I managed it. My first (and hopefully only) Christmas away from my family and friends- even the ones I've made in Exeter have gone home for the holidays and I refuse to intrude on anyone's holiday. I was going to say alone but I didn't spend the day alone; I walked up to the uni for Christmas lunch and met a load load of nice people wit whom I played games all afternoon (it turns out Buckaroo is ridiculous; Keplunk make me feel like a little kid; and Old Maid has a load of names, so much so that it took us looking up the instructions in three languages to realise what game we all meant).
That's not saying I didn't miss my family. I nearly cried when calling them at 6am their Christmas morning; and only the frustration at my uncle playing silly buggers with his internet during the lunchtime Skype call stopped me even getting that close. Two of my friends here gave me presents so I did have something to unwrap (more than I might have if I'd been home to be honest) and the lunch thing sent me home with a small gift (really a rather large possibly fancy and probably Italian cake).
I came home to listen to Christmas Cabin Pressure (the actual Christmas episode not the finale that just aired) and to have the baked potatoes and chicken I cooked for Christmas dinner. Just so I am actually really stuffed. It's not Christmas if you don't eat too much.
All in all, it's been a good day.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
Thursday, 25 December 2014
Monday, 17 November 2014
Remember Remember...
Let's pretend I actually managed to post this on the 5th of November or something close to it instead of nearly two weeks later...
So I'm a bit of a liar about weekly updates. But I've been a bit sick and busy so taking the time I should be working on my essay to write this. Yesterday was Bonfire Night, aka the day the English (British??) celebrate that time a dude nearly blew up Parliament but was caught by burning fires (with or without a stuffed version of him on it). Also there's fireworks. For like the last week, and I'm told continuing for the next week.
I made the choice to go out of town to celebrate this, as while Exeter did have a celebration happening Ottery St Mary seemed to be the place to be. Everyone I knew was going, and a bit of research showed that the 'Tar Barrels' they had there were world famous? According to them.
Either way, about 5:30pm I bundled up in my warmest clothes (which wasn't as warm as I really needed), met a friend and we caught the prebooked bus to Ottery St Mary. He had one of his flatmates with him but she was meeting her boyfriend there. Once she did, we saw her all of twice and both times by accident so she wasn't really a part of my night.
First thing we did do, once at the event (a good fifteen minute walk from the bus stop, half of which was along a dark, dark road), was head towards the smoke to see the bonfire just out of town. The very very big bonfire. Like I heard people saying the flames were getting to be 100 foot tall and staying about 50 metres from the fire, I could feel the heat of it. It was SO big.
<A close up A not close up>
We got closer. It got really, really warm. I thought I was going to have sunburn, it was that hot. After we'd had our fill of burning things- it took a while- we headed back towards the town, stopping to grab some food from one of the many food stalls along the road while ducking into a field to look at the rides they had- all overpriced but well lit. Night fair, for the win.
For a while we wondered around town, in search of something amusing. Then we found it, walking into a women's tar barrel race in a crowded but not overly crowded street. We got front road, well standing positions, as the women ran the barrels up and down the road we were standing on. Every so often I would have to move fast to get out of the road of the flaming barrel of tar (and woman) coming right at me. It was awesome, though by now I was glad I hadn't brought my camera (or honestly anything that didn't fit into the pockets of my overcoat).
Sadly the barrel couldn't last forever, so eventually the running of it ended. I caved in and brought a programme and my friend and I went in search of another race...or run. Not sure what the specifics are if there's no winner or other competitors...
But we must have been the worse navigators ever because we couldn't track down the next race. Annoyed we went back to the bonfire, which had died down since we left it. Though it was still big- I was told it would still be burning today and that they just leave it to burn out. I could believe that, being able to see the blue flames in the fire. And still feel some of the heat, though nowhere near as much.
Eventually we again got bored of burning things and decided to wander back into town.
Instead we wandered into a crowd. A very big crowd. Seeing no way around it, the pair of us tried to make our way through it, ignoring the large amount of pushing and shoving happening. I'm shorter than my friend and after he nearly lost me in the crowd we grabbed hands, not wanting to get lost in the mess.
It was then we either got far enough ahead or had the bad luck to run into a tar barrel.
In a crowd as large as this, with the tar barrel running right through it, there really was no control. Every so often I got crushed against people as we all dodged out of the way of the fire- once or twice I was again front row to it- and there wasn't always warning. I couldn't see above the crowd, obviously, and had to rely on others to make sure I didn't end up in its path. Somehow we got far enough along the road that I was able to drag us across the crowd and down a side street where we could walk back into town sans tar barrels and crushing crowds.
I had it better; my friend doesn't like crowds.
Unnerved by the experience, we found a crowd free vantage point for the next barrel. While it was nowhere near as close as we had been for the last two, we weren't being crushed and still had a good view of the huge, flaming barrel on the guy's shoulders so it wasn't that awful. Once that had finished, we checked our watches and made the long walk back to the bus stop, in time for the next bus back to Uni.
All in all, it was a great experience.
But I now know why they warned us about crowds and fire before we got on the bus to go to Ottery St Mary...
So I'm a bit of a liar about weekly updates. But I've been a bit sick and busy so taking the time I should be working on my essay to write this. Yesterday was Bonfire Night, aka the day the English (British??) celebrate that time a dude nearly blew up Parliament but was caught by burning fires (with or without a stuffed version of him on it). Also there's fireworks. For like the last week, and I'm told continuing for the next week.
I made the choice to go out of town to celebrate this, as while Exeter did have a celebration happening Ottery St Mary seemed to be the place to be. Everyone I knew was going, and a bit of research showed that the 'Tar Barrels' they had there were world famous? According to them.
Either way, about 5:30pm I bundled up in my warmest clothes (which wasn't as warm as I really needed), met a friend and we caught the prebooked bus to Ottery St Mary. He had one of his flatmates with him but she was meeting her boyfriend there. Once she did, we saw her all of twice and both times by accident so she wasn't really a part of my night.
First thing we did do, once at the event (a good fifteen minute walk from the bus stop, half of which was along a dark, dark road), was head towards the smoke to see the bonfire just out of town. The very very big bonfire. Like I heard people saying the flames were getting to be 100 foot tall and staying about 50 metres from the fire, I could feel the heat of it. It was SO big.
<A close up A not close up>
We got closer. It got really, really warm. I thought I was going to have sunburn, it was that hot. After we'd had our fill of burning things- it took a while- we headed back towards the town, stopping to grab some food from one of the many food stalls along the road while ducking into a field to look at the rides they had- all overpriced but well lit. Night fair, for the win.
For a while we wondered around town, in search of something amusing. Then we found it, walking into a women's tar barrel race in a crowded but not overly crowded street. We got front road, well standing positions, as the women ran the barrels up and down the road we were standing on. Every so often I would have to move fast to get out of the road of the flaming barrel of tar (and woman) coming right at me. It was awesome, though by now I was glad I hadn't brought my camera (or honestly anything that didn't fit into the pockets of my overcoat).
Sadly the barrel couldn't last forever, so eventually the running of it ended. I caved in and brought a programme and my friend and I went in search of another race...or run. Not sure what the specifics are if there's no winner or other competitors...
But we must have been the worse navigators ever because we couldn't track down the next race. Annoyed we went back to the bonfire, which had died down since we left it. Though it was still big- I was told it would still be burning today and that they just leave it to burn out. I could believe that, being able to see the blue flames in the fire. And still feel some of the heat, though nowhere near as much.
Eventually we again got bored of burning things and decided to wander back into town.
Instead we wandered into a crowd. A very big crowd. Seeing no way around it, the pair of us tried to make our way through it, ignoring the large amount of pushing and shoving happening. I'm shorter than my friend and after he nearly lost me in the crowd we grabbed hands, not wanting to get lost in the mess.
It was then we either got far enough ahead or had the bad luck to run into a tar barrel.
In a crowd as large as this, with the tar barrel running right through it, there really was no control. Every so often I got crushed against people as we all dodged out of the way of the fire- once or twice I was again front row to it- and there wasn't always warning. I couldn't see above the crowd, obviously, and had to rely on others to make sure I didn't end up in its path. Somehow we got far enough along the road that I was able to drag us across the crowd and down a side street where we could walk back into town sans tar barrels and crushing crowds.
