Before I Fall to Pieces

In the last week, I've visited the doctor, the dentist, and the optician.

I went to the doctor because they would no longer authorise repeat prescriptions. So that was relatively simple, if a little bit time wasting. I did, however, have an interesting chat with my GP about Swine Flu. Apparently there's less than one in a hundred people testing positive for it round these parts, although how representative that actually is, I'm not sure, since the general advice for people presenting "flu-like symptoms" is actually to quarantine themselves.

I went to the dentist because I'd rubbed the enamel off two teeth with heavy brushing, near the gum-line. Who even knew that was possible? Anyway, F the demon dentist patched them up with white fillings, and sealed them with a laser. Hello to my new best friend, the electric toothbrush, and goodbye to a reasonable amount of currency. I've been warned never, ever, ever to use a whitening toothpaste again, ever. On the plus side, my other teeth and gums are apparently looking good, so that's something.

I went to the optician because I was overdue a lens check, and a sight test. And the news here was not great. My eyes have deteriorated by 1.5 and 0.5 in the right and left respectively. Which is mysterious, since one's eyes are supposed to stabilise when one passes puberty, but does account for the nagging headaches I've been having of late. The dryness in my right eye's becoming even more problematic, which I knew, and is literally a pain. The upshot of all this is that I need two new pairs of stronger glasses (which are actually even further behind my current prescription than my lenses) and special super-high water content daily disposable contact lenses.

Being blind is super expensive. To have my "house" glasses re-glazed with bog standard lenses will cost £125. To have my decent glasses re-glazed with thinned down, coated lenses (avoiding the bottle bottom look is important) will cost £165. To have special super-high water content daily disposable contact lenses will cost £39 a month, compared with my current £20 monthly disposables.

Needless to say, I'll be managing with what I have until The Festives are out of the way.

I'm falling to bits. It's not brilliant.

Other than that, a handy hint. Do not try to cheat washing instructions by chucking black mohair cardigans in the washing machine. Take it from one who knows.

Before I Fall to Pieces - Razorlight

Does it Matter Now?

I arrived home today to find a message telling me a girl I'd been at school with, T, had added me as a friend on Facebook. I've not seen her since we left school, but as we'd been through both primary and high school together, I decided to add her. Out of nosiness, I had a gander at her information and wall, and was surprised to discover she had an 18-year-old and a 14-year-old. Blimey. I also realised she was friends, on Facebook at least, with loads of other people who'd been in our year at school - all the cool girls I'd been a bit in awe of. (I never really came into my own until university.)

Facebook does lend itself to stalking somewhat, and I discovered that the majority of them married young, had children, and are now divorced. There seemed to be a bit of a Facebook reunion going on, with lots of chat about drinking "mixies" in the park and the like. I was never really part of all that, but it took me right back to being at school, and feeling like I was on the outside looking in.

God, nothing like the people you were around when you were 16 to make you actually feel 16 again, is there?

Anyway, call me horrid, but I was a teeny, tiny bit pleased to see that the years have been far kinder to me than they have to them - no sleepless nights, you see. But, really, why do I even care about how my life compares with people I've not seen in something like 18 years?

Does it Matter Now? - Peter, Bjorn and John

Veiled in Grey

So, another week, another weekend. This has not been one of my finest. In a bid to try and lift myself from the slough of despond, I opted for self-improvement. (Some may call it maintenance, but that would be unkind.) Yesterday I tinted my eyelashes, coloured my hair, waxed my legs and gave myself a manicure and pedicure. I even buffed both sets of nails. I also started some new age mumbo jumbo. I put post-it notes full of empowering thoughts on various doors and mirrors in the Cathouse, and attempted to write in a "gratitude journal". (I confess, I found it quite hard to find things to be grateful for, and simply wrote that it wasn't raining. But that's not the point.) I also cleaned the house from top to bottom, reasoning that it must be bad for one's soul to live amidst layers of grime, and with last Saturday's disgarded shoes still sitting on the sofa.

Then I got a migraine. Migraines are the devil's own tool. I feared I might go blind. More than that, I feared I might be sick, which regular readers of this blog know is one of my greatest phobias.

I wasn't sick. Thank God. I did spend several hideous hours whimpering under my duvet, having feverish nightmares, and frightening visions. Panic not, though. I did wake up on time to watch Jedward on X Factor. So all was not lost.

Today's gratitude journal entry will simply say that I am thankful not to have a migraine.

In other news, the psyschic's playing hard to get. We were supposed to go on Thursday evening. Instead, she text me at lunchtime, saying her mum had taken ill, and she'd call me to re-schedule. She hasn't. I can't help but feel this, perhaps, does not bode well. Is my future so bleak she simply doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news?

