I have about a million tiny things to tell you all...

...but I can't get my shit together for the 15 minutes it'll take to tell you all all about it.

Right now my brain is all cheese! book! shiny! ow, fell down! car! washing! meeting! TMA! avocado! movie!

I know, terribly intriguing. But I guess you'll just have to wait.

The good moments

I just wish sometimes that it was the bad moments that filled the cracks between the good moments, rather than the other way round.

That the weight of the voice that says, fuck, I'd don't know if I can do this today, this week, this month, this year wasn't quite so heavy.

That there was a little more progress, instead of a week's good work and then two weeks' worth of paralysis. And that I didn't know that 20 or 30 years from now, I'm going to be screaming at myself now, asking her desperately why she's wasting time, and not getting on with...everything. Because That Moment will come. Maybe that's what's stopping me from moving, becoming better, being a better person, a better worker, just generally better, rather than all promises and no delivery.

Fuck, I don't know. I'm so tired. I need a holiday. And I DON'T want to spend it brooding on my failures. Is there ever going to be ENOUGH?

Holiday first, brooding later. That's the deal.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Easter Sunday

And suddenly what was dark and mournful and melancholy, is bright and new and full of light. I think I understand the melancholy more than the rejoicing.


It's easier to grasp sadness by the tail sometimes, I think, than trying to get a handle on resurrection and redemption.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning."

Good Friday

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him."


And to the bizarre woman, who apparently thought I shouldn't be taking communion and should just ask for a blessing, and then DEMONSTRATED how in the aisle and totally killed my concentration, to her I say pfffffft, and wtf?

Things I learned on Maundy Thursday (or had forgotten and learned again)

That at the Last Supper, and through his time in Gethsemane, Jesus was surrounded by human frailty. He loves us in spite of our frailty, he died in spite of our frailty. Or because of it. Or for it. "We should love like that," the minister said. "But how do we love when we are broken?"


That taking communion on the night we remember the Last Supper is just FULL of poignance. The events that came after became so vivid, that Jesus moved from Passover to Gethsemane to betrayal. It made it riveting.


Watching the church being essentially readied for mourning was incredibly moving.


During the vigil, every ten or fifteen minutes there was another reading. People were free to leave at any time, but people left during the reading where Jesus asks his disciples why they can't just stay awake with him for one hour. That made an unexpected impression.


Every year I tend to go straight from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, from the entry to Jerusalem to the resurrection. It feels right, better even, to give every moment leading to the resurrection its proper weight, rather than rushing to the end. It's all in the layers, and I keep missing it. Plus, it seems to matter more this year.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things. Mary Oliver

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay

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.

Travelling to the Belowplace

Skimming
transcluscent trails over a surface in thinly
this guarded space.

waiting

(so tired)

for the bubble's
gilded to break

for the sinking that will
follow

as each spindlelimb

is suckedsuckedsucked

through tiny crevasses.

Miniscule gaping miniscule traps into the thick

(so tired)

sticky fluid of the belowplace.

Teh internetz

I need to remember that 98% of people on the internetz are stupid and/or lying about their lives.

And I have to stay off the internetz.

This is when I'm grateful that I'm just the auntie

From The Sister's Facebook page:

"Words you don't want to hear when you've only had 3 hours sleep and are running late for the school run... 'Guess what, Mummy, I can count to 223, listen!'"

As Bridget Jones always says...

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.”
Dear Universe, I'd just like a little balance please! Thank you!

Woman in Black

Just in case you haven't seen my reviews anywhere else, I can summarise it thusly: terrifying.

I was a gibbering wreck throughout, and at one point I was gripping Hayley's hand so hard I thought my rings were going to cut off her fingers.

Great story though. Totally worth the terror. I can say that now. In the daytime. Brrrrrrrrr. 

Work life/real life/spiritual life collision

I had a very weird experience at church on Sunday. When I got to church I realised that one of my senior managers was there. He's the warden, which I did not know before I started going there. When I went up for communion, he was the one to give me the cup. "The blood of Christ," he said, giving me the cup. "Amen," I answered, all the while thinking, this feels so inappropriate. A few weeks ago I was in a meeting with you discussing money and resources and the future of my project. You approved my move from one department to the next. You know how much I get paid. And now you're part of a ritual I take part in to reaffirm my faith in Jesus?

It was so surreal.

The Librarian - Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527-1593)

Dear Universe

I would like to feel properly well, please. Properly well. Not this half way between well and unwell, with a slight advantage to the unwell.

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.

Permanency

When I was at Homebase and loathing my job, my friend PA told me that since I was interested in publishing, and looking about for something new, maybe I should check out the OU. The OU? said I. Hmmmm. I started to do a bit of investigating, and it did look pretty good, but no job vacancies to be had. Then, after six months of penance in Retail Hell, the agency called and said that a short-term contract had come up at "a distance learning university". My chance, I thought, it's come!

It's weird that the only two risks I've ever taken in my life have been work related. Risk number one was not taking back my notice at Inside Housing, when the perfect job in Birmingham went under. That was largely motivated by pride, to be honest. I could not face asking for my much loathed job back. And, too my surprise, The Parents backed me up. Maybe they knew how unhappy I had been at work, I don't know. Unemployment didn't exactly last (two days), and then Homebase came up.

My second risk was taking the job at the OU at all. Three months is nothing, really. I had a feeling that if I took the contract and it ended, chances were good that Homebase would take me back. But thankfully, it was extended to six months. And then it was extended to a year. And then for another year. Since my very first day here I've known that I want to stay here. The potential for growth is just so amazing, and the opportunities for doing interesting things just keep coming up. Even when I was in my relatively boring business school role, I knew that I wanted to stick with the OU, and make it work for the long-term.

And now I have it, my lovely permanent job. I feel relief in every fibre of my being. Knowing that I won't need to go out there and find another job, because I've found my niche? That's just priceless.

Postcards

I'm thinking about you. What else can I say?
The palm trees on the reverse
are a delusion; so is the pink sand.
What we have are the usual
fractured coke bottles and the smell
of backed-up drains, too sweet,
like a mango on the verge
of rot, which we have also.
The air clear sweat, mosquitoes
& their tracks; birds & elusive.

Time comes in waves here, a sickness, one
day after the other rolling on;
I move up, it's called
awake, then down into the uneasy
nights but never
forward. The roosters crow
for hours before dawn, and a prodded
child howls & howls
on the pocked road to school.
In the hold with the baggage
there are two prisoners,
their heads shaved by bayonets, & ten crates
of queasy chicks. Each spring
there's race of cripples, from the store
to the church. This is the sort of junk
I carry with me; and a clipping
about democracy from the local paper.

Outside the window
they're building the damn hotel,
nail by nail, someone's
crumbling dream. A universe that includes you
can't be all bad, but
does it? At this distance
you're a mirage, a glossy image
fixed in the posture
of the last time I saw you.
Turn you over, there's the place
for the address. Wish you were
here. Love comes
in waves like the ocean, a sickness which goes on
& on, a hollow cave
in the head, filling & pounding, a kicked ear.
Margaret Atwood

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.