So, I heard that people don't like to be corrected. Apparently it annoys them. One would therefore assume that my habit of correcting people isn't generally taken to be a charming idiosyncrasy, but is instead taken to be one of the symptoms of my general annoyingness.
Having thought about this carefully, with a little guidance from Henry (who found me to be overly critical, and would probably have done well to tell me about that at the time), it has become apparent that I need to stop correcting people. Furthermore, I need to chill out about when people do things that are not my way, and refrain from judging them. Judging other people is also seen to be a bad thing, I believe.
Why would a person correct another person, though? What right does person A have to say to person B "It doesn't work like that"?
From my own point of view, I correct people for (I would guess) three reasons. The first reason is that I perceive a problem with something they are doing, and want to save them the hassle of doing it in a less efficient way, then having less good results, having to do it again, or possibly breaking something, or failing to achieve the original purpose. That has a certain amount of usefulness when I myself am correct, and absolutely no usefulness at all when I am incorrect (except that I get experience of being wrong, which helps me to learn, and I get taken down a peg or two, which is probably very good for me).
The second reason I correct people is because they are making a grammatical mistake, generally while speaking, or a mistake somewhere in their writing. I will generally do this because I believe that good spelling and grammar are intrinsically better than poor spelling and grammar, and that by correcting something I am both helping with that person's education, and helping to make their particular piece of writing better.
The third reason I correct someone is if they are both really annoying me and, to my mind, wrong. I do this to annoy them back.
The first two reasons for correcting people do appear to be motivated by good intentions. I believe that the road to Hell is paved with them. Lucky me. The third is not, so it may not send me directly to Hell. This is, to my mind, a positive thing.
I think that the question of when to help people is a good one. As is that of how to help people. Is it a good thing to help people, or is it better to leave them be?
I wonder if my "helping" people is not a problem simply because it involves words and not actions. Having said that, sometimes actions can get in the way, too. Sometimes, it's best just to let people get on with their own thing, and to help them to pick up the pieces, if necessary. Also to learn from their way of doing things.
Ooh - this is a spectacularly poorly-written and thought-out blog post. Sorry about that. Perhaps I will edit it, or perhaps you can correct me in the comments. It will annoy me a little, I expect, but one should be prepared to take what one dishes out.
Hey - I've just felt an entirely new sort of despair - one that I've never felt before. Wow. I hadn't realised despair could feel like that. It's a feeling that came up the front of my chest, went over the top (only about halfway), and came back down the middle - it felt like it went round my heart and told it it didn't deserve to be happy; it felt like newly-reborn and unexpected hope being snatched away because it was wrong to be hopeful in the first place, and I was stupid for thinking otherwise. Isn't it fun to be human, and to experience all of these feelings? Ha! Oh, the joy of being alive.
Anyway, I have resolved to stop correcting people unless they actually need it. Examples of people who actually need it include people to whom I am providing an actual educational experience (they don't need correcting, generally: they just need to be asked the right questions so that they can correct themselves), and people who just asked me whether or not what they just said, did or wrote (or what they are about to say, do or write) was (is) correct, and people who are just about to run a red traffic light.
Regarding judging people: apparently that's God's job. It is acceptable for me to judge the standard somebody is reaching while I am teaching them, so that I can help them to improve (it's in the job description), and the standard of people's work if it is my responsibility. It is acceptable for me to judge the behaviour of my children (who, fortunately for them, do not exist) so that I can ensure that I am parenting them to the best of my ability. It is acceptable for me to look at somebody else's behaviour and decide that it is not something I should be doing myself. I'm not convinced it's acceptable for me to judge much else, though. Comments?
In other news, the job's wonderful. Taking it seems, so far, to be one of the better decisions I have made with my life. If I go to work in a bad mood, I tend to feel better by the time I leave. I did three hours of overtime today, and it was a thoroughly pleasant experience. Speaking of which, I must get myself an audio book from the collection and get to bed, in preparation for a long journey, followed by a long day, followed by another long journey tomorrow. And a 6am start.
Actually, starting work at 8am feels normal now. I hate it just as much as I used to hate 9am starts, and get it right an awful lot more often. Now 7am is the new 8am. My 6am start, of course, refers only to the time I have to wake up (I leapt out of bed as the alarm went off at 6am this morning; clearly I had been a bit anxious about oversleeping); I don't have to be in work until 7. At which point it will be dark. Again. I have keys today, though, so I can pick up the van and scarper as soon as I arrive. (You should see the size of my keyring today. Usually it's quite big, but today it has an extra bunch of keys I borrowed, and a van key attached. It is more than twice as big and heavy as usual, and that's saying something.)
Oh, what a change: talking about work makes me happier. May it always stay that way.
Showing posts with label I Shall Overcome. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I Shall Overcome. Show all posts
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
Monday, 28 February 2011
I'm back!
Starting to take anti-depressants was an interesting experience. The only side-effect I noticed at first was the crazy dreams, which started just as I was falling asleep, and were suitably vivid and disturbing/weird that they woke me up at once. The third one was the strangest; after that I decided it wasn't worth trying to go to sleep after all.
I was lucky; that only happened on the first night. I did have a fair bit of trouble getting to sleep for a while after that, and spent hours listening to music and sleep hypnosis thingies in an attempt to make my mind go to sleep. With them, I could sleep; without, getting to sleep was a struggle.
