Another Long Day

Another long day. The end of another long day.

Has anyone really thought about the connotations of placing these words together? Another long day. The day is so long, it stretches ahead of us so far we cannot see the end. Yet the placement of 'another' tells us that there have been many days as this before, and will be many to come. It is so long yet it is not isolated, and the end always seems to come so fast. So how long is it really? If we experience so many we have to emphasise 'another' what is it that we are really distinguishing?  'The end' suggests a form of hope, that this day, this long long day, has ended. But another. It is only another. The end does not refer to the end of long days, it refers to a pause, where we can consider the length of the day but know that it is only another, amongst a seemingly endless run.

There is a chance when it is no longer endless therein lies the tragedy of the phrase 'another long day.' But then again, perhaps not.

Rihanna's baby

I was climbing across a wall. It was very high up. I knew if I took a step wrong I would die. I stepped on a stone and it fell, I scrambled to keep hold of the wall. I told myself that I knew that stone would fall.

I gripped onto something hard, covered in soft red material. A little later I realised it was a finger of one of the people who had died on this wall. They had all been buried in it.

A girl was giving birth. I think she was dead. The fetus was only two months old. It came out and I caught it. It was tiny, it fit in the palm of my hand and it was translucent. Someone was trying to call the emergency services but they were being kept on hold. I kept thinking it was dead but now and then it would move. I knew I had to keep it alive until Rihanna came home.

Zzzzzz

Two people, a man and a woman, were trying to get through a swamp. I was watching them, as if it were a film. They fell to the bottom of the swamp and I remarked on how clear the water was and how unrealistic it was. Someone or something told me that is how it actually is in real life.

There were dogs tied up in the swamp. I expressed concern for them but was told by someone or something that they knew where to tread.

The people were still trying to get across. There was a shot of their feet as they took another step but small rocks fell from under their feet and they fell.

There's nothing more boring than someone else's dream....

I was going for counselling. There was a huge and busy waiting room and my boyfriend was there. I went to sit next to him. It was 10:45. Don't know if am or pm. His appointment wasn't until 12. He didn't know if he could get transport home then. I said he could come back to mine.

I went to tell the reception I was there. I didn't know who I was supposed to be seeing but I thought it would be the woman I'd seen before: Kaye something. That didn't ring a bell with the receptionist. He said the person I would be sent to was 18/19 and had just been employed by the agency straight out of school. I described the woman I had seen before, then she walked past and I said 'her!' It was actually Marina de Van. She was leaving and her name was nothing like Kaye. I thought that it would be a pain to have to tell someone new everything about myself again. Then I thought maybe it would be a good thing, new perspective.

I went to sit back next to my boyfriend who I noticed was wearing a baggy grey top. I told him I liked it. I didn't know what time my appointment was even though it said 11 on my card. So I rolled a cigarette and said as soon as I roll a cigarette I would be called in. I was.

I had to ask the receptionist which room I was in as I walked past. I was told room no. 3. I walked into the corridor and it was too dark to see the numbers on the doors. I knocked on one and was told to come in.

The counsellor was Jen, a friend of my sister's who recently got married. The room was the size of a large bedroom, and had a double bed in it. It also had a television and a huge bookshelf filled with books. She asked me to choose a chair. There were lots. The ones without anything on them were the kind of leathery swivel chairs you get in offices but something in the dream told me these were typical psychotherapy chairs. So I removed some laundry and shopping off a hard wooden chair and sat on that. 

The counsellor was smoking. I said I didn't realise I could smoke in there and could I please go back to the waiting room to get my cigarette. I did and whilst I was there I noticed that my boyfriend had eaten 3/4 of a chocolate ganache tart that at some point I had bought myself. I told him 'you cheeky bastard' and he looked really upset.

I was back in the counsellors and she asked me if I wanted any weed. I think the word she used was dweebs but I knew what she meant. I said 'really?' not really wanting to. She said yes, but often patients didn't like it so maybe it was a bad idea. I asked her about the room, she said she lived there. I asked isn't it horrible living in a room that so many sad people tell you horrible things in. She said she had to stay connected with the school. She laughed and looked round and said, all I do is read.

She put the telly on. I got annoyed and asked her to turn it off because I would just get caught up in it and wouldn't say anything for the whole session. She turned it off and sat on the bed. I asked her if that was a counselling trick, meant to catch me off guard or something. She admitted it was something her mother always did.

Blank.

