2014-10-01 12:33 pm
Entry tags:

A clone or a robot or an imaginary story

Andrew and I just had a conversation that in very short order got around to him saying "I'm sure in the DC Universe the [U.S] constitution will have had to be modified to take account of clones and people from parallel universes and stuff."

But still, if an American brain is put into another body, I don't think that's somebody who could run for President.
2014-09-29 11:07 pm

The rest of the year, sharing a bank account and an Amazon account is really convenient, but...

Andrew just informed me of what I'm getting him for a Christmas present. He's about to pre-order it.
2014-09-29 02:51 pm

And now I want chocolate cake. I blame Evelyn

The actor who played my favorite Doctor Who companion has died.

And you've probably never even heard of her. Even many Doctor Who fans of my acquaintance have not, because she's only in the audio stories.

(Still, there are enough people who Get It that I was woken by a text that just said "NOOOO! MAGGIE STABLES HAS DIED :(", I could reassure [personal profile] miss_s_b that she wasn't the only one who'd shed tears for Evelyn, and when Andrew said "aww!" in a particular sad-but-gentle tone of voice after settling down with his laptop this morning, I knew exactly what he'd just read and could quietly answer "Yeah," without anything more needing to be said.)

Here's how Andrew once described her:
Evelyn is great. She's a doctor of history who dumped her husband because he didn't like her spending so much time on her career, she manages to solve most problems with chocolate cake and sympathy, and rather than the tiny miniskirt outfits the current TV companions wear she has a selection of comfortable cardigans. She's about the Doctor's intellectual equal in intelligence, if not knowledge, and far more emotionally mature than he is.
Her introductory story, The Marian Conspiracy, is one of my favorites: she's such a richly-drawn character from the beginning, and spars so deliciously with the Doctor (and Colin's perfect for her), that by the end of that I really felt like Evelyn was a friend of mine. It and another of my favorites, Doctor Who and the Pirates (the funniest musical with a trigger warning for suicidality ever), both feature Evelyn, and I can't recommend them enough to anyone who likes good stories, whether they think much of Doctor Who or not.
2014-09-28 07:40 am
Entry tags:

a Minnesota thing

It's nice that, along with all the horrible dreams, I've been having some comedy relief ones.

Last night it was that my dad had a Paul Bunyan statue built along the side of their driveway, so you could see it from the road. He was so proud of it.

(This is especially funny if you know how completely Not My Dad such a thing would be. You'd never catch him as the protagonist of a magical realist movie.)
2014-09-26 02:08 pm
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I'm well pleased with myself: today I managed a bike ride I used to do all the time (to Chorlton, mostly along the Fallowfield Loop) more easily than I remember that being, even though it's been years since I did it and I haven't been exercising that much in the past...year, at least.

Of course, part of this is because I have a better bike than I did then (and indeed I was taking it to Stuart's so he could tune it up and now it's better yet) but it's just possible that I'm not as horrendously unfit as I thought. Which is a nice feeling.‎

Edit: Yeah, it's definitely the bike at least as much as me. It was even easier to get back home than it had been to get there. So I can't take all the credit!

Still I cycled something like nine miles today, and (between not having a bike and it being broken and then just being too mental) I imagine I haven't cycled nine miles altogether in the last three or four years. I feel awfully accopmlished.
2014-09-25 09:59 am
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Bisexuals like both dogs AND cats as pets.

If you've never met a bisexual person, you can summon one by playing a David Bowie album backwards.

[Though in my experience, playing it normally often works, too.]

Not all vampires are bisexuals, but all bisexuals are vampires.

All bisexuals are given a pouch of gold at birth that they hide. If you find it you choose if they become straight or gay.

Bisexuals are a compound created by dissolving homosexual into a monosexual solvent.

A secretive bisexual religion is known only as The Church of Dana Scully.

Bisexuals are not a flotation device.

Bisexuals can get nutrition from the sun via photosynthesis.

Bisexuals will destroy video games.

Bisexuals have many great and terrible secrets, not least that the word is actually code for beesexual. Mm, bees.

Bisexualism was invented and copyrighted in 1963 by Terry Nation. His estate still earns a fee whenever it is used.

