So I'm now midway through a particularly brutal working fortnight of playing expert in half a dozen subjects and trying hard to stay on the bucking bronco that's standing in for my normally placid schedule. But I had most of the weekend off so I won't complain about working conditions etc., at least not til I've finished the next set of meeting notes.
Today I genuinely think that I have nothing to say. Which, in the style of most bloggers, is really not going to stop me from saying that nothing in as much excruciating detail as I possibly can. So fact 1: I'm now out of Baileys, that deceptive fluid that cleverly disguises alcohol as christmas-pudding sauce. And fact 2: I'm worked off my feet, my house is in chaos, but I'm still managing to float around on a contentedly happy cloud. I appear to have discovered (without any conscious effort) the secret of being negatively depressed. As in the opposite of depressed: not just happy, but positively blissful without any conscious effort on my part. Maybe it's a karma thing: several years of depression have just magically gone into reverse and I'm about to spend years sporting a soppy grin. Maybe the thing that soaked up all my seratonin suddenly started rejecting it and leaving way too much of it floating round my endocrine system. And before anyone points out the Baileys, this is a sober thing too (and there wasn't that much left in the bottle). It's not love because there's been plenty of time to acclimatise to that lately; whatever it is, it feels good and I am very glad and deeply happy (maybe that's seratonin etc etc) that it's happening to me. Random whittering over. Roger and out etc. etc.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Sunday, 9 November 2008
How to do life - the video
I have a small plumbing problem to fix. So, since I was armed only with my laptop and a little light insomnia, I looked it up on the internet. And found a lovely little site - videojug - with helpful tips and videos on all the things your Dad would tell you if it was sociable to call and ask him about pipework at midnight. I like. I may even have to invent some problems to see if there are video-based fixes for them...
Sunday, 2 November 2008
Life plan for November
Things have been a little out of synch of late. So it's time to revive the life plan again.
Sleep is a given. I need 7.5 - 8 hours a day to function normally, and I wake up at 7am on the dot every day. So bedtime just fixed itself at 10:30pm. And tracking back from there I could spend half an hour reading before I sleep every night, so physically going to bed should be at 10pm. Good. That bit's sorted. Now for the rest.
Work is also a given: 8 hours a day will happen (5 on Fridays), with a minimum half-hour lunchbreak every working day. If I build sorting-out-stuff-for-tomorrow into my evening routine, I can get to work (cycling) by 7:30am. Which means that I can leave at 4pm if I want. So work from 7:30am (with a slip to 8am if needed) and leave between 4 and 5pm. I used to spend half an hour every morning on life maintenance (washing up, laundry, sorting through bills sort of stuff) before work because that was when I was most awake and most likely to actually do it. Maybe I'll try that again too. So life 7:15-7:45, work at 8am, leave at 4:30pm; I'll give that a go and see if the life maintenance slot is constructive or destructive.
Which leaves a half-hour lunchtime (20 minute run, 10 minute shower or 30 minute walk in the sun sounds good at the moment; with a walk to the bank or shops once a week on my rest day) and from 5pm (once I've got home) til 10pm every evening. 5 whole hours! Every day! What have I been doing with myself? Well, extra work, stressing and watching television for a start. The extra work can stay, but only if it's built into those hours. The stressing and television can go. This month, I am not going to watch television on my own. It's okay if I'm with someone else and we're doing it as a social activity, but I'm not going to do it on my own. And I keep saying that, I have half a chance of not needing to cut the plug off the thing to make it happen. I've also been going to the gym in the evenings. Not nearly enough though: our almost-daily sessions have withered down to once a week with our personal trainer, followed almost inevitably by an evening of slobbing out feeling tired or eating out until we're stuffed. This too must stop: I need to get a lot more stern about my gym routine. Starting with getting my frozen shoulder fixed so I don't break myself when I get it back together. So. Head for the gym at 4:30 every night. If there's a class (Thursday) then work in the gym lounge until the class starts; if there isn't then train from 4:45 to 5:45 and get home by 6:15.
