Space Oddity as a kid’s book. *sniff* My kids are going to be so spoilt.
I’m going to start Tumbling again. I follow too many awesome people on here now to not want to.
Content, though? Decisions to be made.
Monroe & bobble hats.
I always think Monroe looks so much prettier in photos where she’s not striking a pose, not plucked and primped and preened (and dyed!) within an inch of her life.
I am a nerd. I am an apologist for the faults of others. I think we are all the same. I think we are all unique. I am a writer, a singer, a poet, a snob, a coffee-lover. I am so worried about the world I live in and all the people in it that I cry at night. I cry anyway, with the slightest provocation. I have long depressive episodes but I am not a depressive. I have the capacity to love deeply and suffer greatly. I can be happy. I can even be happy when I’m crying. I sometimes make commitments I don’t keep. I get angry at you if you hurt a friend, but if you hurt me will probably only get angry at myself. I am wildly intelligent, but think I’m getting dumber through under-use of my intellect. I love laughing. I don’t need a reason to do so. I love my family in spite and because of everything we’ve put each other through. I need to have other people around me, but I am an introvert. I don’t take as good care of myself as I should. I love the colour of my hair, and it makes me just a bit happy when other people are jealous. I’m a comfort eater. I’m a comfort tea and cocoa drinker. I say I’ll try anything once, but what I really mean is that I’ll try anything once if I don’t think it will be too distasteful. I am an optimist, and eternally surprised by that. I will be strong for you if you will be strong for me. I am a casual video-gamer but would like to be more hardcore. I love travelling. I try to keep an open mind but worry that it’s getting more closed as I get older. I feel old these days. I have poor self-esteem and it’s the defining aspect of my personality, but I really, really want to change that. My id, ego, and super-ego get into a lot of fights. I think I would rather give away my computer than my books. I love my smartphone for keeping me in constant contact with the world and hate it for the same reason. I apologise a lot, but not as much as I used to. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth but my body doesn’t remember that when I’m depressed. I care about acquaintances’ well-being more than I should. I develop crushes all the time. I wish I could draw. I hate cleaning, but love the comfort of hot water on my hands when doing the washing up. I find it hard to maintain my work ethic when given evidence that my employer doesn’t care about me. I believe money is a necessary evil for paying bills, but have only recently begun to discover that it’s cool to eat at nice restaurants and buy nice things for myself and others too. I have a stuffed monkey which has the same name as the other 5 or so stuffed white monkeys I’ve had in my life. I care about grammar. My favourite colour is red. I wish I wore nicer clothes. I start journals then forget about them after a couple of days. I love maths. I am a feminist. I think beautiful kerning is a wonderful thing.
Writing this has made me smile, laugh, and cry.
None of this is fixed.
I asked Bella (who wanted something to do) to write a story including a top hat, a rusty spanner, and a Shetland pony. Then I wrote my own:Once upon a time there was a top hat. He didn’t very much like being a top hat; all of his friends made fun of him for being as wide as he was tall, if only around the bottom. He had also, perhaps 100 years before, become more than a trifle demodé. He determined to undergo cosmetic hat surgery to be once more the trendy hat he knew still lived inside.
Top Hat went to see a cosmetic surgeon, who quickly measured him up and pursed his lips.
'Hm.' said the surgeon.
'Hm?' said Top Hat.
'Well,' said the surgeon, 'I can certainly see why you came to see me today! Yes, you have a nice black colour, and a certain sheen about you, but my goodness! how very unfashionable you look! And your brim! My dear, I think there is a lot we can do for you here. We will set an appointment for you for surgery.'
Top Hat made the appointment, but was a bit disheartened. He had hoped somewhere in the back of his head that perhaps there *was* nothing wrong with him, and he was just being foolish, but the words of the surgeon seemed to confirm his worst fears.
As the weeks went by, and Top Hat’s surgical appointment got closer, he became a bundle of nerves. ‘Do I want to be shorter?’ he asked himself. ‘Even if it’s more modern and hip, is there anything really wrong with me? I mean, Boater Hat is far shorter than me, but almost as outdated!’ These arguments went on in Top Hat’s mind, day and night.
Finally the day of the appointment came. Top Hat lay on the operating table, waiting for the cosmetic surgeon to appear. When the surgeon eventually entered the room, he was holding a spanner, rusty with age and neglect.
'What is that?!' squeaked Top Hat.
'Why, this is my most valuable surgical tool.' replied the doctor. 'Without this I could never operate on hats at all!' Top Hat made no response, but the machines that were monitoring him in the surgery indicated that his heart rate had risen sharply. 'What?' laughed the surgeon. 'You weren't expecting a scalpel, were you? Only humans get that kind of treatment. You're just a hat. When you garments start paying me more than lint from the floor of your wardrobes, I might start investing in special tools for you. Until then, a spanner it is.'
The surgeon’s laughter boomed out, and eventually he was laughing so hard he was crying. By the time he had calmed down and finished wiping his eyes, Top Hat was gone.
Top Hat was distraught. He stopped eating; he barely slept. He had taken several weeks off work thinking that he would need time to recover from his surgery, but instead he was spending his days wandering the streets, looking at the other hats in town, thinking how much more beautiful they all were than him. He paid a cheap fascinator for a couple of hours of her time, but her assurances that he was the most attractive piece of headgear she’d ever seen were unsurprisingly hollow.