When I returned to work, I did have a few problems holding things in my short-term memory. I would be asked to do something, and then forget immediately. Funnily enough, this caused a few problems at work. My workload wasn't quite as easy as it appeared to be, to me! Of course, at first I didn't realise what was happening. How is one supposed to remember forgetting things when one doesn't have much of a memory?
After I left work and went to mainland Europe for a few months, the only problems I noticed were when I reduced my dose. I would feel slightly nauseated every day around 5pm (and a lot of other times, too; that was the only consistent one), which would result in me working more slowly.
However, coming into this new job, I really started to notice the problems with my short-term memory. It took a lot of effort to keep an instruction or idea in my head longer than it took for something new to enter it. The moment a new thought entered my head, the old one was gone. This is all very well, but when one is holding keys and turns around to pick something up, it is generally considered useful if one can remember which key one is supposed to hold next. I feel that I have not necessarily impressed all of my colleagues a vast amount.
In December, I came to the conclusion that I has happy, settled and stable enough to come off the anti-depressants. However, it seemed to me that December, the most stressful month (in general), would not necessarily be the wisest month in which to do this. I waited until January, and was then given permission to do so by my doctor. That was good.
I came off anti-depressants completely two weeks ago on Saturday. Two weeks ago on Monday, I became ill. As I was recovering, I became ill again. As I was recovering from that one, I became ill again. By last Thursday, however, I was mostly feeling well again. Since then, I have noticed some interesting things.
Find out this, and more on the next edition of Optistatic: not so static right now. Coming soon, to a blog near you.
(It's good being me again.)
I was lucky; that only happened on the first night. I did have a fair bit of trouble getting to sleep for a while after that, and spent hours listening to music and sleep hypnosis thingies in an attempt to make my mind go to sleep. With them, I could sleep; without, getting to sleep was a struggle.
When I returned to work, I did have a few problems holding things in my short-term memory. I would be asked to do something, and then forget immediately. Funnily enough, this caused a few problems at work. My workload wasn't quite as easy as it appeared to be, to me! Of course, at first I didn't realise what was happening. How is one supposed to remember forgetting things when one doesn't have much of a memory?
After I left work and went to mainland Europe for a few months, the only problems I noticed were when I reduced my dose. I would feel slightly nauseated every day around 5pm (and a lot of other times, too; that was the only consistent one), which would result in me working more slowly.
However, coming into this new job, I really started to notice the problems with my short-term memory. It took a lot of effort to keep an instruction or idea in my head longer than it took for something new to enter it. The moment a new thought entered my head, the old one was gone. This is all very well, but when one is holding keys and turns around to pick something up, it is generally considered useful if one can remember which key one is supposed to hold next. I feel that I have not necessarily impressed all of my colleagues a vast amount.
In December, I came to the conclusion that I has happy, settled and stable enough to come off the anti-depressants. However, it seemed to me that December, the most stressful month (in general), would not necessarily be the wisest month in which to do this. I waited until January, and was then given permission to do so by my doctor. That was good.
I came off anti-depressants completely two weeks ago on Saturday. Two weeks ago on Monday, I became ill. As I was recovering, I became ill again. As I was recovering from that one, I became ill again. By last Thursday, however, I was mostly feeling well again. Since then, I have noticed some interesting things.
- For starters, things will stay in my short-term memory without me making a large effort to remember them.
- I no longer have an overwhelming desire to sleep, sometimes, against which Pro-Plus is powerless (normally it takes six and some coffee, and still doesn't really work; today I took three, and it worked beautifully!). That's good; I was beginning to wonder if it was some form of narcolepsy.
- I feel more alive, happy and energetic; as though doing things is a really good idea (although I wasn't exactly feeling bad in that department before).
- My brain has started to work again. This is the big one! I can think of things and come up with useful solutions. My brain is full of ideas and questions. This is going to make me hell to work with - they already think my mind is overly enquiring. I am enjoying it. It's a bit strange that I didn't notice it going away, but I suppose I had other things on my mind.
Find out this, and more on the next edition of Optistatic: not so static right now. Coming soon, to a blog near you.
(It's good being me again.)
Sunday, 30 January 2011
It begins
I have, only this evening, taken part in my first circuit training session for, I would guess, about four years. To warm up, we jogged 1.5 miles.* It was a two hour session, not the one hour session I was expecting.
However, it hurt a lot less than I expected. This was because my body didn't have it in it to cover 1.5 miles of distance in a comparatively short time, hit some pads with some gloves, hold pads while an actual boxer girl hit them (I think she was holding back, but not entirely) and then keep moving for 10 lots of two minutes at different stations. I flagged. I stopped a lot, and didn't keep sweating during the last thirty minutes. By the time I had finished, I almost felt warmed down.
Now my body rebels when I try to climb stairs. Unfortunately, my clothes for tomorrow are downstairs, and I live at the top of a large house. I do not look forward to tomorrow!
On the plus side, I braved the big, scary circuit training class, full of big, scary people (who I didn't even consider before turning up to the class. Just as well, really), and over-paid 50p for the class. I have to go back next week to get my change, apparently.
So, my losing weight campaign has now begun in earnest. The difficult bit is underway. I should do before photos, but I don't think that I will. There are some things the world doesn't need to see.
