thrown

So as you may be aware, but maybe not, there's been this guy who shot his ex-girlfriend through a window, didn't kill her, but killed her current partner, then shot a police man, then wage war on police, he's been on the run in the north east of England, a considerably distance away. Anyway, it's terrifying, and people do truly go insane when it's hot and sunny in this country. The point is that I haven't been able to sleep very well over the past few evenings because of it, and because I'm the biggest baby.

When I was younger, it was a cardinal sin to wake my parents up, for whatever reason, fear, wet the bed, couldn't sleep because I watched the Exorcist and I was afraid the bed would convulse etc. I've very scared shitless in bed, at 12, and just had to grin and bear it until it was light outside again. I remember once hearing these weird horns and resolving myself to believe that it was ghosts in the attics. Realised the next morning it was my sister playing on this toy saxophone. But that's neither here nor there. Just an episodic replay of my irrational fear of the night.

But like most, because it's hot, I tend to have feverish dreams. So the other night, just having dropped off asleep, in my dream, I was sleeping towards the wall, and saw a man all dressed in white blending in with the paint colour. I then threw myself onto Chris, incoherently saying, Chris there's a man... So he started stroking my back so it was ok, and that's when I woke up to the feeling my heart pounding against his back. Still scares the shit out of me thinking back to that. And you can never fall back asleep after your heart races like that, and because you're afraid to fall back asleep and have a scary dream. So I asked Chris to stay awake until I fell asleep, which was of course yes. So I rolled back over, and he rubbed my back to calm me down. Not even five minutes later, I had to wake him up because he was snoring so loudly.

I emailed him the next day saying that I was really tired because I hadn't slept well. He said, oh no bad dream, don't worry, I can stay awake again until you fall asleep tonight.

one of those types

It's been an emotionally tumultuous week, part self-inflicted, part-Daily Mail readers being shitty. This is actually severely hypocritical because I utilise/depend on/enjoy dialogue of the internet, but what I theorised over a year ago, the internet allows any shitty, banal, unimportant thought that pops into your head, to post it online, anonymously without any recourse. And it can never go away.

There's an expression here that says: today's newspapers are tomorrow fish and chip wrappers. Or something along those lines. But unfortunately stories that are in the paper, are also posted online. And because they're posted online, they subject to ignorant people's scrutiny of something they just don't understand.

Now last week's comment of "i've maxed on being nice..." quite literally now. I work for a national charity in the press department and not that I've ever seen myself as the type to work in the third sector, but that doesn't mean that I don't think I'm a good person and have compassion for people, because I do always feel interested in anyone's story, specifically those who are marginalised. So this campaign we've been working on has now launched, and part of working for a health charity is placing case studies throughout the media to highlight their condition and their experience of living with it. So our case study was placed in the Sun, Daily Mail, Daily Mirror and the Metro. Fine, red tops, great. Story is a bit contentious that's alright. So our case study has gained some weight since her condition because she's on steroids, and she's on oxygen 24/7, and she's in a wheelchair and the only thing she can do for herself is prepare food. Everything else someone needs to help her. She's 50, and speaks frankly about how she is dying from passive smoke. Also, she's the loveliest woman, with nothing but an incredible heart and huge spirit.

So the story appears in the papers, and immediately readers start making comments about 'oh maybe she's dying because she's fat...' and it's appalling. By 12noon, there are around 90 comments, 50% of which are so ignorant, and disgusting, the other 50% are defensive towards her. She called me later that day really upset, and I got all choked up as well speaking with her. I just couldn't imagine making a comment about something I know absolutely nothing about, but jumping to cutting judgments because I can, anonymously.

Within our team, we were discussing the best course of action. I still do believe that calling someone fat, and saying they're in a wheelchair because they're fat is an abilist remark and by the terms and conditions of these papers, such comments should be deleted. But each paper is so reluctant to take down any comments that aren't either racist or homophobic (their policy) because of censorship and the issues surrounding brazen action deleting on the internet. But regardless, it never goes away. Posted online, yesterday's papers aren't fish and chips wrappers, they're a constant reminder, a tick that you keep scratching, an emotional cut on your arm.

That night, Chris dragged me to a gig that I didn't really want to go to in the first place, but it was marred by this. And by inability to protect someone. And I thought that wouldn't happen in the charity sector. But she's in much better spirits now, because she's incredible and can move on. But I'm still sitting here in disbelief and disappointment. Both in myself and in manking (or the small fraction who read the Daily Mail).

good example

In the midst of my working hell, I managed to do the ungodly task of clearing out my closet and drawers. I'm now subjected to watching football (i.e. unmanageable hell, mainly because England are rubbish) and thought I would think further about purge. This is also because it isn't so much about clothing but about the personal and professional anxieties that I need to delete from my database.

This blog is in real time, because we had the in-laws down this weekend, and I'm not coming round to stopping smiling. In all seriousness, my cheeks hurt from smiling all weekend. I did utter the words "I've maxed out on being nice" at work. I'm not a malicious person, and have always considered myself as a "nice" person, but I simply cannot be any longer. I noticed the first time at the grocery store when, I was paying up at the till, the check-out person asked how I was today, and I of course cordially replied, I'm well thank you, but did not pose the question back. And I have consciously not posed it back all weekend. When it's genuinely not a lack of disingenuine interest, I do care if the aren't well. I worked customer service and it's a wonder pleasantry when if people can at least feign interest in you. And I was ridiculed when I was younger (probably still now by my brother and sister) for being quote unquote too polite at restaurants.

