torn

I am sick.

I hate being sick.

I hate feeling trapped in my own body, which is on a rampage of revolt and generally trying to exorcise my sanity.

Plus, on that day three, when things are slightly better, and you feel finally ready to maybe think about eating solid food, and maybe going back to work before the month is out, my brain wakes up long before the rest of me.

Still bedridden with paralyzingly numb limbs and slightly queasy everything else, I am tormented by worries about the gas bill, antsy about friday's now impossible deadlines, and riddled with guilt and sadness for everything from a hangnail to how I wish my family had communicated better over the last two decades. It's like being caught in a landslide of unbidden thought-loops that will slowly tear out any sanity not already destroyed by the delirium and cabin fever.

I so hate being sick. It's the only time I can't properly escape myself.

Hello gentle reader.

I feel I have not been myself lately, and I apologise.

I will heretofore endeavour to create a more amenable environment in my trivial updates and impart some small amount of useless knowledge for your edification.

Today:

- The national flower of Mexico is the Dahlia

- and here is a newspaper article (Being Unfaithful Keeps Me Happy) I find by turns deeply sad and hysterical.

Modernity is a joke. May I never be a Telegraph reader.

Tis the season...

8:00: Wake up

8:30: Get dressed in the dark. Misplace favourite bra.

9:00: Tie up wet hair, run out the door, laden with books. Still darkish out.

9:10: It's pissing it down. Dig hat out of bag and commence dismal walk.

9:20: Breakfast detour - run up 3 flights of steps to street level, try not to die.

9:25: Cleverly step on the dry bit of a half submurged flagstone - except that seesaws the stone on it's invisible fulcrum, sending the whole puddle crashing down into my shoe.

9:30: Coffee shop does not take cards. Proceed to unload all of bag onto counter in search for enough change for breakfast.

9:35: Failure. Opt for a cocoa on the pennies found, skip the pastries

9:40: Walk out the door - immediately be splashed a la Bridget Jones by traffic water. A girl passing tries not to laugh.

9:45: Arrive at work to chipper and chatty colleagues. Ignore them until they leave me in peace. Commence tidying tornadoed bookcases.

10:30: Unpack bag of finished books brought from home onto newly cleaned shelves. Discover they are soaked and wrinkly.

12:45: The guy next to me brings in fish pie for lunch, smelling up the whole building.

1:30: Lunch highlight: finding coupon for DangerMouse dvd in the local paper!

3:31: Dusk

Today is statisically the most depressing day of the year for good reason. My most promising thing yet is the dozen cookies I fortuitously bakes last night at home waiting for me.

year

So for some reason, the darkness this January has made me retrospective. More so than usual even. And I am struggling to fit it all together - as if there is some high meaning puzzle-guru somewhere. Which there isn't. But all the same, I find it soothing.


January
New Years in bed
Quit Blackwell
Begin Book Festival
Leaving Do
First real fight
Conquering the Schools Programme

February
Bleak
Birthday surprise
St. Andrews Mini-Break

March
Think about moving in together?
Alnwick day trip
Dvorak Symphony
Rain.

April

Switzerland Easter with Jennie and Chrissy
Bologna - the first corporate travel
Holiday from Hell in the Highlands:
mafia deer massacre
eerie valley, creepy town
out of gas!
to the sea!
our private castle island


(I had to get my diary at this point. The whole summer was a blur.)

May
Goodbye Uncle Richard
Eurovision scarred my retinas (and ear drums)
Flat hunting
Church weirdness

June
Certified First Aider
Taste of Edinburgh festival
First press conference - shaking
Parties in London, home on the sleeper train

July
Alice in Wonderland Party
Newcastle with Quentin Blake
Glasgow Decadent weekend
a month long period
Goodbye to Falcon Gardens

August
Meet Carol & Heidi
Anika and Justin visit
Anika & Edith Head Wear Red party
Festival
Festival
Alan Cumming
Festival
Festival
Festival
Festival
theatre to break your heart
Festival
Festival
Festival
Liam's Dissertation
Festival
post-Fest binge party.
Pack. Donate. Pack. Bin. Pack. Pack. Pack.