So far, my new trainers have been little paragons of delight. I bought them earlier in the week, as the last pair I bought are well on their way to being thoroughly dead, and I appreciate having good footwear. They are the Avia 2053, and I bought them myself from T K Maxx, with my own money, and everything.** They didn't seem to need any wearing in, and they can psychically untie laces when one is in desperate need. Miraculous. They didn't even seem to mind my particularly wide feet, which is nice of them. At least one aspect of my person was prepared for the running component of today's little torture session.
I shouldn't have written this post at all. I was, in fact, simply procrastinating, as my next job is to go downstairs, and then to come upstairs again, with some clean clothes. Do not like. (Well, I like clean clothes.) However, I must brave the stairs and also have a shower. My colleagues deserve it.
*Well, nominally we jogged 1.5 miles. Certainly, I completed 1.5 miles, keeping going all the time except for when my wonderful, wonderful shoelace came undone just when I decided I needed a break for a few moments. Thank you, shoelace. I love you.
**A lie. With the credit card's money. But I pay for it next month with my own money.
However, it hurt a lot less than I expected. This was because my body didn't have it in it to cover 1.5 miles of distance in a comparatively short time, hit some pads with some gloves, hold pads while an actual boxer girl hit them (I think she was holding back, but not entirely) and then keep moving for 10 lots of two minutes at different stations. I flagged. I stopped a lot, and didn't keep sweating during the last thirty minutes. By the time I had finished, I almost felt warmed down.
Now my body rebels when I try to climb stairs. Unfortunately, my clothes for tomorrow are downstairs, and I live at the top of a large house. I do not look forward to tomorrow!
On the plus side, I braved the big, scary circuit training class, full of big, scary people (who I didn't even consider before turning up to the class. Just as well, really), and over-paid 50p for the class. I have to go back next week to get my change, apparently.
So, my losing weight campaign has now begun in earnest. The difficult bit is underway. I should do before photos, but I don't think that I will. There are some things the world doesn't need to see.
So far, my new trainers have been little paragons of delight. I bought them earlier in the week, as the last pair I bought are well on their way to being thoroughly dead, and I appreciate having good footwear. They are the Avia 2053, and I bought them myself from T K Maxx, with my own money, and everything.** They didn't seem to need any wearing in, and they can psychically untie laces when one is in desperate need. Miraculous. They didn't even seem to mind my particularly wide feet, which is nice of them. At least one aspect of my person was prepared for the running component of today's little torture session.
I shouldn't have written this post at all. I was, in fact, simply procrastinating, as my next job is to go downstairs, and then to come upstairs again, with some clean clothes. Do not like. (Well, I like clean clothes.) However, I must brave the stairs and also have a shower. My colleagues deserve it.
*Well, nominally we jogged 1.5 miles. Certainly, I completed 1.5 miles, keeping going all the time except for when my wonderful, wonderful shoelace came undone just when I decided I needed a break for a few moments. Thank you, shoelace. I love you.
**A lie. With the credit card's money. But I pay for it next month with my own money.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
2011
Happy New Year!
I know. Late again. If anybody read this, they might be disappointed. The lack of an audience is very liberating.
I think that bloggers traditionally review a year, and then write their New Year's resolutions. As I appear to be struggling for content (an illusion! I am struggling for the motivation to write about the content), and it is always useful to record one's resolutions somewhere (not logical, I know. But I've started now), I shall write them down here. Not that I have any resolutions per se, but there is a list of things I must accomplish:
I know. Late again. If anybody read this, they might be disappointed. The lack of an audience is very liberating.
I think that bloggers traditionally review a year, and then write their New Year's resolutions. As I appear to be struggling for content (an illusion! I am struggling for the motivation to write about the content), and it is always useful to record one's resolutions somewhere (not logical, I know. But I've started now), I shall write them down here. Not that I have any resolutions per se, but there is a list of things I must accomplish:
- Set up a pension. I promised myself I would do that this month.
- Buy a subscription to the tunnel so that I don't have to find change every morning, and so that it cannot mistake another 20p for 5p or 10p and thus steal my money.
- Become stronger and more flexible, through attending Pilates and yoga sessions, and through going climbing.
- Become more fit, through doing actual aerobic exercise.
- Lose three stone. This should be achieved by next March at the latest. It will be achieved by a combination of diet, exercise and drinking less wine.
- Buy a corset. Probably when I have lost 2 stone, or so.
- Learn how to play the alto and tenor parts of a hymn in 4-part harmony in the left hand, leaving the right hand free to solo the melody on a different stop.
- Stop biting my nails completely. It is not a good idea when working with lead, even if I wash my hands thoroughly and leave a gap of at least a day between working and biting.
- Be a good sister.
- Make more of an effort to get to bed on time.
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Success!
In the spirit of updating whenever anything important happens, I shouldn't be updating today. However, I am. The success to which the title of this post refers is that I wore sticking plaster for over four days without any itchy allergic reaction at all! I think this means that my body is doing something right, for a change. Perhaps getting a suitable job and living a life pretty much free from responsibility does have some advantages...
I am off to take a shower to celebrate.
I am off to take a shower to celebrate.
Saturday, 8 August 2009
Since getting home from work
He came back to collect some more stuff. He went away again. I cried. I stopped crying. I brought some oils downstairs. I taught two people how to make soap. I did the washing up. They went home. I wrote a blog post. The end.
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Erm...
