[on the phone]
MUM: And I've got to go to their party this weekend and I'm dreading it.
ME: Aw, I'm sorry.
MUM: Your dad just doesn't think of these things. I don't want to spend time with these horrible people.
ME: It'll be fine. Just take a hip flask. Sneak in your own gin.
MUM: ...now that's an idea. I could take my water bottle!
ME: Yes! Fill it with gin, spend the entire night getting drunk and tell everyone it's your special alkaline water that you have to drink under doctor's orders.
MUM: What a good idea! You have excellent ideas!
ME: Please actually do this now.
MUM: Are you kidding? Of course I'm going to do it!
ME: Secret gin makes everything better.
MUM: You're a good daughter.
Wednesday, 11 May 2016
Saturday, 7 May 2016
saturday
(I couldn't think of a title. Writing is hard.)
It's been an odd week. In some ways it's been noticeably much better; it didn't look a lot different but it felt different, and I'm extremely embarrassed to admit that this is largely due to The Rock waking me up in the morning. My day is now starting when it's meant to instead of at 2.30pm or whenever I can scrabble together enough motivation to do something. It's genuinely quite hard to admit that this random ex-wrestler singing at me in the morning is enough to completely change my entire attitude and perspective on the upcoming day, but there it is. Depression responds to the weirdest things.
I went dancing twice in the space of a few days, which hasn't happened for a very long time. The first time I danced, chatted to people I hadn't spoken to in ages and generally felt a bit more like I knew where I was and what I was doing. The second time, although there were still people I was happy to see and talk to, I didn't really dance and I felt like this wasn't my world and these weren't my people anymore. I don't know where the truth is; I'm going to dance again tomorrow and see if that gives me any more information. I miss people, but do I miss these people? I mean, I definitely miss some of those specific people, but the community as a whole is a different aardvark altogether, and that's what I'm questioning. I need things that will help me get better and I just don't know if this is one of them. But if it's not, then I have to go find other people, and that's a whole different type of scary.
I can't overlook the fact that I'm still really quite angry, both in specific and general terms. People who should have been there for me weren't, people who could have done something didn't, and it makes the whole ethos of the thing feel a bit hollow. I might get over this, when I'm happier, but for now it's hard not to feel resentful in dance spaces. I feel like I ought to be thanking my friends for an improvement in my outlook and circumstances and here I am thanking The Rock instead. That's not right. There is a good chance that at least some of this is more my issue than theirs, but it doesn't help me to focus on that. The anger is still good for me, at least for now.
It's been an odd week. In some ways it's been noticeably much better; it didn't look a lot different but it felt different, and I'm extremely embarrassed to admit that this is largely due to The Rock waking me up in the morning. My day is now starting when it's meant to instead of at 2.30pm or whenever I can scrabble together enough motivation to do something. It's genuinely quite hard to admit that this random ex-wrestler singing at me in the morning is enough to completely change my entire attitude and perspective on the upcoming day, but there it is. Depression responds to the weirdest things.
I went dancing twice in the space of a few days, which hasn't happened for a very long time. The first time I danced, chatted to people I hadn't spoken to in ages and generally felt a bit more like I knew where I was and what I was doing. The second time, although there were still people I was happy to see and talk to, I didn't really dance and I felt like this wasn't my world and these weren't my people anymore. I don't know where the truth is; I'm going to dance again tomorrow and see if that gives me any more information. I miss people, but do I miss these people? I mean, I definitely miss some of those specific people, but the community as a whole is a different aardvark altogether, and that's what I'm questioning. I need things that will help me get better and I just don't know if this is one of them. But if it's not, then I have to go find other people, and that's a whole different type of scary.
I can't overlook the fact that I'm still really quite angry, both in specific and general terms. People who should have been there for me weren't, people who could have done something didn't, and it makes the whole ethos of the thing feel a bit hollow. I might get over this, when I'm happier, but for now it's hard not to feel resentful in dance spaces. I feel like I ought to be thanking my friends for an improvement in my outlook and circumstances and here I am thanking The Rock instead. That's not right. There is a good chance that at least some of this is more my issue than theirs, but it doesn't help me to focus on that. The anger is still good for me, at least for now.