September
Move house
Panic.
Change.
Slick new phone
Excitment.
IKEA
Doubt
Faith
Contentment
Beautiful Bath
Mrs Bashore, not Johnny Depp
very very very sick

October
IKEA
Rolf's Birthday reunion
Sound of Music Party
London I
blobel
Mike visits
London II

November
Discover online groceries
Home!
Liam & the Gradys
Grady Thanksgiving
Wii
Kate's shower!
Anika
Mom.
The flight from hell
Deadline stress

December
Cookie Baking Fest
Our party!
Social office events
2 whole weeks of freedom!
Miso the kitten
no Gradys...
Christmas Eve meanders
Christmas calm
Dallas & Team Hooray
DVD heaven
New Year promises

And oddly enough, I highly doubt these events and holidays and parties are the things I will remember. That if I looked back on what I had written - or if I could fast forward, it's the momentous year I became part of a 'we'.

Which has changed nothing, but affected everything. And it's a damn weird thing to pin down. I couldn't even tell you when I fell in love. Or when i knew. Or when I decided. It just sort of happened. And it's here all the same.

Every couple of months, we have this ritual dinner.

Not on purpose even, it just kind of happens. It's mostly a comfort thing, when someone isn't feeling well. It's like being a little kid again. Like movies in bed and dad getting you lucky charms.

We have (well, I have - Liam has fish fingers) chicken dinosaurs - which are essentially giant chicken fingers about the size of my hand, shaped like t-rexes, stegasauri, triSARAtops etc etc. with oven chips (which are not as good as waffle fries or curly fries, but it is still nice) and frozen peas and corn. Just like out of a school cafeteria or your grandmother's deep freezer in the garage.

It is just kind of nice. He is actually out getting me ben and jerry's just now and we are going to watch a movie and cuddle in the dark, sharing the ketchup dipping pot.


I alo find it a little surprising today is also the day my first platinum credit card came in the post. Talk about a day of opposites.

I am exhausted.

Not tired from doing things. Not lethargic from not doing things. In fact, no matter what, all the time, I am tired, irritable, demanding and verging on a breakdown.

It's like what I ran out of was tolerance and faith, not just energy.

As always, our idyllic vacation was half perfection and half the bowels of hell.

A moonlit walk along the thames, kissing as Big Ben struck and it's shadow glimmered in the black water. Whispering and poking fun and the pretentious art in the Tate Modern. Holding hands under the table at the kitch tapas place. Disecting greek tragedy as an art form. It was a respite from real life and a minute of blissful togetherness.

But it was also truly horrid. I don't think we have ever gone anywhere and didn't fight about something stupid. It's ridiculous really. The angry logical discussions and selfish proclamations. It always hurts after to think we have been so stupid. And this time more so, for it's lack of novelty.

We're crawling out of the hole. It is never the end of the world. But I still feel bruised.

bleak

Some times life is just big. Things, for good or ill, feel significant. Heavy.

Liam and I are entering a whole new version of being together, which is a great joy - but if I am honest, also fucking scary. I have never been one for the touchy feely, the true confession of truth. the whole open honest reality of commitment is making my inner demons antsy. suddenly forever isn't just a word. and i am not sure i like it.

I am worried about my sister. I miss her so much. I so want someone to talk to.

My job is hard. I am contstantly being strained to the point of breaking and the idea of beginning another bout of battles makes me want to run instead of thrilling me with promise. It's truly sad to be admitting maybe now I have what I wanted, it isn't what i thought it would be.

Or maybe it's just the dolumpy stress of a wet frozen january in a place with no snow and an ever gray skyline. Perhaps when it is daylight as I walk to work my mood will lighten too - I can't hope to have it anything but the pitchest black at 4pm for months. And perhaps as I begin a new chapter (with a new festival, looking for a new house, and beginning a new year madly in love) it'll get easier. I'll get better at being me.

But, in other news, I am temporarily heartened by the joy of Enchanted- one of the stupidest, sweetest movies I have ever seen. I was skeptical, but ironic disney is truly better than I thougt it could be. And we have been humming and skipping about ever since. It's the perfect cure to the winter doldrums.

Fresh

The beginning of a new year is like a new outfit for the first day of school, the smell of fresh laundry and waking up from a luxurious nap all rolled into one. It holds such quiet promise, such a simple joy.

Right now, it's snowing. Big thick clumps of white gather on my windowsill.

I've not seen snow in Edinburgh in three years and it's the most beautiful sight in the world.

I hope I can hold onto this. That the rest of the year will carry this sense of wonder and delight. That it's not about achievement and deadlines, clouded with stress sorrow and doubt, but the grander things that make life worth living.

