Yesterday I was gifted with long distance sight, courtesy of my returned glasses with updated prescription. Wow! Everything is so shiny and clear and in focus. Seven days without them were horrendous but I guess it made me realise how much I need them, how much they help me and how freakin' blind I am without them. (And my prescription isn't even that bad.)
Here's just a few of the happenings of my week without spectacles:
Monday
I wore them to teach my class in the morning, then went for the optician's appointment. I reluctantly handed them over and then couldn't read any of the bus numbers until they were inches away. It's sort of disorientating, to the extent that someone is actually stealing things from your vision, deliberately erasing them, distorting the images and messing with your head. Then I had to babysit in the evening and I thought, this won't be too bad, until they announced we were watching the first Harry Potter film. Great. Movie night when the sofas are so far from the TV I really can't see anything.
Tuesday
Not too bad as I spent most of the day in the flat. Computer screens and books are fine so it was only when I had to go out and teach that the blur stole over me again, and distance distorted. It's the simple things like loss of facial features for the people approaching you. Feels like a bad horror movie. I'm half expecting everyone to turn monster or demon on me. But I managed to get back home unscathed. No monsters on the 46. Some cranks, but no demons.
Wednesday
I'd been roped into some impromptu babysitting for the boy I do private music lessons for. We were off to The British Museum for the Vikings exhibit and some Viking creative activities for children. How not fun are museums without glasses/sight? I couldn't see any of the signs. We had to get really close up first and somehow being around lots of people in a large space like that, makes it worse. They get in the way of my already limited vision, obscuring it. But he's a good boy and never left my side and we had a good few hours of museuming.
In the evening I was off to visit a friend in Richmond, an easy trip on the overground. Except.......All the trains were cancelled, after fifteen minutes of waiting for a delayed train and there were signal failures and defective trains and we all had to be refunded to our Oyster cards and sent to find alternative travel arrangements. Okay. So, I'm in heels and slightly blind but let's do this. So I walk to the Underground station. I change twice to get to Earls Court and the district line and then lo and behold, there are no trains going to Richmond. I'd already been travelling around for an hour and twenty minutes, slowly getting nowhere. In the end we agreed to meet in Waterloo for a much needed bottle of wine and a pizza.
I couldn't see my friend until she was right on top of me. Then I couldn't see the sign for the toilets. But I could see my menu, wine glass and pizza. Then I saw the dessert menu and every spoonful of panna cotta. Mmmmmm. At least it was just one tube home.
Thursday
Again, not too bad today as I was mainly in the flat, except for my doomed outing for baking ingredients. Of all the places to shop in Kentish Town, no one had black treacle. Or if they did, I certainly couldn't see it. And somehow the lack of black treacle was a by product of my inability to see. Pretty much everything that went wrong that week was attributed to my missing specs. Well, you have to blame some thing.
In the evening we had friends over for dinner, which wasn't too bad vision wise, just a blurry face experience, though in my tiny flat no one can ever be that far away. The company and food were lovely, though by the end of the night I had lost my voice.
Friday
Ah, a day in writing progress reports for one of my schools. Again, writing, reading and computers are all in focus because they're close up. But then a night in watching blurry TV was pretty distressing, nothing in focus and heaven forbid there should be any writing on screen. Eesck.
Saturday
The sore throat from the last couple of days had escalated, resulting in a lovely cough and fever and general ickiness, so no Parkrun for me this week. Then we arranged with a friend of ours to use our birthday vouchers for The View from The Shard. What an amazing time to not have glasses, when you have to see really far. Luckily I do have prescription sunglasses, though of course you look like a dick if you wear them inside. But half the viewing stuff is inside and half is out, so it was a pretty good compromise. I found where our flat was and I could see Wembley where Wigan were taking on Arsenal in the FA Cup Semi Final. Watching the trains coming in and out was weirdly satisfying. They were like wriggling, snaking, caterpillars or worms or something. And there are so many of them, only half a minute apart and constantly in and out. Rather fascinating in an oh-shit-I've-turned-into-my-dad kinda way.
