Wild Boar

Gus and I went to Frozen Water Land (you know the place that mums are always going to). They have a speciality meat section with ostrich burgers, kangaroo meatballs and wild boar kebabs. Gus picked up the wild boar and said, "Oooh, wild boar. I've had wild boar" to which I replied, "You are a while bore". It's a good job we share the same sense of humour. Which is why Bobo Productions are toying with the idea of a comedy sketch show.

Ziggy wanted to head out to the pub at the weekend to see all the hot bitches he knows so that's what we did to keep him happy. I love my local pub. I love that I can bring my dog there and when I notice he isn't around for a minute I go to check on him and he's nearly always sitting on someone's knee. There was a birthday cake on Saturday and Ziggy spent a good part of the night running around hoovering cake crumbs off the floor.

I am a little poorly this week. I don't mind because it seems to have been ages since I was last sick. I hope I'm feeling better by Thursday though as I have a day out with Nelly and the girls at Barry's in Portrush. I am also hoping my new camera arrives by then so I can test it out before shooting a wedding in August. The wedding is for a work colleague and the daughter of chums Nellybert have known for years. I wouldn't have agreed to do it only I know the girl is not a bridezilla and she will be happy enough with whatever I produce.

Tonight I have a date so I guess I should probably get ready for it :)

Weeding the Garden

This was taken last Tuesday night. You can tell it's "band practice" and not "music night" because there's no booze cans on the table. As you can see, Ziggy is delighted. Elenwe took these and then she left on Saturday. Her reason for leaving was work related. It's a long story, and not mine to tell, but she was shat upon by her employers in a very sleekit and underhand way. I could really empathise with how she felt from my experience of working in Thailand when I had less than perfect employers. I told her I would give her a couple of weeks grace with the rent to give her time to find something else but she was deflated and disheartened. I knew how she felt.

She is in London now and has found a job already. We have left it open that she may return one day even just for a visit. I enjoyed living with her very much. Not just because she was a girl but because she was my kind of girl. She sang around the house, she adored Ziggy, she joined us on music night, she was arty. It was just dead nice having a girl to hang out with.

When I first moved into this flat I developed a rather unhealthy addiction to polishing the bed with brasso. I have a similar addiction to weeding the garden. It was an overgrown jungle and the weeds roots are giant. I could be doing this using appropriate tools but instead I use a plastic trowl that cost 33.33333p It occurs to me when I do this job it isn't about getting it done in the most efficient way possible, it's about being mindful of what I'm doing. I find it therapeutic and it's also kind of like a metaphor for untangling and removing the weeds in my own life. My momma will be so proud of her green-alien-salad-fingers girl, the one that once said "I remember when we used to be happy, now all we do is talk about clematis"

Surfing The Blowhole

My head is in bobo land at the minute. Monday was a shock to the system. After my lovely week off (which ended with a very drunken night on Saturday which kinda spoilt the effects of all the lovely relaxation I had been doing but was lots of fun so totally worth it) I had to get up at the crack of dawn, work until 12:30 and then go to tech to talk about supervisors and placements and Access NI forms. I didn't like it. I didn't have my after work cup of coffee and I was not tuned into the talk at all. There's a lot of hoops to jump through to become a counsellor and I wasn't in the mood for jumping on Monday.

I'm pushing the driving to the very back of my mind for a few weeks. Cannae be bothered thinking about it. Meh! Basically, I'm kind of avoiding reality at the minute and everything that involves any kind of responsibility (or money - isn't that a coincidence!). Bobo land is nicer. I can surf the blowhole and eat jobby-on-a-stick. The only kind of stimulation my brain wants at the minute is laughter, and plenty of it. Which is lucky because I'm surrounded by it. Gus is helping with that.

It's not just the laughter though, it's that feeling of connection. Life amazes me all the time. Saturday night was fun. Elenwe, who unfortunately might have to go back home to New Zealand, came out with us. She has been one of the best flatmates I've had and if she has to go I'll be a wee bit sad. Last night we had a GCDC's band practice (as opposed to just music night where we get drunk and wail) and Elenwe joined us. She is very artistic and I had high hopes that she might notice the woeful drawings of foxes and cats I had been doodling and offer to do some illustrations for my children's story. What will be will be I guess. I remember when Gus moved out I worried about who the next flatmate would be and what problems it might bring but now I just know that when people move in here, for whatever length of time, it'll be an interesting experience if nothing else. This is what you call surfing the blowhole.

