Isolation

The Mighty Boosh is one them comedy shows that takes a while to grow on you but once it does you're sucked in. It's silly. Very silly, which is why I like it. I've chosen to share this song because I'm out of isolation now. I wasn't contagious, just hibernating through winter.

I've been seeing folk aplenty and it's great. Jakers the Joker came round last Wednesday night. I fed him and he gave me cider. It was mutually beneficial. On Saturday night I went out for drinks with the NF (new flatmate). I left Ziggy at home and only suffered mild separation anxiety. I caught up with a lot of mates I hadn't seen since the last time I was out (which was February so I'm not quite the hermit I thought I was) and Ziggy had managed not to destroy anything in my absence. On Tuesday I met up with MM for coffee and felt all the better for seeing him. On Tuesday night I went to a wrok mate's wedding party. On Wednesday night N came round and I chatted the hind legs off him and, last night, I had a visit from V and B who are are cool chicks who share my enthusiasm for adventures and treasure hunts, and trees.

So it's been a busy week of both work and play. Just the way I like it to be, despite work being very annoying. I have worked in shops for a number of years now and I've grown sick of parents using me as a way to make their children behave. They say things like, "If you don't be good that lady will tell the police". I don't like to be used as an accessory in their attempts to control their children. It's only a minor irritation though. One day I will say, "Don't worry, I won't tell the police. Children are allowed to have fun in shops"

Oh (No) Balls

I learned that going to a supermarket passes as a school trip these days. It's called "From Farm To Fork". I imagine they take them to a farm to show them the animals, eggs, milk, wheat, corn, etc and then they take them to the supermarket to see the food being sold. They probably leave out the visit to the abottoir where the animals get slaughtered and the visit to the factories where they process the food so much they have a cheek to actually call it food. Which is a shame, if you ask me, 'cause that's where the real education lies.

Last week I came home from my course to learn that Ziggy had visited my sister in work. I was a little perplexed as to how he managed this considering he'd been four miles away from Z's workplace. At first I thought he'd walked it. And I guess I might have been guilty of thinking that he, somehow, magically knew where Z worked and had purposely gone to visit her. I know he's clever but I think that was a stretch too far. No, he'd taken a dander down the busy road and some kind person picked him up and took him to the dog warden. I have the Twits next door to thank for putting in that noise complaint about him and prompting me to get him micro-chipped and licenced. The dog warden put two and two together and let my sister know that Ziggy was there. Apparently he could have been re-homed 10 times over. Not if they knew the rascality that lay behind that fluffy face. My poor mum was frantic with worry but he'd never strayed before so it was unexpected.

He's cost himself his balls though. Getting him neutred should, hopefully, put the scunging out of him. We've lost enough beloved pets on that busy road. We have an extensive pet cemetry. And a tree house. And a back lane that leads to woods. I am starting to get one of my fanciful notions. Nellybert's would make a perfect set for a horror movie, or a haunted house tour. The real thrill of the night, of course, would be getting a peek up into the attic to catch a glimpse of the dreaded Squashy Face Tomato Man.

The Twits, My Bin And The Coal Shed

About a month ago I realised my bin was missing. When my bin goes missing, or gets moved to strange places, I quite often suspect it has something to do with the Twits who live next door. They are well into their 60's yet they partake in childish antics like leaving empty coke cans and milk containers on the door step. Their feud with me started not long after K moved in and ended, coincidentally, when he left. But I still suspected they had something to do with my missing bin and so I peered over the wall into their backyard. They had two bins and one of them did, in fact, have my number on it. I knew it wasn't my bin though as it was only half the size although I did think it gave me an excuse to knock on their door and quiz them about the whereabouts of my bin. I could see Mr. Twit sitting in his living room watching tv.

Despite knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell I received no answer. I returned to the back of the house and looked over the wall again. I was in luck, Mrs. Twit was sweeping out the coal shed. I shouted out to her,

Hello Mrs. Twit

She shuffled behind the open door of the coal shed. I tried again.