Anyway. I want this. It is expensive, but I am convinced it will change my life. So pretty, no? Now I just need to figure out how to pay for it.

Veiled in Grey - Mystery Jets

Good Tradition

My mum and P have a very old-fashioned relationship. P does man stuff, like building sheds - he seems to do this a lot, I imagine a whole village of sheds in what once was my dad's vegetable garden - and my mum does lady stuff. Despite being so crippled by arthritis that sometimes she can't get her shoes on, my mum does all the cleaning, and all the cooking, and all the making cups of tea, and bringing them to P, while he sits and reads the Daily Mail, or the Sunday Mail, depending on the day.

At weekends, however, my mum gets "a wee rest". On a Saturday they have a bacon sandwich for brunch, and then go to a hotel which is five minutes walk from the house for dinner. On a Sunday, they go to a pub which is 15 minutes walk from the house where they have a roast lunch, and then have a boiled egg for tea.

I accept that the division of labour according to gender is because they're a different generation. I don't much like it though. Five years ago, I'd have laughed at their routine and proclaimed I'd die from a life so mundane. It struck me yesterday, though, that I long for the day I know that Sundays mean boil-y eggs for tea with my boyfriend.

People, this is a new low. I don't care about not getting married in a £13K a night castle. I just want someone I can boil an egg for on a Sunday evening.

I don't know why I felt the need to confess this. I did though. So that is all.

Good Tradition - Tanita Tikarum

How Was It For You?

It's been a week. And not a particularly brilliant one.

Because:

1) It's pissed rain pretty much non-stop. I feel very fortunate to live on the second floor, and not have been flooded.

2) All my footwear leaks. This includes brogues purchased five weeks ago, and boots purchased three weeks ago. Apparently paying £100 for leather boots means nothing, and the only way to have dry feet is to buy wellies, which can be found for less than £10. Humph.

3) Everyone at work's off sick. Like a third of the staff.

4) Of the remaining staff, a third is actually sick, but too afraid to be off. And the final third is making themselves sick, running around like mentals trying to cover all the classes.

5) Fireworks scare me.

6) I never win the office X Factor sweep.

7) Our psychic's cancelled tomorrow's appointment. Her daughter needs driven to Glasgow. She didn't see that one coming, did she? We're now to go on Thursday evening. I'm beginning to think we're destined never to see our destiny.

8) I've started Christmas shopping, which is making me feel all stress-y and Grinch-like.

9) I've not been able to do any exercise for weeks, due to a torn (and very painful) muscle, and it's making me feel grumpy, and bloated.

10) It's still raining.

On the plus-side, I came home to a big cheque instead of bills the other day (thank you, Aviva), and it's Friday, at last. I plan to eat chocolate (sometimes a single piece of Green and Black's does the trick, other times, only a family bag of Minstrels will do) in my pyjamas, in preparation for a girlie night of too much food and wine tomorrow.

How was it for you?

How Was It For You - James

I'm a Cuckoo

Months and months ago, RS and I made an appointment to see a psychic. This was a woman we'd seen a few years back, and she'd proved suprisingly accurate. She did, however, predict that BJ was coming back into my life (which he did, just after we met) and that he was The One. That part is yet to come true. Anyway, I was looking forward to the appointment, today, and seeing what she had to say.

RS picked me up, and we embarked on a fairly arduous car journey. Why do these people always live in the middle of nowhere? We, predictably, got lost, but made it in the end. The psychic welcomed us in. Her cat sat on my lap. I was a bit excited, and a bit nervous.

And she couldn't read us. Apparently we'd been accompanied in by a spirit who didn't belong to either of us, so the messages she was receiving were terribly muddled. 20 minutes after arriving, and with a number of clooks in my tights, we left.

We're to go back next week. Who knows what will happen then? Meanwhile, I'd suggest that Hallowe'en is possibly not the ideal date to visit a psychic.

I'm a Cuckoo - Belle and Sebastian

A Must to Avoid

Did that holiday even happen? It feels like it never did. Back to the grindstone full tilt. Work is proper bobbins. Especially when every person I come across is snochering and snivelling and coughing. My throat's already starting to tickle, and my nose feels suspiciously itchy.

Urgh.

Being back at work has a whole new set of challenges. Namely, in avoiding The Man I Have a Crush On. But who appears not to have a crush on me. Damn. This crush has been brewing since I started work, but was tempered by the fact that he had a live-in girlfriend. I always felt like there was a leetle frisson between us though. And then they broke up, and he moved out, which meant we walked to work together most mornings. And still I thought there was a leetle frisson. He moved to a new place a couple of weeks ago, and he made noises about my coming round to help with decorating, and then about coming round for a bottle of wine.