A Lovely Week Off

I was off work this whole week. It was awesome for many reasons. The past few months has been all whirlwind, heat and flash. Cramming all my shoolwork, sorting out endless flatmate issues, focusing on getting my driving test, and meanwhile, my social life decided it was gonna buzz like a busy bee. I've been kept on my toes and it's been fun and exhausting and stressful at times. This week I got caught up with myself, and have eaten better than I have eaten in years.

Monday I went to Nellybert's. I ate a salad bowl from the spar and mum made mince and tatties and pear and raspberry crumble. I drank coffee all day long and played with my two favourite girls. On Tuesday I had a relaxing morning, took Ziggy for a walk and attacked the weeds in the garden (which turned out to be surprisingly therapeutic). Gus called round with caramel frappes and jobby on a stick. These are my new favourite snacks that can also double up as a fun poking toy in which you can jibby jabby people.

Perhaps my eating wasn't quite so good on Tuesday but I did drink a lot of coffee just because I could. On Wednesday morning I woke up and had a breakfast of fruit salad with natural yoghurt and croissants and more coffee. Then we went for an expedition to an old water mill where we met some pretty handsome cows along the way.

Wednesday was a beautiful, sunny day and it put Elenwe and I in the mood for a few drinks. We went to the cheapest pub in the town and wined and dined for less than a fiver. Yesterday Ziggy and I went to Glenariff with a friend from my course. We stopped off at Garron Point to collect stones and Waterfoot beach to have a picnic. Ziggy liked the Glenariff best. I have loved that place since I was a little girl with it's waterfalls, trees and pixie trails. As you can see from the photo Ziggy was enjoying the sea breeze.

All in all it's been a good week and it's not even over yet. I started today with an Ulster fry and a million cups of coffee and a catch up with my mum. There's rumours of smarties frappes being on the cards and that probably means more Jobby on a stick. Life's good :)

Cutlery Issues

I am not sure how intelligent I really am because it's so mixed in with laziness. Also, there are so many different kinds of intelligence. I struggle with subjects likes Maths, Sciences and History. The reason being they are subjects that require you to remember lots of facts and figures. I do better with languages. Even if I have never heard of a word before I can often figure out how to spell it. I understand letters and words. I'm not great at arts and crafts because, despite my fingers being agile and dexterous, I don't have the patience to work with fiddly things. Though give me a blank page and a set of crayons and I will draw as well as any 5 year old can.

I have good social skills. I was painfully shy as a child but always had a desire to be around people. I'm an introvert who pushed myself to be an extrovert. I learnt to talk to strangers. I like to make people laugh. I like to make people feel valued. I like people. My problem solving skills are average. I went to a grammar school and got a 2:1 in my degree so I guess I must have some level of intelligence. But oh how Gus did laugh at me when I was doing a real bad job at cutting cheese the other night.

"It's this knife, I have no decent knives for cutting cheese" I complained.

"I've a really good bread knife out at home you could have" Gus replied.

"Nooo, it needs to be a proper sharp knife not a segregated knife" I moaned.

Then I heard a guffaw of laughter and turned round to Gus who was looking at me in disbelief.

"Segregated?" He laughed again, "Do the knifes have to be kept separate from the spoons and forks?"

It wasn't even a slip of the tongue. I have been calling them segregated knives for years. Just like I have been pronouncing the word carousel "Ka-roo-sel" for years. People should never be measured on their intelligence though. Some of the smartest people lack common sense and social skills and some of the dumbest people can have the intelligence to listen to their intuition to understand a situation.

The Circle Of Death

I should have blogged on Monday to celebrate Ziggy's 2nd birthday but I didn't feel like it as I failed my driving test again. I was disappointed but able to keep it in perspective. As I told a good friend, it's just a very boring, expensive Jedi mind exercise. I've done heaps of those before, being a Jedi Knight albeit one who isn't overly keen on Star Wars (if you ask me it would serve them a lot better to make love not war, especially way out in the galaxy where it's cold and dark and everyone just wants a cuddle).

