karma

last friday Julie and I had our first congregation as SMEC - the secret meat eaters club - at the Buffalo Grill (a kitchy place with Native American chief portraits on the wall and the best peppercorn steak this side of the Atlantic). In our revelry, we shared fantastic ribs and decadent desserts to top it all off. And in the communal feasting she totally gave me a hideous virus. the bitch.

Serves me right for gorging on animal carcasses in Liam's pure vegetarian absence I guess.

But worst of all, this does not bode well for my Saturday morning flight to Geneva for a weekend getaway with Jennie and Chrissy.

Lord knows I am not missing out on a minibreak holiday to the continent though. Especially if I spent $500 on a two hour flight. Europe is fucking expensive and I am not wasting it god damn it. So I am taking every herbal suppliment and drug in the cabinet on a complete overhaul.

If I don't overdose into a coma, I'll be sipping beer on a mountain this weekend. Hallelujah!

i was going to write how you know you're in a couple when you stay home from work sick and you go to put in a favourite dvd, you have to eject Civ III and it makes you smile.

but not only is that a grammatical disaster, sadly unfunny, it is also a vaguely Jeff Foxworthy type cliche.

but i still think it's sweet.

Hello world.

Let's see if I have any news.

Well, after whirlwind leaving of home (before any of the festivities really even got underway), I came back and lost like 3 days to sleep and readjusting to the familial weirdness.

Then Tom and I went to Columbus for his 21st, where we dressed in three piece suits and drank martinis (siberian huskies thankyouverymuch) at the shady Little Bar and spent the next two days on the couch watching a voyager marathon interspliced with scrubs on dvd. a little pot, a lot of pizza, and we were back home a couple days later all the better for it. Well he wasn't, but then his ambition was a drink an hour for the 24 hours of his birthday. Shocker.

Then I had a huge icky day at the doctor with prodding and poking and a lot of "hmmm" because there is nothing wrong with me. at all. except the whole bleeding fainting unending pain thing. that is unexplained and hopefully new hormones will sort me out. and get this - the miracle feminine regulator is called Portia. I find that highly amusing, but then I am a nerd.

(addendum) Oh, and totally cool weird thing: I had to have an ultrasound - but no jelly on the belly, no crazy camera thing I always thought looked like a commerical address stamp - no, it was a newfangled internal ultrasound - which was essentially a sleek industrial dildo with sensors inside. Not only that, she had me insert it myself for comforts sake. Talk about awkward.

And then the annual cry and fight fest with mom this morning and now am christmas crafty goodness.

oh, and I totally got the job. I now run the biggest children's book festival in the world. how fucking amazing. merry christmas to me!

news

so things are the same.i hate my job, my inards are having a battle of epic proportions (although the doctors say i am fine), it rains all the time and i totally have gross out dry skin.

but somehow it feels okay.

this is in no small part to my employment prospects (there are two jobs i totally want up for grabs). or that i am on new meds and can see a real highly paid doctor in america who might be able to fix me. or that i will be home in six weeks (i think tom and i should go away for a few days before chrismtas - perhaps to neferiously scope easternseaboard schools? don't tell him i said that. if only kate would be home too). or that my mother has totally joined myspace (which i find endearing and completely weird). or that i am addicted to cheese on toast.

and of course, it does't hurt i had an amazing weekend. in three days liam and i managed to do nothing but somehow the kind of nothing that makes you feel better. and gives me hope. maybe we're not so broken as all that.

it's funny how playing domestic and having regular naps can change the color of the world.

done me in

so i've finally crashed. all that stuff that's been freaking me out? well, it ate away at me until there was nothing but acid and bile left and last night i almost fainted in a jacket potato shop.

rewind. let's review shall we?

monday was tired (sunday day with liam then midnight roof picnic tuckered me out) and had a goodbye with mandy. she left for greece and now her room is empty and i miss coming home to bitch together and watch costume dramas.