Christmas in a Nutshell

True to form, in a variety of lists:

The Best and Worst of Christmas 2007

Best Food:
1. pigeon & green onion starter at the rizty Christmas Eve romantic restaurant
2. Cheese Board from the cheesemonger for christmas eve lunch
3. Proper Nut Roast, not that pseudo-stuffing I made at Thanksgiving

Best Drink:
green & blacks cocoa in my P&P mug

Best Card:
Jennie's retro trees are tied with mom's enigmatic and sentimental note
The 12 days of Christmas as sung by Dirty Bertie get an honorable mention

Most Disappointing:
1. Ruining the wreath cookies
2. Midnight Mass was confusing and long and none of the joyousness celebrating with a thousand people together is supposed to be. It was chaotic, in latin, and sad.

Most surprising:
The presents from Liam's mom (wind up racing snails, lotsa liquor and a whole load of junk food)

Most simply gratifying:
Singing carols as we made our first christmas dinner together

Most nostalgia inducing:
Teaching Liam to play gin rummy on the tiny cards he won in his christmas cracker.

Most homesick moment:
reading tom's letter

Most manic:
The christmas kitten.
I keep wanting to up load a photo of our holiday house guest, Miso the kitten - but she is hideous and wild and wont sit still long enough. She has already broken a lamp, thrown potted plants around - and oh yes, went into heat on Christmas Eve for three excruciating days of mewling and really pitiful displays of discomfort. I think we need to have a chat with her owners.

Most beautiful:
1. The moon on christmas eve
2. our golden tree
3. the little german nativity i bought at market

Best Presents I got:
1. Liam is going to buy me a satchel/briefcase for work - we are going to the fancy tanners to pick one out next week
2. jennie's octopus:


3. black and silver dessert plates from Anna

Best presents I gave:
1. team hooray apparel
2. real dinosaur tooth
3. spongebob candy canes with decals

Best presents I witnessed:
1. Tom gave Liam Rome Total War
2. Liam gave Heidi a kit for growing shitake mushrooms from a block in your cupboard
3. Lisa screened Julie a T-shirt of Cagney and Lacy.


Itineray thus Far

23rd:
Sleep all day
See Darjeeling Limited
Feed poor sick liam
Go to Carol Service at St Giles Cathedral (the cool gothic venue, the rubbish carols)
Watch the Thomas Crown Affair


Christmas Eve:
Have a fight about the loud annoying horny cat
Have a cry (aforementioned)
Have cheeseboard lunch
Have a cuddle
Go to fancy pants dinner
Go for moonlit stroll
Go to weird-ass midnight mass with all of Polish Edinburgh (O Little Town of Bethlehem and It Came Upon a Midnight Clear have different tunes, and we actually sing In the Bleak Midwinter. )


Christmas Day:
Sleep in and canoodle
Blueberry & Chocolate Chip Pancakes
Presents!
Roundrobin phone with Liam's family
Watch Finding Nemo
Get dressed
Make christmas feast (sans roast goose)
Gorge
Play gin
Talk to mi familia on corporate speaker phone
Watch the Family Guy Christmas Special

Boxing Day:
Sleep in (this is a requisite on all my holidays)
Eat scrumptious leftovers and watch worst James Bond film ever (Moonraker. Fucking Roger Moore)
Play with manic kitty
Do mountains of dishes from Xmas Feast
Make wreath cookies (badly)
Watch School of Rock

Today:
Sleep in
Wreath Cookie Breakfast
Buy survival groceries
Tidy
Go see Golden Compass

and there is still a whole week left before I go back to work including the Wii party, new years eve and watching my Planet Earth dvds. joy!

Christmas Calm

As always, I get over things sooner than I think I will. What felt huge and unendurable before, is now at best a dull ache fading to distant memory.

It doesn't hurt that the calm emptiness of this holiday left space - maybe one I was scared of trying to fill - but space to just be in. That Christmas Eve, after dinner we could pause in an empty street and really notice the full moon and how it had that rare ring of light surrounding it. That walking along the glistening cobbles we could hear nothing but the echo of our footsteps in the night. That Christmas held no obligations or bustle or worry or rules or traditions to maintain. That we didnt have to be at anyone's house by three, I didn't even have to get dressed. So instead of plans and party-time, it played host to the simple joys of cuddling with a kitten, watching a favourite movie, sipping cocoa and goofing off. And absolutely nothing else.

Yeah, I missed Grady Christmas. a lot. Yeah, I wish I had had a stocking or someone else did the dishes. I wish I could see my family's faces as they opened their gifts and joke about the day in a constant running commentary. Mostly I just miss being all together and the thought we won't be until september makes me miss the times it was everyone always.