Tuesday, 3 May 2016
structure
It's always harder keeping up to date with a blog that doesn't have a defined subject. I've been writing two to three posts a week on sewing for six months without fail, but here where I can write anything? There's too much room to second guess in that. I am going to try, though. I'm going to try writing here twice a week, because that's often enough that posts don't take on unnecessary significance but not overwhelming like trying to write every day would be. Also I've got used to the twice a week rhythm now.
To update from last time: I didn't take a permanent job. I kept it up for two months, but going from eight months off sick (and five years where nobody gave a shit when you turned up for work before that) to a forty-hour 9-6 week whilst still fairly seriously depressed was too much and I had to stop working for a bit. Also after the first couple of weeks they stopped being able to find me enough to do and the last three hours of every day went so slowly that I swear I could actually feel the continental drift.
I still have no idea what I want to do, and the fact that nothing is secure at the moment isn't doing my anxiety a whole lot of good. I have less than no money, I don't really know who my friends are or where my community is, there is a new person in our house, and come August that house won't even be mine anymore. Much as it'll be a change for the better it terrifies me - after all the shit that came before we found this place, the idea of giving up a decent living arrangement voluntarily seems completely insane to me. I find myself haunted by the unknown landlords in my future and suddenly telling the wine-diluting story at the least provocation again.
Trying to give my life some sort of structure, which I know it needs, is proving difficult when I don't really have anything going on. My blog has structure, my life does not. I have a bunch of to-do lists, a pile of sewing projects and some slightly unrealistic plans for getting rid of 40% of my stuff by August, but that's not really enough. My next thing to try is using The Rock Clock to actually get up in the morning, because I'm quite unlikely to sleepily unset my alarm and roll over if I know it means missing out on The Rock singing Good Morning Sunshine and telling me to get my candy ass out of bed. But even that, Best Thing Ever though it might be and I will not hear otherwise, isn't really enough.
What I really need is to be seeing people, talking to people, feeling like my social feet are on something a bit more concrete, but that's the toughest thing to do right now. The idea of spending time with people is exhausting, much more so than the actual spending time with people, and I've been so absent from everything lately that it would be up to me to get in touch with people I used to see and get interaction going again. And it feels like too much, because I feel forgotten. With most people I feel that popping back up and demanding to be remembered is too presumptuous. With a couple of people I feel that the demand to be remembered should come in the form of a solid punch on the nose, and that's not helpful right now. Soon, maybe.
There is probably a way around this. I'm looking out for it.
To update from last time: I didn't take a permanent job. I kept it up for two months, but going from eight months off sick (and five years where nobody gave a shit when you turned up for work before that) to a forty-hour 9-6 week whilst still fairly seriously depressed was too much and I had to stop working for a bit. Also after the first couple of weeks they stopped being able to find me enough to do and the last three hours of every day went so slowly that I swear I could actually feel the continental drift.
I still have no idea what I want to do, and the fact that nothing is secure at the moment isn't doing my anxiety a whole lot of good. I have less than no money, I don't really know who my friends are or where my community is, there is a new person in our house, and come August that house won't even be mine anymore. Much as it'll be a change for the better it terrifies me - after all the shit that came before we found this place, the idea of giving up a decent living arrangement voluntarily seems completely insane to me. I find myself haunted by the unknown landlords in my future and suddenly telling the wine-diluting story at the least provocation again.
Trying to give my life some sort of structure, which I know it needs, is proving difficult when I don't really have anything going on. My blog has structure, my life does not. I have a bunch of to-do lists, a pile of sewing projects and some slightly unrealistic plans for getting rid of 40% of my stuff by August, but that's not really enough. My next thing to try is using The Rock Clock to actually get up in the morning, because I'm quite unlikely to sleepily unset my alarm and roll over if I know it means missing out on The Rock singing Good Morning Sunshine and telling me to get my candy ass out of bed. But even that, Best Thing Ever though it might be and I will not hear otherwise, isn't really enough.