Excuse Mrs. Twit, I was just wondering about my bin

Still no answer. I laughed out loud

Mrs. Twit I know you're there, I can see you

But still she refused to crawl out from behind the coal shed door. I sighed. I waited another few seconds. I hit jackpot. Mr. Twit was on his way out to the backyard, unaware of me sitting on the wall, and shouted out something to Mrs. Twit, who was still hiding and probably would have stayed hiding until dusk. I asked him if he knew anything about my missing bin and I asked him why he had a bin with my door number on it.

Well let me tell you....

And he proceeded to tell me that if he so happened to want to leave two bins, on occasion, the bin men would refuse to lift two bins with the same number. He then went on to tell me that my missing bin had something to do with the foreigners and that they'd been burning bins out down alleyway. He'd, of course, seen this with his own eyes. By this stage Mrs Twit had come out of hiding and continued to sweep the coal shed. Mr. Twit told me it was all to do with...well, then he done this strange gesture with his fingers and his arm and I said,

What? Drugs?

Ssssshhh! Exactly.....great weather we're having

So what was I to do about my missing bin? Take another one Mr. Twit said. He said it was a regular occurrence. So I took someone elses bin and have been feeling guilty ever since.

The Second Time Round

I'm nearly sure there's some kind of blogger loop hole which makes it ok to recycle a blog post if it's more than 5 years old. I've had this blog for 9 years now. Wow! In those 9 years I have had 3 different boyfriends, 7 different different jobs, and 4 different homes. I've been to Thailand, Holland, New York, Mexico, Ecuador, Peru and Madrid. I've lost 3 pet rats. I went to the zoo as much as I could. I made buns. I had weird dreams. I ate a lot of sweets. I experienced a lot of love. Here's the recycled blog post from way back when:

A Wee Story

There was a young lass called Eliza. She decided she would make some special butter and with that special butter she would make some buns. She asked her stepfather Barnardo how to make the special butter. He told her, a wee bit o' this and a wee bit o' that and boil it all together. Eliza followed his instructions closely but what Barnardo had failed to tell her was that if she used a plastic spatula to stir the butter the spatula would melt. Whoops! But it was only a little bit and Eliza decided to continue making her special butter. And very well it turned out too.

When the butter was ready Eliza started to make the buns. She had made sure she had all the ingredients she needed. Barnardo had advised her, when making the buns, to use half of the special butter and half normal butter. But when it came to it Eliza had realised she'd used all the butter to make special butter. Oh dear!

She carried on regardless. The mixture was made, the buns were baking and Barnardo took to licking the bowl with great relish. They all agreed that the buns would be very tasty. When they were ready Barnardo didn't want any as he was already sat in a special bun stupour. Eliza's mum had one and Eliza had one and some crumbs and some more crumbs. Then Eliza wrote this wee story about her special butter.

Hyena Hannah Heina

I did six days in total with no sugar. Then I binged like a mo fo on ice cream and chocolate. Sugar really is a drug. Not even a particularly good one but a very addictive one. I did have cider on Wednesday night so my body never really got a full week's detox. Oh well, I'm back on the wagon now so we'll see how it goes.

My reasons for quitting sugar are aplenty. I consume far too much and then don't feel like eating proper food. I struggle to maintain a healthy weight and so I need to make a conscious effort to improve my diet. Quitting sugar is also a form of transferrance. It is probably easier for me to think about giving up sugar at the minute than it is to think about giving up smoking. But I need to feel that I have some form of control over my life so I choose to exercise my will power in this way.

I had been feeling much more positive and hopeful about things but my mood took a nose dive and I'm struggling to keep the black dog at bay. Things in general are definitely better. I acknowledge that. I have a prospective flat mate and more things to occupy my mind but there's still a bit of sadness to be worked through yet. I just wish it was all out my system already. Because I'm really starting to remember what it's like to have fun and I think I'd like to experience some of that again. I feel my sense of humour kicking in and I just want to hang out and laugh with folk. Speaking of folk, there's nowt as queer as them and a work colleague was telling me today about his mother in law who re-papered her living room but couldn't be bothered to remove the paintings from the wall and so she just papered over them. And, when painting the bedroom she didn't bother moving the bed from the wall she just painted around it, sure who'll see it anyway?, she said. I just love stories like these.