I had it better; my friend doesn't like crowds.
Unnerved by the experience, we found a crowd free vantage point for the next barrel. While it was nowhere near as close as we had been for the last two, we weren't being crushed and still had a good view of the huge, flaming barrel on the guy's shoulders so it wasn't that awful. Once that had finished, we checked our watches and made the long walk back to the bus stop, in time for the next bus back to Uni.
All in all, it was a great experience.
But I now know why they warned us about crowds and fire before we got on the bus to go to Ottery St Mary...
Thursday, 6 November 2014
Not Cool Dude
There's a post in my drafts about my week, I just need to add to it when I'm next procrastinating my essay. But this is not about that.
This is about the dude who, when I was walking home from town at midnight made me majorly uncomfortable while probably thinking he was being nice.
News flash: You weren't.
Scene: Midnight, middle of town when I'm about ten minutes away from the lounge I just spent four hours in with the Doctor Who Society. I'm completely sober and about twenty minutes from home.
As I'm walking a guy, about a foot taller than me, walks past and asks if I'm alright.
I say I'm fine.
He then asks if I just finished work.
Now I'm nervous. I know he's probably being polite but it's late and I'm already nervous about the thirty minute walk home. So I reply that I'm just walking home.
To which I get, "No, where were you?"
...Okay, feeling like an interrogation here. "Out". I reply curtly. By now I'm wishing I had had my headphones in so I could have politely ignored this guy.
"Pub or Club?"
Right, this isn't polite. Seriously dude, I'm a young woman walking alone at night. I know you probably think you're being nice but I'm feeling interrogated and you're just making me nervous!
I reply "Lounge." Because it's correct, I wasn't at a pub or club. He, now five metres ahead of me, says something I don't catch and I slow up a bit, letting him get further away. For the rest of the time he's ahead of me, before he turns down a side road, I keep an eye on him.
Why? Because he made me nervous! Piece of advise for guys- late at night, your advances aren't going to come off as anything but nice and friendly (to me at least). The one good thing this guy did was get ahead of me before asking anything- and stayed there. He didn't seem to take my curtness as a hint and for all I know, his last statement to me was something about me being rude.
Which I had every right to be.
Okay word vomit over, I'm just a little worked up (over nothing probably but at the time it was a lot freaky; I spent the rest of the walk home keeping an eye on my surroundings just in case dude decided to follow me instead) and wanted to... vent? I guess. It's probably nothing but urgh, I wish he'd said nothing.
This is about the dude who, when I was walking home from town at midnight made me majorly uncomfortable while probably thinking he was being nice.
News flash: You weren't.
Scene: Midnight, middle of town when I'm about ten minutes away from the lounge I just spent four hours in with the Doctor Who Society. I'm completely sober and about twenty minutes from home.
As I'm walking a guy, about a foot taller than me, walks past and asks if I'm alright.
I say I'm fine.
He then asks if I just finished work.
Now I'm nervous. I know he's probably being polite but it's late and I'm already nervous about the thirty minute walk home. So I reply that I'm just walking home.
To which I get, "No, where were you?"
...Okay, feeling like an interrogation here. "Out". I reply curtly. By now I'm wishing I had had my headphones in so I could have politely ignored this guy.
"Pub or Club?"
Right, this isn't polite. Seriously dude, I'm a young woman walking alone at night. I know you probably think you're being nice but I'm feeling interrogated and you're just making me nervous!
I reply "Lounge." Because it's correct, I wasn't at a pub or club. He, now five metres ahead of me, says something I don't catch and I slow up a bit, letting him get further away. For the rest of the time he's ahead of me, before he turns down a side road, I keep an eye on him.
Why? Because he made me nervous! Piece of advise for guys- late at night, your advances aren't going to come off as anything but nice and friendly (to me at least). The one good thing this guy did was get ahead of me before asking anything- and stayed there. He didn't seem to take my curtness as a hint and for all I know, his last statement to me was something about me being rude.
Which I had every right to be.
Okay word vomit over, I'm just a little worked up (over nothing probably but at the time it was a lot freaky; I spent the rest of the walk home keeping an eye on my surroundings just in case dude decided to follow me instead) and wanted to... vent? I guess. It's probably nothing but urgh, I wish he'd said nothing.
Thursday, 23 October 2014
I Am Silent
Seriously. So silent on this blog. I guess I just forget I have it and I'm more used to talking stuff out with my friends anyway than writing it down. I don't even edit beyond a quick check for typos- my entries are usually all stream of consciousness.
But recently I've been doing some work in class on diaries and well, I'm wondering why I'm not keeping one while I'm over here. Admittedly a daily one might get dull (take today's- got up, got on computer, walked to town, came home, got on computer for rest of day) but weekly entries could be interesting? Hell a weekly post on this site might be interesting and give me the chance to at least let people I'm not talking to as much as I used to know what I'm doing.
But then I am awful at diaries so I don't even know.
I do know I adore my social life over here. Weekly hang outs with certain friends, all routine and working. I've watched so much Doctor Who with the society and there's only more to see. In fact, all societies seem to be keeping me busy so that's great. I've not been travelling much but I've a load of time before and after Christmas and in the New Year to get that done- and a railcard to do some of it with.
Also my grant is coming so woo, free money soon! And reading week is next week so I might look into spending a day or two in London at the end of next week. It all depends! I have options!
...Of course now I'm writing this to avoid sleeping so I'm going to go do that.
But recently I've been doing some work in class on diaries and well, I'm wondering why I'm not keeping one while I'm over here. Admittedly a daily one might get dull (take today's- got up, got on computer, walked to town, came home, got on computer for rest of day) but weekly entries could be interesting? Hell a weekly post on this site might be interesting and give me the chance to at least let people I'm not talking to as much as I used to know what I'm doing.
But then I am awful at diaries so I don't even know.
I do know I adore my social life over here. Weekly hang outs with certain friends, all routine and working. I've watched so much Doctor Who with the society and there's only more to see. In fact, all societies seem to be keeping me busy so that's great. I've not been travelling much but I've a load of time before and after Christmas and in the New Year to get that done- and a railcard to do some of it with.
Also my grant is coming so woo, free money soon! And reading week is next week so I might look into spending a day or two in London at the end of next week. It all depends! I have options!
...Of course now I'm writing this to avoid sleeping so I'm going to go do that.
Sunday, 5 October 2014
Procrastinating Thoughts
I have homework due tomorrow so instead of doing it I'm going to update a post here because I've not posted in a while.
Reason: I've been busy. SO VERY VERY BUSY. Like, settling into a new place made me busy but then Uni has made me busier. Firstly because of the homework side of it (SO MUCH READING) but also because of the social side.
I've never been this involved in anything.
Back home, I've work and a list of reasons to not go out. Here, there's nothing like that and I'm just going out so much more. Friends are texting me to do lunch and I go do lunch that day. The societies I'm in all have things on basically once a fortnight (if not more) and well, my building keeps doing things together.
And it's awesome. But it's making me wonder what I'm missing back home? Like... I don't go out much at home and I love it but here it seems I also love spending time with people all over the place? And yes, while I have had to talk myself into going to a couple of events, I've never regretted going.
Though I've not gotten drunk. Just super tipsy.
I'm also feeling a touch disconnected from home. Which might be adding to these odd thoughts. Mostly because my family spread my Nana's ashes on Sunday (their yesterday, my today) and no one bothered to tell me it was going to happen until the day before. My brother assumed I knew and I can't think of what it would have been like if he'd mentioned it in Skype after it had happened.
Or if I'd seen Mum's status on Facebook and not known it was happening.
And while I know it wasn't possible to wait for me to be there and that keeping the ashes in the house was freaking Mum out (mostly because the Furbies in the room she's keeping the ashes in keep going off for no reason...) but a part of me wishes they could have delayed it. It's only a few months. Or if I had just gone on exchange last semester as originally planned... but then I would have missed the last months of Nana's life- and definitely wouldn't have been home before her stroke. It was just rotten timing, I know, but a part of me is heartbroken at missing this absolutely final goodbye.
And the rest is pissed I only knew about it because I called Dad twice for his birthday instead of once.
Reason: I've been busy. SO VERY VERY BUSY. Like, settling into a new place made me busy but then Uni has made me busier. Firstly because of the homework side of it (SO MUCH READING) but also because of the social side.