Dorothy got it right in the end

5 large white cookies for £1...for my tea. Belongs in my tummy.

 

 

 

My Phantasm boxset, bought for me by my boyfriend when I got accepted to do a PhD. Lives on my chest of drawers.

My little skiing snowman Christmas Tree decoration. Bought for me by my sister, an expert in all things cute. Lives on my chest of drawers.

A photo that lives on my shelf of me and my family in France. We're channeling spirits here.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer figurines (not dolls!) that live on my shelf in spite of the desperate need for space for books and DVDs. Some things are more important. Given to me and bought for me by a friend and my brother.

Limited edition (yeah right) complete Friends boxset. Bought for me by me. Lives on my desk.

A selection of good, crappy, cheap, and disgusting DVDs. Bought for me by me. They have a nomad existence but still very much belong.

A figurine of a robotic bear making sweet love to a car. Bought for me by a friend. Lives on my stack of moisturisers.

The object and the concept. Bought for me by my sister. Made for me by many. Lives mostly on my desk/windowsill/computer.

99p cocoa butter. Bought frequently by me. Makes you smell divine. Lives under my robotic love-making bear.

A photo album. Compiled for me by a friend. Lives on my desk. Some of the photos follow.

Little tykes.

Young Rosie. Beautiful doggie.

Prom.

My Marilyn Monroe jewellry box. Bought for me by two friends. Holds many beautiful things bought for me by many and me. Lives on my desk.

The joke gift. Bought for me by friends. Lives in my desk tidy.

A roof over one's head to allow frequent lounging. Done by me for me.

Liquorice all-sorts

This is the first night in a long time I have really really wanted to swim in a river, and come so close to swimming. I paddled in the shallow end but that only left me feeling worse and more worthless. So then I began planning on how I can invest in swimming in the river before I realised what I was doing.

Floating on a block of ice doesn't work by the way. Trisha is a huge advocate but it's a load of bollocks.

This is all very self-centred, regarding what is going on outside. But then this blog has always been a diary, never a social commentary. 

I wonder if I should invest in a little poison ivy to get through these times. But poison ivy is illegal, and expensive. But then so is eating all the balloons in the jar. Old new behaviours that I really really don't have time for. And no-one can help me, I know this. If I have learnt anything since my first year in Newcastle locked in a room for a year with nothing but red tea and an angry panda for company the only person that can get me through anything is me. But right now I just wish I had time to knock myself out for a while. With a little swimming and poison ivy. Just a week or so. But I don't have time. It's my fault really. I get well enough to take on enough responsibilities to give me that much stress when I fall again and realise I don't have time. This is my career. And the rest of my life. And more than anything right now, I don't want it.

Tiddly Pom

Not that long ago I lost a jelly bean. Well, I suppose not completely lost, but it is not the jelly bean it once was.

Since then I have been suffering, at times, overwhelming feelings of guilt, then anger, then back to guilt, then fear, then rationality, then anger, guilt and fear all over again.

Not at all linked to the loss of this jelly bean, not that I can fathom anyways, is the random feeling of wanting to swim in a river. Today I was with some friends, and they were talking, and all I could do was listen to my own mind which was telling me how much I wanted to swim in a river.

Maybe linked to this is the stress of singing a song, a song I don't know the words to and do not know if I will finish, but currently my state of mind depends on my confidence of finishing it. And finishing it in a way that will make sense to myself and others. And not lead me to burn in hell.

So it's difficult to make sense of what I'm feeling, but right now it's all gobstoppers and parma violets.

Riots riots riots.

Today I got the phone call most working people wish for every day. 'You will still get paid, but don't come in.'

Unfortunately this is a result of fears of riots spreading to Salford and Manchester. In spite of tweets from the GMP telling us there are no riots in Manchester, nothing to back up claims of looting in Salford, and that the four burning cars in Salford being not of any connection with riots but in fact the product of a usual every day Monday (should we be relieved at that?) there are still rumours coming from people phoning and texting that something might happen. And my bosses are kind enough to fear for my safety over office outputs.

I feel bad now for my grumpy retort to my housemate's boyfriend, who told me there may be riots coming to Manchester: 'well I might not have to go into work then.' That was a result of a low mood and not of a complete lack of care and empathy for those who have been badly affected by these happenings. Promise.

So really, ironically perhaps (I'm not sure I've ever used that word correctly) when I finally get that phone call I've been dreaming of ever since I started working as a 13 year old waitress in a cafe whose patrons enjoyed barking orders at young girls and seeing how many complaints they could get in before the girls began to cry, I'm thinking to myself, I'd rather be in work.