Yeah. So that was, once again, a bit of a break between updates. I am being exactly the sort of blogger I expected to be. Ah well - it's good that I know myself!
I am not entirely sure that I want to say what I have been up to since my last update. I suppose that I shall start and see what comes out...
It would appear that I am not quite so good at coping with life as I would have myself believe. After a rough couple of years (not all that bad, but somewhat wearing - I mean, there was an awful lot of good stuff happening, but the stuff that failed to happen no matter how hard I tried apparently caused me to give up), it was brought to my attention that I was not actually coping very well with life. After a few weeks of trying to get better by positive thinking/additional free time/rest and relaxation/counselling, I came to the conclusion that my brain was not going to play to any suitable timescale. The anxiety just kept being there all the time, even when there was nothing for me to be anxious about. That was wearing, too. That remains wearing, I suppose.
To cut a long, only briefly sketched, story short, I went on anti-depressants a week ago. I think that I am starting to feel a bit better. Certainly, the anxiety feels less important. I have got very good at ignoring a low level of anxiety and carrying on as normal, and as coming across as a well-adjusted person with a sense of humour (sometimes even I believe it!), but that's not really enough; constant anxiety is just stupid, and helps nobody.
So that's the story of just me and my brain. There are other things going on, though. HWSNBN is due to be moving out at the end of August, if not before, in such a way that we will no longer be partners: a break-up will ensue. This has implications for my housing situation; I cannot afford to have a whole house to myself, especially since my hours have been reduced to four days per week. I must either find somebody else to move in with me, or get rid of some of my stuff (!?!?!) and find myself a room elsewhere. I am currently advertising for another housemate (HWSNBN would move out as soon as this person was ready to move in), but I think that I should probably actually just bite the bullet and move in with someone else. It will be good for me to get rid of some of my things, and will leave me better-prepared for moving wherever I need to move when my organ building career finally takes off (2021?).
The parents have been very supportive. Having just that morning discovered that my wing mirror had been removed in the night (£200 of damage!), I drove into my parents' gate post with the back of my car. It was the other side from the missing wing mirror, so there was no way I could pretend it was the same accident! Not that I would do that, you understand. Anyway, I went inside and cried at both of my parents about the car damages, my stupidity, and my boyfriend announcing his departure, and they fed me and gave me whisky. Not much whisky, though - they were being responsible, after all. They looked after me for a very pleasant couple of days (I don't take much looking after, really - just regular cups of tea and whatever food happens to be going). They also said that I am welcome to go and live with them any time, although they did say that if I moved my stuff into my house I was only to fill Robert's bedroom to the extent that he could still get to his bed. What's the point of being the eldest if I have to abide by that sort of rules? Anyway, I was thinking that if I put his bed in the garden, that would remove that problem: I'm hardly going to want to keep my stuff in the garden, as it would get wet. He can have my tarpaulin.
I am mostly trying not to think about HWSNBN's departure. Although it is the right thing to happen, this is the guy with whom I have spent the majority of my twenties. At one point I thought I was going to marry him (OK, so it was only for a couple of months, but even so...). It is going to be very sad. I am also going to be very financially vulnerable. Sadness tinged with fear! What a tasty little combination.
Ah well - hopefully the drugs will help me to deal with the mechanics of the situation, and I can finish processing it when I am in a happier place. I think I have done enough processing of my situation to be going on with, and would like a break from that sort of thing, really. It would be very nice just to be able to cope with life like a normal person again, even when ever so slightly bad things (such as needing to turn the flashy Internet box off and on again) happen. Even when bigger bad things (such as one's boyfriend leaving one) happen.
It's all OK, really. Certainly, things feel better. Not better better, but much less bad. I have demonstrated that I have both enough motivation and enough togetherness (wrong word - do you know what I mean) to publish a blog post. Actually, that isn't technically accurate as I type, but if you have read it, then it is.
So, watch this space. But please don't hold your breath - I would hate to be held liable for your death by accidental asphyxiation. (Note the concern I show for your life. I obviously value it very highly. Hmm - perhaps I should work on empathy.) Although if watching this space doesn't interest you especially, please feel free to miss that out. I mean, it's not as though I have any right, nor any desire, to order you about. And I can be rather annoying. For example, I should have stopped typing before I started this paragraph, but I did not. Clearly, I should not be typing this. Perhaps all of my pent-up motivation (insert hysterical laughter here) has been waiting too long, and is now unstoppable. Perhaps I need more sleep. Perhaps I should now make steps towards getting that sleep. Yes, that is a good conclusion. Night night.
I am not entirely sure that I want to say what I have been up to since my last update. I suppose that I shall start and see what comes out...
It would appear that I am not quite so good at coping with life as I would have myself believe. After a rough couple of years (not all that bad, but somewhat wearing - I mean, there was an awful lot of good stuff happening, but the stuff that failed to happen no matter how hard I tried apparently caused me to give up), it was brought to my attention that I was not actually coping very well with life. After a few weeks of trying to get better by positive thinking/additional free time/rest and relaxation/counselling, I came to the conclusion that my brain was not going to play to any suitable timescale. The anxiety just kept being there all the time, even when there was nothing for me to be anxious about. That was wearing, too. That remains wearing, I suppose.