Yesterday I was out at Nellybert's. Jakers' pet rat Jimmy had passed away and I thought it would be nice to bury him with the other rats (Pepe, Rocky, Polly and Meka). Jakers was in the kitchen and I heard him say "Oh My God that is the cutest picture ever" Jakers isn't a softie but he was, indeed, looking at the cutest picture ever of my youngest niece holding a wee orphaned fox cub. Approximately two minutes and nine seconds later I saw Bert charging across the yard, towards the hen house, hootin' and ahollerin'. Fantastic Mr. Fox was trying to make off with the rooster and a hen.

I watched from inside the house as Mum, Bert and Jakers looked stoically at the hens (Bert had to wring the hens neck to put her of her misery). I thought about the fox being cute. I thought about the circle of death (I don't like John Elton so I ain't gonna quote him). I thought it was a shame that the hens died anyway and the fox had nothing to take back to the den to feed it's cubs. I thought about how fickle life is, how natural death is and how constant it all is. I thank god that Ziggy is a dog and not a rat, or a chook, or even a fox. I accept that he won't be around forever but for how ever long he is around I promise to make his life full of forest walks and cow dung.

There's other news but I'm holding my cards close to my chest. I have five aces. I know, that's not even possible. But anything's possible really. You just have to believe. Mr.Rob wants to see my freakish fingers. I hope they're not a disappointment as I have claimed that having long fingers is one of the few things I'm good at.

Good Ideas and Pig Headed Pigs

I don't even know where to begin on my update. Tojo moved out on Saturday and my new flatmate moved in on Monday. Everything worked out in the end! On Saturday the lovely Mels joined us for a rather messy music night. I'm pretty sure we had a half hour conversation about my long fingers. That was only the tip of the iceberg of shite talk though. As the night went on it got more ridiculous. In fact, it got so ridiculous it became quite profound.

I have so many good ideas that never come to anything I'm thinking of opening up a Museum of Good Ideas. They will be framed and people will walk around nodding their heads, saying "Yes, that is a good idea". Even this idea will be in the Musuem of Good Ideas.

My new flatmate, Elenwe (I chose this from a list of elfin names) is from New Zealand. A little girl asked her if she was from Middle Earth and being a fan of elves she thought this was delightful. Ziggy likes Elenwe very much. He likes her so much he peed on her bed. He just got a bit overexcited and then he was so ashamed of himself he hid under the bed.

Speaking of animals behaving badly. When Tojo moved in he brought with him a fridge. He didn't think my little fridge would accomodate his weekly groceries and, right enough, it wouldn't have been with people landing at the door with hunks of meat. So my old fridge was put in a shed out at Nellyberts. The same shed that the pigs would often ransack because they knew that's where their meal was kept. Bert had stashed the meal somewhere else though and Lily the pig was mighty disappointed when she stroked into the shed for a snack. So disappointed that she destroyed some of Bert's beekeeping equipment, flung a bag of compost all over the place, tipped the piano over and ripped the door of the fridge. Luckily for me the fridge was the one thing Tojo left behind. Things have a way of working out :)

Boboland

I realise what my blog is missing is a little wisdom and prettiness. But what I lack in wisdom and prettiness I make up for with ingenious ideas. There was the hot air balloon buisness, Scabby Birds Escort Agency, and the time I helped Salt Face to come up with a plan to meet Michael Jackson. The latest plan is one I've pondered on before; the Treehouse Horror Movie. The set and props are perfect. Pet cemetery, treehouse, scary attic, dark woods, bees. The plot; several young adults partying when the folks are away. There are a few psychopaths on the loose; crazy chainsaw-wielding priest, his motive - ex boyfriend of main character. There's a man who dresses up in a bee suit, possibly he is actually made entirely of bees. I don't know how I want that one to pan out yet. His motive - revenge for the poor bees.