I've never been this involved in anything.
Back home, I've work and a list of reasons to not go out. Here, there's nothing like that and I'm just going out so much more. Friends are texting me to do lunch and I go do lunch that day. The societies I'm in all have things on basically once a fortnight (if not more) and well, my building keeps doing things together.
And it's awesome. But it's making me wonder what I'm missing back home? Like... I don't go out much at home and I love it but here it seems I also love spending time with people all over the place? And yes, while I have had to talk myself into going to a couple of events, I've never regretted going.
Though I've not gotten drunk. Just super tipsy.
I'm also feeling a touch disconnected from home. Which might be adding to these odd thoughts. Mostly because my family spread my Nana's ashes on Sunday (their yesterday, my today) and no one bothered to tell me it was going to happen until the day before. My brother assumed I knew and I can't think of what it would have been like if he'd mentioned it in Skype after it had happened.
Or if I'd seen Mum's status on Facebook and not known it was happening.
And while I know it wasn't possible to wait for me to be there and that keeping the ashes in the house was freaking Mum out (mostly because the Furbies in the room she's keeping the ashes in keep going off for no reason...) but a part of me wishes they could have delayed it. It's only a few months. Or if I had just gone on exchange last semester as originally planned... but then I would have missed the last months of Nana's life- and definitely wouldn't have been home before her stroke. It was just rotten timing, I know, but a part of me is heartbroken at missing this absolutely final goodbye.
And the rest is pissed I only knew about it because I called Dad twice for his birthday instead of once.
Friday, 12 September 2014
The Love Of Field And Coppice
Dorothea Mackeller- My Country
My Country has always been one of those poems I loved but the exact image that the first (often skipped) paragraph describes has escaped me.
Until now.
England is so green. And there's so many lanes- I'm currently in the city of Exeter and I can't walk more than say 50 metres without finding a lane (and it's an actual lane not a laneway). There's so many old old buildings in the main part of town, like older than anything you could find in Sydney and so many of them are just...shops. It's different.
There's been quite a few differences, all minor really. Windows don't have flyscreens- something I'm told is super common all over Europe. In the place I'm living, I've a pair of full length windows that open inward and I could, with minimal effort, climb out of them and over the metal bars that cover the bottom half. If I wasn't on the second floor that is... Oh and traffic lights go orange before they go green and everyone jaywalks for every set of lights.
But really, I've been settling in nicely to England. I met some friends of a friend and they're awesome and have shown me around a bit. I know where the Uni and town are and I've getting the hang of shopping for myself. All the minor issues I had when moving in (my UniKit stuff not arriving for 4 days; the jammed windows etc) have been resolved to some degree- enough that I'm comfortable.
I like it here and I can't wait for Uni to start back. =)
My Country has always been one of those poems I loved but the exact image that the first (often skipped) paragraph describes has escaped me.
Until now.
England is so green. And there's so many lanes- I'm currently in the city of Exeter and I can't walk more than say 50 metres without finding a lane (and it's an actual lane not a laneway). There's so many old old buildings in the main part of town, like older than anything you could find in Sydney and so many of them are just...shops. It's different.
There's been quite a few differences, all minor really. Windows don't have flyscreens- something I'm told is super common all over Europe. In the place I'm living, I've a pair of full length windows that open inward and I could, with minimal effort, climb out of them and over the metal bars that cover the bottom half. If I wasn't on the second floor that is... Oh and traffic lights go orange before they go green and everyone jaywalks for every set of lights.
But really, I've been settling in nicely to England. I met some friends of a friend and they're awesome and have shown me around a bit. I know where the Uni and town are and I've getting the hang of shopping for myself. All the minor issues I had when moving in (my UniKit stuff not arriving for 4 days; the jammed windows etc) have been resolved to some degree- enough that I'm comfortable.
I like it here and I can't wait for Uni to start back. =)
Wednesday, 20 August 2014
5 Things The Last Week Has Taught Me About Grief
I've always loved Cracked.com and their articles so I've decided to write about some things I've noticed in the near week since Nana's death in their style.
Seriously. They're sorry for your loss. They're thinking of you in this troubling time. Their prayers are with you. Sorry. Sorry. So Sorry.
And I get it. Dead is one of those things you can't really do anything about. You can offer sympathy, and that is nice. I don't mind being told these things... but at one point it was the only emotion anyone seemed capable of expressing towards my family and I. People I've not talked to in ages offered sympathy on Facebook. People are on tenderhooks around both me and my mother- I'm not sure how they were around my brother and Dad because I've barely seen my brother (as usual) and like me, Dad spends a lot of his time at home right now.
Case in point. The day I lost her, someone wished for me to have a good day. Then they apologisied for saying that because wow insensitive. And...while it probably was, I found it more amusing than anything. Yes, it wasn't likely I was going to have a good day but hey look at how ingrained that phrase is in our manners. But no one in that chat has wished me a good day since- especially not that person. And it's off putting.
People who treat me normally are brilliant. Sympathy is fine; it's when it's everywhere and it's all you get that it gets annoying.
And how the hell do you respond to the sympathy? I keep saying thanks because really... there's nothing else to say. Even thanks feels hollow because half the time it's more reflex than genuine. I've said it so many times, to so many people that it's begun to lose all meaning too.
Speaking of sympathy, this question is awful. It's such a loaded one now. How the hell do I answer it? If I say fine or good it's lying... or it feels like I should be lying because why should I be good right now? I lost someone I adored a week ago, 'good' is not a good description. But at the same time how do you say I'm not okay without bringing your loss back to the foreground of the conversation and well... making it all about you and your grief. It's a balance that's hard to find.
And that's for those who know what happened.
How do I respond to a coworker asking how I am? A stranger? Saying you've had a loss instantly opens you up for more sympathy but also makes conversation hard- it's a real mood killer. And there's a place it's not really appropriate to mention it which is basically any place where you're only likely to see this person for the next five minutes.
But the thing is, it's always on my mind. The second someone asks how I am, it's all that comes to mind. I've basically lied my way through every occasion of this question since. Or given non-committal answers. Like a 'How's things?' gets a 'Things are thinging'. It's tough and it's not even been a week...
Nana died just under a week ago. Her funeral was today. It took my parents the full week to organise and boy was it a lot of work.
Sure they had someone come see them about all the plans on the Friday, the day after her death. At that meeting, they chose all the major details like when- though that had been sorta picked since practically the day she died- and where. How religious we wanted it (enough to please her) was picked and things like flowers and music were talked over and picked that day. She'd made her wishes clear on how to bury her (which was to not, cremation for her) so it was just a matter of sorting out the details.
But the details. Do we want it recorded for my uncle who can't make it? Do we want little booklets? Yes? Okay, now we have to pick the photos for that. Who is going to speak? They can't decide on the day because there's a little booklet to be made. Closed or open casket? What are we going to bury her in? Mum and I had to go buy clothes because none of her stuff fit anymore. And let me tell you there is worse than walking into a clothes store and trying to figure out which of the pretty clothes you think best suits your dead Nana and will be suitable for her cremation. Because the funeral is closed casket, no one is going to see it...
Of course, it seems funerals are more for the living than the dead really.
And then there's the money problem. My Nana has...had the money to bury herself with but the moment she died, her assets were frozen. So we had to figure that issue out. It's not fun to be worrying about money when you've lost someone.
Not that I would sign up for funeral insurance. That's still a rip off.
We can't sit at our kitchen table at the moment. There's too many flowers. If you sit down on one side of it, all you can see of the person on the other side is flashes of their clothes you glimpse around (beautiful) arrangements of orchids and whatever the hell those orange flowers are that were on Nana's coffin (We took the smaller bunch home, her sister in law took the largest bunch. Yes, you take the flowers from the coffin home. Who knew?)
It seems to be the best way, after a card and saying sorry, for people to express their sympathy for us. The first bunch of flowers came last Tuesday- two days before Nana died. Since then, we've had another three bunches, including the ones from the coffin.
And a part of me hates it. Because Nana hated flowers in bunches like that. She loathed them with a passion, preferring to have potted plants as they could survive more than a few days. We always brought her a little potted plant if we wanted to buy her flowers and every time my uncle (who could never remember she hated flower bunches though at least he sent her something unlike the other two) sent her flowers, they ended up at our place within a day or two. I know it's not feasible for people to know this but at the same time, a part of me still resents the fact they don't know and yeah...