Bisexuals formed a mutual defence alliance with mermaids in the 16th century.

Bisexual people never die. We sleep until England needs us.

Bisexuals know the true name of the cosmos and derive our power from it.

(from Buzzfeed)
2014-09-25 06:50 am

After all, we're not far from Hyde

Andrew said we had a follow-up phone call from the police yesterday, asking how we're doing and saying they'll add our street to the list police walk down when they don't have anything better to do.

They really have been extraordinarily good with us. But then, having finally finished watching Life on Mars the other day, I basically expect modern Manchester coppers to be like Sam Tyler, so I am not really surprised.
2014-09-24 09:21 am
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Last night I dreamed about arguing with Labour members about their LGBT record.

And I dreamed that it is Thursday morning instead of Wednesday.

Neither of these is quite as boring as my dream the other day that I'd found an Allen wrench I could use to fix one of my chairs, waking up thinking "oh good I can fix that chair!" and then only slowly realizing that, no, I couldn't, it was only a dream.

But it does seem at the moment I am only having nightmares or the most hilariously mundane dreams. No in-between.
2014-09-23 01:52 pm
Entry tags:

We got burgled last night

Oh well, I didn't like that laptop anyway.

I've still got fingerprint ink on my hands (good liberal that I am, I made sure the fingerprints were only for purposes of eliminating me from stuff and they wouldn't be kept after that). The fingerprinting lady was super nice and chatty, and half-convinced me to do a course and get a job like hers, perhaps because I seemed interested in things other people would be upset about, like my house being covered in powder.

Of course this was the first day in a month that Andrew was going into the office. After weeks of teasing him about how inconvenient it is that he's been around all the time, today he had to leave. He already had a back-to-work interview to stress about before he had to turn up and tell them his laptop had been nicked.

His work laptop has all kinds of complicated locks on it, so it won't be any use to anyone else. "They'll probably only get fifty quid for the lot," Andrew said of our laptops. "They might as well have just asked me for the fifty quid!"

"I wouldn't have given it to them," he added, needlessly.

The police officer had been really lovely too. Total opposite of the last time we were burgled, when I had to deal with them on my own and despite Andrew saying on the phone that his wife was off work sick with depression and be gentle with her, and me actually hearing that message come over their police radios, they said I wasn't depressed. It was my first day on my first SSRI, which had made me throw up already that morning.

This guy has a daughter with autism and a sister with depression so he was very good at the things we needed him to be good at. He was very thorough and kind. I actually felt better when he left than I had before, and I wasn't expecting that.

After the fingerprint lady had gone I was finally free to leave the house, and lovely [livejournal.com profile] diffrentcolours and [livejournal.com profile] greyeyedeve told me to come over and have tea. So I'm sitting in the gazebo with [livejournal.com profile] diffrentcolours now, feeling...a bit like I have the flu, post-panic attack: shaky and too hot or too cold all the time, not able to eat, and just feeling all uncomfortable and wrong.
strangecharm: (postmark)
2014-09-22 11:52 am

And OF COURSE writng this = procrastinating

It's been abundantly clear to me all along that I'm not really going to get any better until I have a job again.

And yet of course you can hardly find a thing I've done less, since I got back from my parents' almost a month ago now. I was just about managing before that, getting myself that one interview and signing up for job agencies and dealing with calls from recruiters, but I distinctly remember on the plane from Amsterdam back to Manchester contemplating the tasks now before me and just finding job-hunting an insurmountable task. I dreaded the life I was going back to, with this looming so large in it.

The calls from recruiters had dried up, now that I could say yes to the short-term work I'd had to turn down when it had been offered. I've heard nothing from the agency, nice as they were, who wanted me to come in and get registered with them, or the others I've talked to online. And I have done far too little job-hunting.

I know exactly why: probably the most common reason for procrastination. I'm scared.

I'm scared I won't get a job as good for me as the one I just had, which was flexible to a fault sometimes but that was still best for my mental health; which asked a lot of me and exposed me to lots of interesting things; which meant I hardly ever had to work on Thursdays so I could see [personal profile] magister (how that will work if I end up with a less forgiving job is one of the huge concerns I'm not even letting myself think about now, because the normal thing would be to see him at the weekends but Andrew already frets that I spend too little time with him...).