Sunday
A relaxing morning watching the London Marathon on the TV, reminiscing when I did mine four years ago. Then an art gallery in the afternoon. Again, lack of sight, kind of an issue, especially when the main exhibit was all 3D screens and videos. I was doomed. I bet next week when I have the glasses, I do barely anything that would require them. Typical. Anyhoo, in the evening we watched the epic, historical film: Lincoln and I managed to fall asleep in the last thirty minutes. Oops. I blame the glasses-less-ness.
Monday
Well, we've gone full circle. I taught my class, this time without glasses and much of a voice. I came home, wrote some progress reports and then finally got the call. So I jaunted out and picked them up, whilst the lady marvelled at how cool my frames are. I'm like, I know, that's why I kept them and didn't change them for one of yours. And then it was glass, literal glass in front of my eyes, but glass with my exact prescription. I could see, even further and clearer than before and all the way back on the bus I just looked and read signs that I previously wouldn't have been able to and had my own little chufty badge, which no one else had a clue about. I can see. La la la la la la. Though I do get jealous of people with 20:20 vision, who never have to go through this bull crap.
And so, that was my week without glasses. I fear at some point, I will have to get a spare pair, so this doesn't happen again, ever. But then it did give me something to rant about.
Thanks for reading
Rants
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Monday, April 7, 2014
Defective
It's expensive having shitty defective eyes.
I went for my eye test today - only a year overdue, oops - and what a polava it was. They test you with all these lights and dots and flashing things and puffs of air in your eyes and it feels like a test that you're rapidly failing. How many lights did you see? Where were they in terms of clock positions? (Man it's difficult to think quickly about that.) Do you see any green lights? (Yes. No. Ahh, I think so.) It's all super fast and you have to think so speedily, half the time I was only processing one as she's gone on to the next one. (Just realised this makes me seem slow and slightly thick.)
So then, after this you are passed to the actual optician - before being told I have to repeat one of the tests later. Great - for charts and weird glasses. Then it's more questions and lights and tests and indecision. Which is clearer, the red or green? (As soon as you say green, convincingly, you wonder if it was red.) Which dots are clearer? Can you read the top line? Okay, so I started reading the top line and could barely make out anything on the second line, but then she changed the chart and I thought, what the hell, my eyes must be so bad I'm seeing backwards letters. Then she revealed they were actually numbers. Ha ha. Glad she told me. I thought that 3 was a backwards E.
It's only later when they get you to put on your current glasses and then add the new prescription, that you realise how much your eyes have further deteriorated. I re-did the field vision test and passed with flying colours this time, thank god. Though I'm not sure what happens when you don't. Naughty corner? Smacked wrist? And then came the new glasses spiel.
I made it pretty darn clear that I was keeping the same frames, my late 1950's vintage frames that are the most beautiful frames in the world. But still, they tried to persuade me to go for contact lenses, despite me making it perfectly clear I wouldn't be putting things in my eyes. Just take no for an answer, please! And they persuaded me to try a few of their frames, but it's no use, I'm a creature of habit, these frames suit me and they make all other frames pale into insignificance. Bless her though, the lady was patient and very sweet. She knew she was on to a loser there.
Unfortunately, it's costs more than most of the designer glasses that are buy one get one free, just to get lenses done on POF (patients' own frames). Then they offer you all these coatings and thinner lenses and something else and fairies will lick them clean and some other bumpf, and you're just left sat there confused, not quite sure what you've paid for, with a significant hole in the bank balance. I had to actually get rid of one of the coatings because it was working out more than I'd paid for my vintage glasses in the first place, and that included lenses when I bought them. Ridiculous! But even worse is that I am now glasses-less until next week. A freakin' week! I'm sure Specsavers used to do 'em in an hour. But not Boots. That is such a long time to be without them. I miss them already. But it would have cost a further £30 to have them done any quicker and that might have been 5 days instead of 7. Nah, I'll just wait thanks.