Also keeping flowers like that is a bit of work. They're nice but work.
EDIT: Five. There are five bunches of flowers. I forgot another friend of the family sent flowers the day after Nana died. So many flowers...
The funeral was hard. I started crying practically as soon as I saw the coffin because that box (so small) held my Nana and that's all I'll ever see of her. While I managed to read the poem I decided to read at the funeral, my voice was shaking and beside me my brother, who had come up with me for moral support, was crying as much as I wanted to be.
It also doesn't help that my last memory of her is from a week before she died when she could barely speak and the little she did say was to cry for help. She only made eye contact with me once- and seemed to recognise me- when I kissed her forehead in farewell after holding her hand for a lot of the visit; swapping off with my mother. It's not a good memory but it's my last one. It's so hard right now to remember anything of Nana from before she got really sick.
But sometimes it's not hard at all. I don't always have her on my mind and well... We've been expecting this since sometime late last year; it's already the reason I delayed my exchange. It wasn't a complete surprise, especially not after the stroke last month. My parents didn't have to say a word when they came home and I met them at the door; one look at their faces and I knew though I managed to avoid having them say it for a few moments as I babbled on about the phone calls I'd gotten while holding the fort. Even the funeral had its unsad moments- one when a friend of the family complimented me on the knee high pink spotted black socks I had worn specifically because Nana would have told me off for wearing them (once she realised what they were) and another when my brother pointed out to my suit wearing Dad that while both his fancy shoes were black they were different shoes. Both times I laughed.
That's not to say it's not been hard at other times. I cry at random moments, when I think about something that reminds me of her. A part of me doesn't really feel it because it's such an unreal feeling, to think that she's gone. But I'm hoping now the funeral has happened it might feel realer... I don't want to be in denial about reality.
Perhaps when I go overseas, it'll be different. But for now, I guess I'll continue to take each day as it is
5. Everyone Is Sorry.
And I get it. Dead is one of those things you can't really do anything about. You can offer sympathy, and that is nice. I don't mind being told these things... but at one point it was the only emotion anyone seemed capable of expressing towards my family and I. People I've not talked to in ages offered sympathy on Facebook. People are on tenderhooks around both me and my mother- I'm not sure how they were around my brother and Dad because I've barely seen my brother (as usual) and like me, Dad spends a lot of his time at home right now.
Case in point. The day I lost her, someone wished for me to have a good day. Then they apologisied for saying that because wow insensitive. And...while it probably was, I found it more amusing than anything. Yes, it wasn't likely I was going to have a good day but hey look at how ingrained that phrase is in our manners. But no one in that chat has wished me a good day since- especially not that person. And it's off putting.
People who treat me normally are brilliant. Sympathy is fine; it's when it's everywhere and it's all you get that it gets annoying.
And how the hell do you respond to the sympathy? I keep saying thanks because really... there's nothing else to say. Even thanks feels hollow because half the time it's more reflex than genuine. I've said it so many times, to so many people that it's begun to lose all meaning too.
4. Being Asked How Your Day Is Is A Landmine Question.
And that's for those who know what happened.
How do I respond to a coworker asking how I am? A stranger? Saying you've had a loss instantly opens you up for more sympathy but also makes conversation hard- it's a real mood killer. And there's a place it's not really appropriate to mention it which is basically any place where you're only likely to see this person for the next five minutes.
But the thing is, it's always on my mind. The second someone asks how I am, it's all that comes to mind. I've basically lied my way through every occasion of this question since. Or given non-committal answers. Like a 'How's things?' gets a 'Things are thinging'. It's tough and it's not even been a week...
3. Funerals Are Hard To Plan. And Expensive.
Sure they had someone come see them about all the plans on the Friday, the day after her death. At that meeting, they chose all the major details like when- though that had been sorta picked since practically the day she died- and where. How religious we wanted it (enough to please her) was picked and things like flowers and music were talked over and picked that day. She'd made her wishes clear on how to bury her (which was to not, cremation for her) so it was just a matter of sorting out the details.
But the details. Do we want it recorded for my uncle who can't make it? Do we want little booklets? Yes? Okay, now we have to pick the photos for that. Who is going to speak? They can't decide on the day because there's a little booklet to be made. Closed or open casket? What are we going to bury her in? Mum and I had to go buy clothes because none of her stuff fit anymore. And let me tell you there is worse than walking into a clothes store and trying to figure out which of the pretty clothes you think best suits your dead Nana and will be suitable for her cremation. Because the funeral is closed casket, no one is going to see it...
Of course, it seems funerals are more for the living than the dead really.
And then there's the money problem. My Nana has...had the money to bury herself with but the moment she died, her assets were frozen. So we had to figure that issue out. It's not fun to be worrying about money when you've lost someone.
Not that I would sign up for funeral insurance. That's still a rip off.
2. Flowers. So Many Flowers.
We can't sit at our kitchen table at the moment. There's too many flowers. If you sit down on one side of it, all you can see of the person on the other side is flashes of their clothes you glimpse around (beautiful) arrangements of orchids and whatever the hell those orange flowers are that were on Nana's coffin (We took the smaller bunch home, her sister in law took the largest bunch. Yes, you take the flowers from the coffin home. Who knew?)
It seems to be the best way, after a card and saying sorry, for people to express their sympathy for us. The first bunch of flowers came last Tuesday- two days before Nana died. Since then, we've had another three bunches, including the ones from the coffin.
And a part of me hates it. Because Nana hated flowers in bunches like that. She loathed them with a passion, preferring to have potted plants as they could survive more than a few days. We always brought her a little potted plant if we wanted to buy her flowers and every time my uncle (who could never remember she hated flower bunches though at least he sent her something unlike the other two) sent her flowers, they ended up at our place within a day or two. I know it's not feasible for people to know this but at the same time, a part of me still resents the fact they don't know and yeah...
Also keeping flowers like that is a bit of work. They're nice but work.
EDIT: Five. There are five bunches of flowers. I forgot another friend of the family sent flowers the day after Nana died. So many flowers...
1. It's Really Hard And It's Not Hard At All
It also doesn't help that my last memory of her is from a week before she died when she could barely speak and the little she did say was to cry for help. She only made eye contact with me once- and seemed to recognise me- when I kissed her forehead in farewell after holding her hand for a lot of the visit; swapping off with my mother. It's not a good memory but it's my last one. It's so hard right now to remember anything of Nana from before she got really sick.
But sometimes it's not hard at all. I don't always have her on my mind and well... We've been expecting this since sometime late last year; it's already the reason I delayed my exchange. It wasn't a complete surprise, especially not after the stroke last month. My parents didn't have to say a word when they came home and I met them at the door; one look at their faces and I knew though I managed to avoid having them say it for a few moments as I babbled on about the phone calls I'd gotten while holding the fort. Even the funeral had its unsad moments- one when a friend of the family complimented me on the knee high pink spotted black socks I had worn specifically because Nana would have told me off for wearing them (once she realised what they were) and another when my brother pointed out to my suit wearing Dad that while both his fancy shoes were black they were different shoes. Both times I laughed.
That's not to say it's not been hard at other times. I cry at random moments, when I think about something that reminds me of her. A part of me doesn't really feel it because it's such an unreal feeling, to think that she's gone. But I'm hoping now the funeral has happened it might feel realer... I don't want to be in denial about reality.
Perhaps when I go overseas, it'll be different. But for now, I guess I'll continue to take each day as it is
Wednesday, 13 August 2014
So...
My Nana died an hour ago. My parents were with her- I wasn't.
It's really hard when you can't stop crying and you're wearing glasses.
It's really hard when you can't stop crying and you're wearing glasses.
Wednesday, 6 August 2014
Rushed to Surgery
I know I posted about my surgery yesterday but really it's all that's on my mind right now because I'm still really trying to process the fact that it happened.
Because I didn't really get a chance to process it. On Monday, I didn't believe what the doctor was saying as he booked me into surgery and gave me instructions on where to be and who to talk to to get to it. Even as I was talked to by an anesthesiologist it still felt like a dream. It wasn't happening, it wasn't actually going to be a thing. I was ignoring the fact I was in a hospital gown.