I'm inspired to write a list of my top ten most favouritist things EVER. This ain't gonna be easy:

1. Laughing
2. Trees
3. Nuzzling
4. Animals
5. Climbing
6. Photography
7. Writing
8. Music/Singing/Dancing
9. Agape
10. Parties

This wasn't in any particular order and it was tough because I have so many favourite things but everything else kind of branches off from these main things. I have to say though, laughing is definitely top of the list. A world without laughter would be very bleak indeed.

Dog Blog

Oh dogs. Dogs, dogs, dogs, DOGS! I love them. There is no doubt about it, they make life worth living. I will tell you who all these fine beasts are. Danny was our first family dog. He's the handsome black and white fellow getting a playful nip from Polly. Bert was Danny's main man. They went everywhere together. Bert was quite the social butterfly and Danny followed suit. I have met people who have recognised Danny from parties that he attended. Polly arrived a few years after Danny. They were friendly. Too friendly. They had a litter of pups. Polly, unfortunately, got run over and died in her prime. Danny lived to the ripe old age of 15.

Rosie was a resuce dog. We got her when we still had Danny. Rose was a mongrel but she had the features of a collie. She was as odd as tea when she came to us but she was a sweet, sweet dog. She took fits during thunder storms and she liked to play the social outcast but she adored her family. She was Queen of the scunger dogs. She started to run the fields and she took Danny wirh her even though he was too old and done for it. When Danny died we had a vacancy for another dog that needed rescuing. Along came Paddy, a dead ringer for Danny. Paddy was not very bright and easily led. He took to the fields along with Rosie and the two of them caused Mum and Bert manny a fretful evening. At the time, Salt Face and I lived in Ballymena and we'd take Rosie and Paddy for walks all over the country so they wouldn't have energy for scunging. Paddy was a dote. He wasn't the cleverest of dogs but he made up for it in a lot of ways.

Bonnie the german shepherd came to us by chance. It was lucky for her that she did. Bonnie, to me, was always a background dog but over the years I couldn't help but grow fond of her. She was mum's dog for sure. She wasn't a van dog that went everywhere with Bert. We never really knew what age she was but we had her for at least eight years. She saw many a dog and cat come and go and she was always the most tolerant, gentle and patient animal that we ever had the pleasure to know. Rosie died on the road. She was getting old though and she wouldn't have liked to suffered from old age complaints. So we were left with Paddy and Bonnie. Being used to three dogs mum decided to get Judy. She was a pup when we got her and we weren't used to puppies. I watched her grow in my arms. And, boy, did she grow. I will always have a soft spot for Judy. She was an abundance of cuteness and joy when Paddy and Bonnie had grown old and tired.

For a brief time we had four dogs. Charlie was found in the middle of a storm and he was in bad shape. This is where it all gets a bit hazy. I think Paddy died first. Of old age. Though we got the vet out to make it as dignified as possible for him. Then Charlie got run over on the road. He was always a live wire but I think he was getting closer to realising the security he had around him. That left Bonnie and Judy. Jess (the cutester with the half smile) and her sisters and brother were all rescued from a farmer who threatened to put them in a sack and drown them. He probably knew that if he said this to the right person they'd make sure each and every one of the pups was homed. And they were. Bonnie died, not long after Jess arrived, of old age.

Then along came Ziggy. My little prince who tamed me:

"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."

How I Spent My Wednesday Night

On Wednesday night a friend and I headed up to Belfast for an Audio Play. I'd never been to one before and didn't really know what to expect. It was a very interesting experience but, because it was all down to sound it's probably gonna be very hard for me to write about it and do it justice. It's the kind of thing you have to experience for yourself. But I can give you the gist of it. The whole idea behind it was to give you a sense of "what the fuck is going on here?" We walked in a few minutes late so we were already a little unsure of what was going on. As i sat down in the darkened room I looked around me. There were massive speakers set up all over the room. The floor was a metal grid which you could peer down to see some kind of cement basement. This made me think of the hospital scene from Jacob's Ladder in which Tim Robbins is wheeled through various disturbing scenes. He looks above him and there is a metal grid in which horribly disfigured mental patients peer at him and scream. I think it was this movie that gave me a taste for strange and disturbing films. So after looking around the room I realised that there was nothing in particular to look at so I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sounds that came from the speakers.