So I have up at 7 for half hour of me-maintenance, cycle to work by 8, light exercise (run/walk) lunchtime, leave work at 4:30; gym from 4:45 to 5:45, home by 6:15, bed at 10, sleep at 10:30. That's a structure; now for the plan.
Plan 1: cook weekday meals in advance unless there's a special reason to cook fresh. On Sunday nights (yes, I've noticed that this is one), sort out my clothes for the week, plan out the week's meals and cook something up for at least 3 days. This means that I can pitch in from the gym, rev up the microwave and be fed by 6:3o most days. Leaving 3 1/2 hours of time to do the longer-term things.
Plan 2: decide on my next career path and go for it. Spend 2-3 hours a night reading, writing, coding, whatever it takes to head in that direction. Allow for one evening off a week; in practice this means that I have 10 hours basic study time a week, and must use the rest of my time as carefully as I can. And work to a schedule. 10 hours is not a lot of time to spare, so I need to use it wisely. I may even have to take some of my time off (I have 6 days to take before the end of November) to accelerate this plan a bit.
Plan 3: declutter. Make a list of useful things to do with that half hour, and concentrate on reducing the number of non-core things that I have to see or think of every day. This too will help... less stuff means less stuff to put away, less stuff to think about, less stuff to pack up and go.
Plan 4: don't be upset if the plan gets disrupted. It happens. Absorb the interrupt and get on with the plan.
Sleep is a given. I need 7.5 - 8 hours a day to function normally, and I wake up at 7am on the dot every day. So bedtime just fixed itself at 10:30pm. And tracking back from there I could spend half an hour reading before I sleep every night, so physically going to bed should be at 10pm. Good. That bit's sorted. Now for the rest.
Work is also a given: 8 hours a day will happen (5 on Fridays), with a minimum half-hour lunchbreak every working day. If I build sorting-out-stuff-for-tomorrow into my evening routine, I can get to work (cycling) by 7:30am. Which means that I can leave at 4pm if I want. So work from 7:30am (with a slip to 8am if needed) and leave between 4 and 5pm. I used to spend half an hour every morning on life maintenance (washing up, laundry, sorting through bills sort of stuff) before work because that was when I was most awake and most likely to actually do it. Maybe I'll try that again too. So life 7:15-7:45, work at 8am, leave at 4:30pm; I'll give that a go and see if the life maintenance slot is constructive or destructive.
Which leaves a half-hour lunchtime (20 minute run, 10 minute shower or 30 minute walk in the sun sounds good at the moment; with a walk to the bank or shops once a week on my rest day) and from 5pm (once I've got home) til 10pm every evening. 5 whole hours! Every day! What have I been doing with myself? Well, extra work, stressing and watching television for a start. The extra work can stay, but only if it's built into those hours. The stressing and television can go. This month, I am not going to watch television on my own. It's okay if I'm with someone else and we're doing it as a social activity, but I'm not going to do it on my own. And I keep saying that, I have half a chance of not needing to cut the plug off the thing to make it happen. I've also been going to the gym in the evenings. Not nearly enough though: our almost-daily sessions have withered down to once a week with our personal trainer, followed almost inevitably by an evening of slobbing out feeling tired or eating out until we're stuffed. This too must stop: I need to get a lot more stern about my gym routine. Starting with getting my frozen shoulder fixed so I don't break myself when I get it back together. So. Head for the gym at 4:30 every night. If there's a class (Thursday) then work in the gym lounge until the class starts; if there isn't then train from 4:45 to 5:45 and get home by 6:15.
So I have up at 7 for half hour of me-maintenance, cycle to work by 8, light exercise (run/walk) lunchtime, leave work at 4:30; gym from 4:45 to 5:45, home by 6:15, bed at 10, sleep at 10:30. That's a structure; now for the plan.
Plan 1: cook weekday meals in advance unless there's a special reason to cook fresh. On Sunday nights (yes, I've noticed that this is one), sort out my clothes for the week, plan out the week's meals and cook something up for at least 3 days. This means that I can pitch in from the gym, rev up the microwave and be fed by 6:3o most days. Leaving 3 1/2 hours of time to do the longer-term things.