But then Dad kissed me on the forehead as they wheeled me off and I half wondered if I should say something just in case one of the really tiny risks I was told about happened but he was gone and I was alone in a room anyway, waiting for the doctor.
I was crying. I'll admit that. I was terrified and no one seemed to notice. Not until I was on the actual table and the really nice nurse was reassuring me that she was going to stay by my side until I fell asleep. I really liked her, she was so nice.
Also I like needles now even less than I did before. The feeling of one going into my right hand was horrible and they seemed fixated on me keeping the stupid thing in there right up until just before I left. It was so stuck down the nurse had trouble getting it out. And I could feel it every time I bent my hand past a certain angle- I started to stop using that hand because the sensation was awful.
But yeah. I don't remember falling asleep, something I'm a bit grateful for as my memories go from being scared in theatre to waking up in recovery. Which is actually an amusing memory to me because I was rambling something awful and it's hilarious. That poor nurse who had to suffer through my talkative self- I am surprised at how many of my questions were something close to logical considering how fuzzy the memories are. I do remembering saying that my friends didn't know I was in surgery, which I later found out was a half lie as my parents had seen fit to blast the fact of my surgery all over Facebook. *sigh*
I could have done without the night spent in hospital. They kept waking me to take my blood pressure to the point where as soon as I was woken, I would stick an arm out to make their job go faster so I could sleep.
And that's a more concise summary of the rushed day that was my surgery.
Because I didn't really get a chance to process it. On Monday, I didn't believe what the doctor was saying as he booked me into surgery and gave me instructions on where to be and who to talk to to get to it. Even as I was talked to by an anesthesiologist it still felt like a dream. It wasn't happening, it wasn't actually going to be a thing. I was ignoring the fact I was in a hospital gown.
But then Dad kissed me on the forehead as they wheeled me off and I half wondered if I should say something just in case one of the really tiny risks I was told about happened but he was gone and I was alone in a room anyway, waiting for the doctor.
I was crying. I'll admit that. I was terrified and no one seemed to notice. Not until I was on the actual table and the really nice nurse was reassuring me that she was going to stay by my side until I fell asleep. I really liked her, she was so nice.
Also I like needles now even less than I did before. The feeling of one going into my right hand was horrible and they seemed fixated on me keeping the stupid thing in there right up until just before I left. It was so stuck down the nurse had trouble getting it out. And I could feel it every time I bent my hand past a certain angle- I started to stop using that hand because the sensation was awful.
But yeah. I don't remember falling asleep, something I'm a bit grateful for as my memories go from being scared in theatre to waking up in recovery. Which is actually an amusing memory to me because I was rambling something awful and it's hilarious. That poor nurse who had to suffer through my talkative self- I am surprised at how many of my questions were something close to logical considering how fuzzy the memories are. I do remembering saying that my friends didn't know I was in surgery, which I later found out was a half lie as my parents had seen fit to blast the fact of my surgery all over Facebook. *sigh*
I could have done without the night spent in hospital. They kept waking me to take my blood pressure to the point where as soon as I was woken, I would stick an arm out to make their job go faster so I could sleep.
And that's a more concise summary of the rushed day that was my surgery.
Monday, 4 August 2014
Faster Than A Speeding Bullet
I had surgery last night at 8pm.
I didn't know I was definitely having surgery until 6pm. It was so fast. I saw my doctor at 1:30pm and was told it was a possibility but until I saw the specialist/surgeon I didn't know it was actually happening.
And surgery is very very scary. Like, people talk over you and around you and it's really really cold. Plus you're terrified because you're going into surgery. Then well, you're in surgery and under the silver light with a needle in your hand...
But the nurse was very nice. She stood really close and stayed there until I fell asleep- something I don't actually remember doing. I went from being awake in Surgery to waking up in Recovery with a vague recollection of dreams (about a character from Homestuck oddly enough but then I've been reading fics for Homestuck a lot recently) and of having woken up before.
I was discharged this morning after a lot of running around by nurses- who took forever to take the cannula out that had been placed in my dominant hand seemingly just to make it really hard to do everything- and sent home which is where I am now.
I didn't know I was definitely having surgery until 6pm. It was so fast. I saw my doctor at 1:30pm and was told it was a possibility but until I saw the specialist/surgeon I didn't know it was actually happening.
And surgery is very very scary. Like, people talk over you and around you and it's really really cold. Plus you're terrified because you're going into surgery. Then well, you're in surgery and under the silver light with a needle in your hand...
But the nurse was very nice. She stood really close and stayed there until I fell asleep- something I don't actually remember doing. I went from being awake in Surgery to waking up in Recovery with a vague recollection of dreams (about a character from Homestuck oddly enough but then I've been reading fics for Homestuck a lot recently) and of having woken up before.
I was discharged this morning after a lot of running around by nurses- who took forever to take the cannula out that had been placed in my dominant hand seemingly just to make it really hard to do everything- and sent home which is where I am now.
Friday, 11 July 2014
Update: Nothing to Update
Because nothing is happening to me.
Well, nothing worth updating about. I feel almost like I'm in stasis, waiting for it to be September and for ALL the things to happen to me. But until then, I go to work, I hang around home, I might go see a friend once or twice and for the rest of the time I try not to look like I'm wasting ten hours a day online when I really am.
I'm not bored really... if I was, I would go talk to friends to go do things. But I'm not...interested either? I don't know. It's a tough feeling to describe.
I guess just I want to go have adventures right now. And the waiting is driving me nuts.
Well, nothing worth updating about. I feel almost like I'm in stasis, waiting for it to be September and for ALL the things to happen to me. But until then, I go to work, I hang around home, I might go see a friend once or twice and for the rest of the time I try not to look like I'm wasting ten hours a day online when I really am.
I'm not bored really... if I was, I would go talk to friends to go do things. But I'm not...interested either? I don't know. It's a tough feeling to describe.
I guess just I want to go have adventures right now. And the waiting is driving me nuts.
Friday, 27 June 2014
It's My Fault, Even When It's Not My Fault
I've often complained about my Dad eating my food. He doesn't have any boundaries, if he finds it he eats it. So I hoard food. There's food in so many weird places- I've chocolate in a bag hanging on my door, there's chips hidden in the cupboard under the microwave and there's a cooler bag full of lollies that I've had over a year now. I buy junk food in large amounts, knowing full well I might lose half of it to a hungry father and if I don't, well there's enough food to last me for a looong time.
But Dad hates it. He gets pissed off every time he catches me hoarding food and annoyed when I produce food out of nowhere or when he comes into a room and realises I'm hiding whatever I was eating from him in fear of losing most of it to him. I do share, but cautiously.
So I'm trying not to hoard or at least not to be so obvious about it. But when I don't hide it and he finds it, he eats it. Like he did tonight- he found my Maltesers' show bag from the Easter show and ate half of what was in there.
But I was at work when he did it. My brother informed me of the theft when I got home, and I lost my temper over it. Unfortunately this happened in front of Dad.
And he became upset, saying if I didn't want it eaten I should have hidden it. He then went to bed without making me make him a hot chocolate, thus earning me a lecture from Mum about being understanding of his condition and him in general. And I get it, I really do. But this isn't a new thing, he's never had any respect for my property and it's so hard at the moment to know if what I'm going to say is going to piss him off or not. Sometimes it's like talking to a land mine, with a buried anger just waiting to go off at an unknown provocation. But then other times he's just like he used to be, before. And I forget about the landmine until suddenly it's back again.
I apologised to Dad when he got back up. It's just easier.
Mum said I should go talk to someone about the situation (in general with Dad) and my feelings. But... I don't do well with being open with feelings- just like Dad. I doubt it'll be of any help.
I need to go on exchange so badly. I need to get out of this house. Even if it's only for six months.
But Dad hates it. He gets pissed off every time he catches me hoarding food and annoyed when I produce food out of nowhere or when he comes into a room and realises I'm hiding whatever I was eating from him in fear of losing most of it to him. I do share, but cautiously.
So I'm trying not to hoard or at least not to be so obvious about it. But when I don't hide it and he finds it, he eats it. Like he did tonight- he found my Maltesers' show bag from the Easter show and ate half of what was in there.
But I was at work when he did it. My brother informed me of the theft when I got home, and I lost my temper over it. Unfortunately this happened in front of Dad.