What I really need is to be seeing people, talking to people, feeling like my social feet are on something a bit more concrete, but that's the toughest thing to do right now. The idea of spending time with people is exhausting, much more so than the actual spending time with people, and I've been so absent from everything lately that it would be up to me to get in touch with people I used to see and get interaction going again. And it feels like too much, because I feel forgotten. With most people I feel that popping back up and demanding to be remembered is too presumptuous. With a couple of people I feel that the demand to be remembered should come in the form of a solid punch on the nose, and that's not helpful right now. Soon, maybe.
There is probably a way around this. I'm looking out for it.
Tuesday, 1 March 2016
decisions
(I got a new laptop. Personal pronouns are a thing again.)
For the last week and a half, I've been working. I haven't worked for nearly a year, and if you're talking about actual work it's been a lot longer. The idea of having to get into work for 9am was terrifying, and having spent at least half of every working day ever on the internet (even when I was super busy and productive) I didn't know how I'd cope with a company that expected more of me. But the money I'd saved to support myself for a couple of months ran out, and when the agency called to tell me they had some work for me I was incredibly grateful.
Turns out I'm actually excellent at it. I am the world's fastest temp. They've had to farm me out to other departments to find enough work to keep me occupied. Backlogs have been cleared, disorganised messes have been transformed into Not Messes. I have organised meetings, reconfigured archives, edited websites, and renewed a passport for the COO's daughter. I'm versatile.
All of which is to say, this is my very first placement and they want to keep me. For a few months at least, if not permanently. And I'm not sure what to do.
When I quit my last job, it was not to pursue my dream of working in HR at a mid-size jewellery company. I don't even like HR. But at the same time, I don't know what my dream is yet, and the uncertainty of waiting for another temp role is not something I'm relishing. Also, I like money. I like holidays and cocktails and new fabric and the ability to replace my electronics when they break (and I can't lie, I also like the idea of a 75% discount on fancy jewellery). I would rather know exactly how my rent is getting paid, and that I can buy myself treats if I want them.
I don't even have a gut feeling. Well, not a single gut feeling. I have several equally strong gut feelings, mostly in opposition with each other. My pro and con lists look a little bit like this:
Pro
Money
Easy commute
Heavily discounted pretty things
Hard work is expected, but everyone leaves at quitting time on the dot
Enough work to keep me busy is actually provided
Working in HR without any actual HR people might not be that bad
They really like me
Con
Taking an HR job won't put me on any kind of path I'm keen to be on
Would prefer to be somewhere a bit friendlier
Possibly too soon for health to cope with permanent full time work
Am I only considering this because I'm terrified of not having money?
and my analysis of these points is so far inconclusive. Last week I told them I wasn't interested in a permanent HR job, and this week I'm considering going back and saying "...maaaaybe". After so many years of stupid civil service bollocks, it's so nice to go somewhere and be noticed and appreciated for what I can do, but is that enough?
For the last week and a half, I've been working. I haven't worked for nearly a year, and if you're talking about actual work it's been a lot longer. The idea of having to get into work for 9am was terrifying, and having spent at least half of every working day ever on the internet (even when I was super busy and productive) I didn't know how I'd cope with a company that expected more of me. But the money I'd saved to support myself for a couple of months ran out, and when the agency called to tell me they had some work for me I was incredibly grateful.
Turns out I'm actually excellent at it. I am the world's fastest temp. They've had to farm me out to other departments to find enough work to keep me occupied. Backlogs have been cleared, disorganised messes have been transformed into Not Messes. I have organised meetings, reconfigured archives, edited websites, and renewed a passport for the COO's daughter. I'm versatile.
All of which is to say, this is my very first placement and they want to keep me. For a few months at least, if not permanently. And I'm not sure what to do.
