Overcast

July 2, 2008

I feel like the shadow of death is hanging over me at the moment, and it doesn’t help that the sky is thickly overcast. Yesterday I didn’t post because I was too busy having a massive freak-out after my partner told me he’d been quite badly electrocuted by the toaster. I was consumed by the possibility of his death for the rest of the day and as soon as I got home I hugged him and started to cry. This probably confused him quite a lot as it was 6 hours after the incident and he was quite chirpy by then, playing games and enjoying caffeine. It was like the moment when you realise your own mortality. I’d had mine at around the age of six when my great-grandma died and I realised that I wasn’t going to last forever. I was probably too young to include in that the idea that all the people I dearly love will die also.  Losing my parents will of course be devastating when it happens but losing my partner or very close friends will hurt in a different way because I’m not done with them yet. There are still things I need them for, things I will want to share with them and things I can share only with them. Each of these people means something different to me and there are things that I share with each of them that the others wouldn’t understand.

An assured death, definitely sheduled to occur shortly, is that of my childhood cat. There were two of them but the first died two years ago of tongue cancer – apparently common in cats. Now the fat old mog has grown frail, her kidneys are lumpy, her heart murmury and her appetite lacking. I don’t think there will be time to go home and say goodbye.

Finally I fear for my grandmother. She is 80 today, and next week she is going to have surgery to remove a tumour from her bowel. I hope this will make her better – she has been getting weaker for the last year and it could be the tumour growth was sapping her strength. Or she could just be old. My brain has created a story around the situation: that my mother will sacrifice her beloved cat in order to save her mother. Will this satisfy death? In time I will know.

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Bonus post

May 20, 2008

I can’t resist the urge to rant, and a tingling sensation in my kneecaps makes me think I may be busy tomorrow and not have time to post. In a way this carries on with the discussion of my beliefs.

So on with the rant. Debates are raging in parliament today about whether abortion limits need to be reduced. On one side are a bunch of creationist catholics, protestant moralists, and media outlets with the tagline  ‘we’re all going to hell in a handcart’ on the other side are some medical professionals and women who enjoy having autonomy saying ‘why are you having a spaz about this? it’s fine the way it is’

It is fine the way it is. Or rather the limit is. If it was easier to get an abortion, say if we had abortion on demand like most of Europe, even less people than the tiny minimal amount that do it now would need to get a late term abortion. I would say make it less of a stigma but people can think, say and believe whatever they want – I just wish they wouldn’t use their backward beliefs to interfere with the lives of others.

Why is it the most stupid people who get paid to write about their stupid thoughts and beliefs? I really shouldn’t read the Daily Mail website – it’s so full of venom, bile, and other toxic fluids. Sometimes I write comments to them telling them how poor the articles are, like when they googled ‘fat pets’ published the pictures and had a list of commentors saying how cruel it was to treat animals in this way. Today, after reading my ‘favourite’ journalist Liz Jones (who I used to believe was fictional satire, her life is that pathetic) I stumbled onto an article on how you can nag your way out of marriage.

Yup, a woman can nag her husband away. It’s not even that he will leave her because of the nagging, he will be too hen pecked, but she will gradually nag apart the marriage. Because that’s what women do: nag pointlessly without thinking. It’s not that they are annoyed or resentful toward their shit husbands and it happens to manifest as nagging. It’s not that he’s just a bit rubbish at doing his chores. It’s not even that they just aren’t compatible people. Nope: it’s the woman’s fault (for fulfilling a stereotype if that’s actually what happened).

And feminism destroyed the nuclear family. The nuclear family that has existed for about 150 years. Destroyed by women daring to leave husbands who for some reason weren’t good enough. Because a man would never leave his wife (just have her commited or lobotomised – shame we don’t do that anymore). And sometimes babies are made by accident. and sometimes people don’t want to be together. And sometimes people want someone of the same gender. And sometimes people want to be single (surely not #incredulous face#).

So why all the interference into other people’s lives?

If there was ever a reason to never get married it can be summarised from the above.

And going back to the abortion debate: funny how 4 of the top 5 comments on the BBC forum are by men. It really bugs me, because I want to have mixed gender debates, but it’s going to be a while before women can shout as loud and be taken as seriously. It frustrates me. I can talk to men who respect me about this but they don’t see my perspective on it, they don’t understand how I might feel in a male dominated debate. I can’t talk to men who don’t respect me because I can always tell that behind their eyes there’s a little part of them that isn’t listening. Whether they don’t respect me because I am a woman or because I am me or because of any of the other things I am or simply because of what I am saying at the time is open to debate.


Can the busy-ness finally end?

May 19, 2008

Please? I’ve had enough, I really have. It was great having my one and only sibling visit this weekend but I’m ready for a rest now.

My brother, over-taxed himself, thankfully wanted little more than some burgers, beer and boardgames. I bullied him relentlessly and he tried to trick us into adopting new phrases that would make us sound moronic. Or he may just be a moron, it’s a tough one to call.

I feel I owe my partner something. A combination of tiredness, stress and hormonal imbalance has left me in tears three times in the last week. That’s my usual quota for the whole year. I’m now suffering dehydration and have sore patches under my eyes. He is confused as I haven’t been distraught about anything, just a bit full of stuff that overflowed and left my body in the form of mucas. I’m considering bringing back the rest cure, though I’m pretty sure I tried that in uni when I inexplicably caught man-flu.

I feel my distress is unfounded, but in the last three weeks I have visited my in-laws, hosted 2 sets of guests, been to the cinema three times, been drunk twice, prepared for house inspection and been terrorised by a cat who won’t let me sleep. And worked full time, including work-based stress. So I think I should cut myself some slack, rather than just use it as an excuse to eat more pies.

Not doing things for a bit may mean less to write about but I’m sure there will be plenty to fuel my snarky flames, like TV movies, arsey colleagues and general observations. Observation is the key to good writing after all.