The main character's parents have a pet cemetery in the lawn. They told her when she was a little girl that her pets had gone to boboland. They lost a lot of pets because the girl's granny was a bit twisted. In one scene the dumb blonde runs upstairs to the attic where granny is rocking on a chair, reaching her bony hand out and telling her "it's time for boboland" (in a scottish accent). I'm lucky that I work with a lot of people so I pretty much have an instant cast and crew. I have the token dumb blonde, token jock, token gay guy, token stoner and Gus and Ziggy will obviously be getting lead roles, playing themselves. I'm thinking a cross between Texas Chainsaw Massacre (gonna have to get a really good editor to make it look like that the treehouse has been hacked down), Blair Witch project (finding roasry beads in the branches and smelling incense), Pet Semetary (rabid zombie dogs chasing people down the back lane into the scary woods) and Candyman. No wait, it will have etches of every single horror movie that was ever written and it will be called Boboland.

Granny's Stories

Really, I should have an anonymous blog so that I can write about all the different flatmate problems I've had in the past two years. I remember when Gus was telling me that he was going to move out and I said "But Gus, you're my best flatmate yet!" and he laughed and said "F**k's sake Hannah that doesn't say much about me".

Out at granny Nelly's yesterday, I was listening to the stories she was telling the girls and it reminded me of when I was that little girl, sitting on my mum's knee, and hearing all her stories that she made up in her head but were always inspired by something that was currently happening. I think those were the times when I really knew she loved me. And I could see by the look on the girl's faces, in awe, and captivated by their granny's words, that they felt very loved too.

I feel a little bit like I'm in limbo again. It's alright though. Nearly feels like a second home I'm so used to it. I can't even be sure of who I'm going to be living with each month but I'm taking the good out of that situation as well. The more experiences I have of different people the more I learn about myself, and, people in general.

Ziggy hardly gets a mention these days. I guess that's cause he's so grown up and mature (ha!). He's doing pretty good. Licking his non-existent balls at the minute. I went for coffee with a friend and we sat outside on the pedestrianised street. I let Ziggy have a bit of freedom and he tootled up and down the street making friends with everyone. The Badtoads particularly liked him and would have happily taken him home.

The only other news is that I got my work handed in, did my exam and am now a free woman for a few months and quite relieved to not have to be chatting about our locus of evaluation and organismic self. Though I did get in touch with my organismic (yep, organismic, not orgasmic!) self a few nights ago when I watched Hole Unplugged. Courtney Love was my idol when I was a teenager and I ended up becoming embarassed by her behaviour as I got older but watching the Unplugged set reminded me that she was a very cool, strong, passionate and talented woman and I could have done a whole lot worse for a role model.

Talkin' About A Revolution

Today, I reckoned, seemed like as good a day as any to start a revolution. I proposed this idea to a work colleague. He said there was no point, a revolution would never happen. I told him this was precisely the reason why a revolution would never happen. because noone believes it can happen. Another colleague was complaining of money problems. I told her we were long overdue a revolution. "Yes, but it will never happen in our lifetime", she replied. Again, I told her that the revolution would never happen because people are so beat down (just the way they want us to be) that nobody has faith in the "power of the people". It is a perfect time for a revolution with the politically fractious climate we're living in.

I spread further word of the revolution. Some were optimistic, like me. Some people didn't know what a revolution was. I explained, "You know, that thing that people are always singing about - Tracy Chapman, The Beatles, 4 Non Blondes. Che Guevara started one." This lead to a discussion about cuban cigars. I pointedout that smoking cigars did not constitute a revolution. It was not that simple. So how do you start a revolution? Write a song about starting one? Or write a song about talking about songs about a revolution? And then do we just run, and keep on running until we've established that, yes, a revolution has been started?

Meat You At The Door

I heard a knock at the door and looked out the window to see a young man smiling back up at me. I didn't know who he was but I liked the cut of his jib so I answered the door. There's no TV's in this flat and I ain't afraid of no ghosts. I kinda guessed it would be one of the new flatmate's (I'll think of a suitable nickname for him eventually...if he sticks round long enough to acquire one, though already Tojo springs to mind) chums. I could never have possibly guessed, however, what he was delivering.

Five kilos of pork loin. He could tell by the look on my face that this was a novel experience for me. I recall the freezer at Nellybert's being full to the brim of various bits of pork and I've seen the things hanging up in a butcher's shop but I've never been handed a big lump of meat at the door.