Without a dope beat to step to.

Hmmm been a long time since been on here. Not much to say of any coherence or thread, just thought I would muse a little so I have something new to read when looking over my old posts.

Went to a wedding, got very drunk.

Went to the zoo. Didn't get drunk. There was a child and lots of animals. That would be wrong.

It is of course clear that I am no longer doing my no drinking thing and haven't for a while. My drinking is fairly under control methinks. When I do it I really go for it but those cheeky few that would give me a continual hungover state of a morning have all but gone away. Anyway....

Got some diet coke in my eye..

Watched some bad films...

Put a can of beer on my housemate's head...

Got my hopes up for a whirlwind romance....

Got excited about seeing a pub mentioned in The Likely Lads...

 And continued to perfect my alien/predator impressions...

Those earrings I have on were bought for me by my boyfriend as we waited for a metro in Tyneside. They are fimo liquirice allsorts and are now my favourite earrings in spite of being one of my least favourite sweets.

I have eaten sushi three times in the past week. And I wonder why I never have any money left.

I've also spent a good lot of money on DVDs. But I am a student of film. So it is allowed.

I have editing to do for a chapter that's supposed to be published next year. I have a chapter to write for a thesis that's supposed to be submitted next year. I have a lecture series in which I am participating to prepare for. And I'm sure there was something else. Oh yes, I have a paper to write for a conference I'm doing this September. Got invited actually. Shucks to me. Good thing I didn't forget that one. Should really write these things down. Oh yes, just did. No, I mean somewhere where I will actually think to look when I'm trying to remember what I forgot.

And that my dear reader is what I have been up to. How have you been?

New Hair

Not valid for travel

Not valid for travel? I don't fucking know. I forgo'ed my tea so I could have a glass of wine or tea, it got me on the wrong side of fucked, and now I can't make out my tickets. Valid for travel? I hoave no idea. I'm just gonna flash me tits, see how far that gets me. Still drunk............

Diet and Walking

I have not lost any weight yet and declined weighing myself this morning as I had my tea so late last night. Today  I ate no more than 1000 calories and did an hour of exercise. Yesterday I ate no more than 1500 calories and did an hour of exercise. I'm going to get a bit annoyed if I don't start feeling better soon, or see any difference on the scales. I should probably get one of those scales that tells you how much you've lost in grams as well as pounds.

That diet tracker is starting to piss me off, of target off target cocksuckers.

Derby FUCKING SUCKSSS!!!

Derby......The King of False Advertising

Well, yesterday I went to Derby to attend a talk on 'A Little Porn, A Little Torture.' I set off on the train feeling positive and organised. The sun was shining, I was getting on with my work, and I had a packed lunch complete with Dairy-Lea Dunkers. Yes, I know, I am that cute.

I got into Derby complete with directions on how to get to the University from Google Maps. Being as pre-emptive as possible I wrote down all the alternative routes, in case any led me down motorways with no pathways (I know what you're like Google Maps!!)

I'll admit I wasn't immediately impressed by the 'city' (I use the term loosely) but there were some quite cute red terraced houses opposite the railway in which my sister informs me someone her boyfriend knows lives. Small world. Anyway, I started walking along this road as I correctly assumed this would be railway terrace, being a terrace opposite the railway and all. I did not know at the time that my incredible deduction skills would come in handy for the task ahead.

First of all let me point out that in a small part of Derby there are maps EVERYwhere. There bloomin' well has to be as well because the road signs are so poorly displayed. Unfortunately as you head away from the 'city centre'( if you can call it that) these maps become non-existent, and the road signs no more prolific.

As I continued my walk, trying to feel as positive as possible, I couldn't help letting my spirits drop a little by the rundown buildings, numerous roadworks and scaffoldings, and drunk teenagers tripping over parked cars (this is 11am). What was supposed to be the city centre looked like a few shops scattered over the remnants of an industrial revolution that held no bearings of grandeur that, say, a city like Manchester has. And even though the sun was shining it felt oppressive, there was no air. Can I blame Derby for the atmosphere? All I can say is that I was in Sheffield less than an hour before and it had no such aura.

As I walked down Friar Gate which I found using the maps that had become more and more sporadic (and of course my extensive Google Maps notes) I found myself feeling more and more in despair as the buildings around declined from barely impressive rundown architecture to small houses that would not be out of place in the village of Herschell Gordon Lewis' 2000 Maniacs. I began to mistrust Google and myself. I was looking for Markeaton Road. ROAD. This is important.

