Can't see my personal trainer recommending this.

Not that I have a personal trainer.

You know what I mean.

I start grilling on Tuesday.  That probably sounds like the dumbest thing ever, but I'm really excited.

Things I need to remember to do:

• rearrange my climbing session to Thursday and book two more spaces
• call Barnfield College about NVQs
• fill in my appraisal form and a D1 form (totally unrelated to each other)
• check my bank balance
• deposit my wages
• buy my course books (because I'm supposed to have read them already)
• stop being mean after I've had a glass of wine
• avoid going to the car auction on Tuesday with Adam
• write up a control sheet for the prep area to make stocking up at night and prepping in the morning easier
• buy Angel a birthday present

I have to post them here to remind myself.  In fact, I should really write them on the wall or something.

My bosses sent my table a bottle of sparkling wine, tonight, because it was my birthday on Tuesday, and I came in with some friends to celebrate.  I thought that was lovely.  They're so nice.

I have cramp and a desperate need for chocolate.  I am, however, full of other food right now, so I probably can't fit any chocolate in.  That's probably contributing to the cramp.

I'm going to check out stupid videos on YouTube.  'It's my dick in a box!'  Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...

Aren't the people on Celebrity Big Brother supposed
to be, you know... actual celebrities?  I haven't heard of any of them
apart from Jade - who's now imfamous thanks to another stupid comment - and Leo
Sayer, who vaguely rings a bell, though I may be confusing him with someone
else.

Anyway, apparently, Gordon Brown had to apologise to India
because Jade called some Bollywood star 'Shilpa Poppadom' and treated her
abominably.  I'm afraid I didn't bother to finish reading the article on
the front page of the Daily Mail last Saturday because the whole thing
struck me as ridiculous.

This is Jade; East Angular Jade, who gets into fights with everybody and
can be quite temperamental, even over relatively minor things.  People are surprised at
her behaviour?  Not I!

Poor girl.  She's not racist.  She just often opens her mouth without
engaging her brain first, and we're all guilty of that upon occasion.  Some - Jade - more than others.

On the subject of the crushingly humiliating 'entertaining' of Big Brother,
aired tonight, how dreadful it must be to sit for 5 minutes in a silent room,
desperately trying to make someone you can't see, laugh.  I only have one
joke, and I pinched it off Kate's son:

Q: Why do baby ducks walk softly?

A: Because they can't walk hardly!

Someone at work remarked today that there's nothing worse than a cold bacon
baguette.  I speculated that getting your head kicked in by a mad Scotsman
was probably worse, but that had never happened to anyone present, so we couldn't
be certain.

Ugh.  The two first level French courses take almost a year to complete.  Not that that really bothers me.  It means the work should be well spaced.  They're two 30 point courses, and even if combined they're slightly more work than one 60 point course, it's still more spread.  I guess it's fine.

Registration is open.  It's tempting to buy the courses early (like, now) and then just take them, knowing I don't have to worry about paying later.  I know what I want to study after I've finished this year, so that's not an issue.

I'm also (because a studying for a second diploma this year won't be enough to overwork me) considering a chef's qualification.  There are NVQs, on a flexible study program, which I can take over the course of a couple of years, and can probably get my employer to help with the cost.  450 hours for an NVQ 2 in Professional Cookery.  After all, I could really do with a little guidance in some areas.  Like, how not to cut myself at least once in a week.

Ideally, if it's going to take a couple of years anyway, I'd take the NVQ 3, but I don't meet the entry requirements.  Apparently, I should have the NVQ 2 or equivalent experience.  I, truth to tell, have neither, and common sense, a good memory and a love of food and making things look pretty tends to carry me through at work.  Oh, and a willingness to muck in and do the washing up every now and again.  That's a requirement if you want to work in a kitchen.  I can think of a certain would-be head chef that really needs to learn that.

I'm hungry now.  Also sleepy.

I hope we don't get too many walk-ins tomorrow.  There's so much to prep for Christmas Day.  I'm quite excited, even if I will miss all the action on the day itself.  Today, we were so well-prepped for lunch.  I was quite proud.  I think I've got a handle on the things that need to be done in order to make the service run smoothly from a cold-counter point of view.  It was strange, having people come up to me and ask me what needed doing next.  Strange, but flattering.  And given that I have this tendency to try to do everything and then get annoyed with myself when I can't, it's a good job they prompt me.

I love my job!  I love everything about it!  It's so much fun!