I think the very fact that I'm even blogging about this shows that my brain is mushed from essay writing and studying. That's only my brain though. My heart feels all warm and fuzzy 'cause I picked Ziggy up from my sister's and got lots of cuddles and kisses from the girls. E showed me to the door, gave me extra kisses and cuddles and waved me down the street. No amount of studying can beat that!

The Cuddle Club

I thought I would have a lot of photos to post of the Treehouse Warming Party on Saturday night but, as it truned out, the flash was spoiling the ambient mood we had going and I wasn't in the mood for taking photos. I was in the mood for....cuddles. There were many invited to the party but only a handful turned up (13 in total). This was probably just as well as (we now know) that the treehouse can only really comfortably fit 12 people and 2 dogs. In my head there would be people spilling out of the treehouse...on to the verandah, sitting on the spiral stairs, swinging on the swing and bouncing on the trampoline. There will no doubt be a party like this in the future but for the first one it was nicely sedate and danger was kept to a minimum.

All the important people were there and we all became a member of a very exclusive club...The Cuddle Club. The genius behind this was the tallest, hairiest man at the party (Gus!) who didn't like the sound of Fight Club and thought Cuddle Club was more fitting to our needs. We had the Cuddle Club mascot, Judy Pudding, who was doling out hugs left, right and centre. We had two rules. The first rule was "we don't talk about Cuddle Club". Clearly I have broken that one already. The second rule was "nobody leaves the treehouse without a torch" because it was getting dark and I didn't want people to trip on fallen branches which is exactly what Gus did just as he was saying "We don't need torches, we have the light from the love of our friends".

Yes, yes we are a bunch of hippies. But what else can you expect from a treehouse party crowd? We played guitar and ate homemade pizza (everyone loved Nelly's dough) and drank cider and whiskey. After a while we took the party into the house where there was electricity and toilets that flushed. Though many did not want to leave the treehouse and go back to reality. Hails said it was like being inside a book (she named the book but I can't recall). I, of course, felt like I was an Ewok and Gus and I conversed in what little Ewokian we knew. We sang along to The Littlest Hobo theme tune and we had a mixture of posh crisps and 'common' crisps. There were lanterns.

Oh...and there is chat about a road trip. Mel and I are going to be Thelma and Louise only instead of having Brad Pitt we'll have Ziggy which makes us infinitely cooler.

The Confidence Shop

Just look at that cow's face. I love cow faces. They are dreamy and gentle. They have empathic eyes. I could tell this cow all my woes and feel like it was really listening. Of course, it will be listening only in the way that a cow can listen to a human's troubles. But still, I'd feel like it understood more than a lot of the humans I do talk to.

I have been struggling to update my blog due to a number of things. Worry about my family, stress of my coursework, the upheaval of yet another new flatmate. I was sad to say goodbye to Gus but his path lead him right back where he started because I guess that's where he needed to go. I still laugh about the silly conversations we had and I miss speaking in funny accents. My new flatmate is not from Ireland so I have to speak in an accent that he understands. Not that words are everything.

My birthday was last week and mum and I spent a nice day shoe shopping and eating ice cream in Garvagh. I have a small party planned for the weekend as I feel I need a bit of fun and lightness after the past few weeks (months/years). Today I have a driving lesson with a new instructor. I plan to be more assertive this time round. Because, despite the progress I've made over the past few years, I realise that my biggest downfall is still a lack of confidence, combined with this need to please everyone around me. If there was a shop that sold confidence I'd be there with all the money from my change jar. But then I wouldn't be able to afford the driving lessons and I'd have all this confidence with nothing to be confident about and that would make me like some kind of man with a small dick complex.

I am looking forward to the summer when the first year of my course will be all wrapped up. I still have a placement to organise and my own persoanl therapy to attend (as part of the course requirements students must undertake 20 hours of personal therapy). I embrace this. Even though I had counselling before there is always a benefit to talking through things no matter what's going on in your life. I still feel like I'm wading sometimes, like everything seems to take forever while time moves at super sonic speeds, but I know it will come. I will drive, I will get a placement, I will continue to learn and grow and, one day, I will be that person who helps others to learn and grow. I finished reading the Road Less Travelled by M.Scott Peck. If ever there was a book written about life and what it means to be human, this is it. My heart sang with joy and a feeling of hope and acceptance the whole time I was reading it. It's akin to that feeling I get when I look at a cow's face.

