Day 4

We went to see the Shunga Exhibition at the British Museum today. Shunga has always fascinated me - they're erotic Japanese images. Beautifully drawn, and extremely detailed. The genitalia are always exaggerated, probably because Shunga were used for education, and included in young women's trousseaus. They're extremely gentle and sweet - facial expressions are tender; little moments of ecstasy are juxtaposed with moments of domesticity; there is a great deal of affection between the lovers. They're also very funny, as this image demonstrates. It's to our detriment that the West is a bit prudish about Shunga. Our relationship with sex, and our relationships with each other, could possibly be a bit healthier if we were a bit more lackadaisical about it.

East Coker (an extract)

"O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark."

T.S. Eliot

The things that matter

Ice cream, Android crosswords, satnav holders, book exchanges.

Fond memories? Well, the bran muffins were quite nice

Two years I spent in Michael the Therapist’s office.

The first three months of that was spent with him patiently trying to get me back on topic.

I deflect awkwardness and emotional intensity with humour and general, useless trivia, who knew?

The next six months was spent coaching me in the right to my own feelings.

Michael: Are you feeling angry?

Me: Nah, I don’t really get angry. Or annoyed. Or have any negative feelings whatsoever about anyone other than myself, and I deserve it.

Michael: You’re allowed to be angry.

Me: Oh no, that doesn’t sound right, angry is bad and destructive.

Michael: How about if I keep attacking you and making you angry?

Me: Did you know that the scientific word for a llama is llama llama?

Michael: *Slams head into desk repeatedly.*

Finally, a breakthrough. Except you’re supposed to act on anger and negative emotion with confrontation? Don’t think so!

Me: So, ok, I’m angry. Cautiously angry. Not at myself, but someone else. But no doubt that’s my fault.

Michael: Why would you say that?

Me: Oh…don’t do that.

Michael: Do what?

Me: Make me come up with my own answer.

Michael: You’re angry with someone else. Why is that your fault?

Me: Because…because…

Michael: You could explain why you’re angry.

Me: And actually express emotion to the person who has caused that emotion? That’s just crazy talk!

Michael: What are you so afraid of? What’s the worst that could happen?

Me: They could tell me it’s all my fault and I’m a terrible person.

Michael: Are you?

Me: That’s all the time we have today.

But cognitive behavioural therapy gives you tips on how to confront! No matter how badly you want to run away. And it did work, to a point. All those hours spent practising how to respond and why and when, they all helped.

But now I wish we spent more time on shutting up irrational voices. Confrontation actually hasn’t come up so much in last 12 years, but The Irrational Voice, and her irritating companions, What Did You Expect, Paranoia, and You’re Not Good Enough has come up plenty.

And really, what is there to do? Nothing. I don’t believe the irrational side of me (except at 3am). I realise that actually, all people have the irrational side. I don’t let it prey on me as much as I might have done at one point. It’s just that having it there at all fills me with fear. Because sometimes, I do believe her, and I react stupidly, or brood, or am needlessly anxious. And every minute I give in to the voice, is a minute of reality wasted. It’s time I need to talk myself out of whatever harebrained reactionary thing I want to do or say or scribble or post.

It’s reassuring that the voice isn’t there as much as it once was. It means that I believe that my life is ok. That I’m happy and contented and making my way through that life well. But I want it gone, full stop. And that’s probably never going to happen.

Why I'm not married

I spend an inordinate amount of time explaining to people who feel like they have the right to ask, why I'm not married. Not not married yet, not married.

So I rather enjoyed this article from Jezebel (oh Jezebel, if only you were a little more consistently awesome, rather than so uneven): Ten very good reasons why you're not married.

My particular good reasons are summarised by 'You are focused on your career' and 'You have got a life and friends you are happy with'. And possibly a little of 'You have got standards', but my standard is usually 'hasn't been offered a good enough argument by [Interesting Hypothetical Guy] that changing the way I live my life is worth it'. And it would have to be a super argument. A really good one. With powerpoint slides and maybe a song.

It's a bright, bright, bright sunshiney day

I've been feeling a bit off just lately. Sort of up and down, emotionally, like my highs are really high but my lows are really low. And like my defenses are way down, so I'm even more oversensitive and nitpicky than normal. Not in any terminal kind of way, but in an unsettled kind of way, because there's the potential of a dark place that I really never want to return to.