At one point, I don't know what made me do this, I just turned right. Call it spiritual guidance, call it intuition, call it whatever you like but after 40minutes of frantic walking with a bag full of books on my back I found a sign saying 'Markeaton Road.' It was a fucking carpark. This apparently is a trend of Derby.

Now my directions said go down Markeaton Road. How can I go DOWN a fucking carpark? Which direction is down? I couldn't judge from the direction I had come in as I had no idea if I'd come off Friar Gate because there hadn't been a fucking sign in fucking AGES! I know some of you would like to blame Google maps here but I honestly think that it did the best it could with a place like Derby, the type of city that gives all cities a bad name. So I did what any normal person would do and marched towards the nearest most official looking building. In there I was informed that my destination, Kedleston Road, was a road. But it was also a building. And there was Old Kedleston road to boot. Which one was I after? All it said in the email was Kedleston Road.

My powers of deduction told me that a building did in fact make more sense than holding a talk in the middle of a road (although it wouldn't surprise me if in Derby this was usual practice) so I got given directions to that. Seemed simple. Through these doors, turn left down the road, right up the hill and you can't miss it.

Left down the road. It wasn't a fucking road it was a mud track. They really need to be told the definition of road in that place. I couldn't enjoy the greenery that surrounded me as it stank of dog shit. There were various path ways to the left and I just chose one. I was fast running out of time and if I went back to ask again I would be late to the talk so I took my chances and vowed that if I couldn't find it I would be heading back to somewhere civilised i.e. not Derby for a much needed drink. Allah himself would not have denied me at this point. Was there a hill to the right? Was there fuck. There was a motorway, and various signs saying Kedleston (just Kedleston, even though apparently there are a 1000 and one places with that name in Derby) all pointing in different directions. I could see a building amongst other buildings rising up in the distance and thought I would just head that way. I got to a sign that said University of Derby, Kedleston Road. Hallelujah. Was my quest over? Was it fuck.

Kedleston Road BUILDING is located on the top of a hill to allow for numerous car parks surrounding it. Staff car parks, student car parks, visitor car parks, authorised visitor car parks.... Firstly is it necessary to divide up the car parks in such a pedantic manner, and secondly why the fuck do they need so many fucking car parking spaces when no fucking idiot would dream of coming to this place? At this point I was just hoping I would get there in time to have a much need cig before going in. I began to predict I would get to the room and there would be a sign on it saying 'Cancelled,' and I thought no fucking surprise there, the speaker was from Sheffield and probably got off in Derby and thought fuck this I'm off for a pint. Don't blame her.

I finally conquered the hill of never-ending car parks and found myself in actually quite a nice area. Unfortunately I couldn't appreciate it due to my incredible anger at this point towards anything and everything that is Derby.

I had a cig and went in the building, which was more like a shopping mall, and enquired where I might find Room B302. I was asked, 'Are you sure you're in the right place? Because there is another Kedleston Building for Adult Education.' I told them I would take my chances and could they please direct me to the room, which unsurprisingly was a list of twists and turns of which any labyrinth would be proud. On my way to the room I passed a sign saying 'Student Well-Being Centre'. It crossed my mind to pop in and tell them that my being is not very well due to their shit city and complete incompetence when it comes to defining roads and naming buildings. I didn't. I went to my talk. It was quite good.

That's more like it.

Day 8(b) Derby here I come

I am on day 8, that is eight days with a consumption of 25ml of jagermeister and 1200ml of lager only. Feeling really good. Although I'm aware it was around this time that I was feeling really good about it last time. When I get that anxiety in a couple of weeks (which I expect as I would normally self medicate myself to avoid it) I have a choice whether to return to alcohol to avoid it or power through it. Not knowing how long it will last makes it a scary prospect but I suspect that when/if I come out the other end it will be an amazing feeling of achievement. So I will try my very best.

Today I am off to Derby to attend a talk called 'A little porn, a little torture' which, anyone who knows me even a little bit will know, is right up my street. Research-wise that is, not practice.

After this I will be going to the cinema to see Scream 4, I am suitably excited. I was too young to see the original at the cinema  and I don't remember if I could have seen Scream 2 and 3 on the big screen. Both were so rubbish it wouldn't have been worth bothering. However as it has been such a long break between the last one and this one (11 years) it suggests they may, MAY, have had time to improve on things.