And here's something else that makes my heart sing with joy. A flying dog by name of Zigatron Marley. Just look at the awe in the other doggy's face!

Ubudubuda

After all this time I have finally figured out what language Ziggy speaks. It's "Ubudubuda". He totally understands it. When I tell him to get off the table in Ubudubada he does exactly as I say. But, who knows, perhaps tomorrow he will speak a different language.

I feel like I have a devil and an angel on each shoulder at the minute. One is saying "Be yourself. It leads to the road of happiness". The other is saying "Don't be yourself. It gets you into trouble". The thing is, I'm not sure which is saying which. Is it the angel saying "Be yourself" because she wants me to be happy, or is she saying "Don't be yourself" because she wants to protect me? Or is the devil saying "Don't be yourself" because he wants me to be miserable, or is he saying "Be yourself" because he knows it will get me into trouble? Is that confusing? It must be because I'm confused.

It must be the angel who has the loudest voice and she must be saying "Be yourself" because she does want me to find happiness. The devil is saying "Don't be yourself" because he thinks he can hold me back with fear. As always, I'm skirting around the real issue but I'm raw. I feel like the universe is challenging me to dare to be myself. I am torn between this embarassment that if I bear my soul no one will understand, and this self-belief that tells me it doesn't matter if they understand.

Self doubt affects us all. For some people it's a mild affliction but for others it is all-consuming. I don't want to be consumed with self doubt and after a long time and a lot of hard work I became more sure of myself. It really does feel like the universe is throwing me curve balls in the form of people who come into my life who seem intent in filling me with that self-doubt that I worked so hard to shake off. I can't focus on that though because the universe has also thrown me a couple of life lines in the form of people who accept me as I truly am. So again, I go back to that feeling like I have an angel and a devil on my shoulders, trying to weigh a little heavier than the other, tipping the scales.

Ziggy also has an angel and a devil on his shoulders. I don't know what kind of conversations they have with him but depending on whose speaking the loudest he can be the dirtiest, devil dog or the sweetest, most beautiful angel. Even though I already knew it I have had a few lessons reaffirmed today: We all have our angels and demons and, mostly, we're all just doing the best we can with the tools we've been given.

I Am The Hedge!

My bestest chum Mel and I used to chat about people being "infested with Christmas spirit". That makes sense to me now cause I'm all bah humbug. It's not that I don't like Christmas, it's just that it's cold and dark and far too stressful for something that just seems to happen every frickin' week. As a child I would start the countdown in September. Back in those days you had to wait another few months before the shops started getting all christmassy. Now they do it in September and it really kills the buzz.

I was thinking about our pretend band, the GCDC's. It's not that we suck, it's just that we're not very good. But I like the idea of it all and I continue to enjoy it. It occurs to me that I have a lot of stuff I meddle in but nothing that I am really good at. I can take a decent photo but I wouldn't recommend booking me for your wedding day. I can play a bit of guitar but I wouldn't book me for your wedding band. I can write words that rhyme but unless I find someone to draw pictures that will only take me so far. And I have these really loooong fingers that I'm pretty sure I should be doing something with but I'm not quite sure what. Oh, and I'm good at finding things.

Last weekend I visited some friends who became first time parents to a couple of baby rats. I forgot how much I love rats. I also had a small bird perch on my head like I was a tree. This only happened for a millisecond but it was a millisecond I'll cherish for it's not often that birds trust us enough to land on our heads. It kinda reminds me of the time a bat flew into my hair (I have many bat stories). The bat flew into my hair because it was trapped in the house, flying around the room in circles and I was holding up a wastepaper bin in the hope that it would fly into it. Little did I know that bats aren't stupid and it was NOT going to fly into my trap. It did disorientate it, however, and it's little winghooks got tangled in my hair. In reference to my last blog post, I'd rather have the kind of hair that attracts wild animals than the kind of hair that makes me pass my driving test!

How To Fail Your Driving Test

Happy St.Patrick's Day! It seems like every other day is some kind of holiday but maybe that's because I work in retail.