To cut a long, only briefly sketched, story short, I went on anti-depressants a week ago. I think that I am starting to feel a bit better. Certainly, the anxiety feels less important. I have got very good at ignoring a low level of anxiety and carrying on as normal, and as coming across as a well-adjusted person with a sense of humour (sometimes even I believe it!), but that's not really enough; constant anxiety is just stupid, and helps nobody.
So that's the story of just me and my brain. There are other things going on, though. HWSNBN is due to be moving out at the end of August, if not before, in such a way that we will no longer be partners: a break-up will ensue. This has implications for my housing situation; I cannot afford to have a whole house to myself, especially since my hours have been reduced to four days per week. I must either find somebody else to move in with me, or get rid of some of my stuff (!?!?!) and find myself a room elsewhere. I am currently advertising for another housemate (HWSNBN would move out as soon as this person was ready to move in), but I think that I should probably actually just bite the bullet and move in with someone else. It will be good for me to get rid of some of my things, and will leave me better-prepared for moving wherever I need to move when my organ building career finally takes off (2021?).
The parents have been very supportive. Having just that morning discovered that my wing mirror had been removed in the night (£200 of damage!), I drove into my parents' gate post with the back of my car. It was the other side from the missing wing mirror, so there was no way I could pretend it was the same accident! Not that I would do that, you understand. Anyway, I went inside and cried at both of my parents about the car damages, my stupidity, and my boyfriend announcing his departure, and they fed me and gave me whisky. Not much whisky, though - they were being responsible, after all. They looked after me for a very pleasant couple of days (I don't take much looking after, really - just regular cups of tea and whatever food happens to be going). They also said that I am welcome to go and live with them any time, although they did say that if I moved my stuff into my house I was only to fill Robert's bedroom to the extent that he could still get to his bed. What's the point of being the eldest if I have to abide by that sort of rules? Anyway, I was thinking that if I put his bed in the garden, that would remove that problem: I'm hardly going to want to keep my stuff in the garden, as it would get wet. He can have my tarpaulin.
I am mostly trying not to think about HWSNBN's departure. Although it is the right thing to happen, this is the guy with whom I have spent the majority of my twenties. At one point I thought I was going to marry him (OK, so it was only for a couple of months, but even so...). It is going to be very sad. I am also going to be very financially vulnerable. Sadness tinged with fear! What a tasty little combination.
Ah well - hopefully the drugs will help me to deal with the mechanics of the situation, and I can finish processing it when I am in a happier place. I think I have done enough processing of my situation to be going on with, and would like a break from that sort of thing, really. It would be very nice just to be able to cope with life like a normal person again, even when ever so slightly bad things (such as needing to turn the flashy Internet box off and on again) happen. Even when bigger bad things (such as one's boyfriend leaving one) happen.
It's all OK, really. Certainly, things feel better. Not better better, but much less bad. I have demonstrated that I have both enough motivation and enough togetherness (wrong word - do you know what I mean) to publish a blog post. Actually, that isn't technically accurate as I type, but if you have read it, then it is.
So, watch this space. But please don't hold your breath - I would hate to be held liable for your death by accidental asphyxiation. (Note the concern I show for your life. I obviously value it very highly. Hmm - perhaps I should work on empathy.) Although if watching this space doesn't interest you especially, please feel free to miss that out. I mean, it's not as though I have any right, nor any desire, to order you about. And I can be rather annoying. For example, I should have stopped typing before I started this paragraph, but I did not. Clearly, I should not be typing this. Perhaps all of my pent-up motivation (insert hysterical laughter here) has been waiting too long, and is now unstoppable. Perhaps I need more sleep. Perhaps I should now make steps towards getting that sleep. Yes, that is a good conclusion. Night night.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Caged
I am trapped in a cage. I made it myself. You would not expect anything less, I am sure.
It is nice and safe. It is hard to hurt me when I am behind these thick, strong bars that I made (ironmongery of the mind is one of my many talents). I have spent years forging them just so; they contain me.
I suppose that trapped isn't really the right word - I can get out of it. It's just that the door in the cage is very high on one of the walls.
When I get there I can either go straight ahead into another cage (tunnel-shaped; getting narrower), or jump into the unknown and see what happens. It is dark outside my cage; it could be a long fall and there may be nobody there to catch me, just people cheering me on from afar.
There could be another cage where I land. This cage could be less comfortable and safe.
I am building steps out of my cage. Once I get within grabbing distance of the door, though, it will be time to take action. I am building the steps slowly so that this does not happen too soon. As I said, it is safe within my cage.
My cage is not bare. There are plenty of playthings. They do not melt the bars, though.
My cage is portable. It won't go very far, but it does not have to stay in exactly the same place: some variety is permitted, although not welcomed. The doors have to be padlocked shut to facilitate any moving, and it is a while before they will be opened again.
I can still build the steps while I am waiting, though. I can stand at the door and try to gauge what will happen when I step through.
I actually feel as though I might explode. If this were not impossible, I would be mildly concerned. There would be limbs everywhere. People might trip.
Sunday, 14 September 2008
Stuck
I'm cooking dinner for HWSNBN and his mother this evening. Unfortunately, due to an excess of crapness on my part, the roast pork will not be ready until 8pm at the earliest. HWSNBN's mum does not like to eat after about 6.30. Once again, I have messed up and I feel bad.