One curious thing to note. The first three are certificate 18, so in fact I wouldn't have been able to see any of them when released. This one however is a certificate 15. The question begs: is it less violent, less scary, less sexually explicit (although we never did get to see Campbell's rack) or has the threshold of what justifies an 18 certificate changed to the extent those boffins at the BBFC will allow much more exciting fare to reach the eyes of our 15 year olds? Past precedence suggest the latter is true, as what would have been deemed terrifying 100 years ago would now be considered tame. It is, however, quite exciting to potentially witness this change in such a short time that is 11 years. I may just have to watch the first three again to compare, for research purposes obviously....

Diet and Walking

I'm not sure how often or consistently people read this blog but just in case you're reading this post the one's titled diet and walking are just documenting my progress in those areas. Not meant for entertainment purposes!

I have 14lb to lose at a rate of 2lb a week which is obviously 7 weeks, 49 days.

I am on the morning of day 3 and my weight has remained constant. I know I shouldn't weigh myself every day but I do because I have an irrational fear that my body will have suddenly gained half a stone for no reason.

The past two days I have walked 20 miles and consumed more or less 1500 calories. According to calorie calculator someone who exercises 3-5 times a week should eat 1500 calories to lose 2lb a week. It just goes to show how bloody hard this weight loss thing is! Oh well, 7 weeks isn't all that long :)

Day 5(b) My name is Laura......

I went out for Lu's birthday last night. Did I drink? Yes I did. I had two pints and one shot. I was out for about three hours and in that time felt such a large amount of stress and anxiety I felt the only way I could get through the night and be someone others would want to be with in a night club I had to get a drink.

This is it though. I'm done. Completely. I do not like night clubs. I do not like going out late at night. I do not like being in places where the focus is solely on alcohol. So the following is somewhat of a confession of a twenty something year old who does not like night clubs.

My name is Laura and I do not like nightclubs. I enjoy many things. I enjoy early mornings, breakfast in the sun, cuddly toys and mermaids, books on serial killers, bronzer and nail varnish, designing new tattoos in my head that I never get round to having done, horror movies and science fiction, Tricia Helfer (that fit blonde one from BSG), chocolate and nuts.

My name is Laura and I enjoy my friends, I enjoy their company and the advice that they give, I enjoy their timely hugs and the way I feel special to be counted as one of their friends. I enjoy meals out and the theatre. I enjoy dancing around naked to rock ballads preferably from the 80s (privately of course!) I enjoy horse riding and puppies. I enjoy dungeons and museums of morbid fascinations. I enjoy midnight talks about philosophy and killing zombies on my pink tricycle.

My name is Laura and I enjoy many things, but I don't like nightclubs.

Day 4(b) Singin' Sober in the Rain

I'm currently sitting in the spare room of my folk's house using their infuriatingly slow computer after having a lovely civilised lunch with the jofanator at the Blue Pig.

Last night I went to see a musical at Lowther Pavilion Singin' in the Rain. I very much enjoyed myself, particularly when LQ decided to yell 'cunt!' really loudly. The elderly couple sitting next to us moved seats after the interval. I blame LQ entirely although perhaps I shouldn't as they may have gone away for a quickie judging by the woman's over enthusiasm of seeing two amateur actors/dancers kissing onstage. *shudder*

There is absolutely no doubt that the best part of the show were the films made by the one and only Jess, known on Facebook merely as Jss. They were authentic, funny, and the jump cuts were inspired, even if they were necessitated by questionable directing (not Jess obviously!)

It is Lu's birthday tomorrow so tonight we are going into Manchester for some drinks, I hope the city is ready for us. I will of course be on the soft drinks but I'm sure my hyper mood will make up for that. Signing off to read about phenomenology...........

Pictures pictures pictures

Weird place me and Laura found on our travels

LQ being really sociable....

Aaaaaah.

Another picture of the weird place

And another one.

And another, with LQ posing.

There's a pillow there, must be a homeless hotspot.

I didn't realise I took so many of this! A lovely shot of LQ's back.

The Saschmeister.

Don't you just love my 'reflecting on the state of the world' pipe face?

Aptly named hard boiled sweets. As we all know nipples can get very hard in winter.

Aaaah Willow, Jof's doggy.

Me with my new shark tooth earrings (not duffel togs thank you very much Will!) Drinking a watermelon and guava cocktail, taken by Matt.