I went down with one of my friends at work to watch the inter-office footy; we were triumphant in a meeting I was dreading; we sloped off for an hour to Starbucks to have a coffee and a yak.

And it's warm and clear at the moment.

And I'm visiting The Parents for the weekend, and going to see M and browse Foyles on Saturday, and then it's a four day week and then lovely Easter lunch with the Ms and others, and then ANOTHER four day week with dinner at mine in there, and then it's a birthday party and then it's off to Wales for a long weekend, and then it's a whole, lovely week off, which I intend to spend sitting on The Parents' couch.

And yes, I have an essay to finish in there. And a lot of work coming down the pipe at me. And having kind of an intense time with my boss right now, who is a meteoric but likable pain in the arse. And, and, and. But at least I have stuff to look forward too as well. It makes the self-inflicted shit more bearable.

The Librarian - Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527-1593)

Useless Information - nearly SIX years later

I thought this might amuse my handful of readers. This was a blogpost I made on October 05, 2006. (I'm as surprised as anyone, by the way, that I'm still blogging after six years)

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Useless Information

I was tagged by Marissa to write down 20 random facts about myself, so here they are. I'm going to tag Kristy (so that she'll update) and anybody else who's keen. - Kris doesn't blog anymore and Marissa (AKA The Dude) is waiting for me to finish A Visit from the Goon Squad before she'll blog again. One of us is being held hostage, but it's unclear who...

1) I once almost chopped my left middle finger off with an axe. - Still true. I was about to say I haven't chopped anything off since, but in fact I sliced off the end of my left index finger off in an ill-conceived bread and butter pudding incident in 2009, so there's progress. I guess.
2) I sometimes sing to myself before going to sleep. - Not so much anymore. Singing used to help my insomnia as I vainly tried to fall asleep. Now I don't bother, and just stay up. Although I don't get insomnia nearly as much as I used to. My vastly reduced anxieties prefer to visit me in the daytime nowadays, and don't haunt me at night.
3) I like skipping and hopping down passages. - Still do this, but English houses aren't really big enough for a proper hop or skip.
4) I like to imagine my funeral, and regularly write my eulogies. - I've stopped writing my own and am now writing my friends'.
5) I have flat feet and can go through a pair of shoes in less than six months. - Three months, in the case of Sainsbury's black pumps.
6) I practice what I'm going to say before I speak on the phone, because otherwise I get tongue-tied. A great bonus for a journalist. - I still practise what I'm going to say before picking up the phone, but I'm no longer a journalist.
7)The first dream I remember having was when I was four. I was trapped in a house full of white statues and their arms kept falling off. - This dream still has the power to freak me out, 26 years later.
8) I have a little sniffle everytime I look at a picture or video of my nephew. - Both of them, now.
9) I've always wanted to play the piano. - I'm a little closer to this, as I found out you can use the practice rooms on campus for free if you prebook the space.
10) I like slogan tshirts and want an entire collection. - I've added two to the collection in the last six years. My cajungas are not conducive to slogan wearing, but I love them all the same.
11) I can't do Embrace the tiger, Return to the mountain in taichi without falling over. - I can't do any tai chi, anymore, without falling over.
12) Berg winds make me grumpy and aggro. - I haven't felt a berg wind in nearly five years, but I think they still have the potential to piss me off.
13) I have fake eardrums. - Still true
14) I bruise like a peach. - True, true, true.
15) I enjoy telling really bad jokes because they get a great reaction. - I don't tell as many anymore, because I don't remember them. When did that happen?
16) I really love making an entire room of people laugh. - I still enjoy it when this happens, but I hope - hope - that the desperate edge to my desire to do this has faded. I think the last time was at New Year, when I had dinner with Margaret's interesting family, and I could feel myself saying more and more stupid and awkward things. I collected myself and then it went better by the end of the evening. But thankfully that doesn't happen ALL THE TIME anymore. Aaah, age.
17) I often feel that my entire life is a dream and I will be waking up at any second. - I don't want to wake up from my life anymore; if this is a dream, it's an awesome one.
18) I have a birthmark that stretches around my middle. - Birthmark is still in place.
19) I try not to cry in movies because I'm afraid people will laugh. - Now I just cry...but I do it ironically. Cough.
20) I like going to movies on my own. - Thankfully, still true.