Plan 2: decide on my next career path and go for it. Spend 2-3 hours a night reading, writing, coding, whatever it takes to head in that direction. Allow for one evening off a week; in practice this means that I have 10 hours basic study time a week, and must use the rest of my time as carefully as I can. And work to a schedule. 10 hours is not a lot of time to spare, so I need to use it wisely. I may even have to take some of my time off (I have 6 days to take before the end of November) to accelerate this plan a bit.
Plan 3: declutter. Make a list of useful things to do with that half hour, and concentrate on reducing the number of non-core things that I have to see or think of every day. This too will help... less stuff means less stuff to put away, less stuff to think about, less stuff to pack up and go.
Plan 4: don't be upset if the plan gets disrupted. It happens. Absorb the interrupt and get on with the plan.
Life. Prrr. Grrr. Prrr.
It's been a while. Nearly three months in fact. Which probably merits a smidgeon of explanation. It's just life. Some very good things have happened to me, mostly involving slobbing out with a particularly wonderful-frustating-incredible-annoying individual, and one of the memories I will hold forever in my heart is simply being together on a sunny afternoon in Paris, watching the lime leaves tumble down as the ugliest boats in the world pootled by. And some very bad things have happened too, mostly involving individuals who to survive in one arena have felt the need to destroy the one person who stands in their way - er me, in case you haven't guessed. So between legal tiptoeing and my life being engulfed in one long firefight, between trying so hard to be normal throughout this time and the practical love of my loved ones, there hasn't been much room for anything else.
It's been a horrid time, but. And it's a big but. Indeed a hippo-sized 'but'. I have learnt so much and have been forced to think so much. To take risks, to reach out, to consider the less-thinkable, to go places that I would maybe not dare from within my comfortable suburbanizing life (it's my verb, I can do what I want with it. Ed). And I've found the courage to face the loss of everything material in my life and realise that it signifies - well, quite a lot, but by no means everything. And I've made friends again with my past self, the S that would stand up and fight for her right to be, that considered injustice and hazard and risk then waded on in anyway because making just one little bit of the world (and occasionally surprisingly some quite big bits of the world) better was more important than psychological safety. But don't mistake this for rashness. The trick to risk (as my very learned friend might say) is to understand the cost, understand the odds, estimate the returns and *then* decide what to do. And the beauty of liars and bullies is that the first have to remember more than one truth at a time (which is difficult and will almost always eventually fail and not in a small way), and the latter only survive if they have victims.
And speaking of which, something quite amazing happened today. I was bullied every day in my mid-teens. Twice a day every day going to and from school; more if they could catch me in-between. It got more than a little wearing; I can vaguely remember doing exams and O levels, and my first snog outside the maths classroom (oh, and some serious research into the linguistic origins of Dorset placenames and the note structures in Belshazzar's Feast and lots of other interest things), but most of my school memories are of ridicule, damage, fear and the feel of rosethorns in my back whilst a much older boy hit me from above. And behind all this was one girl, one person I'd stopped bullying a friend in primary school years earlier (girls are wierd: they immediately became friends and ignored me completely) and who'd seen an opportunity when I joined a new school on my own at 14. Oh, the amazing thing? She's contacted me. Which given I've changed my name and moved from place to place for most of my adult life must have taken a not insignificant amount of detective work. 10 years ago, M tried to apologise to my mother (who responded with the maternal version of 'sod off'), and maybe just maybe she's feeling the need to tidy her feelings now. I've sent a not-unfriendly note back; we'll see what develops from here. The curious thing personally is that, despite the effects of what she did, I feel no malice at all. Not even the psychologically-buried variety. Not a smidge. I feel sad for the child that I was and the child that she was (she'd moved school because she herself had been bullied - mother dated headmaster, 'nuff said), but there's no anger or pain there anymore. If she needs closure and I can give it, then I will. I suspect we could even, in the right circumstances, become friends. But the most curious thing is that I find myself now, 25 years later, in exactly the same situation. Except the thing at stake isn't my exam grades (I passed, but didn't get the 14 A*s that were predicted; that's still a big thing to employers even now) but my livelihood. And again I have a scared little girl with a powerful gang of friends shoving me into the rosebushes because it's easier than facing up to and living with her own self (which probably isn't as bad as she secretly fears). I still live with the effects of the first girl - the lost opportunities, the life I didn't have (not that that's so terrible; I had a pretty good alternative one instead, just one with less easy opportunities) - and I need to deal with the second before that too gets out of hand. After all, I'm not sure that I have 25 more years to spare on the effects of this one. That said (and like buts, there is always a 'that said'), a disaster is always a thinly-disguised opportunity for those who have the courage and the heart to take it. So onwards. And a little more blogging this time.