But in all honesty, it was just lovely to make our own little day. And it definitely wasn't 'the worst christmas ever'. Score.

blue stars

i just had a big cry.

i don't know why the holidays still make me emotional. and emotional in that completely incoherent and ridiculous 'i am so wronged. is this all there is to life?' way that is like being 15 again.

maybe its the stress.

i know i shouldn't. i know it's nothing, and no matter what, the things that matter dont change. That no matter what, cuddling on my sofa and even making a travesty of the traditional dinner in my first attempt, will be heartwarming and wonderful. But when things are just right - the moment happens - it is so good, i spend an inordinant amount of time trying to make it happen when i know in my heart it just doesnt work that way.

so i have spent a good week trying to make myself a christmas. one i want to live. one to be proud of. and mostly one that will take my mind off of texas.

now, i can safely say, a holiday in a hot, dry, huge, place like texas is about the least joyous i'll ever know. and a christmas without liam gives me a pang.

but a grady congregation without me always makes me sad. and homesick.

and yes, often annoyed no one calls me back or my parent's don't even send a present. like they are too busy having fun to remember me.

so sometimes it feels like they don't even notice i am gone.

and as ludicrous as i know that is, from far away on my own i can almost convince myself its true and it makes me hurt a little.

so, cue the waterworks and bit of a bridget jones moment. at least it gets it out of my system.

and now, i am cuddled under my aunt monica quilt with our Christmas Cat (more on her later), with hot cocoa, emailing my cousin stephanie and holding on to the important things.

because what really matters is we are safe, we are sound. we are whole and we are well. we are not bleeding, we are not broken. not bumped or bruised. we don't need a doctor and we don't need a hospital. we are all okay, wherever we are. and my heart is full to bursting.

the v is for vapid?

Seeing as I am heading to my first Literature & Education Forum (as in the national coallition of arts organisations, I'm not going to be on the board of any old rubbish now am I?) today, I thought I ought to look appropriately sharp. Pinstipe skirt, black leather boots and a killer red sweater.

And as I go to adjust the casual perfection of my cowelneck while in the loo, I notice a slight tarnish to my otherwise dapper appearance.

I have a massive hickey on my neck.

If that doesn't say 20-something professional, what does?

getting there

I am coming to realise growing up has nothing whatever to do with making sense of the world like I thought, but almost completely to do with making sense of myself.

Of knowing how I am, what I am like and how that effects things can, I am sure, cut down on half my arguments, all of my meaningless frustrations and pretty much all minor troubles such as indegestion/sleeplessness/cranky-spots.

For instance. It is not Liam's fault I come home from the movies and go into a whirlwind of tidying. Nor is it unfathomable he'd be annoyed I am moving all of his stuff. And it would have saved an entire evening discussion if I'd realised I am doing EXACTLY the false cleaning (e.g. stacking up papers in the cornder and shoving mess in a drawer) my dad always did because of my nazi-ish dependency on having a clean kitchen table to come home to.

And if I just knew that was what I was doing and either:
a, talked myself out of it or
b, told him it bothered me and found a way around it,
I could have still had time to watch Rushmore before bed.

The world would be a better place if I was self-aware. Maybe I should get threapy.

mourning the v

As the year comes to a close, we are inevitably thrown into a retrospective of trends, objects and headlines of the year past. And in a moment of self-reflexsive meditation, it occurs to me, my long earned title of V is not so relevent to my postings.

Can you remember the days where I had sex on park benches and hooked up with the crush of my best friend? The time I sort of slept with phil or the topless sleepover with hot scot? Or any the other freak manifestations of my libido really. It's shocking! I have gone from playboy tease to domestic dull-o.

After extensive rumination (read: 30 seconds), I have several excuses to make.

1, most sadly: Now I am in a relatively high profile job - it is not everyone who is on Norwegian television and the BBC Breaking Dawn programme after all - I am more and more hesitent to record in public my personal life and opinions. Especially once I found out it is common practice to google/facebook/friendster/myspace someone before a job interview to suss the candidate here. Can you imagine me ever getting a job with my track record of co-workers, classmates and scandal the last couple of years?