His friends tried to reassure him, but they were no use. They all said he could find a surgeon who didn’t use an old spanner, and Top Hat could not convince them that the spanner wasn’t the real reason he had run away. Tam O’Shanter, who Top Hat now began to see had always been a bit of a cocky bastard, was the worst, repeatedly telling him that he could still hope to be likeable again one day. Top Hat eventually grew angry with his friends’ attitude, and stopped letting them in when they came to visit. Eventually they stopped coming, and then Top Hat felt that he could take some time to think.
He knew that he had been having doubts well before the surgery date. Why was he so afraid? Was there something wrong with him, that he didn’t want to look better? He spent hours in front of a mirror. About a week after his isolation started, Top Hat and his reflection started laughing together.
Tam O’Shanter was only liked by Scottish men, Toque was restricted to kitchens, and Ushanka practically only made an appearance in bad American movies these days. He was no worse off than them. He was certain that the cosmetic surgeon would be as determined to ‘fix’ them if he saw them. Top Hat had been so foolish to believe them all!
That afternoon he went for a walk. This time he was not comparing himself to the other hats, but watching them for the beauty he now saw in himself. It was present in all of them, and if they were not in fashion now, well, they could always take themselves off to a retro shop to find an owner who would love them, or wait until the wheel of fashion turned in their favour.
Top Hat was so busy watching a pair of shakos that he did not see a Shetland pony, escaped from a nearby school fête, cantering down the road towards him. When he heard its hooves, he turned, but it was too late to move out of the way. One of the pony’s hooves stove in his crown, leaving him much shorter than before, but with his lining showing through the top, a bent brim and the edge of his crown crooked and broken. The pony continued on its way, careless of the hat it had left behind, while a cluster of headgear who had witnessed the event gathered around Top Hat to check if he was alright.
Top Hat got up, brushed himself off, started laughing, and headed home.
I really enjoyed writing this. I stopped doing any creative writing after taking a course in it at uni almost 5 years ago; I hated the lecturer and she made me want to never write again. This is the first piece of sustained creative writing I’ve done since.
- (in a past life, I worked in an airline call centre)
- Me: Welcome to ***, Luisa speaking, how can I help you?
- Mr J.: Uh, hi, I just booked a flight on your website.
- Me: Would you like to give me your booking number, Sir?
- Mr J.: Sure, it's ******.
- Me: Ok, Mr J.? How can I help you today?
- Mr J.: Well the booking's for the 25th of December, for Christmas, you see...
- Me: Yes, that's correct, departing Brussels on the 25th and returning on the 27th.
- Mr J.: I was just wondering, will there be anyone at the airport that day? Will there be someone to fly the plane?
- (I couldn't help myself, laughed a little bit)
- Me: Don't worry Sir, you won't be expected to fly the plane yourself.
- Customer: Do you have any mp3 players here? I can't find them anywhere.
- Me: Sure, they're just in the iPod cabinet there.
- Me: Looks like we've only got iPods left, actually.
- Customer: I don't want an iPod, I want an mp3 player!
- Me: iPods are actually mp3 pla-
- Customer: No they're not! Don't lie to me!
- Me: Madam, iPods are in fact mp3 players, they just have some special features.
- Customer: You're either lying to me to make a sale or you don't know what you're talking about.
- Me: Madam, iPods are mp3 players. That won't change.
- Customer: Well I called Apple, and they say you're lying!
- (stalks off to make a complaint about me to my manager)
- Me: *facepalm*
I am currently happy with my relationship with my mother. Accepting her for who she is has been a large part of that. Moving out helped too. I think that she is probably closer to accepting me for myself now, although there are of course large parts of me I don’t let her see.
Went to see my doctor today. I was supposed to go a few weeks ago to check up on my medication, but didn’t.
He’s prescribed a further 50mg increase in my medication. He has also (making me feel like an 8 year old again) prescribed a bed time for me. No computer/TV after 10pm, and lights out by 10:30.
I went to see Ponyo tonight. I’m thinking I should buy the Studio Ghibli collection to watch when I’m depressed, but sometimes happy things make me sadder.
Go and see Ponyo.
Because I said so, that’s why!
And because it’s sweet, and cute, and lovely, and sappy. And Lisa is inspiring, and Sosuke has awful hair, and Ponyo reminds me of the nasty frog in Spirited Away but I still love her.
Did I say I’d write every day? I did. Crap.
Tonight I’m going to talk about alcohol. I’m a little bit drunk at the moment, so it seems quite an obvious topic.
Up until a year ago I could have called myself a very light drinker. I went out drinking very rarely, and I’d really limit myself sensibly in terms of what I drank.
Since then my alcohol consumption has increased out of sight. I’ve even started getting drunk on my own, something I once promised myself I’d never do. I still drink alone far less frequently than with others, but I live in a share house now; there’s always someone to have a drink with. I have always had a high tolerance for alcohol but that’s gone now too, thanks to my meds. So I’m a giggly, bouncy, falling-over mess after not very many drinks. No hangovers, either.
So where’s the negative? Well, I hate getting drunk to have a good time, or to feel comfortable in a social situation. It’s running away from the problem of my perceived social awkwardness. I also want people to get to know the real me, and I think personalities are masked by alcohol to a certain extent.
Alcohol also makes me reeeeally depressed when I come down from it. I quite often have suicidal thoughts these days, but alcohol seems to help sustain them for a very long time after I sober up. I think that may be something to do with the meds too, it’s not a problem I ever had before being on Pristiq, but this is the only medication that’s had any positive effect on my mood and I don’t want to stop it.
So yeah. Such good reasons not to drink, but faced with a beer or a bottle I make the same choice every time. How do I stop?