I want to go back to America, and drive around with David again.  I want to travel down to Kentucky, too, and this time remember to take a picture of the 50ft guitar en route.  I want to go to Cracker Barrel and have eggs that are too runny, but biscuits that are to die for.  I want to hang out in Hard Times and only eat half my chilli but scoff down the corn bread that David hasn't sculpted into a little man, while trying to be interested in the dinner monologue from Bot 1 on atonal music, or arguing about whether the role of Jesus' proves Christianity is the 'true' religion with Al.  I want to complain about the mild prejudice directed towards me in Chopstix, and pretend I don't want to eat there, even though I really do because the food is fabulous.  I want to wander around Giant at 3am looking for string cheese and sugar free jello pudding.  I want to go to strange little cafes where they sell stuff like green tea flavour ice cream and give you free tea at your table, but still expect you to buy other drinks, and talk about D&D and Flay and IN:AS with Mori and David and Quen.  I want to make dinner for Nix and Wyman, in their apartment, and play guitar hero and watch DVDs and talk about D&D and WoD.  I want to go to the Broadway Diner, and to Tastee, too, even if we've never had a burger as good as that first one there, since.  I want to take my OU coursework up to the second floor of the college library and sit, feeling like I shouldn't be there, while I try to finally focus on writing my assignment.  I want to go to Tastee and eat pancakes while drafting and re-drafting my essay, until they get around to baking the biscuits off at about 4am.

Mostly, I want to be happy with David.

And part of me wonders if I'm foolish to imagine it's possible to do these things again.  The part that tells me to accept that bygones are, indeed, bygones, and that what's passed has passed.  That it can never be recaptured.  Accept that it was what it was, and move on.

But part of me doesn't want to accept that, doesn't believe that it's over.  This part tells me that we can be happy together again.

So I'm going to try.  We're going to try.

I'll be back in the US on the 4th, then.

What a weird movie.  I loved it.

I do things in the wrong order.  I'm not being very efficient, lately.  I need to focus.  Plan more, maybe.  Stop falling asleep in front of the TV.  That kind of thing.

I met a guy who does Wing Chun while I was at Edge.  We practised a little and he said I was pretty good given that I'd been out of training for a year.  It felt good, though it took a few tries to remember it properly.  He recommended a class to me that seems to be only about half an hour away.  Once a week on a Monday.   Could be possible.   I'm definitely going to consider it after Christmas.

Work is exhausting.  I feel really drained.  I totally failed to call anyone back tonight.  I'm such a jerk.

On the other hand, I passed my diploma.  Go me.  I can add 'Dip Mus (Open)' after my name, if I feel like it.  Actually, I'm quite pleased about that!  Yay!  I've actually got a proper qualification!

At last.

Sephraem: is there a reason everyone is talking to me like i'm an idiot?
Nix: I'm not talking to you like you're an idiot
Nix: I'm talking to you like I'm FUCKING STRESSED BECAUSE I HAVE MY OWN FUCKING SHIT TO DEAL WITH

Everybody hurts, right?  It's easy to forget that when you're in the midst of your own crisis.  Your own agony will always be more real, more painful, more important, than anyone else's.  Not to them; their agony is more important, obviously.  You get it.  In the end the information poll of our own lives totally sucks, yet remains entirely relevant - to each of us - coming as it does from our sample of one.

Who am I, really?  I'm fucked if I know.  When was the last time I had to stand by myself and decide what I want and where I want to go?  I was single for about 3 months, in my first year of university and, frankly, that's going back about 9 years, now.  I leapt from one serious relationship straight into another, last year, and can't help feeling that maybe I should have caught my breath, first.

Now, I feel kind of winded.  I feel unlovable.  I feel very undeserving of affection, warmth, or kindness.  I feel like I don't know who I am, or what it is I want.  I don't know how I can figure these things out unless I get away.  I don't know where to go.

I'm thinking of going to France for a week.  I love France.  It'll be cheap this time of year.  Probably.

When Gavin and I had our trial separation, the only thing I was really sure of was that I needed space to figure things out.  Quiet time.  Alone.  I told him I wouldn't contact him, and we arranged a date to get together to talk about things and see if we wanted to continue a relationship.  He moved on before that date arrived, getting together with one of my friends, Meredith.  He hit her, too, I'm told.  Bastard.

I spend a lot of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.  One day, people will start to realise what a bad person I am, that I'm not funny, or even fun.  That I'm not that smart, or that geeky, really.  That I'm a great big fraud.   And a hypocrite.  That I don't know so much about music, or literature.  That I'm judgemental, and selfish, and think the most horrible thoughts sometimes.  That I'm really rather worthless and ought not to waste the time of others.  I'm afraid they'll all see it, and then I'll be alone.

When it manifests, my OCD is all about the fear that I don't deserve the things I have, and that the universe might figure that out, and suddenly redress the balance, and I'll lose everything.  I told you I was selfish.

Sometimes, I need to be hurt.  Some people cut themselves.  I don't even have the strength of character to do that; I have to go out and get someone else to do it, tainting them with my shit, too.  Pathetic, weak and wicked.  I choose the abuse.  Come here and kick me around, please.

I even make myself sick.

Wherever you go, there you are.  It's so true.  It's a stupid saying, but it's true.  Maybe my desire to be alone is just that I really don't want to be me.  But I really feel like I don't want to inflict myself upon other people.