2, even lamer: Frankly (and I already know you don't want to hear this), my sex life is no less interesting now it is monogamous. It is slightly more sober and cogent, which I find leads to much less disappointment when i wake up next to his face and not some retard i don't know their name, but I am straying from my point. Because seeing as there is a distinct possibility you will meet him even if you haven't already, I pretty much don't want to scar anyone's psyche's with outrageous stories. Mostly, i just don't want visions upside-down-sofa-sex on your mind when i introduce you.

okay, two excuses. the only possible third is that my life just is actually boringly full of kittens and christmas cookies (which it is, but it's not boring. really. i promise.)

I am a complete sad-o. (just so you know, it took me a long time to choose a spelling that would not imply an abbreviation for sadomasochist. see? I am trying to be a consciencous blogger.) jesus fucking christ.

Tra la la!

So the party was adorable.

Of course everyone was late so we slow danced to the crooner's christmas album in the candlelight and glow of the tree in the quiet before the storm. I've never felt so cozy.

Then a whole random mix of people poured through the door - and one of those serendipitous random mixes where everyone gets on okay and we all have a lovely time eating far too much (christmas oranges, mince pies and pumpkin cake - oh British) and playing Articulate until the middle of the night.

It makes me feel all fuzzy, and its not just the mulled wine going to my head. I love Christmas. Take away the mountains of presents and the networking parties and the stress and the shopping. The garish and gruesome of obligations and rules and its just downright lovely.

I cannot wait til our Christmas Day of cozy, quiet, sombre celebration for all that there is to be grateful for.

a month ago Roland, the guy who sits across from me at work, announced his wife is pregnant.

today Oisin, the guy next to me, says the same.

in an office of 5, i have severe concerns about my chances of being the next one with an announcement in this epidemic.

contageous childbirth is the modern plague.

christmas bells are ringing...

Christmas is in the air ridiculously early.

Last weekend we went and picked up our Charlie Brown-esque tree from the british equivelent of Home Depot. And then had an arguement about how big a stand we needed and walked it the three miles home through the park singing carols and drinking starbucks gingerbread lattes on the way.

Two nights ago, I had to put on my leather gloves to string the lights because as beautiful as Norwegian Spruce's are, they hurt like a bitch. I was bleeding in places.

Last night, I made the traditional grammy's recipe cookie dough to sit overnight in the fridge. Now my only dilema is do i make the standard version, or cut holes in the middle and put in jolly ranchers to make little stained glass window cookies like i saw in the marks and spencer catalogue?

Can you risk messing with tradition just for the sake of martha stewart craftiness? It worked with the fashioning of a garland from the tree branches we trimmed off (to fit the tiny base we bought), but this may be a step too far.

Tomorrow is wreath cookies and present wrapping because sunday is our 'welcome to the holiday season' party which I am sure will be utterly memorable in a plethora of ways. Not only because i have never mulled wine before.

And I know it's early, but I am excited. And I am secretly hoping all this running about now, means i can spend the next month basking in the glow of my gold beribboned tree and doing jack shit for the holiday season except drinking port and wishing bing crosby was on tv.

I can't believe I've been home and back in a week. It was such a whirlwind I didn't get anything done, am more tired than when I left.

But how can I be anything but happy? I was with my family - my whole family - for the first time in ages. And I had my Liam with me too. And although it was not a slice of cake (what with the sleepless and slightly akward in places), it was by far and away better than it was worse and got easier and nicer every day. (Besides, it may or may not be his residential guest status that managed to keep all of the grady women out of tears and mom not throwing things for an entire week too....)

But anyway, it was really nice to be home and see everyone. And everything went okay. And Liam likes my family and my family likes him and he has now set his sights on moving to america and becoming an international antiques tycoon. And he wants a Wii. And a bigger house. My parents are perhaps a bad influence.

Me, I just can't wait til we'll be home again in 10 months. This time for something even better.

Thanks be to Jesus

So it's 7pm.

We are leaving for America in 12 hours.

I am not only thankful I have such an amazing guy to come with me on an adventure which guarantees to rival a christmas season family feel good film probably starring diane keaton or susan sarandon who dying of cancer/having a baby/starts a food fight with some other vaguely related minion and then they all cry and hug it out.

But also because he understands (and somewhere deep down condones) my nazified OCD need to have a clean house before leaving . I have never seen a sexier man than one in his robe scrubbing the bathtub and hoovering, just because I asked.

I totally win.

In one week we will be waking up in my parents house. This could be on twin beds in the basement or a proper queen in my room. This could involve dogs jumping on the bed, or drifting to consciousness at the smell of a proper breakfast. This could be magnificent or completely stressful and mad.

The things is, we just can't know. My bets are on both somehow simultaneously, as gradys never do anything by halves.