Home sweet home November 8, 2007

Well, I’m at home. Again. I think that’s nearly a month I must have had off work now….

 I’m sure most people would think that a month off would be awesome – trust me, it’s not. Staying at home used to be sweet – your Mum looks after you, you watch crappy morning television, perfick. However, when you move away from home and live with your boyfriend, there’s no bugger to look after you and it sucks. Also, when you’ve got an evil cold or a virus, you can walk around fairly easily (bar the banging head) and do the necessary things. However, when you have a broken ankle and you still have to do everything on crutches, it’s a different matter. Le sigh.

Interestingly, I’ve not been off this week because of my ankle, but because I’ve had the most evil, evil stomach bug of all time. It started a bit on Friday, and just kept on truckin’. I feel pretty much alright now (from about 3pm this afternoon in fact) but still, 5 days?! That’s just mean!

Of course, as payback, my ankle is now giving me jip. I think it’s because it knows the cast comes off in the not too distant future. 11 days, to be precise – bring it on! I cannot wait. Interestingly, the worst part has been not being able to scrub my leg clean. It doesn’t actually feel particularly dirty in all honesty – I don’t suppose it can, nothing gets down there, and I’ve been using face wipes around what I can actually clean. But I bet this bad boy is going to hum good style when it’s freed!

Anyway, back to my routine of reading and surfing. I would say it’s a hard life in a sarky tone usually, but I’m really fed up of being at home now, thanks!

It has been a while…. November 1, 2007

Well, it’s certainly been a while since I added anything to this.

Many reasons abound, nothing particularly fascinating – but hell, it’s my blog, and I shall write what I want to (there’s a song in there somewhere….) 

So, reasons.  1) The past 2 and a bit months (well, from July to the end of September), I’ve been writing my dissertation. The behemoth that it was, it did rather occupy my every waking hour. And even when I wasn’t working on it, I was thinking about the bloody thing. Annoyed me immensely. I didn’t really enjoy the process, I have to say – I forgot how hard writing can be, particularly when you know it’s going to be assessed. The feeling was more that one you get when you’re not entirely convinced that you’ve done enough to do well. I hate that kind of fear ; there’s piss all you can do about it, what’s done is done, but you still get that knot.  Anyway, the bad boy is now complete and was given in at the end of September. Oh the sweet, happy, unadulterated joy. I really did feel like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders and no mistake; lovely feeling. I occasionally get that tres enjoyable stab of panic when I fear I may not do well, but that’s par for the course. 

2) A mere 7 days after handing in my written delight, I fell off some decking at a pub. It hurt, a lot. Went to A&E, and discovered I had broken my ankle! Joy. Never broken any part of my leg, I always wanted to as a child (fuck knows why) and now my wish has been granted. However, turns out it’s fantastically boring, hurts like feck, but more than that it is frustrating and makes you quite depressed. Same four walls syndrome I suppose. Some people might think three weeks sat on your backside would be a great time to write up a storm – well, not for me. Sitting on my bum, in pain, in the same room, day in, day out, doesn’t do a hell of a lot for the mind. I now understand completely why unemployed people are so bloody stupid – their brains must rot from the inside out. 

So those are the two (fascinating, don’t you think) reasons why I’ve not really bothered with my blog much. There was another factor. For a while I wasn’t too sure that I wanted to share any of my thoughts in a public forum. It seemed a little bit like publishing your diary for the world and his wife to read, and I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of that, everyone seeing my innermost thoughts (goodness knows why I though about this after starting). However, I never intended to give away my real name, my location, my job, yadda yadda yadda – anything that would really help any stalkers *ahem*. So, I decided that if I had suitable code names and all that bollocks, I’d be fine. And I missed writing for myself aswell. Dissertation’s are all very well and good, but they don’t come from the heart so much, as poncy as it sounds. 

Anyway. What to yap on about. Well, today isn’t exactly a splendid day – I am absolutely exhausted. My eyes are the personification of burn – you know that lovely prickly feeling you get under your eyelids when you’re bone tired? I’ve got that with fupping bells on. Mr Engineer, lovely as he is, was busy all night honking up. Which, for anyone who knows me, is my numero uno phobia. I don’t just mean I’m a little bit scared about it, I mean some serious, serious, wet pants and cold sweats fear. It’s entirely irrational, I know, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t drive me to distraction half the time – The Fear has ruined many a nice night out around food. So, while he was busy hugging the toilet, I was trying to calm myself down; breathing deeply and breaking out into a cold sweat. Have no idea why he was so poorly, we’d eaten the same dinner and I was fine. Which only made me panic more…seriously kids, if you don’t have a fear of being sick you have no idea how lucky you are. 