So, I mentioned that I failed my test again last week. I always knew that driving wasn't something that would come easy to me. When I was a teenager I preferred the idea of riding a motorbike to driving a car. It seemed like a smaller hunk of machinery to take control of and I assumed it would be easier. It is. Kind of. My only real experience of riding a bike was in Thailand and I didn't do it that often because it was scary. Riding the bike wasn't scary but negotiating the crazy Thai traffic (no rules at roundabouts!) was. A car is, however, much more practical for carrying passengers, although it doesn't stop them in Thailand from fitting a whole family and their dog on one bike.

My instructor said something to me the day before the test and, while I know she was only trying to help, it completely knocked my confidence (which wasn't really there to begin with) and it's been playing on my mind. Years ago, when I was a teenager, a girl told me that I should wear make up. That I would be pretty if I wore make up. I have experimented over the years but never felt entirely comfortable wearing it. Also, I'm lazy. Also, I don't care for 'dolling' myself up. Not so long ago a guy in the pub told me I'd be beautiful if I put on 12 lbs. At the time I wasn't particularly happy with being so underweight and I agreed with him but afterwards it made me wonder why people think it's ok to put conditions of worth on me. My driving instructor said to me the day before my test "Hannah, I want you to come out tomorrow looking like I have never seen you before. Put on your nicest clothes, wear make up and do your hair". I knew she meant well by it. I knew she was thinking that if I looked good, I'd feel good and my confidence would be better. I knew all this but it still had a detrimental effect.

The day of the test I walked out feeling like I had already failed. I looked no different than any other day despite trying to 'make something of myself'. I don't have any nice clothes. I wore a different coat. I faffed around with my hair but it just looked as limp and lank as always. I felt that I had made no effort but I had made all the effort I possibly could. I did not look good and I did not feel good. Like I say, I walked out of the house feeling like already I wasn't worthy enough.

It was after I failed that the words stung. I should have been true to myself and not let the instructor's suggestions put me off. I was already nervous enough without worrying about my goddamn hair. None of those things matter to me and I am sick of being judged on my appearance. But mostly, I'm annoyed that I let myself be affected by what she said and I, once again, let doubt take over. I can't put it all down to that one thing though.

On the plus side, it has given me food for thought with regards to my course. The relationship between the instructor and I had grown fractious because I knew what I needed to help me learn to drive and she refused to listen to my needs. It took me a while to learn to tell her what I needed but she was so set in her ways it didn't matter. While she may have got hundreds of others through their test she couldn't adapt her teaching style to fit with me. And I am not like hundreds of other people.

Jobby On A Stick

Today I took Ziggy for a different walk. There is a Motte and Bailey in Ballymena and it had been years since I climbed it so Ziggy and I conquered the small hill. It was windy at the top and I had a lovely view of the place where I work. I also had a view of the road that I performed a particularly disastrous 7-point-turn that caused me to fail my driving test back in September last year. I was taking stock. In between the two hilly mounds, a strange object caught my eye. It is pictured above. I was curious and poked it with my foot. It was solid yet jellylike. It was textured. I didn't think it was a dead animal but it had the look of something that was biodegradable. I was tempted to find a stick to poke it with but I was on a time schedule and so I hurried on.

Later in the day I took my test again and I failed. I was disappointed but not surprised. I know I am capable of passing the test but I also know that I lack a lot of confidence and that is my downfall. I also think it's time to change my instructor because, although I like my current one, I realise that her teaching technique does not suit my learning style. She took me on a lesson before the test and did my head in so much I actually said to her "I can feel myself starting to shut down". I didn't shut down though and I did my best and even though I still failed there were less faults than the last time.

I came home and Gus consoled me and made me laugh. Then I told him that I was so mentally drained that my brain felt like mush. That's when I remembered about the mysterious semi solid wobbly object I had stumbled upon. I told Gus and he was intrigued. He asked several questions about it's composition. He asked if it was organic. I believed it was though I didn't think it was an animal of any description. I told him it was like something that had come from the sea. It was gelatinous but more solid and textured than a jelly fish would be. The closest think I could really liken it to was a rain saturated cauliflower. Gus expressed interest in going to investigate it and I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I didn't go back and prod it with a stick. An adveture was declared. Warm clothes were adorned. Ziggy was our trusty mascot and we departed on a quest to interact with a wibbly wobbly brain jobby. We found suitable sticks for jibby-jabbing the squishy organic mass and concluded that it was either a rain saturated cauliflower or some kind of funghi that had fallen off a tree.