There were three separate plays broken only by a moment of silence that was deafening. There was dialogue all of them. In the first play someone died as a result from getting stranded up a mountain or a boat. I think. As I missed the first few moments of this one I kind of had to assume this was happening. A long with the dialogue were background noises of the wind howling. A woman was sobbing. Then all of a sudden a woman from the audience stood up and walked out of the room. At first I wondered if she was just finding the whole experience too intense but I then realised that she was the only visible actor in the play.

The second play was about a radio talk show. It was based around the issues of "the fleg" and I picked up on influences from A Clockwork Orange as they talked about a government programme that had been put in place to "cure" people's anger. This came with a lot of distorted background noise and at one point the sound (intentionally, I think) of the radio show talkers became fainter as if there was a technological fault.

The last one was the most intense. It was the inner dialogue of a girl who suffered with obsessive compulsive thoughts. I found this very evocative and powerful. It didn't have a happy ending. She poured boiling water from a kettle over her face. The experience as a whole was brilliant. Afterwards we drank wine and told the producers and writers what we thought. They were encouraged by the feedback. We found out then that the lady who walked out was meant to make the audience question if she was part of the act. It was all very cleverly constructed and enjoyable. Who knew there were such treats for the ears and mind?

What I Need

I was just about to write a list of all the things I need when I realised that pens are actually something that I need and, without them, I cannot write a list. I have two pens and they both ran out last night when I was doing some homework. This is my list:

Pens - how could I have let it get to the stage where I only had two pens and they both ran out? I have a cheek calling myself a writer.

Work shoes - Ziggy chewed the current ones

Bag - Ziggy chewed the current one

Haircut - In my secondary shcool days I wore a fringe that came half way down my face. It suited me that way. I liked the Sonic Youth song Goo "She looks through her hair like she doesn't care". But now I'm no longer a teenager and I bump into things when my fringe gets long.

Bathroom floor - Ziggy chewed the current one

Well, as you can see there's a lot of money to be spent. Money I don't quite have yet but hopefully the next month will sort that out. I stumbled upon this short video a while ago and regretted not bookmarking the page. It took me a while to find it again but I think it's well worth a share.

Sofa Club

The first rule of Sofa Club is, we don't talk about Sofa Club. The second rule of Sofa Club is, we don't chew holes and make dens in the sofa. Hmmm, I wonder how long that will last? So here I am sitting on the my first ever bought sofa. I bought it second hand of course. Who buys a brand new sofa at £500 a pop when they've a rat and a dog to contend with? An utter fool, that's who. Meka was confined to her cage all day so she wouldn't accidentally get sent to the dump in the old sofa. She wouldn't last two minutes out there. All the wild rats would be laughing at her big fat belly and flawless ears.

The weather has been rather awesome this week. I've sent Ziggy out to Cullybackey. It's a mortal sin to keep a dog cooped up on such a nice day. I miss him when he's not here but he continues to be a complete skitter, pretty much, all day long. The routine is, I come home I take him for a block walk so he can pee. I come home, have coffee, get changed, check mail, then take him out for his proper walk along the river. The rest of the evening is spent with Ziggy strutting about the house looking for things to bark at and trying to fight/wrestle/hump me when I'm doing chores or trying to do something on the computer. He only plays with his toys when I play with him. If I do anything other than show him some form of attention he tries to chew all the things he knows he's not allowed to chew. Like wires and guitar straps. Basically, he's a little shit. But he's my little shit.

So that's an update on the pets and sofa. In other news, work has been horrendous. I'm on day two of a sugar detox because I was in danger of OD'ing. I've been exhausted and feeling very fractious. Numerous annoying things have not helped the matter, Power NI, you in particular have bugged the fuck out of me. I was a bit heartbroken at knocking over several trays of raspberries. Of all the things to coup raspberries are the worst because they come in flimsy punnets with detachable lids. I'm pretty sure that very nearly could have been my Falling Down moment. I think I preferred my Trainspotting moment It's just as well the sun's been shining.