but, then had fabulous bookfestival party. lots of champagne, amazing dress and everyone i know. in fact, ended up with keith and hot scot, like so many nights before, where keith decided hot scot's girlfriend, who isnt george glass of leeds after all, is so not good enough (she is a little on the dowdy school teacher side) and his personal mission is to do her in and convince him i'm much better. which of course i am, but it is still sweet of keith to say it. still, another night of no sleep.

tuesday was work. wretched. it's become so corportate we are no longer allowed to carry pens that aren't blue black or red. seriously. soon i wont be able to have decent novels either.

then that night had to have people round to see the flat. seriously, i had to advertise online and everything. it blew. but they were all nice and sonja came for emotional support and apple crumble, and now Catriona is moving in next week to grow herbs in the garden and take walks with.

then liam called (his family is in town and that stress of hosting plus incongruous limbo of tourism at home freaked him) so he came over and we cuddled until we both felt better. better than sleep, but still, no sleep.

wednesday work was equally crap and i didnt feel well. i rallied tolerably for girly movie night (newsies!!!) but when we were watching the extras after and he called, i suddenly wanted to be home in bed more than anything.

so jules and i left, i called him back, he came over and we spent all night curled together whispering secrets and feeling the edges of each other.

but, i was so stressed about leaving and movings and work and kate and everything all at once my brain was going a mile a minute. plus the added anxiety of someone next to me. to feel my every move. to ache to hold. generally i have been of the up and out mentality and this whole togethering thing threw me for a loop and rest illuded me.

and (and if you ever tell anyone this i'll deny it) in the safety of the dark i admitted the only thing that makes my brain shut up is really loud sex. and although we had decided we aren't ready for full on sex, he was certainly more than obliging. i almost screamed and after that felt much much calmer.

i called in sick to work thursday. i hadnt slept, my stomach was being worse, i might be starting my period, i'd just spent the night on pretty much a mental roller coaster and the last thing i needed were more office dramas and corporate bullshit.

i slept and made lists and lolled about in bed. in the afternoon he came back, better rested, and we napped and goofed off and planned on going to a friends leaving do.

we were hours late. we hadn't eaten all day. i was feeling worse.

with kate and julian we decided to get dinner. a foursome i've grown accustomed to. one i will miss now he is leaving. but i looked at my jacket potato with vegtable curry and was ill.

my hearing went, my vision was spotted, i blanched and couldnt hold my head up.

i went out to the fresh(er) air of cockburn street and liam rubbed my back and plied me with water until i could see straight.

i said my forever goodbye to julian with my head between my knees and his hand on my shoulder. it was ridiculous. but overly dramatic and retarded seems to be my calling card. they went on their way, back to his party, and liam stroked my back until i could stay upright.

then we caught a taxi where i slept with my head in his lap, until i got home. he put me to bed and insisted he go get bread and important things i will need. he came back later with beautiful flowers and my favourite juice and rubbed my back til i fell asleep.

he says he loves me. and he's been so wonderful i am inclined to believe it for all of our weirdness. and i woke up this morning missing him.

i don't pretend it's not weird. and broken. i know we both really need somebody right now in all the ever changing mess. and have no idea if it will stay this way when he goes to school and i sort out my bullshit.

but it is so wonderful to have someone to hold and to hold me. and the promise of us is so very very good. so, i know i'll deserve flack. but right now i am happy. like it'll be okay.

so wait to shoot me for being blind and mushy. wait until i'm ready to give this up.

invalid

i am not a necessarily active person. in fact i often am the human embodiment of lethargy and sloth (my second favourite sin).

i can do a pride and prejudice marathon without batting an eye, and often without even switching positions. a day off, more often than not, is pretty much 8 solid hours of silent sitting and reading. one of my best talents is forming nests (not unlike the home of the mad sleeping demon) from any available textiles and nestling for days on end.

but enforced rest is climbing the charts of tortures i cannot endure.