Problem is, I’m so tired now that I’m irritable and pissed off, and was taking it out on Mr Engineer. He kept asking if I was annoyed with him – obviously he couldn’t help being sick, I completely understand that, but the phobia part of my brain is telling me, “Of course you are! He stressed you out, ruined your sleep, might have contaminated you, you can’t touch him, don’t let him touch you….” It’s absolutely ridiculous, I am more than aware of this fact. Even as I’m writing it down I KNOW it’s stupid, but I honestly can’t rationalise myself out of it. Absolutely ridic. Anyway, now I’m sitting here, resting my still-in-a-cast leg, with burning eyes and an even more burning desire to sleeeeeeeeeeeep. Taxi awaits I feel….

I.am.bored. March 19, 2007

A common theme for me, so I thought a very useful way to spend my time would be to update my blog – as I haven’t done for a little while. Bad Glacier.

Reason for the picture – watched this film at the weekend, but we’ll get back to that.

Well, in terms of activity this weekend – there wasn’t really a hell of a lot, and that’s just the way I like it.  I am reet partial to a quiet weekend, particularly after the past few weeks. Doing an MA and working at the same time was one of the stupidest decisions bar none I have ever made. It’s impossible to balance work, socialising, MA work, and not be either knackered or just simply not paying one of those enough attention. Roll on 30th September (this is when I give the old Major Project in).

Anyhoo. Term has ended, the students have gone home (thank.fuck) and I  have no imminent essays due in – so a restful, relaxed, casual weekend was just what the Doctor ordered. A little shopping here, some film watching there, a little sleep here, some good food there. Excellent.

Now, myself and Mr Glacier/Engineer settle down to watch Memoirs of a Geisha last night. This was an impulse purchase from quite a long time ago now, not long after I read the book actually.  Anyway, never got round to watching it at the cinema, so buying it on DVD was the next best option. It’s not a bad film, not by any stretch of the imagination. Some really stunning cinematography, and I have a bit of a fascination with Geisha and their appearance, I find it mesmerising.

However, the film got me thinking about books I’ve read which are then made into a lufferly feature film. Some have made my blood boil – The Chronicles of Narnia, Matilda (makes me scream with rage even now) and some I quite like –  most recently, Memoirs. Sometimes, the filmmaker can bring the pages of the book you loved so much to life, and it adds to the whole experience to know the book, and so, the story, so well. Sometimes, it all goes tits up and you’re left with a steaming pile of dung in place of a good film.

I just find it bizarre at times – you have a book, it’s all laid out before you – what needs to happen, when, characters, motivation. And yet somehow it can all go so very wrong. One of life’s little mysteries.

I am now going to go and ponder this a little more while getting myself a drink – hopefully this will take me to hometime, I can but hope.

Work can be so annoying… March 8, 2007

Hmm, I have noticed a familiar pattern with my blog – I seem to update it only once a week, and it’s usually near the weekend. You’d think at 23 I would a) have a better social life and b) spend more time doing fun, 23 year old like things…apparently not.

Anyway, I quite like my little old life really – I’ve always been a bit of a “simple pleasures” person. This is not to say that seeing a pretty bird in the garden will suddenly make my day or anything like that, but a trip to the pub or a meal out, and I am a happy chapess.

 Having said that, these past few weeks have been rather busy in Glacier-land. I was put in charge of organising an event at work – I was even given a new job title because of said organising – Events Advisor (bet it took them ages to come up with that one). Quite what made the people I work for think that events organisation was my new forte, I’m not sure. I write things, update websitey things, do the occasional bit of marketing like schmooze. At no point have I whisked a shit hot event out of my sleeve without seemingly breaking a sweat. However, organise an event I did. All on my tod.