PATTOTE: Better living through information you can now use against me. - Ah, PATTOTE. It's been a while.

Flapjacks

When I lived in The Worst Digs In The Whole World, Leigh used to cheer us up on a Sunday evening by making flapjacks (dropscones, I'd call them, but chef's prerogative). She would slave over the stove, frying them up. I would stand at the counter or sit at the horrifying glass table with the saggy chairs, and gobble them up as quickly as she cooked them. I really want some damn flapjacksdropscones.

Preparing for The Deluge (or, Happy New Year everyone!)

As I was explaining to my poor friend Margaret, who made the mistake of asking me how I was, I've only made one New Year's resolution for 2012, and that was to prepare for the deluge.

Sounds pessimistic, but I don't mean it negatively. Rather, I spent a lot of 2011 on the backfoot, so this year I'm going to do everything I can to put myself in a position that when disasters happen, I'm equipped to deal with them.

Car breaks? Got the means to fix it. Feeling insolvent? Take the steps necessary to feel more in control. Feeling dissatisfied? Got the ability to take myself away for a day, or go for a meal, or watch a movie and feel better. Feeling disconnected? Be a better sister/daughter/friend so I can embrace support more freely. Feeling unhealthy and sluggish? Be able to do something about it.

A cunning plan, I haz one.

Even introverts need people sometimes

I'm terribly fond of my own company, and can go ages without really needing to see anyone or spend any time with anyone. But sometimes without other people around you just end up going far too deep inside your own mind, and then getting out is a supreme relief. I spent a wonderful afternoon yesterday with my friends, and I feel rejuvenated for the company, for the chat, and for the chocolate. As I drove home through the dark by myself, singing to the mellow hour on Magic FM, I was happily looking forward to home, hearth and bed. It was a wonderful day.

Reality check

Last night I came home from work and I was thinking about what I needed to do (ironing, put away dishes, budget, make bed, do filing, load of washing, finish reading Antigone, do notes on Antigone comparisons, complete readings, makes notes on readings, start mindmap for essay, find at least three or four more references, reorganise bookshelves), and reflecting on my day at work (a bit frustrating, lack of concentration and focus, lots of wasting time), and I was all set to gripe. And then I realised – ha – I’m all on my own in my lovely flat. I may be sore, fatigued, forgetful, grumpy and feel vaguely guilty, but at least I’m all on my own in my lovely flat.

That counts for a lot!

Praise the effort, not just the smarts

This is an old article, but I found it really interesting. It's derived from a book called NurtureShock and it discusses the 'inverse power of praise', and how often tossing out "you're so clever" comments at kids, rather than "you tried really hard at [specific task]" can do more harm than good. The theory is that when a child is simply told that they're clever, they become less likely to want to try something new, or learn something new, because they're afraid of failure. Praising the effort, or encouraging the "practice makes perfect" philosophy means that children are less likely to give up before they've even begun.

Just like with all these theories, I'm sure the best answer lies between the two, but this jibes, I think, with my own experiences. The Mother and The Father were extremely into the "what you put in, you get out" school of thought.

Really interesting article. Link below.

The power (and peril) of praise

Warm memories

When I was little, and I'm thinking this was probably when I was about four or five, I used to like pretending to be a dog. My main reason for pretending to be a dog was because I used to like lying on my side on the warm concrete near the back door of the house we lived in.

The concrete would be warm, never boiling, and I'd stretch as flat as I could. Sometimes I would close my eyes and really pretend to be a dog. But mostly it was an excuse to lie there and watch the ants march past, or roll over and watch the sparrows that used to fly under the chicken wire that protected the roof, or sing to myself. Occasionally I would talk to Dallas, who was my imaginary friend at the time.

I liked being four and five. I remember thinking so much at that age. I remember furiously trying to work out how the world worked, and watching to see if I had got it right.

I would like to run into myself, find myself spreadeagled under a dusty Karoo sun, listen to myself singing Hasie in die holte, and say: "There isn't enough warm concrete in the world - pretend to be a dog for as long as you can."