the second i am required to sit, unable to move, restricted from action, i seriously freak out. i feel caged. panic sets in. i am restless and lonely and regularly crave active hobbies i wouldnt dream of attempting when at my full capacity.

it is claustrophobic, this lack of mobility. i have never wanted to run or scream more.

i am trapped. teathered. arrested.

i remember when i was on swim team, we would have a taper in training before league meet. everyday would be easier until i swear to god we floated around for half an hour and then got sent home. my body was used to swimming at least 5 miles a day. That friday, at my grandmas house, I went for a walk on her treadmill to stretch my restless joints while she sat on the adjecent bed and we chatted. Before I realized it, I had run 3 and a half miles and had barely lost my breath.

I just needed to get it out of my system. I never ran that far again.



tuesday i could limp. wednesday i could walk short distances with only a slight wimper. so by friday i thought i could have an easy day at work. by lunch i was sent home for hobbling.

i think i am the first person to ever go to work out of boredom - and fail.

so now i am back on my sofa, determined to have a full day of recovery so i can get the hell out of here tomorrow.

it's slowly killing me, but i am determined to try. i have gathered comforts around me and take yoga breaths everytime i think about the fact i cant even get to my backyard (megan, the fear of paralysis is becoming all too real).

and part of me wonders if i could keep this active energy when not propped up by pillows and antinflamatories, would i? i think a world of yes. from the retrospect view of the sofa, it's a shame i waste so much time lolling about. i cant afford to waste my good(ish) health only to feel like this in my decrepit rag of a body for years to follow.

it's sickening. the only time i am halfway inspired to contemplate excersize is when i am physically incapable of doing it. that's irony for you. welcome to my life.

stories

my new friends (aka the ones who met me in a professional capacity and have not yet (or at least rarely) been exposed to my drunken lunacy, vixenish mania, or general idiotic frivolity outside the office) have begun remarking with regular frequency how all my stories are weird, ridiculous, and sometimes frightening.

fair enough, the hole in the picture of my brain i don't remember getting because my sister hit me on the head with a hammer is weird.

or the dog running away from the boy in the bodycast and the lady with no memory not knowing how to pick him up, so calling her high school best friend's mom (the only phone number she remembers) can be uncomfortable (but very funny).

the time andy got drunk and complained how drew got laid more than him is a good one too, but only when one explains the entire andy-andy height comedy value.

or when bridget and i smuggled greasy mozzerella sticks in to see the hours under my shirt and i burned my stomach. that's classy.

soon Cruella (her heavy make up runs when her eyes water. a lot.), the psycho flatmate who hates me for kicking her out (she took it kind of personally), and slept with all my friends, will be in regular rotation too, but not til she actually leaves.

even small everyday occurances like how the special ed kid proposed to me in the lunch line everyday for a year or i broke my arm playing gym class soccer and my teacher didnt believe me or even just the fact i used to be a butterfly swimmer gets a chuckle. these are now hilarious anecdotes well and truly out of the scope of these tame british people. i am like a sitcom without the studio audience.

i was mostly amused at my novelty act, that any awkward pub conversation or bad encounter can be salvaged by a sara-story is a handy weapon when one knows mostly tools.

i was getting used to idea that i was just a better storyteller than i used to be, and the fact that i laugh through most of the horrific and sometimes gory memories of my childhood and beyond i thought was a step forward from the cowering and crying that occupied my early years.

julie once said (i think i was in the midst of the broke-the-arm-falling-off-the-vaccuum-cleaner story) "don't you have any normal stories?".

i don't think i do, and i am totally okay with that. at first i thought maybe this was just my schtick, but turns out i was wrong.

jennie came last weekend. and she told the bat story and mentioned both the time i passed out and threw up jungle juice in our dorm and the time she puked on our kitchen floor. in fact we did a lot of reminiscing and at our picnic i missed my lady death strike nails a lot.