When I quit my last job, it was not to pursue my dream of working in HR at a mid-size jewellery company. I don't even like HR. But at the same time, I don't know what my dream is yet, and the uncertainty of waiting for another temp role is not something I'm relishing. Also, I like money. I like holidays and cocktails and new fabric and the ability to replace my electronics when they break (and I can't lie, I also like the idea of a 75% discount on fancy jewellery). I would rather know exactly how my rent is getting paid, and that I can buy myself treats if I want them.
I don't even have a gut feeling. Well, not a single gut feeling. I have several equally strong gut feelings, mostly in opposition with each other. My pro and con lists look a little bit like this:
Pro
Money
Easy commute
Heavily discounted pretty things
Hard work is expected, but everyone leaves at quitting time on the dot
Enough work to keep me busy is actually provided
Working in HR without any actual HR people might not be that bad
They really like me
Con
Taking an HR job won't put me on any kind of path I'm keen to be on
Would prefer to be somewhere a bit friendlier
Possibly too soon for health to cope with permanent full time work
Am I only considering this because I'm terrified of not having money?
and my analysis of these points is so far inconclusive. Last week I told them I wasn't interested in a permanent HR job, and this week I'm considering going back and saying "...maaaaybe". After so many years of stupid civil service bollocks, it's so nice to go somewhere and be noticed and appreciated for what I can do, but is that enough?
Wednesday, 24 February 2016
a challenge
Several days' worth of posts have been passed by. Not on purpose. My temp agency found me a placement and why blog when my days could be full of sleep?
Please note the strange sentence structure and word usage. My laptop has been on the outs for months (my new laptop at least. My old laptop has been on the outs for years) and now we have reached a stage where several rather necessary letters on the type-words part are no longer usable. Haven't a clue what's happened but my laptop has chosen to deny me access to the personal pronoun and the letter below (more useful than one may suppose). And commas. No more commas for me.
A new laptop proves necessary. One that ten or eleven days at my current temp placement won't pay for. But the new laptop hasn't come home yet and there are just these two useless ones that don't do what they're supposed to do. One won't type necessary letters. One has a screen that's alternately dead or totally blue and shuts down the second someone else attempts to connect to the same router. TWO laptops. You'd assume that would be enough and you ought to be correct. But here we are.
So here's a post that uses none of those letters (or commas. That's almost the hardest one) because why not? When a challenge shows up you should leap upon that challenge no matter how useless. No matter how daft. No matter how flat-out dumb-ass.
Hmmm.
Perhaps we've all wasted valuable seconds here. Sorry.
Please note the strange sentence structure and word usage. My laptop has been on the outs for months (my new laptop at least. My old laptop has been on the outs for years) and now we have reached a stage where several rather necessary letters on the type-words part are no longer usable. Haven't a clue what's happened but my laptop has chosen to deny me access to the personal pronoun and the letter below (more useful than one may suppose). And commas. No more commas for me.
A new laptop proves necessary. One that ten or eleven days at my current temp placement won't pay for. But the new laptop hasn't come home yet and there are just these two useless ones that don't do what they're supposed to do. One won't type necessary letters. One has a screen that's alternately dead or totally blue and shuts down the second someone else attempts to connect to the same router. TWO laptops. You'd assume that would be enough and you ought to be correct. But here we are.
So here's a post that uses none of those letters (or commas. That's almost the hardest one) because why not? When a challenge shows up you should leap upon that challenge no matter how useless. No matter how daft. No matter how flat-out dumb-ass.
Hmmm.
Perhaps we've all wasted valuable seconds here. Sorry.
Friday, 19 February 2016
inside out
Inside Out came out last year so it's not exactly topical right now, but I'm still seeing people talk about it on a fairly regular basis. People whose opinions I respect and value very highly write and speak about what an incredible film this is, how it's one of the best portrayals of depression they've ever seen, everyone must see it, it will make you cry buckets, it will make you re-evaluate every single thing that's ever happened to you, what a fantastic piece of storytelling and characterisation this was.
I didn't like Inside Out, and I'm so confused.
