Yes I am sick, and I don’t do very well at being ill. So far today I have got up early to feed the cat and had two naps. My beautiful man-creature put me in the bath so I am relatively scum-free. Dizzy spells and wobbliness are far more fun than thick chest mucas but there hasn’t been too much of that. I don’t even know why I’m posting really, just that I should do it every weekday. I am also very pleased that I have had over 400 hits this month, though most of them based on searching daft things. Maybe I should consider telling a select few people I know to check it out. It just seems so… vain? I don’t know, I guess it’s kind of the point of blogging, to have an audience. But if I told people I would never know how far I could go, gathering accidental traffic and pretending that people read me.
I have The Consumption. There is little hope for me now. My chest feels compressed like the Man from Mars*
My brain is all swimmy. My cough is all coughy. If this gets much worse I’ll have to not come to work tomorrow.
*Stranger in a Strange land is most absorbing so far, although I couldn’t read on the train this morning as I felt barely conscious. Alas!
Two things of Win: first that they finally got back to me about a shiny new career advancement test at work which I shall be taking shortly, second that apples have come into season and I can now buy British again: screw you Belgium with your icky sour jongereds.
Bolognese, my latest story, first draft, which I am aiming to polish and submit to a competition by the deadline 6 days from now. It should be ok. I will leave it a day or so and come back to it. I kinda feel bad; my last story was about an awful dumping and this is about remembering an abusive ex. Not all the men in my stories are bad. Tony is an ok guy. And the first story of my recent revival, the Electric Dude Interlude, is about a nice guy. I really like him. It’s a shame his story was so short. Maybe I’ll bring him back if I need him later.
“He’d left pans and knives out where I could find them but I had to root around for a strainer. Flipping open the cupboards I found a quarter bottle of whiskey – Bell’s – the same kind Eddie used to have. It’d been two years but I’d always remember. Number of times he threw those bottles at me I’m surprised I’m not still ringing. But Tony…”
Changes have been happening. Housefolk Femme has gone, leaving babycat with a hole in her heart. I have moved my things into my partner’s room, so that after two years of squatting it is finally my room too. We took a bus ride to the end of the line and saw the border of Worcestershire. I saw an old friend and finally realised that our differences didn’t mean my inferiority.
It’s been intense. More than the run-of-the-mill bank holiday. And now I’m flat broke.
I do worry about money. Old Friend was telling us her mother likes her boyfriend because in ten years he’s set to be earning half a million. To me that is an inconceivable amount of money. After tax that’s still more than my yearly salary per month. I’ll just have to convince myself that my lifestyle is romantic and that I’m a starving artist. The only way to justify this of course is to apply myself to my art so look out for more extracts in the coming weeks and you’ll know I’m making good on it.
I could just make peace with being poor. In fact I don’t mind my lack of money most of the time, I probably just need to manage what I’ve got more effectively (damn jargon word). But in saying these things I’m letting myself off the hook for not writing. And I must write, otherwise I’m wasting everything I’ve achieved so far and using it simply to coast, and while you can coast at work you shouldn’t coast through life.
It’s friday afternoon, after a busy week of doing the same repetitive irritating task three times and I am so relieved that this will be a three day weekend. I will be upset if my feelings of dis-ease develop into an illness because I’m not in the mood.
I am disappointed that a test I was supposed to take today has not materialised – a test that would lead me to gain extra training and special projects. Given that this was first mentioned 6-8 weeks ago and never again between then and yesterday I am not concerned about having missed the boat, just that it’s taking its sweet-ass time getting here. It’s probably for the best as my ill-humour and glowering headache will only hinder me.
Thinking about fantasy style characters (anything a bit non-human from popular culture) it occurs that the bigger the freak they are the more normal their personality is. The reverse isn’t usually true (hence boring people) but the enemies of these characters tend to be the ‘painfully normal on the outside just plain odd on the inside’ types. Do they become enemies because they both want to be a bit more like each other? Battling for years and achieving arch-nemesis status because they are both so angry at each other for wanting what the other has?
Interesting… it seems I am starting to understand basic concepts of narrative *headdesk*
…to say I am swamped with work right now and can’t do a proper post. I don’t suppose this really matters as most of my traffic comes from people searching “the taste of women’s juices”
There is no end to the amount of cliches available when talking about emotions. I don’t think I’ve been on a rollercoaster or that they have run wild. I have, however, had two emotional experiences in the last 24 hours which I’d like to share.
Last night I got a text from mother saying the dear old cat had died. She was very old, having been my cat since I was about seven years old, but the last few years she has really been my mum’s cat and spent every evening perched on her lap. I cried for poor old kitty, curled up in a hug on the bed, and new kitty Fattie came over to rub her face on my wrist in a genuinely concerned way. This made me laugh. I don’t think there has been a time I have cried in the last 5 years when something hasn’t made me laugh. Such is the strange nature of my crying.
Mother emailed me today about kitty, saying despite incredible deterioration kitty had still managed to make a glarey enough face to frighten a squirrel out of the garden. RIP kitty ❤
The second event was this morning, when neighbour returned from wherever he had been off work to catch the morning bus again. He lent me a book, Stranger in a Strange Land, saying that this was the 13th time he had bought a copy to lend to someone. He is truly a man after my own heart. Just the other night I had been looking at my bookshelf thinking that the best books, the ones that get you really excited, are the ones you need to share and end up lending out and giving away so that eventually all that’s left on your shelf is the dross. Which is a bit sad really as I aspire to a truly grand library.
Today I have spoken with people in two different countries and listened to music in two different languages. I feel so terribly ‘global village’ right now.
Technically I’m very busy and working very hard right now but I wanted to make a note that this is the day I thought of the girl with the super sight.
Bog stomping is what happens when you go for a nature walk in the hills of south Wales during a severe weather warning and decide that the path just isn’t challenging enough. Stomping through waist high grass dotted with super spongy moss pillows under all of which is not so much the ground as eight inch deep running water is rather fun. It reminded me that although nature can make me fall on my ass it also provides a cushion for me to land on.
We also passed through an eerie rotting pine forest, proper wicked witch territory with the only light coming from the path. I could imagine making a horror film there, or playing goth dares. At one point we had to climb down over some fallen trunks and any branch or tree near it would come away in your hand, too dead to support any weight.
I am inspired to find what natural spots I may be able to get the bus to.
I was also inspired by the many retellings of the baccanalia orgy to have some rather awesome sex when I got home. I think the line that clinched it for me was “Just remember, it’s not about the sex” so I took some time and did it properly. I almost cried it was that good.
I was also inspired to write another short story, after reviewing part of a certain soon-to-be-Dr’s novel. Damn him for showing me up by acting to achieve the things I only dream of. I am amazed by his plotting abilities; he must have been developing and sustaining his story for around 50,000 words now. This is something I find incredibly difficult and I envy him for it. My new short story, like the one I wrote last week, is under 500 words. Here is an extract for you:
“I fell into the indoor market and plummeted between stalls. People were walking at me from every aisle and turning. I had to dance around them all; I was so far inside myself they couldn’t see me. I didn’t want them to see me. I felt dizzy and sick. They didn’t want to see someone like that.”