and it could have been julie again, but i don't remember, anyway someone said "god, don't your friends have any normal stories about you either?".

and then i got a letter from my brother. a real hand written ledgible letter (i know. i got all weepy happy) and the whole first page was a story about how mom was excited to see the strangers with candy movie and the only interview with amy sedaris was in playboy, so she bought it. not only bought it, bought it from the 7-11 at jolly and okemos so now the kid behind the counter (who tom went to school with) gives him the shifty eye all the time because he knows our mom buys porn.

and although this is a very funny story, especially if you know mom, it made me realize the storytelling isn't just my thing. it's how we all are. it's how everyone at home i know is and is possibly one of the things i miss most.

maybe it's my secret password, this ability to have ridiculous embarassing things happen and then laugh about it later. lord knows no one would survive with me very long if they couldn't laugh at kate's double broken feet or being cast as the lover of your arch-nemesis in the school play. (especially that time my skirt fell down in the school talent show). i break, ruin, or screw up a lot. and it's funny.

lordy, if jennie hadn't been amused or at least tolerant of my destroying the car, being convinced we were going to be raped in a cornfield, and positive obsession with fazolis within the first 24hours of our roadtrip, i don't think we'd be friends. but she did. and we are. and i am glad.

anyway, you may wonder (if you are still reading) why i am ranting on and on about stories and screw ups and silliness.

because, yet again, i have done it.

i am bedridden.

last night i helped liam move - from one 5th floor flat to another - and all the stairs and heavy boxes were too much for my knee. my patella tendon is so seized up i can't move my leg without grating pain not unlike the staples that used to hold it together. and i had to call into work because i could not stand up this morning. seriously. no good deed goes unpunished indeed.

so here i am, stuck in bed, writing an email to my boss since i cant reach the phone, and all i can think is, she will so not appreciate the hilarity here within.

i am entirely zen. or as close as anyone in a week long stretch of insomniatic bleeding can be i guess.

there is a clarity in the incredibly ludicrous. when you have to distance yourself from the decent into madness for lack of other options. when suddenly you breathe in, blink or otherwise change nothing at all and in that moment see how superfulous its all been. and just laugh.

its a good feeling, this free fall.

and it allows me a minute of quiet - a moment of absolute thoughtlessness.

when you dive in a freezing cold pool and the shock of it overwhelms. when nothing exists but the cold, that's one thing. but when you resurface to the balmy air and suddenly your skin feels alive again, you feel connected. when there is nothing but the whisper of life over every inch of you and there is nothing else but that warmth.

week of weird

such a random week. out three nights in a row like it's college and i need to get laid - only half of which is still true. also, freckles galore from lunch hour picnics in the graveyard and other anomalies of scottish life.

monday
- dinner at author friends. we had mexican and coronas, i apparently am now a reviewer for his new magazine, and his cockatiel thing is adorable. and named bellamy. sigh.

tuesday
- cam home from work feigning illness because the tsunami of cramps crashed into my abdomen rendering me entirely useless
-slept for ages
- practiced - and by practiced i mean screeching wails that made cats cry - my violin

wednesday
- wore the polka dot dress in all it's glory
- made killer moroccan zucchini couscous
- watched my beloved bruce campbell

thursday
- had dinner at liams
- went to weirdo pubquiz and was hailed the master since all the questions were things like who's on mount rushmore (and i didn't even have to specify which roosevelt) and the theme tune from gummy bears.
- hooked up again. for once not feeling rejected, denied, broken, or drunk. but i am undecided and horny. seriously. i kind of love it and i kind wish i'd grow up already.

friday
- tried not to be awkward at work after the fact. and kind of just wanted to have sex in the stationary cupboard all day.
- watched the football with jules
- went to massively weird leaving-do/ continental house party with amazing daquiris, enforced casualness with liam, and the guys from work including ugly sexy (whose new hair cut makes him look like a rugged tintin). maybe we should have left early nad just had sex, but instead just completely tabled it (probably because i was the worse for rum) and went home totally PG.

