We were ram-raided at about 2:20am on Saturday. Scary.
About ?50 was stolen. My parents and I are all fine, though a bit shaken, and unsurprisingly I'm now finding it difficult to sleep again, and I had thought my insomnia was pretty much all but sorted. Ah well.
It's funny the people I wanted to call for support, last night. It made me realise it was time to come back.
It's all too much for me right now.
The internet is a bad place for me at the moment. I know you all haven't heard from me for a while. If I've not been forgotten altogether, then I'm taking this opportunity to tell you that while I miss you, I'm not ready to come back yet.
Summary:
Off anti-depressants, on anti-biotics.
Am getting excellent value on gym membership and my PT is both hawt and believes girls can, and should, pump iron.
Love being single, but haven't taken up any offers of casual sex relationships.
KMK is OK.
Halfway through 'Deathly Hallows' which arrived much later than it should have.
Am becoming a mine of useless info about bones ('phalanges' is a great word). Next; muscles.
Raised nearly ?00 for Cancer Research taking part in 'Race For Life' for Quen's mum. Have not returned money yet. Anyone wanting to donate, still, please let me know.
The only film I've ever watched where the main character appears to have been a deleted expletive.
It's a film about details. The details are delicious.
There is a saying that the US and the UK are two countries divided by a foreign language. This is not entirely untrue.
So, you make a movie. It's about a disgraced Navy SEAL. He has to look after some kids. Antics ensue. Great concept. Breaking totally new ground, of course. So, what do you call your magnum opus? 'The Pacifier' is actually a pretty clever title, what with it referring to someone who keeps the peace and also to the small plastic teat with a ring on the end that you give small children to keep them quiet. Of course, in the UK, we call them 'dummies' so the title doesn't really work. Run with it anyway, why not...?
Some words are sneaking into the UK. We're all familiar with the American 'ass', for example. Some words are less obvious, like the example above. Sometimes you can figure them out by context; other times, you have to guess.
I'm not a purist. I don't mind that the English language is being polluted (I'm kidding; don't lynch me!). But in the same sense that you don't want Pepsi to 'bring your ancestors back from the grave' in Japan, you really don't want to be using these Americanisms half-cocked in the UK, and the same applies to UK filmmakers selling their films in the US (kudos to the makers of 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone' which used to annoy me to no end but now actually makes sense). Do your research; don't be lazy; at least try and be relevant.
Thanks.
If the musical 'Annie' had been set in England, the lyrics for 'Tomorrow' would never have worked. Today, we had flash-flooding (again), but in between bursts of torrential rain, wonderful sunshine. It'd be more, 'The sun'll come out in half an hour or so/ So you've got to hang on 30 minutes'. Well, maybe.
It's been 17 days. I'm beginning to refocus. I've rejoined the gym and am working with a fitness instructor to help me get back to the standard of fitness I had before, and then some. Mostly, he listens to what I want, and that's good, but I do feel that he has an unhealthy obsession with the swiss ball. Stupid swiss ball. Still, he's got me doing a combination of free weights, bodyweight exercises and resistance machines, HIIT and endurance cardio, with the eventual goal of moving onto stuff like powerlifting and tougher HIIT (like maybe tabata). I'm happy with that. He wants me to start out carefully. I've seen first hand how easy it is to overestimate your fitness when you're out of shape; I'm not keen to do the same.
I'm switching bedrooms to see if it'll help me sleep. I'm doing okay at staying asleep once I get there, now, but I'm spending a long time lying awake before I do eventually drop off.
I still don't drink enough water.
My phone is well and truly broken. I punched it very hard during an argument with David and damaged the screen. The screen is not covered under warranty and I don't have phone insurance. Lesson learned; phone insurance is actually worth the money. Who knew? Anyway, the black patch where the crack is widens on a daily basis like something out of the 'Neverending Story'. I wonder if I can upgrade my contract to get a new one.
Rehearsal pianists are still the bane of my life. I really am going to have to suck it up and start learning to play the score myself. It's going to take me hours and hours and hours of practise, especially given that I never mastered the art of busking it. I need to learn every single note by heart.
I'm dropping a course with the OU - AA316. I should never have allowed myself to fall behind on this particular one, and now that I have, I seriously doubt it's within my ability to catch up. Worse, I'm not enjoying it and, frankly, that's the point of studying for me; to learn stuff I'm interested in and enjoy the process of learning it. I'll still continue with the other course (A215), but I'll only get 60 points this year, now, instead of 120. I'm okay with that. I've got some other study in the pipeline. I'm thinking about taking BSL 1. The whole reason, of course, is so that I can have secret communications with Kate. It won't help over the phone, but I am assuming that I will actually see Kate sometime in the near future (or we'll have to invest in video calling). I'm also going to renew my first aid qualifications. That's for definite. I might do FAW, but I'm not 100% sure that's necessary for what I want it for. Plus, it's expensive, and a 4 day course.