I also managed to be too late for the vegetable shop - I thought it closed at 6, but it turns out it closes at 5 on a Sunday. As a result, I can only offer one carrot and half a swede in the orange vegetables section. I have no apples to make sauce. I have frozen peas, and purple beans from the vegetable patch, and purple potatoes (peeled - you can't really tell they were purple now), so I can fake a roast dinner - it's just that the timing is so very wrong.
I've just opened the oven and the pork looks amazing. It's just had its 30 minutes at 230C, and I had to let the heat out to take it to 160C, where it will stay for 90 minutes. It's quite a large bit of pork. I bought it because it was on offer, and put it straight into the freezer. Alas, I roasted a joint which had been in there for a few months recently, and it was not good. I don't know what happened to it (maybe the freezer turned itself off...), but it led me to the conclusion that I must defrost and roast all of the meat over a certain age in there (that age is anything I put in before yesterday). So now I am working on that. I do hope food poisoning is not the result. None of this meat will be served at all rare!
The reason I waited until so late to start cooking is that I am not having a happy day. Church did not go well - I am too easily irritated at the moment. Just as I was about to start playing this morning, the guitar started.* In a way, this is great - it means that I do less work but still get the same amount of money. I find that hard to argue with! However, I would have appreciated the chance to run through the hymns beforehand. It would also have been good to have been forewarned that the organ sounds like it is dying before the introduction to the first hymn. Poor darling - it is not at all a well little organ, and it needs tuning again.
The next badness came during the second hymn. The person who was singing most loudly was not singing the same rhythm as I was trying to play. I suspect that she was right,** but that didn't really help me. As I was distracted, I played lots of wrong notes. I am such a crap organist.
To make matters worse, she who plays the guitar is really good. I would feel a lot better about this if I wasn't being shown to be the lesser musician. I would not be shown to be the lesser musician if I did enough practice - if I worked at this, I would be good. Therefore it is all my fault in the end. Grr.
Finally, I got lots of notes wrong in the voluntary. I think that I had given up by then.
After church I went shopping and bought, among other things, some wine making kit. We are hoping to make elderberry and blackberry wine from those we find growing around the edge of The Field. I am looking forward to that.
As I was returning to the car, Heather called me. She sort of invited me round to hers for a cup of tea.*** When I arrived, she fed me and gave me wine instead. We both moaned about our respective lack of movement - her with a project she cannot move forward with until next year, me with projects which have not worked out - now I have to come up with new plans. After feeding me, she gave me tea and I felt better. Not completely better, but I think I shall have to make a lot of changes before I feel completely better.
She also helped me a little with a letter I am writing at the moment. Should this letter achieve its desired aim, my life will be thrown into utter turmoil for a bit. Should this happen, I shall record the results in this blog. It will be very exciting, but is rather daunting.
Sorry about skirting round this. There are some things one shouldn't share with the Internet, but the unbloggable crapness which is consuming my being at the moment says that it deserves a passing mention.
Update: Dinner tasted fine - I am reasonably confident nobody has been poisoned...
*OK, so it wasn't that the guitar started; it was that somebody started playing it. Somebody was supposed to be playing it. I feel incredibly petty.
**Well, officially I suspect that she was right. Between you and me, I was not convinced, even though, deep down, I trust her knowledge of the song more than mine. Deep breaths....... And, relax.
***She suggested we should meet in town for a coffee - I invited myself round to hers.
I also managed to be too late for the vegetable shop - I thought it closed at 6, but it turns out it closes at 5 on a Sunday. As a result, I can only offer one carrot and half a swede in the orange vegetables section. I have no apples to make sauce. I have frozen peas, and purple beans from the vegetable patch, and purple potatoes (peeled - you can't really tell they were purple now), so I can fake a roast dinner - it's just that the timing is so very wrong.
I've just opened the oven and the pork looks amazing. It's just had its 30 minutes at 230C, and I had to let the heat out to take it to 160C, where it will stay for 90 minutes. It's quite a large bit of pork. I bought it because it was on offer, and put it straight into the freezer. Alas, I roasted a joint which had been in there for a few months recently, and it was not good. I don't know what happened to it (maybe the freezer turned itself off...), but it led me to the conclusion that I must defrost and roast all of the meat over a certain age in there (that age is anything I put in before yesterday). So now I am working on that. I do hope food poisoning is not the result. None of this meat will be served at all rare!
The reason I waited until so late to start cooking is that I am not having a happy day. Church did not go well - I am too easily irritated at the moment. Just as I was about to start playing this morning, the guitar started.* In a way, this is great - it means that I do less work but still get the same amount of money. I find that hard to argue with! However, I would have appreciated the chance to run through the hymns beforehand. It would also have been good to have been forewarned that the organ sounds like it is dying before the introduction to the first hymn. Poor darling - it is not at all a well little organ, and it needs tuning again.
The next badness came during the second hymn. The person who was singing most loudly was not singing the same rhythm as I was trying to play. I suspect that she was right,** but that didn't really help me. As I was distracted, I played lots of wrong notes. I am such a crap organist.
To make matters worse, she who plays the guitar is really good. I would feel a lot better about this if I wasn't being shown to be the lesser musician. I would not be shown to be the lesser musician if I did enough practice - if I worked at this, I would be good. Therefore it is all my fault in the end. Grr.
Finally, I got lots of notes wrong in the voluntary. I think that I had given up by then.
After church I went shopping and bought, among other things, some wine making kit. We are hoping to make elderberry and blackberry wine from those we find growing around the edge of The Field. I am looking forward to that.