Now. I am lumbered with the ever so slightly annoying fact that I rather enjoyed organising the event in retrospect, but at the time I cried on 3 consecutive days in the privacy of my office, I felt absolutely knackered every single day, and I have apparently seem to have made myself ill with stress. Interesting. I did feel a little bit sorry for Mr Glacier, as he had to put up with my incredibly un-lady like wailing down the phone when I was incredibly stressed and hormonal. Poor boy, he does put up with a lot from me, but then I’m ace for about the other 99% of the time, so tough shit.

Getting back to my point. I was stressed and upset – but then the event went swimmingly well, and I was a happy little Foxy Glacier. Bugger. So now I want to do it again, but I know full well the cycle is only doomed to repeat itself. Why couldn’t I choose a nice easy career path…like a postman, but better paid. I demand to be rich, so a well paid postie would go down nicely. Or I’ve heard the those birds in Spearmint Rhino earn a nice amount of money for rubbing themselves up a greasy pole…or a greasy businessman.

Mr Glacier just made the valid point that the issue I might have with being a postie would be getting up early – the man has a point, I hate early mornings almost as much as I hate Natasha Cunty Bedingfield, so maybe not a postman. Unless people want their post at something like 4 in the afternoon….

Anyway, bedtime and other things beckon. Toodle pip

Arrrrrrrrrgh February 27, 2007

Work.is.stressful.

 I love how not only have I started a blog saying that work is stressful, but I am also writing a blog while stating that fact. Well, tough, I’m using it as a de-stressing tool. Which will clearly not work, all I will end up doing is worrying even more that I could have used this ten or so minutes to send out invites and ring a million people. Happy days.

Anyway – why is work stressful? Well, it will be until Tuesday next week at any rate. I’m in the process of organising an event for my Boss at the Arts Centre. This is the first time I’ve done so, and my god, I’m in no rush to do it again. Chasing people, making list after list after list, making catering arrangements….I thought it would be a piece of piss – how wrong I was!

On that note, I really better get on with ringing people who are clearly on the second list of invitees – ie, you weren’t important enough to go on the first list, so I’m ringing you now because I Am Desperate. Joy!

Good evening, one and all… February 21, 2007

Well, it’s Sunday evening, I’m really rather bored, and there’s not exactly a vast amount on the old television…so, what to do? Update my blog, clearly.

 I say update – what I actually mean is, “start”. For this be my very first blog, ooh arr. I have actually written some general rubbish on myspace, but I don’t really feel that counts – it’s not a dedicated blog site, so there.

I haven’t really done enough this weekend to even vaguely try to make a post out of it. This is a little annoying actually, as I was rather hoping to have a lovely incident to write about. Obviously I did do “stuff,” but nothing I’d like to discuss in any great depth. The best bit was probably going to Wagamama’s. I love Wagamama’s. I convince myself it’s healthy, what with all the veg and protein – but at the end of the day, it’s fried food in a slightly nicer surrounding than a Chippy. It’s still lovely though, so me no care.

Mr Engineer is away this week. Well, until Thursday. He’s doing some very exciting course dahn sarf, courtesy of work. Thus, Mrs Engineer (we’re not actually married, better clear that up now really) gets left to mind the house and generally be a bit bored. The interesting part of this is it will be the first time I’ve stayed in this particular house, on my tod. I moved in with Mr Engineer about a month ago, and thus far we’ve only been away together, so the “home alone” part hasn’t been an issue.

 Now. Let’s get something clear. I am shit scared of staying in houses on my own. I am big, whingy, pathetic girl. I’m scared of the dark, I believe ghosts are around us, and in my head, out to get me. I worry about being burgled, I worry I haven’t locked the door, I worry I didn’t turn the oven off earlier. See? My life is a hotbed of fear and trepidation. I was born fretting, I’m sure of it. So, this evening, I can look forward to going to bed, leaving the lamp on while I read, and not wanting to go to sleep because then The Fear will set in.

It’s daft really, I slept in my brother’s house (where I used to live) on my tod for a month while he was on holiday. Naff all happened, shockingly, but my god, I was so tense every morning I’m surprised my neck didn’t shatter when anyone touched me.  It’s ridiculous – my rational mind simply refuses to get into gear when it turns dark and I’m alone. Maybe I should be nipping to the 10pm Spar to get some Nytol, knock me out.  Or failing that, some crack.

 Well, me and my axe proof duvet bid you goodnight. If this is the only post I ever manage to make, you can be pretty sure the ghosties got me. Whimper.