Inside Out is exactly the kind of film I should have liked. It's an interesting premise, the characterisation of emotions is something I've thought about a lot, and Pixar writers are gifted storytellers. I was fully prepared to like it. Actually, I was fully prepared to overidentify with it massively and struggle to communicate for the next two days. Bearing in mind my experience watching Up (where I cried so hard that I really frightened the guy I was on a second date with, and not all of that can be attributed to its being the last film in an all-night marathon), I bought a box of tissues from the newsagent on the way to the cinema. When we left, I hadn't even opened it, and I cry at everything.
The fact that I didn't like it makes me a bit sad. So many people seem to have found things in this film - lightbulb moments, new ways of looking at and explaining things, minor religious experiences - and I want them too, but I couldn't find them. I've read and watched detailed reviews of this film and I still couldn't find them. Where's my moment of enlightenment, Pixar?
I will say that the animation is excellent and the film is beautifully designed, there are a lot of clever ideas within the script and especially within the smaller jokes and details, and the end sequence with all the different sets of emotions in different heads is genius. But that's not quite enough.
Some of it is definitely my own personal stuff. I'd heard that one of the emotions was Fear, and I went in assuming that that would be what got me. So many times I've felt like fear was driving me from the inside, making me say and do things I didn't like, and I thought it would be a powerful thing for me to see that represented. But then Fear was just a jittery dweeb who was basically superfluous to the entire story and didn't do or say one memorable thing. I feel like Fear has been my core emotion for large parts of my life, and this snivelling powerless nothing character is the complete opposite of my personal experience. But that's just me, and it's a nitpick. More important is that I didn't think the story was very good.
The story for the characters inside Riley's head is that Sadness and Joy are trying to get back to headquarters. And they almost do, and then suddenly whatever they're standing on falls over somehow. You can pull this trick once, but it keeps happening, and somewhere around the time of the Bullshit Rocket I just stopped caring. The journey wasn't compelling enough, and I believe I may have let out a quiet "oh, for fuck's sake" somewhere around the penultimate random obstacle. It didn't help that I didn't like Joy or Sadness (or Fear, as I said, and I still have no idea why they chose "Disgust" as the fifth emotion. I liked Anger) as characters and wanted them both to just shut up.
I could tell where I was meant to cry. I always cry at the places I'm meant to cry, and usually at several places I'm not, but not this time. I didn't care about the characters, I didn't care about their journey. Pixar usually knows how to make me care, but this time I could feel the writers constructing a thing around stuff that usually makes people care. Let's have a heroic sacrifice! Heroic sacrifices are moving, right? (No, I didn't like Bing Bong either, and it's been made clear that this makes me a monster.) And it's weird for me to feel like this, because I always care. I can find a way to care even when the filmmakers haven't put a shred of effort into making me care, because I over-empathise horribly with everything, and I'm so confused by how this film managed to override all of my normal impulses and turn me into that person I've always hated. The "oh, everyone said I would cry, but I just didn't cry" person. Why am I that person now? Stupid film.
The short at the beginning with the sad volcano? That got me.
My partner didn't like Inside Out either, but other than him I've heard maybe one other person mention in passing (before I saw it) that they didn't really like it. I even searched for "I didn't like Inside Out" and only found four things written by people who didn't like Inside Out. Two of them mentioned similar problems to the ones I had, but I still feel very alone on this. Everyone thinks it was brilliant and moving and possibly life-changing, and I wish I'd got to see the film they all saw.
Tell me I'm rubbish. Go on.
Thursday, 18 February 2016
sleep
To celebrate turning 31, I decided to try and adopt a vaguely human schedule. Six months of being sick followed by three months of unemployment leads to a lot of waking up only just on the right side of midday and not a lot of consequences for doing so, and that's not so compatible with my new desire to actually work and make myself useful.
