The latest instalment in a series in which I answer the ongoing question “How do you fit it all in?”, which people ask me when I tell them what I do. Continue reading “How Do You Fit It All In? #10”
I don’t normally do birthdays. I don’t mind celebrating other people’s, but I don’t celebrate my own. This is partly because I grew up as a Jehovah’s Witness, so I never celebrated my birthday as a kid, and it’d feel weird to start as an adult. It’s also because I have what my therapist terms “a pathological dislike of attention” so the idea of sitting in a room while people stare at me and sing to me and bring me presents sounds like actual hell.
However, I am quite proud of turning 30, because I never thought I would. And since you’re all staring at screens instead of directly at me, and none of you are going to sing to me because how would you anyway, and you’re definitely not sending me presents because fuck that shit, I thought I would take a moment to talk about turning thirty. Continue reading “I’m Not Dead”
The blog was going to be taking a break today, because I have a unicorn wines post in the queue but I haven’t finished writing it yet. Then I logged onto Twitter and saw that it’s Teacher Appreciation Day, so I thought I’d share a poem I wrote about the teachers at my old school, who were utterly fantastic and without whom I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t be alive. Continue reading “SGS (a poem)”
The ways in which people interpret the world have always amazed and intrigued me. How two people can look at the same situation, be armed with the same knowledge about it, and yet still come out with different conclusions (aka ‘politics’). How two people can have a very similar experience and yet react in wildly different ways. How something that can floor one person won’t bother another.
But even more subtly: how the individual ways in which we think about the world – our personal hermeneutics – help us to see things through a unique lens.
Last week’s post left off just as I was about to go into hospital to find out when they’d be booking me in for surgery. I had been hoping that it might be fairly soon, since I’m apparently an urgent case and I’ve barely been able to leave the house in months, but hope is a treacherous and flighty beast, and of course things didn’t go quite so smoothly.
The waiting list for surgery is 4-6 months long; the minimum amount of time in which I’ll be booked for surgery is four months. Then there’s an eight-week recovery period, so basically whatever happens I’m essentially taking the rest of the year off.
They can’t push me up the list unless my Angry Internal Organs actually rupture, which made me start wishing they would, until I remembered that would have irritating potential side effects like involuntary sudden death. So I figured maybe I’ll obey the doctor’s instructions and not do anything to make this whole situation any more precarious, and look after my Angry Organs, and hopefully maintain this tenuous truce for as long as I can.
I was talking to my friend the other day about how life seems to have this habit of piling all the annoying crap on at once.
You can’t just have the car break down, you also have to break your heel and the cat has to throw up on the important document you’ve been waiting for.