saturday
- work blows. i hate my job. i so had been looking forward to locking ourselves in an office to do grade 2 paperwork (and not anything more nefarious. probably.) but had to serve stupid school kids all day.
- went to fancy-pants debut authors party in the rehersal dinner dress. had fabulous gin martinis. hobnobbed a bit and then got bored of small talk and went to the movies.

and now i am home for what feels like the first time in days, glad to have slept and wondering what my next move is.

point for nature

when i went on the pill i was still (mostly) un-sexually active, but let's not split hairs.

i mostly needed to curb my wonder woman size hormones and avoid the two days of excruciating pain a month where i had to call into work saying "i cant see straight because my woman parts are being turned inside out" which made my boss uncomfortable. and the regularity was a major bonus.


i have three little pink pills left. three days (give or take, i always hope for give) of safety and normalcy to prepare myself for the plecebo pandemonium. i specifically even picked tuesdays for least screwing up of my daily life and weekend plans.

and yet here i am, sore, bleeding, and crabby at 9am on a saturday.

what the fuck.

why oh why? how can it be possible even modern medicine cannot outwit my internal chaos? i can only conclude my hormones are stronger than whatever is in those things.

in the arm wrestle for my vaginal timetable, it seems biology has triumphed.

news of the day

1 - i got up off the couch
1a - and did laundry
1b - and bought ice cream and cranberry juice just in case i induced a relapse by going to the shop
1b(1) - when i left the house, i was still wearing slippers. am delirious with fever. went straight back to bed (after ice cream)

2 - my dad is coming to visit
2a - on a golf tour with a bunch of dentists
2a(1)who may or may not have time to fit me in between rounds
2a(2) - could they be more cliche?
2b - despite this, i am excited
2b(1) - and may hijack him and go to dublin

3 - i, of my own free will, called someone today.
3a - on the phone.
3a(1) - on my mobile where i had to pay
3b - i thought he was deathly ill and i had given it to him.
3b(1) - it is not fatal, but it is my fault.
3b(2) - this does not detract from the importance of the gesture.

do you think sore tits are a sign of bird flu?



ps - am well enough to order chicken bbq pizza. hallelujah.

the meg ryan epidemic

when i am ill things tend to go very very wrong.

all of the nice, safe, reinforced flying butresses that hold my life together come crashing down and i find myself standing, or probably swaying with nausea, in a pile of rubble just me, my puffy eyes, and rudolph nose - waiting to be saved.

of course, this makes me want to cry like a small child who needs to be held (aka a romantic comedy heroine) which in turn brings out every iota of self loathing and guilty weakness i have.

the vicious circle of cannibalistic emotions becomes a ferris wheel of death.

it's like wes craven got into my psyche.

and i wish i could say it was the meds, but all i want is someone to brush my hair and a doris day marathon on amc.

voicemail of death

pick up the phone when no one is home. dial the number on the descreet business card.

ring ring. ring ring.


"you have reached the GUM clinic. please enter your password

"your results from the 10th of March are in

"they are as follows

"if you have any questions at anytime press 1 to talk to a member of clinical staff

"please hold the line just so we can torment you with anticipation (aka dread)

"your results for

"cervical gonorrhea are negative

"cervical herpes are negative

"cervical chlamydia are negative

"hiv are negative

"weird shit you have never heard of but is probably like aubergines or lorries or some british shit is negative.