And he became upset, saying if I didn't want it eaten I should have hidden it. He then went to bed without making me make him a hot chocolate, thus earning me a lecture from Mum about being understanding of his condition and him in general. And I get it, I really do. But this isn't a new thing, he's never had any respect for my property and it's so hard at the moment to know if what I'm going to say is going to piss him off or not. Sometimes it's like talking to a land mine, with a buried anger just waiting to go off at an unknown provocation. But then other times he's just like he used to be, before. And I forget about the landmine until suddenly it's back again.
I apologised to Dad when he got back up. It's just easier.
Mum said I should go talk to someone about the situation (in general with Dad) and my feelings. But... I don't do well with being open with feelings- just like Dad. I doubt it'll be of any help.
I need to go on exchange so badly. I need to get out of this house. Even if it's only for six months.
Tuesday, 3 June 2014
Emotional Yoyo
My Nana had a stroke this morning.
Today, after spending hours with her, my Dad told my brother and I to prepare for the worst then took Mum, Nana's daughter, out for coffee while we did the shopping.
Nana has lost control over the left side of her body. She can talk but not swallow, and well it's not like she was making a lot of sense talking before this stroke with the dementia. While she might improve, she might not and that's what we're preparing for.
I woke up so excited this morning and I'm still excited when I think about it. But it's so weird to have people congratulate you when you're seriously upset.
Today, after spending hours with her, my Dad told my brother and I to prepare for the worst then took Mum, Nana's daughter, out for coffee while we did the shopping.
Nana has lost control over the left side of her body. She can talk but not swallow, and well it's not like she was making a lot of sense talking before this stroke with the dementia. While she might improve, she might not and that's what we're preparing for.
I woke up so excited this morning and I'm still excited when I think about it. But it's so weird to have people congratulate you when you're seriously upset.
ENGLAND HERE I COME!
Well. Not quite yet. But soon! Because I AM GOING ON EXCHANGE.
After much waiting, Exeter has sent me an email confirming that they are offering me a place at their university next semester. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see that email- I've been so worried that I hadn't got it because it was taking so long. A feeling that wasn't helped when I got an email this morning asking for the second page of my application form as it had been lost and was needed.
But then I got it and I'm so HAPPY.
Oh gosh and now there's so much to organise...
But I got!
After much waiting, Exeter has sent me an email confirming that they are offering me a place at their university next semester. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see that email- I've been so worried that I hadn't got it because it was taking so long. A feeling that wasn't helped when I got an email this morning asking for the second page of my application form as it had been lost and was needed.
But then I got it and I'm so HAPPY.
Oh gosh and now there's so much to organise...
But I got!
Monday, 19 May 2014
You know me?
Twice in the last few days, someone I knew from a very long time ago has recognised me the moment they saw me, name and all. And both times, I've had nothing more than a sense of familiarity until they explained.
The first guy was on the bus home from uni. He greeted me by name as I passed him and I spent three stops staring at him as subtly as I could, trying to place him. Then he came back and sat next to me, explaining that we did Scouts together and it clicked.
Only, I quit Scouts at least five years ago. This guy wasn't in my troop, I think I last saw him six months before I quit. So either he has a really good memory or I've not really changed in five years... Or I'm just recognisable?
Then today a guy came into my work and the moment he saw me he said hi. I instinctively said hi back as, well I'm a waitress if I don't acknowledge you my customer service needs loads of work. But he said it with familiarity and I spent the next 15 minutes trying to place him. Finally I made the connection he looked like a guy from primary school, and upon asking he confirmed my suspicion.
That's eight years-or so- since I last saw this guy. We weren't close friends, barely acquaintances while we were at school but he still knew me.
I don't know if this is just a load of coincidence or just me having a shitty memory to their good ones. Or am I just recognisable?! Just it keeps happening.
The first guy was on the bus home from uni. He greeted me by name as I passed him and I spent three stops staring at him as subtly as I could, trying to place him. Then he came back and sat next to me, explaining that we did Scouts together and it clicked.
Only, I quit Scouts at least five years ago. This guy wasn't in my troop, I think I last saw him six months before I quit. So either he has a really good memory or I've not really changed in five years... Or I'm just recognisable?
Then today a guy came into my work and the moment he saw me he said hi. I instinctively said hi back as, well I'm a waitress if I don't acknowledge you my customer service needs loads of work. But he said it with familiarity and I spent the next 15 minutes trying to place him. Finally I made the connection he looked like a guy from primary school, and upon asking he confirmed my suspicion.
That's eight years-or so- since I last saw this guy. We weren't close friends, barely acquaintances while we were at school but he still knew me.
I don't know if this is just a load of coincidence or just me having a shitty memory to their good ones. Or am I just recognisable?! Just it keeps happening.
Thursday, 8 May 2014
Here We Go Again...
So the day before yesterday my Mum told me some bad news, and then Dad confirmed it yesterday and added even more bad news to it- about my grandmother (who is my Grandma and not the woman currently in a nursing home due to Dementia)
My Grandma has both Cardio-Vascular Dementia and early onset of Alzheimer's disease. The first one is pretty awful, it basically means that she's at a high risk of dying and there's bugger all they can do for her- the operation to help her is more risky than the disease itself. But there's no timeline for it, she could die tomorrow or live until her 100's. It's just more risk.
It's the Alzheimer's that is mostly upsetting me. I don't remember him, but I've heard stories of my Poppy and what the family went through when he had Alzheimer's. It wasn't pleasant, it wasn't fun and it took a lot out of everyone. By the end of his life, he didn't remember most of his children, including my mother and only randomly remembered one of his granddaughters. As I was two when he died, I doubt he even realised my brother and I existed or if he did I doubt he realised who we were to him. But for the most part, what happened to him is a sad story for me, not a reality.
Grandma will be a reality. I remember staying the nights with her, I remember visits with her and how she speaks, how she lives, what it's like to be loved by her. I know her and the thought of what happened to Poppy happening to her terrifies me. Alzheimer's progresses over a looong period of time, it's just a awful and slow process of losing a loved one.
A part of me is also worried about my travel plans, how this might effect them and then feeling guilty for even worrying about those. There is a plan in place for me regarding if something happens to Nana, for whom there is also fears regarding health. It will have to apply to Grandma too...
For now, it's mostly a minor problem. The people who run all the aged care services and Grandma's doctors are keeping her at home so it's mostly a thing to worry about in the future. But it's a future I don't find myself looking forward too.
I once said that both my grandmothers were going to live to see my 21st. I wonder if that was a good thing, or a bad thing?
My Grandma has both Cardio-Vascular Dementia and early onset of Alzheimer's disease. The first one is pretty awful, it basically means that she's at a high risk of dying and there's bugger all they can do for her- the operation to help her is more risky than the disease itself. But there's no timeline for it, she could die tomorrow or live until her 100's. It's just more risk.
It's the Alzheimer's that is mostly upsetting me. I don't remember him, but I've heard stories of my Poppy and what the family went through when he had Alzheimer's. It wasn't pleasant, it wasn't fun and it took a lot out of everyone. By the end of his life, he didn't remember most of his children, including my mother and only randomly remembered one of his granddaughters. As I was two when he died, I doubt he even realised my brother and I existed or if he did I doubt he realised who we were to him. But for the most part, what happened to him is a sad story for me, not a reality.
Grandma will be a reality. I remember staying the nights with her, I remember visits with her and how she speaks, how she lives, what it's like to be loved by her. I know her and the thought of what happened to Poppy happening to her terrifies me. Alzheimer's progresses over a looong period of time, it's just a awful and slow process of losing a loved one.
A part of me is also worried about my travel plans, how this might effect them and then feeling guilty for even worrying about those. There is a plan in place for me regarding if something happens to Nana, for whom there is also fears regarding health. It will have to apply to Grandma too...
For now, it's mostly a minor problem. The people who run all the aged care services and Grandma's doctors are keeping her at home so it's mostly a thing to worry about in the future. But it's a future I don't find myself looking forward too.
I once said that both my grandmothers were going to live to see my 21st. I wonder if that was a good thing, or a bad thing?
Monday, 28 April 2014
Cute? Me?
So recently I was talking with a pair of my friends in a chatroom. I've never met these guys personally, we've only chatted in text based rooms (for the most part, I have had Skype and Pokemon phone calls with both) so they've never seen my face. So we got onto the topic of looking a lot like our siblings and one shared a photo of them with their brother. In return, I shared one of my brother and I.