I'm scared I'll end up with a job that will make me miserable or even more ill. Because, statistically, most of them have. And the ones that haven't, I don't know why they haven't. Or I don't know how to get another one like them.

Also, Andrew's been really, really unwell lately and it's been really nice for me that I can be around to look after him, and to pick up the slack in the errands and chores he can't cope with. To have to do this while working I could just about manage, but to do it while I have to look for work sets off all my Petulant Alarms for the seeming unfairness of it all.

I read an interesting article the other day (from [personal profile] andrewducker, I think?) about the role of self-compassion in overcoming procrastination.
Most procrastination-fighting techniques focus on ways to change a person’s behavior: just get started, take action, any kind of action. But a recent study suggests a different approach: being kind to yourself.
I was intrigued by this because the regular "just fucking do it" type of advice wasn't working very well for me right now.
Sirois found that people prone to procrastination had lower levels of self-compassion and higher levels of stress. Further analysis revealed that procrastination might increase levels of stress—particularly among people low in self-compassion.
Yep, that sounds like me!
In fact, her results suggest that self-compassion may play an important role in explaining why procrastination can generate so much stress for people: “Negative self-judgments and feeling isolated by one’s procrastinating can be a stressful experience,” she writes, “that compromises the well-being of those who chronically procrastinate.”

Sirois suggests that interventions that focus on increasing self-compassion may be particularly beneficial for reducing the stress associated with procrastination because self-compassion allows a person to recognize the downsides of procrastination without entangling themselves in negative emotions, negative ruminations, and a negative relationship to themselves.
And that certainly sounds good!

And then there's this:
“Self-compassion is an adaptive practice that may…provide a buffer against negative reactions to self-relevant events,” writes Sirois. The implication is that by interrupting the loop between negative self-talk and procrastination, self-compassion may help us avoid the stress associated with procrastination, extricate ourselves from that downward spiral, and help us change our behavior for the better.

Interestingly, her study found that students tend to procrastinate more than adults, possibly because they seem less able to regulate their negative emotions and negative self-evaluations.
Obviously I'm not a student nor even a particularly young person now, but for other reasons I even more obviously have trouble regulating my negative emotions and negative self-evaluations.

All of which makes it look like I'm doomed to procrastinate, especially when it's particularly bad (i.e. stress-inducing) for me to do so...which would be depressing, but since that's already happened, it's oddly a relief to see somewhere outside my own head articulating what might be happening, and that it might not be happening only to me. Something that I hadn't previously thought of might help me, and that means I can try it. Being nicer to myself can't hurt, anyway. Right?

When I read this last week I was particularly dubious of my ability to suddenly develop more compassion toward myself -- something I've always struggled with isn't going to be fixed by a few days' worth of vaguely meaning well -- but luckily this coincided with a time when I was feeling particularly confident that I could outsource that compassion.

One of the upsides to a lot of my close friends being in difficult situations at the moment is that we're all trying to get out of difficult situations, and we can lean on each other and be there to be leaned on with empathy and sympathy that come easily to us right now. If [livejournal.com profile] diffrentcolours tells me it helps him if I come round and keep him company while he does stuff on the computer, and then drives me to Ikea so he can help me get a dining room table, we both can end the day feeling better than we did when it started, both because we got done something that we needed to do and because we helped someone else.

I've been helping [livejournal.com profile] haggis sort her house out a bit lately. Tasks she avoids I'm quite happy to do, and her happiness when I've done them is very cheering. Cleaning and painting, the things I've done so far, are wonderfully obvious as well; it's really easy to see tangible results to what you've done, which is satisfying. Plus it means we've had time for a ton of tea and chatting, which has been useful because there are similarities in our lives that it's good to talk about (and I think the familiarity this breeds, as well as how much of it is house-related stuff, is one reason new people at the bi pub meet thought we were a couple, which as always when people believe I'm dating my friends made me smile), but also we're different enough that things that are impossible for one of us might well be easy for the other.