As I was returning to the car, Heather called me. She sort of invited me round to hers for a cup of tea.*** When I arrived, she fed me and gave me wine instead. We both moaned about our respective lack of movement - her with a project she cannot move forward with until next year, me with projects which have not worked out - now I have to come up with new plans. After feeding me, she gave me tea and I felt better. Not completely better, but I think I shall have to make a lot of changes before I feel completely better.
She also helped me a little with a letter I am writing at the moment. Should this letter achieve its desired aim, my life will be thrown into utter turmoil for a bit. Should this happen, I shall record the results in this blog. It will be very exciting, but is rather daunting.
Sorry about skirting round this. There are some things one shouldn't share with the Internet, but the unbloggable crapness which is consuming my being at the moment says that it deserves a passing mention.
Update: Dinner tasted fine - I am reasonably confident nobody has been poisoned...
*OK, so it wasn't that the guitar started; it was that somebody started playing it. Somebody was supposed to be playing it. I feel incredibly petty.
**Well, officially I suspect that she was right. Between you and me, I was not convinced, even though, deep down, I trust her knowledge of the song more than mine. Deep breaths....... And, relax.
***She suggested we should meet in town for a coffee - I invited myself round to hers.
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
Dark and scary
HWSNBN continues to be pleasant and friendly. On Monday we went for a drive in the hills, then he took me out for dinner. I had mussels and chips. We then went for a walk along the canal, and wondered about the presence of windlasses at the locks, and their padlockedness. We came to the conclusion that those using the canal must have a key to the padlocks, rather than a windlass (last time I went on a narrow boat there were no padlocks, but each boat came with one or more windlasses, to operate the locks).
I found the deep, dirty water rather disturbing and smelly. Although I would prefer not to be scared of deep water, and I pretend not to be, I am. I am not scared of smelly, scummy water, but I do not find it very pleasant. I don't think HWSNBN noticed, though, which was good. I think that sometimes* pretending that a fear does not exist will diminish it. Having suffered no ill consequences of being in the presence of the scary thing, sometimes the fear gets a little boring.
The most useful example of this comes from playing the organ. Organists do not always have an easy time learning their instrument. Churches can be cold and dark.** The church I learned to play the organ in was (and still is, in fact) very large. When the sun went down, this church could hold a lot of dark.
In order to use electricity efficiently, I was in the habit of only turning on the lights at the front of the church, where the organ was. This meant that, sitting at the console, I had a massive black space to my right. There were pews, balconies, staircases and passageways behind/in which anything could have been hiding. Anything could also just be sitting quietly in some dark space, waiting for me to look in its direction. Additionally, the organ itself was housed in a two-storey chamber in front of me. Between me and this chamber were two pieces of wood, one of which (the one directly in front of my face) could easily be moved by the hypothetical monster hiding in the organ. I tended to feel somewhat exposed.
Can you see how my imagination perhaps did not make it entirely easy for me to be alone in this large, dark building? I am so glad it was carpeted - had it not been, its scary factor would have been increased exponentially. Everyone knows that carpets repel all manner of scary things. Duh.
So, as you can imagine, I was not always entirely relaxed when doing organ practice alone in the dark. The worst experience I had was when practising during a storm. The building creaked; I had to turn the lights on, as I could hear things moving all over the church. There was an awful lot of church to creak.***
However, having experienced this, suddenly staying at home alone in the dark in my parents' large Victorian house was much less difficult (especially after they got a new carpet. This new one repels demons, the devil and psychopathic intruders. Alas, it is not so effective against little brothers jumping out at one in the dark). Staying in my tiny little house alone is very nearly easy. Except when the curtains are open at the back of the house, and anything could be lurking. It's not carpeted out there, you know. Or when the bedroom bin is not where I am sure I left it, and there is nobody else to blame. The bedroom carpet is obviously not powerful enough.
Practising at the Chaplaincy alone is great until the lights turn themselves on (I really hope they were on a timer, because I did not see anybody in the room with the light switches. I did wait a while before venturing in there, though; I didn't want to see anyone if they were there, and gave them plenty of time to leave (disapparate? No other way in, unless they were hiding upstairs in the secret room). But it has to be a timer switch, right? To make sure the chapel looks calm and friendly overnight. Yes, that must be it). Imagine how scary it would be encountering a being wishing to turn lights on. I bet that it leaves a trail of destruction and increased electricity bills wherever it goes.
See how level-headed doing organ practice in a large dark church has made me? Bombproof. I am so totally not crazy.
*Not always.
**One of my abiding memories of my old church's coldness was leaving it on a summer evening and being struck by how warm it was. Everywhere else was warmer inside than out, but not the church.
***Funnily enough, I didn't find it particularly scary when, in a different, more powerful storm, the top of the spire became detached (it was held in the appropriate position by gravity alone). This seemed to pose less of a threat than non-existent things in the dark. I am so rational.
I found the deep, dirty water rather disturbing and smelly. Although I would prefer not to be scared of deep water, and I pretend not to be, I am. I am not scared of smelly, scummy water, but I do not find it very pleasant. I don't think HWSNBN noticed, though, which was good. I think that sometimes* pretending that a fear does not exist will diminish it. Having suffered no ill consequences of being in the presence of the scary thing, sometimes the fear gets a little boring.