I used an epilator for the first time today. Blue warned me off them, years ago, claiming that it was agonisingly painful and telling me I'd hate it. I've spent an awful lot of money on hair removal creams since. Sad, really, seeing as I really enjoyed the experience. It was like scratching an itch below the surface of the skin; the deepest and most satisfying scratch you can imagine. I was quite sorry when I ran out of hairs to pull out on my legs. For the first time, I actually want the hair on my legs to grow back so that I can epilate again.
Anyway, for those of you who read the first paragraph and then jump to the final one, I'm going to get to the point quite soon, I assure you, though you'll never know I mentioned you because you won't be reading this. There are actually a lot of people who do that. I remember Saxman doing an experiment to that effect, once. I do wonder what he's up to right now.
Well, I'm doing okay. I'm beginning to feel quite good, actually. I'm actually forced to think about what it is that I want; just for me. I'm being selective about the things I share with people; a caution I've learned only recently. I'm sitting back and letting things I don't need to worry about develop on their own. It's nice. There's no pressure, and I've started writing again. I mean, real writing.
Oh, and Sharkey? You're right; the sun will come out tomorrow, and even if it's interspersed with the occasional downpour, it'll still be a wonderful day.
If, in a past life,
I had been a black magician
And I had defecated on the floors of my associates
In order to honour them;
And if, while climbing, I had allowed others to die
In my desperation to attain the summit;
If I had experimented,
Certain beyond all doubt
That I could bear the poisons and hallucinogens
And control their effects upon me,
Which would only kill me in the end;
If I posed for photographs
In a ridiculous hat,
Yet nevertheless expected the world to take me seriously
As a black magician (of course);
And if you, in your last incarnation,
Were a slug
Terrorising gardeners as you consumed their crops of cabbages
And perhaps died an unfortunate death
By salt;
If we, in these former existences
Had met,
I doubt we would have celebrated our meeting
In the fashion to which we have become accustomed.
---
?Sephraem 2007
I wrote an analysis of the symbolism and imagery in Jeanette Winterson's Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit
for my 'A' level English Literature, back when I thought I knew
everything. Because I'd chosen a fairly narrow angle from which
to approach the essay, I fell short of the overall word count and had
to include an additional essay. This piece compared and
contrasted Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience.
I spent a long time thinking about the nature of innocence, and how it
relates to experience, for obvious reasons, and ultimately had to
conclude that innocence is not the opposite of experience. The Songs of Experience really rather ought to have been titled Songs of World-bitten Cynicism And Weariness.
There is a tragedy in them that relates, not to mere experience, but to
the sort of experiences that break a person down and make them bitter
and hateful.
The gaining of experience does not necessarily result in a loss of
what we generally consider to be innocence. Though we associate innocence with children, naivete
and wonder can persist well into adulthood. It is generally
accepted that innocence lost is a tragedy, because it can never be
regained.
Most religions deal in redemption. From Buddhist enlightenment to
Christian absolution, eventually, in most religions, we are redeemed
from our wicked ways, and become something altogether much nicer - or a
slug - and generally speaking, it's held that this redemption gives you
a clean slate, and you start over.
Except, aren't you kind of broken?
I understand Mori's ideal. This is perfection in its purest form. Or perhaps it's purity in its most perfect form.
There is a famous broom. This broom was purchased many years ago, and the bristles on the head wore out. The owner replaced the head and the broom was as good as new. However, some time later, the handle was damaged when the owner dropped it, so the broom was provided with a new handle. Eventually, the head needed replacing again, but a trip to the DIY store soon resulted in the broom's restoration. Finally, the handle needed to be changed once more, so the owner did that, again.
To the owner, it was the same broom, despite the fact that it had been broken, fixed, patched up and, over time, replaced altogether. It continued to do the same job, just as well as it always did, and sometimes even better than it had before.
But it's just a broom. It's hardly a fitting comparison for something as intangible as Faith.
I started writing this entry roughly 2 years ago. I didn't really know where I wanted to go with it. I have a better idea now, because I've learned the lesson I failed to grasp back then.