And often the things that I've been asked to do or helped to do by my friends motivate me to do my own things myself. If I don't think about it too much, good habits are starting to form. Talking about things like forming habits means I'm thinking more consciously about them, which means I'm remembering to empty the dehumidifier and water the plants and all that stuff. It means I don't always clean the kitchen but I'm aware the next time I want it of how much nicer it is not to have to clean it before I can cook. The simple cause-and-effect relationships are soothing in a world where everything else seems complicated or entirely out of my control, or both.

So while in some ways September has been a grim and awful month in an entirely different way than August was -- August being The Month of Mom Being Sick (and me technically getting paid at the end of it) means that The Month of Me Being Unemployed was pushed back to September -- it's been positive in some ways, too. After a few weeks of just sitting around, losing days to misery and listlessness, thinking that the waited-for external help and motivation would never arrive, it did, actually. And I'm very grateful for that.
2014-09-22 08:49 am
Entry tags:

What a way to start the day

Find an interesting series of articles about anxiety.

Only belatedly realize that reading them is making me anxious.


Duh. Shoulda seen that coming.

They're not making me anxious in the sense of giving me anything to be anxious about, but just describing their symptoms and trying metaphors to explain to the uninitiated what anxiety and panic attacks are like has been enough to induce similar symptoms in my, quite suggestible apparently, brain.
2014-09-21 11:07 pm
Entry tags:

Onward to Mars

MAVEN's nearly to Mars! It'll get there when I'm sleeping.

This has snuck up on me a bit. Musing on this, I realized how much better an idea I had of space missions when I had twitter. It was such a great way to keep up with them, be they in planning, under construction, orbiting the Earth, on their way to Mars or Pluto or Mercury, or creeping up finally toward interstellar space.

Then for the first time since I left it I considered getting myself a twitter account...but only if I could follow spaceships (and telescopes!) and no humans at all.
2014-09-20 08:26 pm
Entry tags:

Brain admin

This is mostly a reminder to myself, somewhere I'm actually certain to look, to take my sertraline in the morning.

I'd been considering trying this anyway because my sleep's been so awful recently. Since I forgot to take it last night, I figured this morning was a good chance to change it, but I have years of "meds = bedtime" to overcome so I'm not confident I'll remember.

It's not easy for me to tell yet whether it's having any effect at all, good or bad. I don't know if it's affecting my sleep but I know the kind of insomnia I've had in the last week or two is particularly unusual and miserable for me, so I'll try tweaking anything that might help with it.

Today I am finding myself very sleepy very early, despite a reasonably good night (except lots of nightmares, so my sleep wasn't hugely restful but there was a fair amount of it and I didn't have much trouble getting (back) to sleep) and not a particularly taxing day. All of which might be an interesting correlation with not having taken the sertraline last night and having taken it this morning, but also might well be a coincidence.
2014-09-17 11:39 pm
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Here's a picture of me at [personal profile] magister's sister's wedding. I rather like it.

 photo wedding-1.png

(There's another one I like of the very brief period between where James asked if I wanted to dance and when he said "I don't like dancing." The photo's taken from a crazy angle that makes my looking-up-at-him-thinking-you're-too-tall expression look even more ridiculous than my expressions normally are. But I like that one, too.)
2014-09-17 10:06 am

No Luck, indeed

"Any luck?" my mom says. My mind is still drifting around what she's been telling me about how she's doing: she drove and is happy that she can do it ("it's good to know I can if I absolutely have to," she says repeatedly, and every time I wonder under what circumstances she thinks she'd "absolutely have to," but then I know better than anybody how isolating it is to be stuck in that house reliant on other people to get so much as a gallon of milk, much less see anybody or buy anything or go anywhere). She's struggling with people -- even her good friends -- who expect her to be all better now. I find this kind of judgmentalism bizarre: I've gotten so used to thinking of people as the experts on their own experience that I don't even have an opinion on how my mom "should" be doing -- what on earth would be the point of that? -- I just am always eager to hear how she is doing. But of course I remember that the culture I grew up in is very keen on pointless opinions like this: she should be better, he should see his parents more, you should be ashamed of yourself. As if every person's health and happiness is something that the rest of this rural community is all on the committee for, and they need you to know how they're voting.