So far, so positive, no?

Then I added him on Facebook, and did a tiny bit of stalking. A raft of fairly miserable status updates, and a worrying tendency to post maudlin links, late at night. Pretty standard, really. So, at the beginning of the holidays, I sent him a chatty message, making mention of housewarming plans. Nothing full-on, nothing asking him out or anything like that, but just enough to open a dialogue.

What do you know? He didn't reply. To begin with I told myself he had no internet access. A lack of Facebook activity suggested this theory held weight. Except, now there's Facebook activity, and there's still no reply. So, maybe I was just imagining that leetle frisson all along.

For shame.

Still, making sure I don't run into him while I get a coffee makes for a new sport, so it's not all bad, is it?

A Must to Avoid - Herman's Hermits

Darkside Lightside

Reasons I do not love this time of year:

1) It's so dark. And in a few weeks time, it's barely going to get light at all. Hate. It.

2) The great boot hunt. I should learn, and stock up on multiples of suitable boots when I find them, rather than have to endure that big calves humiliation. I'm pleased to report Office came up with the goods on Monday, but they are going to need considerable work to be comfortable.

3) The weather. Needs no explanation, really, but suffice to say I am already dreading having to leave the house to meet my friend at 5pm.

4) The slow creep towards The Festives, which starts in September.

5) Wall-to-wall party clothes in all the shops. Now, I'm more than happy to bang on a bit of bling for day-wear, but really, I am so not feeling red velvet.

6) The drop in temperature. Again, an obvious one, but this week has thrown me in terms of the heating having been and gone by the time I surface. Yes, of course, I could re-programme it, but that would just be complicated.

7) The germs. On Friday I thought I'd idle away the last few hours of the day by reading back copies of Vogue in the library, but was driven back to my desk in minutes by non-stop spluttering. My hands are practically flaking off with the non-stop disinfecting.

Humph.

Other news? The week's going in far too quickly, and I'm enjoying catching up with people, and eating and drinking far too much. I managed to keep my wedding woes to a minimum over lunch with my mother on Monday (but for the record, I do think people who get married in castles in the middle of nowhere are a bit selfish regarding transport and the like) and am trying not to think about it too much. She must have felt sorry for me, because not only did she pay for my boots, she also bought me a new winter coat and a jumper. (Usually I say no, but she was insistent that she could afford it, and likes buying things for people, so why not.) That didn't quite make up for the fact I'm not getting married in a bloody great castle, but at least I'll have dry feet.

Darkside Lightside - Ash

Holiday Song

So, my brother's set a date. 11th of June, 2011. Which gives me 20 months to find a new man, a new job, and a new house, or face looking like the family failure and embarrassing everyone, especially myself. Argh. Shall we have a little wager on my chances?

I don't know why this is bothering me so much. After all, nothing in my life's changed. My brother and his girlfriend have been living together for two years, together for five, so this is hardly a surprise. Maybe it's just about the order of things being wrong. I'm oldest, I should get married first. Maybe it's just because I'm a horrible bitch.

When RS and I saw that (rip-off) psychic person back in the summer, she told me there was love all around me, and that there would be a celebration of a partnership between then and Christmas. Because I was paying £40, I gleefully thought she was talking about me. Happens I was wrong. We're off to see another psychic person at the end of this month - this one previously predicted that BJ was The One - so we'll wait and see what she says.

Anyway. I'm on holiday. It's brilliant. My plans mainly involve eating, and seeing everyone I've neglected since the summer holidays. I did bring a big, bad bag of work home with me, but thus far it's sat in the hall, untouched. Hopefully it will stay that way. Tomorrow I'm meeting my mum for lunch, and taking her to buy herself some Ugg boots, using my student discount. Perhaps she'll buy me an "I'm not getting married" present. I'll deserve it after listening to all the wedding chat that's undoubtedly to come.

Holiday Song - The Pixies

Will Never Marry

As I sat, frozen, supervising reluctant exam-doers this morning, I idly checked my personal email. I should have been gainfully employed, marking other stuff, or even more actively supervising, but it was first thing on a Monday morning. There was a message from my mum, giving me the news that my little brother proposed to his rich girlfriend yesterday, and they're getting married in 2011. She went on to tell me the romantic details of the proposal, and to say how delighted she was. She and P and my brother and RG (now, I suppose, RF) went to dinner with RG's parents last night, and a jolly good time was had by all.