It's been a horrid time, but. And it's a big but. Indeed a hippo-sized 'but'. I have learnt so much and have been forced to think so much. To take risks, to reach out, to consider the less-thinkable, to go places that I would maybe not dare from within my comfortable suburbanizing life (it's my verb, I can do what I want with it. Ed). And I've found the courage to face the loss of everything material in my life and realise that it signifies - well, quite a lot, but by no means everything. And I've made friends again with my past self, the S that would stand up and fight for her right to be, that considered injustice and hazard and risk then waded on in anyway because making just one little bit of the world (and occasionally surprisingly some quite big bits of the world) better was more important than psychological safety. But don't mistake this for rashness. The trick to risk (as my very learned friend might say) is to understand the cost, understand the odds, estimate the returns and *then* decide what to do. And the beauty of liars and bullies is that the first have to remember more than one truth at a time (which is difficult and will almost always eventually fail and not in a small way), and the latter only survive if they have victims.
And speaking of which, something quite amazing happened today. I was bullied every day in my mid-teens. Twice a day every day going to and from school; more if they could catch me in-between. It got more than a little wearing; I can vaguely remember doing exams and O levels, and my first snog outside the maths classroom (oh, and some serious research into the linguistic origins of Dorset placenames and the note structures in Belshazzar's Feast and lots of other interest things), but most of my school memories are of ridicule, damage, fear and the feel of rosethorns in my back whilst a much older boy hit me from above. And behind all this was one girl, one person I'd stopped bullying a friend in primary school years earlier (girls are wierd: they immediately became friends and ignored me completely) and who'd seen an opportunity when I joined a new school on my own at 14. Oh, the amazing thing? She's contacted me. Which given I've changed my name and moved from place to place for most of my adult life must have taken a not insignificant amount of detective work. 10 years ago, M tried to apologise to my mother (who responded with the maternal version of 'sod off'), and maybe just maybe she's feeling the need to tidy her feelings now. I've sent a not-unfriendly note back; we'll see what develops from here. The curious thing personally is that, despite the effects of what she did, I feel no malice at all. Not even the psychologically-buried variety. Not a smidge. I feel sad for the child that I was and the child that she was (she'd moved school because she herself had been bullied - mother dated headmaster, 'nuff said), but there's no anger or pain there anymore. If she needs closure and I can give it, then I will. I suspect we could even, in the right circumstances, become friends. But the most curious thing is that I find myself now, 25 years later, in exactly the same situation. Except the thing at stake isn't my exam grades (I passed, but didn't get the 14 A*s that were predicted; that's still a big thing to employers even now) but my livelihood. And again I have a scared little girl with a powerful gang of friends shoving me into the rosebushes because it's easier than facing up to and living with her own self (which probably isn't as bad as she secretly fears). I still live with the effects of the first girl - the lost opportunities, the life I didn't have (not that that's so terrible; I had a pretty good alternative one instead, just one with less easy opportunities) - and I need to deal with the second before that too gets out of hand. After all, I'm not sure that I have 25 more years to spare on the effects of this one. That said (and like buts, there is always a 'that said'), a disaster is always a thinly-disguised opportunity for those who have the courage and the heart to take it. So onwards. And a little more blogging this time.
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
Love. Grrr.