So when Mom said "any luck?" I thought only, unhelpfully, of herself and the ways in which she's lucky -- her recovery is progressing as well as can be expected, despite her propensity for complications -- and the ways in which she's not -- she still feels like a burden, she's missing things like a good friend's mother's funeral and even though the friend is kind about it Mom feels like a bad friend to her.

So before my brain can catch up with what she means, my mouth has already said, "...mm? What?"

My mom seems a little slow, too -- I noticed this when I was there, and tried not to think too much of it: she's tired, she's recovering, she's both taking Tramadol and hates Tramadol so is always in as much pain as she can bear without it and all that stuff is bound to affect her concentration and articulation, right? -- but eventually I understand that she's asking if I have a job yet.

As if I'll go from "nope, nothing to report" one Sunday-evening phone call to "yep!" the next one. As if there are no such thing as closing dates, or interviews. (The job I really want and applied for a couple of weeks ago doesn't even close until Monday, so who knows when/if I'll hear about that!) "If I had a job, you'd know!" I tell her, as I told my dad last week when he asked me the same thing. (They're so persistent in asking me this that it feels like years I've been unemployed already.)

"All right, I'm only asking," she said in that voice I remember from my teenage years, when it was so difficult to explain to her what was going on in my life, what I cared about. My heart sank. What I'd been trying (and, admittedly, with those few words understandably failing) to convey is that they won't have to wait to ask me; they'll hear from me as soon as I know. Because I know they'll want to know, because they're concerned about me because they love me. And I want them not to worry, because I love them.

What she heard, though, was apparently more secretive-teenager. My whole point was that they won't have to ask, that I'll keep them in the loop, and I'm sad that they don't trust that and feel they have to bring it up every fucking time I speak to them, which I just dread, because it's fucking depressing to have to say "No, I don't have a job yet" all the time. I'm sad they don't see what a high cost this kind of interaction has on me.
2014-09-16 06:20 pm
Entry tags:

Apropos of nothing

I am very glad that one of my husband's few good friends also happens to be my boyfriend's girlfriend. It leads sometimes to nice overlaps of care and consideration, to the easy transmission of news about our lives, to us all being there for each other to lean on in different but mutually beneficial ways.
2014-09-16 12:46 pm

Since [personal profile] andrewducker wanted a version of this he could share...

Andrew wrote this on Facebook yesterday:
I am going to hold a referendum on whether my house should declare independence. There are arguments on both sides. On the "no" side, there's the fact that the [our address]ish economy is largely reliant on imports for such vital supplies as kebabs and superhero comics, while on the "yes" side it's incredibly unlikely that a post-independence [our address] would have a Tory government any time soon.
Registration for the referendum is at an unprecedented 100% of residents, not counting the 50% of residents who don't get a vote because they're foreign. Early polling remains inconclusive, and tensions remain high, with at least one prominent "no" spokesperson expected to issue a statement shortly that the [our address] electorate should "stop messing around on Facebook and go and do the dishes like you said you were going to half an hour ago".
Naturally my first comment was
The spokesperson would also like to point out how lax this campaign is being with sensitive personal information like its home address. If an independent house can't be trusted with such basic information, how can it expect us to trust it has our best interests at heart?
Andrew said:
The Yes campaign would like to refute those disgraceful slurs, by which it means rebut as all politicians do when they say refute, by pointing out the need for all campaign literature to carry an imprint stating the address at which it was published, and further pointing out that it's a friends-locked post and all our friends either know where we live anyway or don't care
One of his friends chimed in with:
The independant house would be welcomed into the global community of independant dwellings, geodysic domes, manses, and yurts.
then adding the acronym: "Gcidgdmy!"

Then it was me again:
The No campaign isn't interested in your empty rhetoric, it is only interested in action. So make sure you put the bins out when you go get your kebab.
(At least we were not, I should say, in the same room when we were talking to each other like this. I had been trying to take a nap before this assault on my dwelling (and indeed my status in it! calling me a foreigner in my own house?!).