Well, call me the world's biggest bitch, but if I hadn't been in the midst of 30 people who would have freaked right out, I'd have burst into tears.

I went shopping (natch) at lunchtime, and bought a happy engagement card. And a jumper, with gold bits and gold buttons on the shoulders. And some bright blue tights. And some Tom Ford Black Orchid body lotion. That made me feel a little, tiny bit better. Then I went back to the office, and had a full scale meltdown to poor, unsuspecting Colleague B, who was very, very sweet.

I'm happy my brother's happy. I'm happy there's going to be - according to my mum - the wedding of the year, in two year's time. I'm just back to feeling like I'm left behind, and wondering why no-one wants me.

So, colour me black, and call me a bad person. I know it all. It's late night, maudlin street here though, and a pity party just for one.

Will Never Marry - Morrissey

Accident and Emergency

Like most places, my work has pared staffing down to the bare minimum. Not by making anyone redundant, thankfully, but by not replacing people when they move on, or go on maternity leave. This is fine, provided everyone's present and correct, but the place falls into chaos when people are actually off sick.

For the past two Fridays, I've been covering for a colleague who's been off work. This is one of the shitter parts of my job, and one I find very stressful - you don't know when it's coming, and you don't know what it's going to be. A control freak's worst nightmare. In an ideal world, it should simply be a case of sitting and keeping order. In reality, it generally involves a raft of preparation on a subject you know nothing about.

For the past two Fridays, I've had a 15 minute lunchbreak, which has been proper bobbins. The upside to that is that I've been able to leave at 4pm. So, this Friday, I nipped to the shops to get a few bits and bobs - a new toothbrush, bubble bath - and to return a top to Oasis before heading home. And as I walked out of the shopping mall, who should I see walking towards me, laden with bags, but my absent colleague.

To be fair, she was shamefaced. She even went as far as to put on a wide-brimmed hat, saying she needed her disguise. She told me she'd be returning to work on Monday, phased in on a part-time basis. We chatted briefly, then I walked home.

Is it just me, or is this a little bit bold, bearing in mind our workplace is practically next door to the shopping centre? I'll be honest and say it pissed me off. If you're well enough to navigate Primark, you're well enough to be at work, no? I know. It's the system that I should really be annoyed at, not her.

Still. I just hope her part-time return involves a Friday morning.

Accident and Emergency - Patrick Wolf

Meat is Murder

Most days, as I walk home from work, I nip in past my local Co-op to pick up something or other. Milk, bread, Grazia. The usual. And most days, I am fascinated to see, by the till point, something claiming to be an "ambient sausage roll". On closer inspection, these contain 23% meat. So far, so predictable. But ambient? Do they create an atmosphere? Are they guaranteed to make a party? At 23% meat content, am I really willing to take the gamble and find out?

Hmm. One of life's little mysteries, no? Probably I'll stick to beef Hula Hoops for my synthetic meat fix.

Other stuff? Well, I decided to give the Yasmin another shot, mainly because my last few periods have been excruciating. I started it on the first day of my period, last Tuesday, and am still bleeding. Normal? Or not? Other than swollen, sore boobs, this has been my only ill-effect, but I'm not quite keen on it. I'm trying not to think too much about the fact I'm permanently furious, and make connections that possibly aren't there. I do worry, however, that being over 35 (just) and a smoker (bad Cat) maybe I shouldn't be on it anyway.

What to do? Wait it out, or stop it? God, being a girl is tricky, no?

Other other stuff? Nothing to report. Dullsville. I'm simply counting down the days til the holidays, wrapping up warm, and trying not to kill anyone, including myself.

Meat is Murder - The Smiths

You Wear It Well

This week, I was teaching some students the concept of the Pareto Principle - that 80% of business comes from 20% of customers. And because I like to make learning relevant, I told them that it's generally true of one's wardrobe - you wear 20% of your clothes 80% of the time.

Go on, admit it.

And so, I considered my own wardrobe. Which is generally made up of lots of little dresses, which I wear with tights and fitted cardis, and tons of skinny jeans, which I wear with one of my multitude of tops, and sometimes long cardigans. There's the odd full, prom-style skirt in there, which I wear with polo-necks in winter, and a couple of pairs of safe, black trousers, which should be a workwear staple, but in reality, are just boring, and seldom sported. I have everything I need - except perhaps some new flat black leather boots - mid calf or knee-high - for work or wearing over jeans. Why then, do I keep shopping? Just this week has seen me buy two pairs of shoes (one flat black pumps, one flat black brogue type things, with a big buckle across them) and two jumpers (one sparkly, one studded), none of which I needed, really. (But I have just been paid.)