Two-way things are two-way. Obvious, yes, but also quite easy to forget. Having someone in my life that I could not bear to lose usually means that they could not bear to lose me too. Oh, I know there are exceptions, and I seem to know several of them (maybe it’s the semi-dangerous activities I do, but they do seem to attract danger-seeking types, and there is nothing more dangerous than a clique of semi-ex-girlfriends): men and women who inexplicably attract people who would do anything for them, will put up with almost anything to be with them, will fall in love and cling on even when the sane world (including usually some parts of themselves) is screaming “get out now”. Maybe that’s an overcompensation: a good relationship is one based on trust mixed with expectation: I trust you to try not to harm me, but I understand your behaviour enough to anticipate and respond to what you do; when you remove trust from that equation, there is only anticipation and response “if I’m very very good, then maybe you’ll respond in the way that I hope” or “I know what you’re going to do next, there’s nothing I can do about it, but I’m going to hope anyway”. And hope being the cheerleader of emotions, the ra-ras carry you through until your soul is thoroughly broken.
But that’s not what I’m writing about today. I’m writing mostly about the good stuff, the person you would do almost anything for because (but not just because) you know they’d do almost anything for you too. And a little about how easy it is to forget sometimes that love goes both ways. I’m still on friends month. And somehow, subconsciously (or perhaps because some of them do talk to each other sometimes), people in my life seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and contacting me themselves (maybe it’s that time of year). But this weekend brought a contact from someone in my past. An innocuous contact, a friendly question, but to me a subtext that I don’t want to see. And so here, in grey and not-so-grey (or maybe my screen’s just a bit dirty), a message to anyone who knows me and is even considering romantic intentions: I have someone in my life. He completes me in ways that I had not dared hope to have (like cooking – stop sniggering in the back there, I don't always burn things), and I hope –believe- I complete him too (although in many ways he’s plenty able to complete himself already). I would love to make contact and spend more time again with my old friends, and am always happy to make new ones (you can’t have too many good friends or opinions), and you are all welcome in my heart, but there is room for only one love in my life. Understand that, and (go some way towards being able to) understand me. Make any attempt to usurp him and I will ignore you 'til you either come to your senses or go away.
But that’s not what I’m writing about today. I’m writing mostly about the good stuff, the person you would do almost anything for because (but not just because) you know they’d do almost anything for you too. And a little about how easy it is to forget sometimes that love goes both ways. I’m still on friends month. And somehow, subconsciously (or perhaps because some of them do talk to each other sometimes), people in my life seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and contacting me themselves (maybe it’s that time of year). But this weekend brought a contact from someone in my past. An innocuous contact, a friendly question, but to me a subtext that I don’t want to see. And so here, in grey and not-so-grey (or maybe my screen’s just a bit dirty), a message to anyone who knows me and is even considering romantic intentions: I have someone in my life. He completes me in ways that I had not dared hope to have (like cooking – stop sniggering in the back there, I don't always burn things), and I hope –believe- I complete him too (although in many ways he’s plenty able to complete himself already). I would love to make contact and spend more time again with my old friends, and am always happy to make new ones (you can’t have too many good friends or opinions), and you are all welcome in my heart, but there is room for only one love in my life. Understand that, and (go some way towards being able to) understand me. Make any attempt to usurp him and I will ignore you 'til you either come to your senses or go away.
Saturday, 26 July 2008
August is No-friends Month
Yes, really.
I haven't been getting out enough on my own this year. I work, I sleep, I watch bad television and firefight my life inbetween, with trips out with Hwsgo punctuating the exhaustion/ tedium of this. I live in a place where people like me don't naturally gravitate, and have to make an effort to find each other. And its making me really rather lonely. So having dedicated months of my life to sorting out parts of my life, I don't see why August should be allowed a relaxing beach holiday instead. I hereby dedicate August to rebuilding my relationships outside work and love. I'm going to visit friends I haven't seen for too long and try to contact those I've been too embarassed about my situation(s) to talk to. Heck, I'm even going to get myself out doing stuff so I can join the few like-minded souls around here. So that's a plan. Made a little easier/ more difficult by me being away for the first week of August (diving with friends: good for spending time with those friends, bad for having weekends to visit others). But a rough plan is...