I've been suffering from mostly mouse-related insomnia for about a year at this point. During our first winter in this house, a mouse started paying intermittent visits to my room, scurrying and rustling and attempting to get at any food that might happen to be in my room except the stuff with the poison in it (it was an upsettingly smart mouse). If I could hear it in my room, I couldn't sleep. At first putting all the lights on would send it back to wherever it was coming in, but soon it learned not to be bothered by that and it would be in and out all the time. It finally left me alone when I got a sonic repeller and the traps downstairs have turned up a couple of mice since, so I'm pretty sure it's gone now. However, from this months-long experience, my insomnia learned a great new game called Was That A Mouse?
Insomnia: Was that a mouse?
Me: No, that was the plastic bag I put stuff in just before I got into bed.
Insomnia: Was that a mouse?
Me: No, that was something outside.
Insomnia: Was that a mouse?
Me: No, that is just what it sounds like inside my ears.
Insomnia: Was that a mouse?
Me: No, that was literally nothing at all.
Insomnia: We should listen extra hard with our whole body on full alert in case that nothing develops into a mouse.
It got to the point that I could only get to sleep by waiting until I was so tired I could cry, and then plugging in headphones and playing something on Netflix. Then Netflix started doing this thing where if I was actually watching a show it would continue to judge me by asking if I wanted to carry on after two episodes, but not bothering to do that if I'd fallen asleep, so it would just play an entire series straight and wake me up a few hours later when my brain tuned back into it. I have no idea what the Netflix logic behind this is, so I've no idea if I can change it. What I did know is that I was getting very little sleep but spent all day feeling like I was about to drop down where I was. If I tried to go to bed early, Insomnia Voice would pop right back up. I tried to get some sleeping pills that had worked for me before, but the doctor would only concede (and then very reluctantly) to give me a quarter of the dose I used to take, which is too weak to actually do anything.
My recently-implemented plan is called Schedule Shit at 9.30am and Hope Things Adjust. Right now I have a massive sleep deprivation headache, but I have plans to be out of the house at 9.30am tomorrow regardless. I will be able to exist in the normal world with the normal people, dammit.
I've been suffering from mostly mouse-related insomnia for about a year at this point. During our first winter in this house, a mouse started paying intermittent visits to my room, scurrying and rustling and attempting to get at any food that might happen to be in my room except the stuff with the poison in it (it was an upsettingly smart mouse). If I could hear it in my room, I couldn't sleep. At first putting all the lights on would send it back to wherever it was coming in, but soon it learned not to be bothered by that and it would be in and out all the time. It finally left me alone when I got a sonic repeller and the traps downstairs have turned up a couple of mice since, so I'm pretty sure it's gone now. However, from this months-long experience, my insomnia learned a great new game called Was That A Mouse?
Insomnia: Was that a mouse?
Me: No, that was the plastic bag I put stuff in just before I got into bed.
Insomnia: Was that a mouse?
Me: No, that was something outside.
Insomnia: Was that a mouse?
Me: No, that is just what it sounds like inside my ears.
Insomnia: Was that a mouse?
Me: No, that was literally nothing at all.
Insomnia: We should listen extra hard with our whole body on full alert in case that nothing develops into a mouse.
It got to the point that I could only get to sleep by waiting until I was so tired I could cry, and then plugging in headphones and playing something on Netflix. Then Netflix started doing this thing where if I was actually watching a show it would continue to judge me by asking if I wanted to carry on after two episodes, but not bothering to do that if I'd fallen asleep, so it would just play an entire series straight and wake me up a few hours later when my brain tuned back into it. I have no idea what the Netflix logic behind this is, so I've no idea if I can change it. What I did know is that I was getting very little sleep but spent all day feeling like I was about to drop down where I was. If I tried to go to bed early, Insomnia Voice would pop right back up. I tried to get some sleeping pills that had worked for me before, but the doctor would only concede (and then very reluctantly) to give me a quarter of the dose I used to take, which is too weak to actually do anything.
My recently-implemented plan is called Schedule Shit at 9.30am and Hope Things Adjust. Right now I have a massive sleep deprivation headache, but I have plans to be out of the house at 9.30am tomorrow regardless. I will be able to exist in the normal world with the normal people, dammit.
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