I shop because I love shopping and fashion. I shop because I feel like I work hard, and I deserve nice things. I shop when I'm unhappy. I shop when I'm excited about an event, and want something new to wear. I shop with friends. I shop alone. I shop even though I can't really afford it. In short, I just shop.

And then there's the arrears on the electricity bill. As well as the money I borrowed from my mum for the roof. Not to mention the fact that dreaded Christmas is looming. So, I was inspired to come across this blog, which is sort of the flip-side to this one, which I also love. I'm not suggesting I'll wear the same thing for months, because that would be bad for my soul. But I will try to make do with what I've got, and be more creative with it. And I'll try to find other, less costly ways of medicating the blues.

Other news? Not much. Work still stinks, BJ's still not been in touch, and I'm still generally scunnered. I comfort myself with the fact that the October holidays are only a fortnight away, and I'll be off for a week. The very idea that I used to spend these holidays as a teenager picking potatoes - and having them thrown at me if I was slow - is quite beyond the pale. Perhaps the money I earned from that was the beginning of my shopping habit?

You Wear It Well - Rod Stewart

Nowhere Fast

Today I am mostly feeling fed up, and sorry for myself.

I'm angry with myself about the whole boy situation. Especially, if, as was pointed out by an anonymous commenter, it was my own fault for the adding/deleting on Facebook thing. It's easy to blame myself, but if it hadn't been that, would it have been something else? I'm angrier still that I allow someone who drops in and out of my life every six months or so at his convenience to get to me so much.

I'm already beginning to dread Christmas, and the prospect of another year of spending it alone. The ads on the telly make me want to scream. I'm fed up being on my own in general, I suppose. It feels like everyone's getting married, buying houses, and having babies, while I stagnate in the flat I bought at the age of 25, thinking it would be a stop-gap until my real life began. If I'd known I'd still be here 11 years later, perhaps I'd have considered location a bit more carefully.

I'm scunnered with work. The situation doesn't seem to have been resolved much, and my manager looks at me with such hatred in his eyes that I feel myself shrivelling up like a cartoon character. Twice last week he tried to blank me in the corridor, until I forced him to acknowlege me by saying hello to him by name. I worry that I've made things worse for myself by trying to take a stand. I worry that with the economy the way it is, I'm unlikely to find another suitable post any time soon.

I'm broke, which is totally my own fault, but still rubbish. I must stop spending, but it's kind of my default setting when I'm unhappy. I checked my bank balance today, and I have - and I swear I'm not making this up - a single penny in there until I get paid on Tuesday. Bad times.

I'm pre-menstrual. I have spots. My stomach is like a football and my boobs hurt. None of which is good. On the upside, I suspect some of my melancholy will shift the minute my hormones do. Meanwhile, forgive my boring whining. This too shall pass.

Nowhere Fast - The Smiths

Reasons to be Cheerful

So. On Wednesday lunchtime I received an email - via Facebook* - from Bad J. He said he was planning to be in town for a few days, and did I want to meet up; he suggested dinner. At teatime I replied, with one line, asking when he was coming. He responded instantly, saying he'd intended to come up on Thursday and leave on Friday, but would stay longer if I wanted to see him. I replied saying I was busy on Thursday and Friday, but free on Saturday if he wanted to meet then. Make him wait, I thought.

Of course it was me left waiting. I have heard nothing from him since. So, I will not be going out for dinner with Bad J this evening. (I will also not be going out for dinner with RH as originally planned, as we are now, off the back of the Bad J situ, not talking, but that's a story for another day.)

Anyway. I am not bothered. Because:

1) I'm broke until I get paid on Tuesday.

2) I won't have to bother with shaving my legs or any of that faffing around. (Although I did wax my bikini line last night, and now look like my under-carriage has been in a fight.)

3) I can return the very expensive (and very lovely) dress I panic bought on my credit card. I'd planned to wear it over grey skinny jeans, with my Tatty Devine for Gilbert and George necklace, and my orange sandals with black fishnet socks. Oh yes, Bad J doesn't know what he's missing.

4) I'd miss X Factor. And we're getting onto the good parts now.

5) I'm pre-menstrual, so any alcohol would hit me like a train.

6) I'm pre-menstrual, so I'm spotty and bloated.

7) It's better to be feeling sad and disappointed because he didn't get in touch now, than feeling sad and disappointed because he didn't get in touch after the event.

* I should add here that Bad J and I are not "friends" on Facebook. He did add me on Wednesday after he sent me the message. I accepted for stalking purposes in the evening (very, very dull) and then ended the connection.

Reasons to be Cheerful - Ian Dury and the Blockheads