Stats are a riot

What percentage of people arrested during the riots have an existing record? Do you think someone will work that out at some point? I think that would be very interesting to know.

When people have nothing to lose

This is the result.

I can't stress enough how much I think young people generally have legitimate grievances.

They do, they absolutely do. But it's the part where they're so disconnected from society, so disaffected, and so disenfranchised, that hurting and damaging the communities many of them live in* seems like a super idea that just shakes me.

And when people act like this, the gulf between them and people who might have been sympathetic, and people who actually have the power to change the status quo, gets bigger and bigger.


Just had such an unexpected and fascinating conversation with a patron of the chippy around the corner (since Tesco was shut in anticipation of rioting, I guess) - an actual conversation that talked about the rioting in terms of issues rather than shoot the bastards. It was refreshing.

How will average people be able to get over what has been done to them? How will these rioters and looters be able to get back to some semblance of normality? What's the conversation that comes next, the - and I hate this word - the dialogue?

How the hell do we bridge this gulf and prevent it from happening again, 30 years from now.

* Catherine just made a really valid point on her blog via a Guardian article that in fact these people don't feel part of any community - so they're not damaging their own.

At least my subconscious is happy

I dreamt we were in a fish market. We were trying to pick the right fish to buy, but not taking it very seriously. In fact, we weren't very serious at all about the fish, choosing instead to tease each other about our choices. You chose a selection of salmon and tuna fillets, and the long-suffering fishmonger packed them up in a bag for you, all soaked in marinade. "That was what I was going to have," I insisted. "Now I'll have to pick something else." "Pick a nice shellfish," you laughed, and I grumbled and poked at the various lobsters and crabs on offer. Eventually I went for a dressed crab, and even in the dream I thought, mmmm, seafood soup. As I paid for it you laughed, put your arm around my shoulders and cupped my elbow. And I felt warm and content, and cared for.

It'll be fine

So after a week of being incredibly good and planning my meals and having basically no sugar, I've lost half a pound. I was hoping for more, but I'm also being realistic and realising that this probably on show on the scale next week. So I'm still feeling motivated. I know Weightwatchers meetings get a lot of stick, but I actually quite enjoy them. They really feel like a support group, and my leader is really great. So all in all, half a pound, yay!

I officially got "the crate" at work, to pack my desk stuff up in. I start in my new team on 1 August. I had a quick chat with one of my new managers, and she had really nice things to say about me (flattery will get you everywhere) and it sounds like she's really wanting me to go into this role with energy and enthusiasm and try to infect other people with it. This faculty has a bad reputation as far as new and innovative goes. They really don't want to embrace online learning, which unfortunately is where our students want to learn. So this is going to be tough.

I had a really good one-to-one with my current boss today. We both got a bit upset about the move yesterday, and kind of infected each other with negativity. I was really brooding about it last night, and I thought, no, we can't have this. I emailed her last night asking if we could have a coffee and a talk today, and we both apparantly had the same thoughts overnight, and had a decent meeting today. We decided to put our personal upset about the move to the side, and just work with the changes, so I can go down with a clear mind, throw myself into learning a new job (God, ack) and not be worrying about the fact that I've left the team with basically no resources and no time to find anyone else.

She's been an amazing boss, and she's without a doubt my mentor, and she says, we're mates. So it'll be fine!

Three cheers for therapy

I got some nice compliments on my people skills at work today, and now I'm being all grateful like a sap. It's so ironic being thanked for people skills because I find it quite hard work to interact with people. I have to put effort in. I don't mean that I'm faking it, just that I'm thinking about my interactions a lot? It's not sort of natural I guess. But I know that's probably true for the vast majority of people, although some people have an enviable skill for interaction.

There are some days when I use all the skills that Michael the Therapist taught me nine years ago, and I'm so grateful for them. It's hard sometimes to remember them and put them into practice, and it's also hard work to be open, pragmatic, positive, non-judgemental and...what's the opposite of paranoid? The skills he taught me for interacting with people are the ones that I use most though.

I know a lot of who I am now is just due to getting older, but two years of therapy was worth it. Everybody should do it at least once.