"thank you for calling the GMU results hotline. have a nice day."

hang up.

try not to shake as your life flashes before your eyes.



that is the shit they should scare teens with. no more tracy gold videos. just straight up disconcertingly calm and slightly robotic phone women who may or may not tell you you are going to die of AIDS.

i am glad i am not all the same.

snippets of the salacious

my emotions run on a such a predictable schedule. almost to the minute i stop bleeding i want sex.

sadly, i didn't even notice this until someone else pointed it out. at a house party last night i knew no one but a co-worker, a lapse in conversation leads me to scope a room of 10 men. (what else was there to do? besides, we were the only women in the room - i stood a fair shot, having already been approached by the cute(ish) south african if i could be bothered.)

jules: it's back
me: what?
jules: the cosmic horn. you're back.
me: how can you say that? there is no one in this room even i would bother with.




i am reflecting on this after a rainy afternoon in the pub with the guys. the conversation turned to relationships.

on dating
it was a long story, but we think in hindsight a guy in high school thought we were dating until i made some off the cuff joke/comment about how it must look to other people. he gave me the puppy eyes of the crushed and never spoke to me again.

on relationships
phil (to me): what's your longest relationship?
jack : in minutes?
me: those weren't relationships
phil: no, really.
me: i think i made it three weeks once, but i'd only count two of them.

on first kisses
jack: my first girlfriend
phil: at one of those make-out parties, there were like 20 people watching
me: i was at a banquet in front of at least 200
jack: good on ya. of course you were.




to test myself, i took the tried and true 500 question purity test when i got home.

I am 10% down on last year.

revelations from the sickbed

i called in sick to work, something i have never done before.

and i am not, as this may lead you to believe, at death's door. i am not even (strictly speaking) ill.

but for the better part of three days i have been disgusting.

remarkably inconsistent at work and with friends, clumsy to the point of dangerous, depressed, severely cramped, and an insomniac.

at 8am, walking through the sunshine, dizzy, slightly feverish, and on the verge of tears i decided enough was enough. i needed a day where i didnt pretend it was all peachy. i didnt ignore every alarm in my system going off and risk certain death by scissors if allowed near screaming children.

after a nap, some doritos and a morning of absolute silence to sort myself out (from bed and between massive pms groaning of course) i have come to realize some significant things have fallen under the carpet of late it is detracting from my lifestlye enjoyment quotient. they are as follows.

1. i no longer write. six months without my frantic scribbling and two without my journals (of the daily update and emotionally significant kind) have left me bottled, pent, charged, and without recourse to emotional support. it is unnatural.
2. i have not had an original thought or intellectual conversation (and no, post-modern media debates dont count. in shop full of phds without employment it's like breathing). i need stimulus. i need input. i need meaning.
3. and i need a partner. a dependable someone i know will be around. for these types of conversations for mystery science theatre or the opera. i want to stop splintering friends by event and emotional moment and having someones i can handle being me with, whatever that entails.

(4. being left to my own devices can be volatile.)

clinical observations

1. all women feeling the need to get up before dawn to que outside the emergency sexual health clinic are overdressed. we are repenting through sensible yet sexy clothes. my herringbone pencil skirt and bottleneck heels were not out of place at 7am.

2. there are four times more women than men.

3. no one reads the signs. no matter how well marked.

4. the men get called in faster, but come out later.

5. there is a kiddie play table for those minors left unchaparoned in the 3rd circle of purgatory. the poor bastards.

6. the amount of people over 30 are shocking.

7. non-chalance will always be feigned when 3 women poke up your cunt looking for evidence of the mistake.

things about this morning:

1. i think i am sick. i was interrupted from a johnny-depp-seducing-me-through-dance dream to blow my nose. utter humiliation and disappointment. the last thing i want on the sexgod while 6-ing (oh the Georgia snog-o-meter is brilliant) is snot. this fear must have been pretty hard core, as upon returning to sleep he was a terrible kisser. my subconcious has vile retribution.

2. last night i stayed in to finish a post-bath book, curled up in front of the fire with candles lit. it was of course an oscar-winner of young adult fiction. i was curled on the floor weeping most of the night and went through a whole box of kleenex. my eyes are still puffy.

3. in an effort to feel better both physically and mentally, i am wearing a slip with an embroidered hem and ribbon belt with ballet slippers about the house. it's helping more than you would think