Christmas presents suggestions- #1

A pair of goggles for when I need to cut up an onion. Or a shallot. Or anything else that’s violenty tear-inducing. My eyes are still smarting from tonight's dinner; my big mistake was to start cooking before my SLF turned up. She usually carries out the shallot-cutting chore with grace and without tears.

Tuesday night is Shrink Night

"But that’s perfectly normal behaviour, Y".
"What have you just called me? "
"You’re just like everybody else", he adds.
"Look, I’ve always been nothing but perfectly nice to you", I do not say because after three years and thousands of pounds, I know better than to defuse.
"I have a headache", I do say.

He gets up and dims the light a little.

I feel guilty.

"How does it feel to have someone do something for you?" He changes topics with a half smile.
"Don’t like it. It means I owe them, you, people, something. Even if it’s just a thank you."
"How does it feel when your special lady friend does something for you?" That guy is paid to be insistent, and it makes me fidget.
"Well, that’s ok actually. Because if I let her, then in a completely effed up way, I owe her, therefore I’m giving her something. And she’s good at doing things for me, and never makes me feel like it’s a huge favour. So it kinda works out. "

I don’t know if in the long term it’s really going to pay off knowing that I’m an overly self-reliant, ungrateful cow.

I suspect I’m too tense for what I’m about to do.

Today, bloggers, I was foolish, I said yes! to ice skating, breaking a vow I made after the last time. Years ago, when I was fearless and supple and I clearly didn’t know how else to cause myself harm (drugs were too expensive), I used to ice skate twice a week at the local ice rink with an equally supple but even more fearless friend. They’d play young people music and we’d get high on the ice and the smells and the sheer physical effort of it. Of course one day they were playing something by the Beastie Boys, someone got excited, pushed me and I went flying across the rink, and splat! smashed various parts of my body. No, I didn’t get back on the bleeding proverbial horse immediately after the fall, I was broken, I’ve told you. The Beastie boys have made me hyperventilate since then. Today, clearly in an attempt to finish me off after all those years, the same still supple and fearless friend is dragging me skating. I considered full body bubble-wrapping.

Kneepads – checks.
Gloves – check.
Woolly hat – check.
Flask of mulled wine – check.


I’m ready to go.

It’s been nice knowing you.

Only vicariousness will save me

Bloggers, I’ve been out-bleaking myself these past few days, especially during the 2 -5pm daily black hole. Or at 5 in the morning on weekdays when I stare at the clock, only 50 minutes left of sleep, quick, sleep, sleep, why am I not sleeping yet? Today I wanted to distract myself by stripping my bedroom wallpaper, rip, rip, bit by bit, in long satisfying ribbons and wet plaster smell. Not gratuitously, you understand, but with higher decorating aims in mind. It’s little projects that keep me breathing, you see. But the only paper stripper thing for sale in the ironmonger shop costs an unjustified £6.99. I had to change my plans: I finished reading Isabel Allende’s ‘El Zorro’ instead, and entertained vivid fantasies of masked caballeros. I got goosebumps, bloggers! Read it, and see if the part when he meets buccaneer Jean Lafitte in the Louisiana bayou doesn’t keep you up at night! Goosebumps. But then again, I am feeling ideologically/romantically starved, or perhaps lacking B12, vitamins and minerals. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference. Now, would you like to know what I had for dinner or what dreams I had last night? I didn’t think so.