would direct again with the Mule. I expected to come home and regret this decision but am actually both hopeful and excited. I shall be better this time and try and improve the stuff I got wrong last time (assuming we get voted in). I also plan to write more. I have good ideas, I write fairly well, I just don't dedicate any time to it. If it doesn't work after I make a concerted effort, then it isn't something I can do and I can cross it off the list.

So there we go, both long and rambling. I thought it would be.

Signing in

Just a post to say, I have been away and am back again today (Once you start rhyming, I think you should see it through). It was very nice (despite thunderstorms, terrorism fears and my typical knack for accidents and misfortune). I shall fill you in in detail at some point and may even be so daring as to include a photo (although I have got so lazy recently that I haven't even been bothering with links etc). Right now I just have to try and remind my body that I do have to stay here all day, I can't have crudo (yum!) or a ridiculous amount of cheese for lunch and I can't just pop indoors for a nap during a strenuous day of swimming, sunbathing and reading when I feel like it. I do not need a nap, I do not need a nap.

It was all going so well

I have fallen back into bad habits. Not the eating thing, I messed that up already. No, this is the obsessive counting and listing thing that my brain does when I'm tired. I found myself counting my footsteps as I walked to work this morning, which I change when I walk on a different surface. I can walk on cracks within a particular type of surface but I have to try and avoid stepping on two types of surface at the same time. Nothing bad will happen, I'm not that crazy, but it will fuck up the counting, which isn't allowed. The worst thing is when I realise I'm doing it about halfway through and try and work out what I must have looked like as I take alternatively large and small steps trying to fit it in. And then, despite being conscious of it, keep doing it.

Basically it's a brain under stress thing. When I'm very ill or very tired, this is what it resorts to. When I had appendicitis (aged 12), I couldn't sleep and went through in anal detail things that I had just watched (Vice Versa and Abigail's Party) and listed the plots and characters' relationships to each other to a dizzying extent. It stopped making sense but I still kept listing. It explains my love for Japanese puzzles and pointless trivia about films at any rate - they're both ways of fitting my brain's need to count and make order into (mostly) acceptable forms. So the next time I annoy someone by listing all of the films that a particular actor has been in when you only needed one, please take a deep breath and try and think of me like a high-functioning Rain Man. I just can't help it. And if you harrass me about it I will hit my head with my hand and make braying noises. You have been warned.

Living for the Weekend

At the moment, weekends are really good. I'm staggering from one event to the other and spending lots of time with people I like. However, this is starting to get to the point where work is so quiet after busy-ness (and I am being forced to file) that they take a zillion years to even get to the weekends meaning that my time is divided unequally between zippy, fun, social stuff and crappy, slow, boring stuff. Currently, I am in denial that it is Wednesday today as this week has already been so long that it simply must be Friday. As soon as I get home, time resumes normal speed again and I can quite happily spend a half hour sorting the cats out and putting things away and it feels like half an hour rather than a day.

I spent a very pleasant evening last night when MuleBoy was out, sorting out a couple of bills (which is actually quite pleasant at the moment as people keep giving me money), deciding on recipes for Friday evening when we're having family over to celebrate MuleBoy's Mum's Birthday (I've narrowed it down to about twelve) and having Steve the cat fall asleep on me while watching The Terminal on Sky Movies. Not great but actually not subject to the recent Spielberg disease of half-hour-too-long-itis. It needed some story refinement but at least when it got to the end it didn't keep going. The best bit by far was the main character's reaction when he gets to America and is running around the airport frantically trying to find out what is happening to his now-dissolved, war-torn country on the airport TVs. Completely isolated and unable to read the English onscreen or hear because they don't have the sound up, he eventually has to resort to standing outside, looking in at the TV in the VIP section with automatic doors closing in front of his face every few seconds. There were other nice touches, such as the contents of the tin he carried around with him and the ending. But ultimately schmaltz became the overriding (and overbearing) characteristic of the film, which let it down.

Well, at least writing this has made time go a bit speedier. I only have seven hours and forty minutes to go now so should be able to make it until the evening. Go me!