So, even though it was sad to fail my test the day ended on a positive. And not because I got to poke something with a stick but because I'm the kind of person who can be cheered up by poking something with a stick. I also had a wee play in the park and went so high on the swings Gus was worried for my safety. Here's to simplicity and the sweet joy of laughing with a friend!

A Week Off

*Sigh* That's a contented sigh because I've been off work this week. Monday I had class so it wasn't exactly a day off but it was nice to come home and wind down in my own time without the pressure of the alarm clock going off at stupid o'clock. Both Monday and Tuesday were stinker days weather wise. On Tuesday mum brought Ziggy home and we went for coffee. I bought daffodils because that's what lady adults do in the springtime. I really have very little recollection of what else happened on Tuesday. Probably nothing.

Being a natural born procrastinator I have learnt to cope with my reluctance to do things by giving myself ridiculous amounts of praise for all the things I do manage to achieve on a daily basis. Like taking a shower. And eating food. This week I also had a driving lesson, studied and got my hair cut. Extra brownie points! Mum and I went to Belfast on Friday and I bought a book called The Games People Play by Eric Berne. It is less a book about rounders and badminton and more a book about the mind games people play. Both mum and I found it to be a little dated but interesting all the same.

Gus and I continue to be silly. He was complaining about all the cuts and burns on his hands and I suggested he chop them off and replace them with various kitchen utensils. Yes, it would be sad that he could no longer play guitar, or scratch himself without risk of injury but how useful he would be with corkscrews, tin openers and spatulas for fingers! Today is Saturday and I have another chica friend visiting tonight. I haven't seen her in ages so it'll be nice to catch up. Monday is back to reality for me but, hey ho, these driving lessons do not pay for themselves.

Write On

I am completely unsure about what to write about. Do I write to make pople laugh, 'cause that's what I like to do? Do I bare my heart and soul because I want to show the world who I truly am and encourage others to be who they truly are? Do I write about Ziggy because he is the closest thing I have to a baby and I'm so proud of him? Do I write about my hopes and dreams because I like to remind myself that I have hopes and dreams? Do I write about my shortcomings because I have those too? Do I write about love because I know it so well? Or do I write about the lack of love because the world's fucked up? Do I write a poem about sticky glue and cherry scones? Or do I write a story about a worm crawling up a cheese hole and dancing in a summer frock? Do I write because I want to? Or because I need to? Or because I'm scared if I don't I'll forget who I am? I don't know. I just write. I write when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm lost and confused. I write when my heart leaps with joy and when it sinks to the pit of my stomach. I write when I'm sure and when I'm not so sure. I write to feel ok, to gain clarity, to release and to empower. I write for freedom and strength and to digest my thoughts. I write for comfort, and solace and peace within myself. I write to connect, with myself and with others. I write because the words hold me up when I feel like falling down.

Better Ways To Die

I found this article about depression and thought it was worth linking up to. And I was reminded of a line from the Little Prince "Well, I must endure the presence of one or two caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies"

Yesterday was a pleasing day because I got to see two of my girlfriends. Although most of my male friends aren't the typical sports watching, ball scratchin' kind I still miss the company of ladies and the female energy they bring. To be honest though,I'm not overly fussy about the company I keep. As long as there's peace and plenty of laughter.

I watched a film last week about four people whose boat sunk and they had to swim in shark infested waters. I'm not a big fan of the ocean, mostly because there's things in it that will eat you alive. The movie wasn't overly scary at the time but a few days later I gave myself the heebie jeebies thinking about it. Those people were eaten, alive, by sharks. I can't think of a more horrific way to die. I can think of ten other ways I would rather die. Like being boiled alive. Being struck by lightning. Being eaten alive by a crocodile. Starvation. Falling from a great height. Suffocation. Basically, any way you can possibly die would be preferable to being eaten ALIVE by a shark.

I am off work for a whole week. This means I can drink as much coffee as I like and stay up past 9 O'Clock. Tonight I have popcorn and we're gonna watch a Japanese movie called Infection. There's only one thing that scares me more than sharks and that's catching some horrific contagious disease that makes green pus ooze from every orifice.