I Got The Eye Of The Tiger

It seems my Sunday morning rant was just like a zit that needed to be squeezed. And I do feel better for squeezing it. As a result of releasing all that toxic poison I am now in a position to be proactive and sort the stuff out that I've been avoiding this past wee while. The first thing I did was place an advert for a new flatmate. I have someone coming to view it next week so that leads me to the next couple of things that need sorted. The bathroom floor that Ziggy kindly destroyed and the sofa that Meka kindly destroyed. I have my eyes on a new suite and the floor should be easily enough replaced.

I spent the morning with my youngest niece and oh how we laughed! It's been a tough couple of months but I am feeling much more like the girl I used to be and that, in itself, is a great feeling. When I have help with the rent I'll be able to afford driving lessons again. I'll be able to afford the odd night out with friends. The weight off my shoulders will allow me to focus on the things I want to achieve, like getting Freddy and the Fox illustrated, playing more guitar, hanging out with people who make me smile. The past few months have been all about survival. I survived. I'm ready to start living again. I'm ready to start spreading joy and happiness all around me, for it's so much nicer to make people laugh. And it's nice to know that I've dealt with things accordingly.

It's a well known fact that, despite my otherwise fantastic taste in music, I sometimes let the odd pop song into my life. I was called Britney by a friend at uni for years because I admitted to liking <i>Baby One More Time</i>. I sheepishly admitted to my dad in 1997 that I liked <i>Wannabe</i> be the Spice Girls. He sheepishly admmitted to me that he also kinda liked it. Now I'm going to share the current pop song that makes me red faced to admit I like but I don't care. You're gonna hear me ROOOAAARRR!

Sunday Morning Catharsis

The earlier days of this blog were much more carefree. Or so it would have seemed to the reader. Behind the silliness and humour lurked a lot of confusion and sadness. It was never exposed because I didn't want to expose it. I buried it deep inside and always gave myself something to look forward to. Like travelling. You can only hide behind these things for so long. You can only hide behind words for so long. Then you're words say to you "I will not let you use me as a tool for denial and pretence. If you can not use your words for their intended purpose then you will not use them at all. Speak the truth no matter how much it hurts."

So I took a break from blogging because I wanted to speak the truth and it did hurt but I weasn't ready to share it with the world. Then a whole lot of stuff happened at once and it was a mixture of intense beauty and bitter craziness and I got swpet along on a tidalwave of emotional mess. Not my mess, other people's. And that annoyed the fuck out of me. More than anything. That other people, with their issues and insceurites and power struggles, could leak into my life and try to suck me dry. I have no time for bitter, angry people. I have no time for lazy, selfish people. I have no time for obsessive, demented people. They can all fuck off out of my life and suck the energy from someone else.

I have no time for liars. Or people who think they are above everyone else. I have no time for thoughtless people, or people who chase money and riches. I have no time for people who look at me and don't look inside me, past the exterior. I have no time for people who try to change me, or mould me into what they think I should be. I am me. I am just me. And if you open your ears and listen to me you will learn. You will learn not to box me up or try to define me. You will learn not to place expectations on me. If you open your ears and listen to me you will learn that I did not need a saviour. I needed a friend. I was not put on this earth just to play a role in the Act of Your Life.

Of course I'm talking about my ex boyfriend. And the anger in my words aren't so much directed towards him as directed towards myself. For letting him come into my life and upset it so much. I am disappointed that I did not see what was happening to me. How I was being controlled. Especially when I thought I had leanrt that lesson a long time ago. People are clever though, and there are many different ways someone can try to control you. Manipulation takes many forms. Despite getting myself involved with manipulators, I don't see them as bad people. Just people who feel they have some form of entitlement. Confused people who never ask the questions, "Why am I behaving like this? Why is this so important to me? Why can't I just let people be who they are? Why do I have to control everything around me?"

I can't change these people just as much as they can't change me so it's better if they are not in my life. I don't want to change them. They are responsible for themselves. But I am glad that I'm not one of these people. And I'm glad I can be open and honest about how I feel. I'm not scared of anything now. I'm not scared to be who I am. I'm not running away, or burying my head in the sand. I'm dealing with each and every one of these emotions and learning. Learning how to stay true to myself.