Ok back to real time. E.T. is on and I can barely think of that film without crying. Still being capable of emotion is at least a positive. So this is me deleting stress, and inadvertently taking it out on other people, who don't even realise it.

Here's football, bin bags, and my Sunday afternoon.

bad example

I have been completely consumed with work and therefore have nothing remotely interesting to say. Well one thing. Only that I would like a holiday.

Next week everything comes to a head and then should hopefully calm down. And then there's another peak of work. And then hopefully by third week of July, I will have other thoughts again.

this is brilliant

Paris: the highlights from 30th April-5th May

new(s)

You preach about iphones- then they come into their own. It's such a boring story for me now but here we go:

Last Thursday, I did a spot of shopping in Islington before deciding to come home. Was on the bus which amazingly takes me to my front door, but on the bus, the road was blocked off because apparently there had been a fire. In my mind, I always think, "haha wouldn't it be funny if it was our flat?" but not residing to actually believe that to be the case. So the bus does this major loop and I have to walk for about five minutes to get there. And as I'm walking, our entire flat black is pitch black. Then as I walk up to the electro-magnetic door, it just swings open. So thankfully my neighbour comes in right behind me so I can ask what happened. Apparently our power substation caught on fire and subsequently exploded. Because it's my luck, Chris was at a work conference that evening so I was left to my own devices included entering scary dark flat, downloading a flashlight app, which by the way did not work. I eventually controlled my fear and anxiety with two glasses of wine whilst having my dad look for hotels for us to sleep in. In the end, we went to friends in Islington which was lovely however you never sleep well when you're terrified that you may not be able to go home for a week.

Thankfully nothing in our flat was ruined, but our buildings rubbish bins simply melted away. We now have this massive power generator, which on Tuesday, thanks to the machiavels in Hackney, the power wires were cut, thus rendering us powerless. According to Chris, the copper inside the wires is worth a lot of money hence the trimming. Awesome evening with police and fire brigade. And lack of sleep because I need the sound of a blowing fan (this isn't even a joke, I'm that neurotic that I can't sleep in stark silence).

During this Easter long weekend- I'm looking for a calming plateau.

part two

I forgot; this really tickled me this week. I can't seem to make it fit the frame on my computer, but it may work on yours...

old luddite

Things are much better now. I've spoken with my mother so much over the past few weeks which is a bit strange for our sort of relationship. We're close but we're not verbal. She emails me frequently but we usually only speak on the phone once a month. My dad calls every saturday or sunday on the dot at 1pm. But the last time I spoke with my mum, we discussed the glasses thing and she just laughed. Which then really upset. And then she kept banging on about her kitchen table and going to Home Sense and starting to cry looking at kitsch Easter items my grandmother would have loved. Evidently both of our feelings are based around materials. And then she didn't want to be the weird emotional lady in Home Sense so had to leave immediately. My family has this really strange aversion to crying. I've only ever seen my mother cry for real (watching movies doesn't cry because she cries in ALL movies- or just falls asleep before she starts...). I have never seen my father cry ever. I was never comfortable crying as a child past the age of 6 (before that, it was virtually nonstop, apparently I liked the attention, and my older sister was mean). Even now, I would never cry in front of my friends, and still don't really like crying in front of Chris (again, movies don't count because now I cry in virtually ALL movies).

I'm sucking the fun, I think it's time to move on. Back to telephones and luddism (and in the spirit of moving on...) I got an iPhone on thursday. Two things: I've never been on a phone contract before and had no problems getting credit. Yes adulthood. Second, I'm going to try to be a better with my phone. If you call our landline, I always answer, however before, mobile phone was always buried somewhere in my bag and battery had died. But I also don't believe that I have to be reachable at every moment in the day. Plus, I may be busy playing games!

part two

Last post ending was merely a pause. According to my father (first phone call at 1.15pm GMT time), the visitation went well and he was leaving for the airport in 4 hours and would try to catch me then. Second answer phone message at 5.00pm GMT- we're now leaving for the airport, I'll email you. Thanks dad, love your trivial phone messages. But yes, everything is fine re: grandmother. I've been fine except yesterday I was looking at a pair of Alexander Wang sunglasses when a workmate said, oh those look like Dame Edna which always reminded me of my grandmothers as she had this super thick rimmed glasses purchased in the early 70s with rhinestones all around. Apparently it caused a lot of embarrassment for my mother as a teenager but I always thought they were badass.

And this is something that I keep thinking about, I don't know when it started, maybe a year ago...? But I keep thinking about when you die, and your body starts decomposing and it's really frightening me, especially over the past 3 months or so. I'm not afraid to die at all, but I'm so afraid of my body evaporating into nothing. I couldn't care less what would happen to my soul, or not happen, actually that's a lie because I believe in reincarnation but I'm a bit more liberal about it because I don't think my soul will become something else, but I do think I was a cat in a past life because I do love to pet. But I digress, do you follow? Soul needs to be left out of it, it's a mute point. But the physical aspect of bodies rotting. Yes my grandmother is being cremated which is equally as morbid, but I couldn't stop thinking about her glasses and what would happen to them. And if my mother would have to come across them cleaning out her house over the next six months.

Resolution for next week: stop obsessing about death and being so materialistic.