Andrew said
I am proud to stand on my record. A record of doing the dishes, a promise of putting the bins out when I can be bothered to stand up again.
To which another of his friends made the very good point: "If only more manifestos contained 'when I can be bothered' I might believe them. There's a swing to the Yesses here." Following this up with "I realise that I am not eligible to vote in this election, but I'm English so naturally thought you'd appreciate knowing what I think even though it's your election." For some inexplicable reason, this got lots of 'like's.

Again I worried, as I always do when Andrew and I have conversations on the internet, that people will fret for us and think we're having a violent argument. I don't know if it's more or less fret-worthy that this is our idea of fun!
If only the house had a Devo Max option. We could have been cranking up the nu wave hits right now.
Andrew's friend Sarah said again (well actually soon after all this nonsense she sent me a Facebook friend request too! so she can be my friend as well now).And then another friend said something that really made me laugh:
Just to add another English, not involved but going to tell you anyway comment...( Include me in the 'don't care re. address' and 'highly worried that you're having a domestic' demographic of non-voters )... Thought you might like to know that Daves on his way to persuade you to vote 'no'. Bolt your doors and put the oil on.
Then from Debi, an important question:
Also English and not involved, therefore have an opinion: what will be the policy on immigration into the independent state?
Considering the dim approach Andrew takes to most humans and his fondness for being left on his own, I speculated that not only would immigration be frowned upon but that mere tourist come-over-for-a-cup-of-tea-or-board-games-or-crash-in-our-spare-room visas would be impossible to come by for all but a lucky handful of people. Indeed, the Yes campaign takes a dim view of emigration too, telling me after a few hours out of the house, or even asleep when he's still downstairs, how much he misses me.

Whatever happens, I just hope the bloody referendum happens soon, before we all get sick of hearing about it.
2014-09-15 11:02 am
Entry tags:

Monday morning

I have finally found a list app for my phone that's uncomplicated-yet-effective enough for me: the free version lets you make only two lists (which is all I want: Things to Do and Things to Buy), and all you can do is add things to them, check them off, or delete them. (Since people have been asking, it's called Stuff I Need; I have a Blackberry so I don't know if/how it works on other kinds of phones.)

Because of this I've gone a bit wild, ambitiously expecting myself to buy balsamic vinegar and chase up something via text, and I've actually done all those things.

But I gave myself a fairly hefty list of things to do today (by my current pathetic standards, but never mind) and it's not looking good so far. After a short night's sleep (though totally worth it! The White Whale was incredible: well-acted, technically astounding, powerfully written, and unfortunately so good at being disturbing and intense that [personal profile] miss_s_b didn't get to enjoy it that much) it feels like an achievement just to get myself back to Manchester and to my doctor's appointment.

Still knowing the list is there helps a lot. I've struggled a lot with to-do lists in the past, finding them more likely to induce panic and guilt and overwhelment than productivity. It seems to be going better now, in that I can relax knowing I've outsourced a little part of my cognitive load. I don't know why I'm happier with it this time -- maybe because I'm being very easy on what I'm expecting to get done and I'm not writing down anything more than a few days in advance right now -- I'm just glad that I am.

Edit: Got all the stuff on my list done after all! Again with the help of [livejournal.com profile] diffrentcolours, who dug a couple of chairs out of his understairs cupboard to go with my new dining table (they're cheap Ikea ones, and even match my Ikea table) and drove them over, along with a dehumidifier he found while emptying the cupboard having forgotten it was there, and his old printer that he said a while ago I could have (which will keep me from pestering him every time I need something printed!). I've done a few things that weren't on my list and even made a stab at job-hunting. Now I might need a nap.
2014-09-13 11:31 am
Entry tags:

Oh fuck today

Woke up late, got dressed to go out to shops. We're out of everything.