I'm 28. I know some of you out there are going to scoff at how young I am, how inexperienced. That's fine by me. That's not quite how I see it.
I left Canterbury Christ Church College at the age of 19, two thirds through my first year at university. I cried every day I was away from home. I hated the place. I hated the course. I wasn't grown up enough to look after myself. I needed someone to hold my hand and tell me what to do. I needed my family.
I went home and tried looking for a job. I was considerably hindered by the total shame I felt at having left uni. As far as I was concerned, I had ruined my life. I would never succeed at anything. My academic career was over and I had no options. I had various interviews, most of which were agonisingly unsuccessful, and eventually landed a job in the Personnel Dept. at a company in the business of 'fleet management'. The pay was appalling and I found the job quite stressful. When I left, I had decided I didn't want to work in an office again.
I was 19 and I thought my life was over. The only prospect I believed I had was Drew. We moved in together. I spent most of my time missing him while he was in London. I would get in from work and sleep till he got home, only to get up when he came in at around 10pm. We'd then sit up until about 2am, and that'd be our 'evening'. We always went to bed together back then.
When that relationship ended 2 years ago, I really didn't have anything else. I'd had 8 years in which I could have done anything, but I hadn't because I didn't believe I could. I was so angry with myself. So furious! I finally realised that I was more than a failed degree (actually, I did eventually complete my first year, but was seriously ill - and hospitalised - at the start of the second year and failed to catch up, so quit again), a miscarriage, 5 blood transfusions plus a million iron tablets, and a series of dead-end jobs.
I berated myself for wasting so much time; time blaming myself for my failure; time believing I was insignificant and worthless; time on a relationship which ultimately fell apart.
Here I am, two years on, at the end of another relationship. This time, I don't regret it. I certainly don't berate myself for wasting time. I'm not bitter about investing that time and energy in a relationship that, in the end, was doomed not to succeed. I've learned that lesson.
A colleague recently remarked on my ability to always see the good in people. She said it wasn't necessarily a good thing for me to do. Another colleague laughed at me when I found an obscure positive in a series of difficulties arising in the kitchen, telling me I always find something to be optimistic about. It's lovely that they see me in that light, but it's not true. I complain a lot. I rant to my close friends about other peoples' flaws. I don't always see the positive.
But I do try. And, ironically, with experience, it becomes easier. Many people seem to consider me naive and innocent. A female colleage was shocked when I swore during a particularly stressful service. A male colleague recently apologised to me for making a joke about one-night-stands in my presence. I'm usually the last to comprehend dirty, racist or otherwise offensive jokes. But that's not because I'm so good and pure and wonderful, I can assure you. It's because my funny bone is probably dislocated, or something.
I am so flawed; experience has taught me that, and it's taught me that for my life to have meaning, I have to try to fix those flaws, and I have to have faith that the struggle is worth it. I want to be a good person. There are so many genuinely good people out there - people like Kate and Ted, Mori, Rach and Jim, and more people than I could sensibly list here - that I can be certain experience doesn't kill the innocence in people; the belief that the world is ultimately a good place.
Blake is wrong. He was a visionary, but wrong, and I think Weisel is right - massively understated, but right.
Of course, I'm biased.
I'm broken.
<3
If I miss your call over the next few days, or fail to answer your emails, I promise it's not because I don't love you.
I just really need some time by myself.
Oh, for crying out loud!
Okay. I like Xanga. I mean, I really do. But I don't know if I want everyone to know how much I like it.
I think there's no mystery about the fact that I'm a paid-up member here. I mean, no ads on my page gives that away, right? Still, I didn't realise that Xanga were going to advertise the fact that I paid to become a lifetime member next to my username when I leave comments on other peoples' pages.
Sure, I understand that they want to make it obvious to their users that that option is available. Still, I'm not sure I'm overjoyed that everyone knows how much of an enormous geek I am. Anyway, those who didn't know, now do.
While I'm proud to support the sites I value (I'm a paying subscriber at a few sites, such as Martial Arts Planet, though I was extremely disappointed to discover recently that the one-off fee I paid there for a life-time membership mutated during a few months absence into an annual fee), I don't really want to shout about it, and to be honest, having had several years out of this site already, I know I've more than got my moneys worth of Premium. See, being a life-time member, in the long run, is cheaper for me, and actually benefits Xanga less than if I were paying an annual fee.
I'm not convinced this particular contribution should be celebrated. In fact, in more ways than one, I'm a little embarrassed about the whole thing. Still, Xanga seem pleased enough, and in the end, it's their site, really, I suppose.
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