The most useful example of this comes from playing the organ. Organists do not always have an easy time learning their instrument. Churches can be cold and dark.** The church I learned to play the organ in was (and still is, in fact) very large. When the sun went down, this church could hold a lot of dark.
In order to use electricity efficiently, I was in the habit of only turning on the lights at the front of the church, where the organ was. This meant that, sitting at the console, I had a massive black space to my right. There were pews, balconies, staircases and passageways behind/in which anything could have been hiding. Anything could also just be sitting quietly in some dark space, waiting for me to look in its direction. Additionally, the organ itself was housed in a two-storey chamber in front of me. Between me and this chamber were two pieces of wood, one of which (the one directly in front of my face) could easily be moved by the hypothetical monster hiding in the organ. I tended to feel somewhat exposed.
Can you see how my imagination perhaps did not make it entirely easy for me to be alone in this large, dark building? I am so glad it was carpeted - had it not been, its scary factor would have been increased exponentially. Everyone knows that carpets repel all manner of scary things. Duh.
So, as you can imagine, I was not always entirely relaxed when doing organ practice alone in the dark. The worst experience I had was when practising during a storm. The building creaked; I had to turn the lights on, as I could hear things moving all over the church. There was an awful lot of church to creak.***
However, having experienced this, suddenly staying at home alone in the dark in my parents' large Victorian house was much less difficult (especially after they got a new carpet. This new one repels demons, the devil and psychopathic intruders. Alas, it is not so effective against little brothers jumping out at one in the dark). Staying in my tiny little house alone is very nearly easy. Except when the curtains are open at the back of the house, and anything could be lurking. It's not carpeted out there, you know. Or when the bedroom bin is not where I am sure I left it, and there is nobody else to blame. The bedroom carpet is obviously not powerful enough.
Practising at the Chaplaincy alone is great until the lights turn themselves on (I really hope they were on a timer, because I did not see anybody in the room with the light switches. I did wait a while before venturing in there, though; I didn't want to see anyone if they were there, and gave them plenty of time to leave (disapparate? No other way in, unless they were hiding upstairs in the secret room). But it has to be a timer switch, right? To make sure the chapel looks calm and friendly overnight. Yes, that must be it). Imagine how scary it would be encountering a being wishing to turn lights on. I bet that it leaves a trail of destruction and increased electricity bills wherever it goes.
See how level-headed doing organ practice in a large dark church has made me? Bombproof. I am so totally not crazy.
*Not always.
**One of my abiding memories of my old church's coldness was leaving it on a summer evening and being struck by how warm it was. Everywhere else was warmer inside than out, but not the church.
***Funnily enough, I didn't find it particularly scary when, in a different, more powerful storm, the top of the spire became detached (it was held in the appropriate position by gravity alone). This seemed to pose less of a threat than non-existent things in the dark. I am so rational.
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Pretending
Yesterday evening it rained. Then it rained some more. Streams formed in the streets and gardens, and a fountain sprang from the drain at the bottom of the hill. Boys danced in the streams wearing only their underpants. The cat stayed indoors.
We sat inside, sipping wine left over from our hosts' wedding, listening to the rain. One by one, more of us arrived until there were no spare seats. Some of us sat on the floor.
With the window open wide behind me, I breathed cool evening air. As the rain grew heavier, I pulled the window to to keep the splashes out; as it slowed down, I opened it wide to let the cat out.
We talked until late, of making wine, of holidays past and holidays to come, of Monday evenings with friends.
*****************
I talk of trying something new; of being afraid of failing, but putting myself forward anyway; of how life is for living, and how we should not stagnate; of following dreams. I dive headfirst into new projects knowing that I will not succeed; I know that if I do not try, I will never succeed. I pick myself up and try again. I aim to be relentless, and sometimes I am just that.
I do not mind the failing, really. Everything is as it is. It will be as it will be. It is all right in the scheme of things; it will all come right in the end.
This blog is an experiment - I want to see if I can write. It is also a tool - I know bad writing when I see it, and shall learn from these early posts.
Be patient, my non-existent readers: the standard of writing here has to improve. There is no other way for it to go.
Also, please stop laughing. I appear to have got my head stuck up my bottom, but snickering is not going to help me to get it out.
We sat inside, sipping wine left over from our hosts' wedding, listening to the rain. One by one, more of us arrived until there were no spare seats. Some of us sat on the floor.
With the window open wide behind me, I breathed cool evening air. As the rain grew heavier, I pulled the window to to keep the splashes out; as it slowed down, I opened it wide to let the cat out.
We talked until late, of making wine, of holidays past and holidays to come, of Monday evenings with friends.
*****************
I talk of trying something new; of being afraid of failing, but putting myself forward anyway; of how life is for living, and how we should not stagnate; of following dreams. I dive headfirst into new projects knowing that I will not succeed; I know that if I do not try, I will never succeed. I pick myself up and try again. I aim to be relentless, and sometimes I am just that.
I do not mind the failing, really. Everything is as it is. It will be as it will be. It is all right in the scheme of things; it will all come right in the end.
This blog is an experiment - I want to see if I can write. It is also a tool - I know bad writing when I see it, and shall learn from these early posts.
Be patient, my non-existent readers: the standard of writing here has to improve. There is no other way for it to go.
Also, please stop laughing. I appear to have got my head stuck up my bottom, but snickering is not going to help me to get it out.
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