On the way picked the free newspaper out of the letterbox slot to put it in the recycling. Did that. Moving back to the path, though, I slipped on the hated gravel (I do fucking hate the gravel the previous owners put in the tiny space in front of the house; it's ugly as well as cumbersome...still I've never fucking slipped on it before) and fell hard on my one leg, enough that when I instinctively tried to right myself again it hurt so much I...wasn't exactly crying but was making these "Ah-ahhh-aaahhh!" noises that weren't far off. I pulled up my dress to look at my knee -- the skin was scraped in a way very familiar to me from being a kid, but it looked okay and the pain was lessening. I, again still almost without thinking, tried to carry on what I'd been doing.

But when I pointed myself away from my house I saw a guy across the street, middle-aged Irish guy, smoking next to a truck that may have been his. "You all right?" he slurred and now I had to be embarrassed as well as in pain, which made me feel much worse. I babbled something about the gravel and how much I hated it.

At this point I didn't want to deal with him any more, and my leg (I'd scraped the shin as well as the knee, but not as badly) was hurting more. I turned around and slowly hobbled the few steps back to my door. I heard the guy behind me mumbling about "gravel," as if he was talking to someone who was with him but I hadn't seen anyone else there. I found my keys, opened the door, and when I turned to close it after me saw he was now standing on the path to my front door, having crossed the street no doubt with the best of intentions to examine the situation (and there wasn't anyone with him, he was either talking to himself or directing his unhelpful mumblings at me). I wasn't feeling threatened but I was feeling annoyed, this guy whatever his intentions was adding to my stress.

So I shut the door firmly and leaned against the wall just inside the door with a big sigh. That turned into a little sob, because my fucking leg hurt so bad. I crouched down to see how the knee was doing and sure enough by now it was oozing blood from a relatively vast area of skin real estate. My shin looked ugly but the skin wasn't broken. Crouching seemed to make my leg hurt worse, though, so I couldn't help sliding down and sitting on the floor.

And then I really cried, at first because of the leg hurting, then because I hated that pestery guy in the way you can hate someone you only know one thing about and that one thing is how they behaved for ten seconds one time, then because I knew this wasn't going to get any better until I'd gotten myself up the stairs to the band-aids and antiseptics in the bathroom cabinet and I didn't want to go up the stairs...and then just crying. Maybe because everything in my life that's making me miserable is waiting on me to do something to sort it out that I can't or won't do right now.

So I started writing, because I knew by the end of it I'd feel better. And I do, a bit. Now my tears have mostly dried and [livejournal.com profile] diffrentcolours picked an opportune moment to say hello on IM and has offered me lifts to places that'll help me sort my life out -- namely Ikea and Tesco -- so I do not have to do everything on my own and I can do it and it's all fine and I will be okay, I always am.
2014-09-08 09:57 pm

A nice thing indeed

I've had a rough day. Month. Year.

But that makes the good things all the more precious to me.

And here's one I don't want to lose track of: [personal profile] kaberett is doing a cool thing: introducing any of their friends who ask, in comments, so the rest of us can read about all the cool people they know, maybe make some new friends.

I've enjoyed reading all of the introductions so far (to the extent that I wish I could offer it to my own friends, but I just can't trust myself to have the energy and brainpower to commit to things right now), heartily agreeing with the few that are about people I already know, being intrigued by others I might like to know as is the intention of this thing, but also just delighting in all the positivity, all the good people that there are, all the happiness and support we bring to each others' lives.

But of course, the one about me is best. I shall reproduce it here:
OH WOW I AM SO ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT THIS INDIVIDUAL. We acquired one another via [personal profile] nanila (introduced above), and I am so so glad we did. They're so many flavours of fantastic - they're ex-pat USois living in the UK, and they turn anecdotes about their day into slivers of joy, full of love & wry compassion and beautiful witty observations and geekiness. They are open & generous & heartfelt about things that are hard, they are an extraordinarily good correspondent (after whom I am attempting to model myself, in terms of managing to say "thank you, this is very helpful to me" even if I can't find any other words!), and additionally and furthermore they talk excellently about books, and I am always in the market for more recs.
Oddly I find that "thank you for this even though I have no other words" easiest with [personal profile] kaberett; I don't know why. And I don't write nearly as much about books as I think I should, so I'm bemused as well as glad that this is something associated with me.

But never mind that. I trust you'll excuse me while I go bask in affection and self-esteem.