I haven't been getting out enough on my own this year. I work, I sleep, I watch bad television and firefight my life inbetween, with trips out with Hwsgo punctuating the exhaustion/ tedium of this. I live in a place where people like me don't naturally gravitate, and have to make an effort to find each other. And its making me really rather lonely. So having dedicated months of my life to sorting out parts of my life, I don't see why August should be allowed a relaxing beach holiday instead. I hereby dedicate August to rebuilding my relationships outside work and love. I'm going to visit friends I haven't seen for too long and try to contact those I've been too embarassed about my situation(s) to talk to. Heck, I'm even going to get myself out doing stuff so I can join the few like-minded souls around here. So that's a plan. Made a little easier/ more difficult by me being away for the first week of August (diving with friends: good for spending time with those friends, bad for having weekends to visit others). But a rough plan is...
- Finally get round to writing to my grandparents. I used to do this every month, but somehow I never had enough news, enough things to say to them to make them proud anymore. Sometimes people just want to know that you care enough to write and that's enough. It's easy to forget that.
- Visit Rob near Bristol (my longstanding invitation to help tame his new garden is in serious danger of turning into an invitation to view the finished garden complete with established trees). Whilst I'm there, drop a book back to my bearded friend, see his eco-roof and find out how Cap'n Jim and the gang are doing. Visit Vicky and Andy in Somerset on the way back.
- Write to Lynne via her parents. It's stupid: she lives a couple of miles from me (having lived round here all through the years that I was travelling) but we lost contact and she's the type of person who will and does take offence at not receiving a christmas card. And make sure I get Lynne and Tasha back together: Tasha had a rough time when her mum died and has been trying to make contact ever since.
- Consider dropping into Edinburgh for a weekend: I've messed up working at the Festival this year (double-booked it with my diving holiday), but that doesn't stop me from spending some time with the theatre-building crowd (Big Guy, Dave, Tom etc). Heck, even volunteer for the unbuild week?
- Get my bum up to Wolverhampton for the weekend. Spend more time with Lizzie. Visit Mal near Herefordshire on the way back (go for walk on the hills?).
- Make contact with Alastair and Rob in London. I worry about them both, and they haven't been around long enough to worry me even more than usual.
- Spend more time in the gym with S. a) we get fitter, and b) we spend some girl time together. Keep trying to get little S into the gym with us too. Go to some of the Fish parties.
- Get my paper addressbook in order and put all my numbers into my phone addressbook too, so I'm not in the situation of being near a friend's house but not being able to contact them again (so many of them are ex-directory).
- And contact (write, phone, visit) 2 people at least each week. This doesn't sound like much, but it all mounts up over time. I think I suggested something like this to someone else earlier this year: maybe I should look up this plan.
- Join in. Go to the local conservation group days (btcv, gatwick, canals) and get muddy. A week on Lundy is looking good at the moment: maybe I should suggest it to some of my more camping-friendly friends like Spiros and co. Get out with some groups: find a more traditional running group than the racing snakes at Crawley (where 7 minute miling is slow) consider hashing again, get out on the local CTC cycling trips. (all of these need me to get a bit fitter. Luckily that's one of my holiday plans. Along with fit into wetsuit better).
The time I have available for this plan? Well, every day on holiday I could write a postcard or two; and I may be away for the first weekend but it's a 5-weekend month so that leaves 4 weekends to plan for: 9-10, 16-17, 23-24, 30-31st August (although this may need to expand into September too). Although at least one of those should be dedicated to Hwsgo: I shouldn't neglect him whilst I'm reaching out again. And like all the other plans, a month should be enough to set patterns that work for the rest of my life again.
So yes, a plan. And something to do for myself for yet another month. Much more of this, and I'll be thinking I'm important to myself soon.
On a silly note for the day, I wrote a shopping list on my kitchen blackboard midway through writing this post. Halfway down, my subconscious nudged me: I noticed my handwriting was slightly spikier than usual, but it wasn't until the last line that I realised I was writing with my right hand instead of my (usual) left. Legible text, at normal writing speed: maybe I'm subconsciously switching?
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