And this person complimented me. Not like, 'Oh you look lovely' but called me beautiful and just described me as genuinely cute. Bemused at the reaction, I shared the rest of the post that photo was from and got called sexy in one of the photos. At this point the other person in the chat joined in, adding her voice to the chorus of me being pretty.
Well, firstly I cannot describe how good it feels to be described as pretty and beautiful and all those things. I don't wear makeup either and the photos were taken by my brother so I can't excuse away the compliments as being based on that or because the photographer was good. They genuinely liked me.
It's made me realise that every compliment I've gotten, mostly from my parents, has always either been about my face- my eyes are gorgeous, my hair looks great- or said with a qualifier. I would be a very pretty girl, if I lost some weight. You just need to lose some weight and you'll be a very pretty girl. Lose a couple of kilos and you'll look lovely.
Which is...not great for confidence. I want to lose weight but I also want to eat chocolate and at the moment that's causing a conflict where I'm not actually losing weight. It's tiring monitoring every bite you eat and often I cannot be bothered. So I've just been living with the idea that I'm not really pretty, I just exist.
And this chat has rocked my world with the idea that that might not be true.
And this person complimented me. Not like, 'Oh you look lovely' but called me beautiful and just described me as genuinely cute. Bemused at the reaction, I shared the rest of the post that photo was from and got called sexy in one of the photos. At this point the other person in the chat joined in, adding her voice to the chorus of me being pretty.
Well, firstly I cannot describe how good it feels to be described as pretty and beautiful and all those things. I don't wear makeup either and the photos were taken by my brother so I can't excuse away the compliments as being based on that or because the photographer was good. They genuinely liked me.
It's made me realise that every compliment I've gotten, mostly from my parents, has always either been about my face- my eyes are gorgeous, my hair looks great- or said with a qualifier. I would be a very pretty girl, if I lost some weight. You just need to lose some weight and you'll be a very pretty girl. Lose a couple of kilos and you'll look lovely.
Which is...not great for confidence. I want to lose weight but I also want to eat chocolate and at the moment that's causing a conflict where I'm not actually losing weight. It's tiring monitoring every bite you eat and often I cannot be bothered. So I've just been living with the idea that I'm not really pretty, I just exist.
And this chat has rocked my world with the idea that that might not be true.
Monday, 14 April 2014
Magic Week
Well it has been. So far my week has been BRILLIANT and my plans for the rest of it are only going to make it much better.
Sunday I met my favourite actor, Benedict Cumberbatch. The day was amazing (I did a write up of it here which I'm not going to copy and paste because it's 2000 words) and I met an awesome person, Anna, who kept me company for most of the day. It was lovely and worth it and he's so so sweet.
Monday was a bit meh because I had work but I picked up an extra shift at work which I desperately need. And I got to see some of the people I work with that I've not seen in ages because of the shifts I've been working which was nice.
Then came my birthday, today. About midnight people on tumblr started to wish me a Happy Birthday and that write up I did started to collect loads of notes. The people in chat wished me a Happy Birthday too, complete with a sing along and virtual cake. Which was incredibly sweet of them. Then I checked my email, at 2am, as I was going to bed.
I had my offer letter for exchange.
I am nominated to Exeter!
I'M SO HAPPY.
Plus tomorrow I go to the Easter show and Friday I have my birthday party.
Like I said, this is a magic week.
Sunday I met my favourite actor, Benedict Cumberbatch. The day was amazing (I did a write up of it here which I'm not going to copy and paste because it's 2000 words) and I met an awesome person, Anna, who kept me company for most of the day. It was lovely and worth it and he's so so sweet.
Monday was a bit meh because I had work but I picked up an extra shift at work which I desperately need. And I got to see some of the people I work with that I've not seen in ages because of the shifts I've been working which was nice.
Then came my birthday, today. About midnight people on tumblr started to wish me a Happy Birthday and that write up I did started to collect loads of notes. The people in chat wished me a Happy Birthday too, complete with a sing along and virtual cake. Which was incredibly sweet of them. Then I checked my email, at 2am, as I was going to bed.
I had my offer letter for exchange.
I am nominated to Exeter!
I'M SO HAPPY.
Plus tomorrow I go to the Easter show and Friday I have my birthday party.
Like I said, this is a magic week.
Sunday, 30 March 2014
My Library
Sometimes I feel like I run a library. I've no problem leading books to people, books are meant to be read and I have quite a few. Chances are I won't want to read whatever book is borrowed before they return it and even then, it's not a big deal. I can wait. Not to mention my brother and I act as if our books are interchangeable- so I have a lot of his in my room and he has a load of mine in his.
Only I never write down who has what. So if they don't return it, I'm left in the position where I'm certain I own a specific book but I can't find it and nor can I remember who the hell has it. And with my brother sometimes taking books and not telling me, it can make tracking down a certain book hard.
Right now, I'm sure two people have two Discworld books of mine- a friend at work has Raising Steam and my best friend has Guards Guards (which I don't expect to see for ages as he's a slow reader). But there's a third book missing- First Test, which is the first book in the Protector of the Small series by Tamora Pierce. I know my brother doesn't have it because he doesn't read the Tortall series, excepting those of the Beka series. Which I still have.
And recently I decided to reread the Protector of the Small series. After tearing my room apart, I couldn't find the first book and skipped it. Which annoyed the hell out of me because I love these series and I want to have the complete collection and reread in the right order. I know I own this book but I really can't find it and I'm beginning to think someone borrowed it and never returned it. So I'm getting to the stage where I'm thinking of buying a new book and if it turns up, I'll donate it or something.
I'm just pissed my memory is so poor that I can't ask whoever has it if they still have it because I can't remember who they are. I don't care if it's been lost, I just want to be certain about where it is.
I need to write things down...
Only I never write down who has what. So if they don't return it, I'm left in the position where I'm certain I own a specific book but I can't find it and nor can I remember who the hell has it. And with my brother sometimes taking books and not telling me, it can make tracking down a certain book hard.
Right now, I'm sure two people have two Discworld books of mine- a friend at work has Raising Steam and my best friend has Guards Guards (which I don't expect to see for ages as he's a slow reader). But there's a third book missing- First Test, which is the first book in the Protector of the Small series by Tamora Pierce. I know my brother doesn't have it because he doesn't read the Tortall series, excepting those of the Beka series. Which I still have.
And recently I decided to reread the Protector of the Small series. After tearing my room apart, I couldn't find the first book and skipped it. Which annoyed the hell out of me because I love these series and I want to have the complete collection and reread in the right order. I know I own this book but I really can't find it and I'm beginning to think someone borrowed it and never returned it. So I'm getting to the stage where I'm thinking of buying a new book and if it turns up, I'll donate it or something.
I'm just pissed my memory is so poor that I can't ask whoever has it if they still have it because I can't remember who they are. I don't care if it's been lost, I just want to be certain about where it is.
I need to write things down...
Tuesday, 25 March 2014
Too Much Information?
Or not enough?
Just so you know, my family has the weirdest approach to so called 'women's issues' I've never seen. I was raised to never so much as mention 'that time of the month' in front of my brother and Dad because they'll get embarrassed and they don't wanna know. I'm learning it's ridiculous, this kind of approach but it's still hard for me to not be embarrassed at the mere thought of the stupid thing. Hell, I can barely name it without feeling icky. So. Not the best approach.
But also, apparently, off topic. I thought this was what Mum was talking about and was really confused because I wasn't aware that it would be an issue? I can deal with it as easily there as I can here? But after a few minutes of confused conversation, Dad finally snapped and told Mum to just come out with it because he's not that stupid.
And Mum wants me to consider going on the pill. Which is...yeah, okay might be an idea. Idk what the pill does for people and if it'll be any use with the ever forgetful me but sure? I'll consider it.
Just, there were two reasons Mum wants me to consider it. One being the benefits and the other being it would be, and I quote, "protection" for me "in case something happened".
And it's times like this that I wish I could talk to my parents about my feelings regarding sex. I replied instantly that I had no intention of spending the night in anybody's bed to which I was told "things happen". If I could talk to them about this, they would know the exact nature of my feelings about the entire thing and that really, I'm very much not interested. But instead I can't so I have to put up with being told that what I think (and feel really) is invalid in the face of their experience.