I don't know.  I just don't know.  And my thoughts are racing, again.  I'm so tired, but I've no idea how I'm going to sleep.

I feel like shit.

Take a knife and drive it through my heart
Or set me all a-flame.
I don't care which method you employ
The result will be the same.

Kill me quick with arrows in my breast
Or bullets to my head.
Whichever way you choose to do the deed
I still will end up dead.

Maybe you could tear me limb from limb
Or rip away my spine.
I have no preference either way.
What you decide is fine.

Break my neck or bleed me slowly dry.
Stab me in the back.
Regardless, sweetheart, you will find
I welcome your attack.

_____________
Yeah, yeah, it's mine.  All rights reserved.  Thanks.

I went to Edge last night for the first time in I don't know how long.  It's changed a lot.  Well, not a lot.  But the people are different.  The club is still manky and just how I remember it.  Except with a new, non-stick floor.  Who'd'a thunk it?

I remember a time, at Edge, when moshing was frustrating, because the guys trod on eggshells round the very few girls that entered the pit.  Even when antagonised, they'd avoid the girls; partly because they're girls, but also because the bouncers came down hard on anyone causing serious damage.

Last night was both excellent, and appalling.

Largely, the pit was unmoderated.  A couple of bouncers stood around, but no-one intervened at any point.  None of the music was censored because the pit was getting too heavy.  The lads made space for me, and I gave out, and took, my share of hits.  But there were a lot of things going on in there that should not have been in a little rock club like that.

So, I've decided to compile a list of suggestions, for how to make moshing a little less likely to result in more people - like the rather lovely girl, Jen, I met who sustained a broken rib in the mosh pit at Edge one night - suffering serious injury.

1. First and foremost, moshing is supposed to be fun, for you, and your fellow moshers.  Don't forget that.
2. Remove your rings and dangly/spiky jewellery, especially if you intend to flail your limbs.
3. If you nudge someone as you enter the pit, you will be shoved back.  Don't act surprised.
4. If someone falls, especially as a result of your slam, help him back up.
5. If you hear a bottle hit the ground, it's everyone's responsibility to find it.  Broken glass in a mosh pit is never good.  Protect your head if you have to dive for it, but pick it up.
6. Be aware of the general trend of the pit.  If you're headbanging while everyone else is slamdancing, you are likely to get injured.
7. Be aware of your fellow moshers.  Chances are, there's some idiot headbanging while everyone else is slamdancing.  Try to keep out of his way.
8. Keep blows low.  Don't strike the head.  There's plenty of torso and back to land elbows and fists on.
9. Flailing limbs wildly and hoping that you don't strike anyone else is generally bad practise.  Eventually, you will hit someone else.  They will hit back.  Don't act surprised.
10. Flailing limbs wildly in the hope of hitting someone else is also generally bad practise.  Be aware of where your blows are landing.
11. There's no recrimination in a mosh pit.  If you get hurt, just remember, you were in a mosh pit.  You went there.  What were you expecting?

Like I said, it wasn't all bad.  It was a fantastic night, and I met plenty of good people.  It was wonderful to catch up with Laurence.

For restlessness plagues me....
I am assailed by a spectre profounder
Than hatred and grief or the sum of their hideous crime

Okay.  I've sobered up from my little bender, there.  It wasn't so much the puking and the hangover that made me realise how out of control I'd been, but the fact that I had no memory of much of the evening, and the bits I did remember were extremely humiliating.  David sat with me, on Skype, for a good couple of hours while I got through the worst of it.  I'm glad my friends took me home, because I'd never have made it up the road.  I'm grateful to everybody involved, but especially David.

It was so stupid.  I do all my stupidest things when I'm drunk.  It's like the filter that usually stops me from blurting out stupid statements or doing things that really require the highest level of stupidity gets switched off, and there I am, with my most raw and intimate, dorky and pathetic self on display.  Fuck!  I hate that.

I've done a lot of bad things, lately.  I'm kind of mad at myself.  Not kind of.  I am mad at myself.

I still feel drunk.  I don't know why.  I think it's caffeine.  Or aspartame.  Whatever it is, I don't like it and I need to get some sleep.

It's time to pull myself together.  I've been crap, lately.  And I've been falling further down the spiral for a while, now.  I really have to stop that.

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

Yeah, maybe that's a little melodramatic.  I wouldn't know how to get my hands on any hard drugs, anyway.  Well, I guess I could ask Snowball, but I think she moved away.  I wouldn't know.  They don't talk to me anymore.

Wherever you go, there you are.  I think if you can't live with that fact, then you have a huge problem.  I need to like myself again.

For only when you love God and yourself, can you love all of God's creatures.

Well, you get the point, even if you don't do the God thing.

It's fucking late.  I have to get up for work.  I can't keep doing this.