And I managed to not use the word sex in that entire paragraph. Go me?
More Interview Stuff
So I had my interview for exchange today.
It was very relaxed. Like, I dressed up a bit for it because interview but I really shouldn't have bothered. Though I'm sure it helped form a good opinion. But mostly it was a quick chat, held over my paperwork.
And I think I got in.
Well, more than think, at one point I noticed the way she was talking was as if I was in. So I asked if I was, in fact, accepted. And she said yes, I have been accepted to my university's exchange program because no flags in my paperwork, nothing beyond a missed signature from my faculty. Which is not a guarantee I'll go on exchange, I still have to be accepted at a host university. But it means they'll be trying to get me to one of those and they want me to go overseas.
It's a step. A big step.
If everything goes to plan, in six months or so, I could be living in England. It hasn't really sunk in.
I wonder when it will.
It was very relaxed. Like, I dressed up a bit for it because interview but I really shouldn't have bothered. Though I'm sure it helped form a good opinion. But mostly it was a quick chat, held over my paperwork.
And I think I got in.
Well, more than think, at one point I noticed the way she was talking was as if I was in. So I asked if I was, in fact, accepted. And she said yes, I have been accepted to my university's exchange program because no flags in my paperwork, nothing beyond a missed signature from my faculty. Which is not a guarantee I'll go on exchange, I still have to be accepted at a host university. But it means they'll be trying to get me to one of those and they want me to go overseas.
It's a step. A big step.
If everything goes to plan, in six months or so, I could be living in England. It hasn't really sunk in.
I wonder when it will.
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
International Exchange
I have an interview for International Exchange.
Oh gosh, I've got an interview.
I'm going to go freak out over there, don't mind me.
Oh gosh, I've got an interview.
I'm going to go freak out over there, don't mind me.
Monday, 10 March 2014
Day Six
It's about halfway through the time my parents are away for and I'm not sure if I miss them or want them to stay away longer.
On the one hand, I'm really enjoying having the house to myself (practically). I can get up when I want or need to, I can do what I want without having to plan around the possibility they'll need or want me to do something. I can get things done in my own time, without worrying they'll think I'm taking too long and do it themselves while grumbling at me.
But on the other hand, it's exhausting being responsible. I don't know if I'm doing things right, or if I'm forgetting to do anything. My brother is a step away from useless, seemingly capable only of remembering to feed himself and occasionally watch the dog. I'm running the house while trying to also get myself back into the swing of uni and I've no idea if I'm letting things slide through the cracks.
I also think I'm lonely. The house is dead quiet and my brother is always in his room. The dog is only good for company half the time and there's only so much my music can do to chase away the quietness. It's nothing like my usual nights, spent sitting beside a sleeping Dad who, while asleep, is still actually there.
I'll handle it. I've not much of a choice really.
(And in other news, I get to see Benedict Cumberbatch in April and maybe (if they don't sell out) get a photograph with him!!!! So excited.)
On the one hand, I'm really enjoying having the house to myself (practically). I can get up when I want or need to, I can do what I want without having to plan around the possibility they'll need or want me to do something. I can get things done in my own time, without worrying they'll think I'm taking too long and do it themselves while grumbling at me.
But on the other hand, it's exhausting being responsible. I don't know if I'm doing things right, or if I'm forgetting to do anything. My brother is a step away from useless, seemingly capable only of remembering to feed himself and occasionally watch the dog. I'm running the house while trying to also get myself back into the swing of uni and I've no idea if I'm letting things slide through the cracks.
I also think I'm lonely. The house is dead quiet and my brother is always in his room. The dog is only good for company half the time and there's only so much my music can do to chase away the quietness. It's nothing like my usual nights, spent sitting beside a sleeping Dad who, while asleep, is still actually there.
I'll handle it. I've not much of a choice really.
(And in other news, I get to see Benedict Cumberbatch in April and maybe (if they don't sell out) get a photograph with him!!!! So excited.)
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
Home Sweet Home!
My parents have finally gone on their 12 day cruise and left my brother and I to watch the house, and the dog, while they are away. For the next 12 days or so, the only yelling will be my brother and I fighting which is easily resolved by a closed door. I won't be talked at by a mother oblivious to my disinterest and I will be free to enjoy peace and quiet at nights, when my brother is in his room.
That's not to say it's going to be easy. They've left us money to live on but it's really not going to cover what we are going to need- it boils down to a few dollars a day each for all three meals. We'll have to handle household chores which is to say I'll have to handle them until I yell at my brother to do his fair share. My parents are terrified I'm going to stave the dog, which is impossible when the silly thing comes up and begs at you if he's hungry but I am worried my brother will ignore him and let him get into mischief the few days I have to be places when he doesn't.
Basically we're getting a trial run of what it means to live away from home. Last time this happened, the hot water heater blew up (no fault of ours). I'm not sure I'm ready for it. But I'll survive.
In other news, I'm one form away from completing my exchange. I just need to fill it out and locate my enrolment record and I'm sweet- with the deadline not until next Friday, I am very confident I will get this in. While I had to make a snap decision for my third choice university, I am beginning to warm to the idea of studying in Sweden and would not be disappointed if I ended up there.
Even if it is freezing cold.
Tuesday, 11 February 2014
I'm Sick
Firstly, I am literally sick. My inconsiderate Dad gave me his cold after he refused to cover his mouth when coughing or sneezing. Somehow I am still getting no sympathy- Mum is all about not letting it get me down and fighting through it, which is stupid when all I want to do is stay in bed and not do anything; while Dad keeps trying to make me go do physical activities when I can't actually breath through my nose.
But I am also sick of my parents. I know they're awesome, they do things for me most other parents don't seem to and theynever rarely complain but I am really getting tired of them. Dad is home all the time and while I know it's helping him, he can be a bit of an arse sometimes. He loves getting rises from people, never changes his very closed mind and is near impossible to beat in a debate. He's the sort of person who will make sure you don't buy biscuits in the weekly shop then complain that's there's nothing to have with his coffee. Dad will do anything for a friend but he expects so many things to be done for him- and sometimes I can't see the balance. I am his daughter, not his personal slave but occasionally I can't tell the difference.
And Mum. Mum, Mum, Mum. I love her but she's impossible sometimes. She's more open minded than Dad but only to a certain degree and with the idea that her ideas are always right. She's the type of person to watch a heavily dramatised 'reality' t.v show on an issue and think that makes her an expert on it with no one able to call her out on it. Mum's also got a hair trigger temper which does not help anything- I hate having to ask her things because I'm terrified of setting her temper off and I sometimes wonder if it's because it's me? Is that why she yells, because I fail? But then she yells at the computer and I feel better because it's not me. Plus she loves to talk at me about whatever she is watching- often shows I don't like- or things I am not interested in and I have to pretend to listen or risk her anger.
I know I'm being a bit petty but I have to deal with my parents every day. I'm not allowed to hide in my room like my brother did when he was on holidays because that's antisocial so I have to sit in the lounge room and be in the firing line. I know I should go out more, get away from them but I don't want to. I can't make myself go out...there's really only one or two people to go out with and I can't spend every day with them.
I need to go back to uni.
Before I go nuts.
But I am also sick of my parents. I know they're awesome, they do things for me most other parents don't seem to and they
And Mum. Mum, Mum, Mum. I love her but she's impossible sometimes. She's more open minded than Dad but only to a certain degree and with the idea that her ideas are always right. She's the type of person to watch a heavily dramatised 'reality' t.v show on an issue and think that makes her an expert on it with no one able to call her out on it. Mum's also got a hair trigger temper which does not help anything- I hate having to ask her things because I'm terrified of setting her temper off and I sometimes wonder if it's because it's me? Is that why she yells, because I fail? But then she yells at the computer and I feel better because it's not me. Plus she loves to talk at me about whatever she is watching- often shows I don't like- or things I am not interested in and I have to pretend to listen or risk her anger.
I know I'm being a bit petty but I have to deal with my parents every day. I'm not allowed to hide in my room like my brother did when he was on holidays because that's antisocial so I have to sit in the lounge room and be in the firing line. I know I should go out more, get away from them but I don't want to. I can't make myself go out...there's really only one or two people to go out with and I can't spend every day with them.
I need to go back to uni.
Before I go nuts.
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