So if I'm seeing you, or attempting to see you in the next week, bare with me. If you are far away, I will not see you until you are much closer and I will be unable to read signs, bus numbers, train times or words on a cinema screen. The joys. I know I should get a spare pair, but money does not come out of my ass, unfortunately, and as I had to keep reminding them, it's really expensive to have defective eyes, especially when you're self-employed. Thankfully, I'm mostly on half term break this week. I only have a couple of babysitting things and one more class to teach, so I should be able to muddle through. If you see me squinting, you know why.
Oh, finally a little tit bit for Monday afternoon, a snatch of overheard conversation on the bus:
Oh hi, yeah, I need to book a bikini wax.
Ha ha. Made me cringe and inner giggle. Is that really something you want overhearing on a bus?
Anyhoo, to those of you with defective eyes, I salute you. To those of you with perfect eyes, I scowl at you in pure jealousy, and to anyone who has seen Final Destination 5 before an eye test, they will understand my recoil from some of the red lights.
Rants
I went for my eye test today - only a year overdue, oops - and what a polava it was. They test you with all these lights and dots and flashing things and puffs of air in your eyes and it feels like a test that you're rapidly failing. How many lights did you see? Where were they in terms of clock positions? (Man it's difficult to think quickly about that.) Do you see any green lights? (Yes. No. Ahh, I think so.) It's all super fast and you have to think so speedily, half the time I was only processing one as she's gone on to the next one. (Just realised this makes me seem slow and slightly thick.)
So then, after this you are passed to the actual optician - before being told I have to repeat one of the tests later. Great - for charts and weird glasses. Then it's more questions and lights and tests and indecision. Which is clearer, the red or green? (As soon as you say green, convincingly, you wonder if it was red.) Which dots are clearer? Can you read the top line? Okay, so I started reading the top line and could barely make out anything on the second line, but then she changed the chart and I thought, what the hell, my eyes must be so bad I'm seeing backwards letters. Then she revealed they were actually numbers. Ha ha. Glad she told me. I thought that 3 was a backwards E.
It's only later when they get you to put on your current glasses and then add the new prescription, that you realise how much your eyes have further deteriorated. I re-did the field vision test and passed with flying colours this time, thank god. Though I'm not sure what happens when you don't. Naughty corner? Smacked wrist? And then came the new glasses spiel.
I made it pretty darn clear that I was keeping the same frames, my late 1950's vintage frames that are the most beautiful frames in the world. But still, they tried to persuade me to go for contact lenses, despite me making it perfectly clear I wouldn't be putting things in my eyes. Just take no for an answer, please! And they persuaded me to try a few of their frames, but it's no use, I'm a creature of habit, these frames suit me and they make all other frames pale into insignificance. Bless her though, the lady was patient and very sweet. She knew she was on to a loser there.
Unfortunately, it's costs more than most of the designer glasses that are buy one get one free, just to get lenses done on POF (patients' own frames). Then they offer you all these coatings and thinner lenses and something else and fairies will lick them clean and some other bumpf, and you're just left sat there confused, not quite sure what you've paid for, with a significant hole in the bank balance. I had to actually get rid of one of the coatings because it was working out more than I'd paid for my vintage glasses in the first place, and that included lenses when I bought them. Ridiculous! But even worse is that I am now glasses-less until next week. A freakin' week! I'm sure Specsavers used to do 'em in an hour. But not Boots. That is such a long time to be without them. I miss them already. But it would have cost a further £30 to have them done any quicker and that might have been 5 days instead of 7. Nah, I'll just wait thanks.
So if I'm seeing you, or attempting to see you in the next week, bare with me. If you are far away, I will not see you until you are much closer and I will be unable to read signs, bus numbers, train times or words on a cinema screen. The joys. I know I should get a spare pair, but money does not come out of my ass, unfortunately, and as I had to keep reminding them, it's really expensive to have defective eyes, especially when you're self-employed. Thankfully, I'm mostly on half term break this week. I only have a couple of babysitting things and one more class to teach, so I should be able to muddle through. If you see me squinting, you know why.
Oh, finally a little tit bit for Monday afternoon, a snatch of overheard conversation on the bus:
Oh hi, yeah, I need to book a bikini wax.
Ha ha. Made me cringe and inner giggle. Is that really something you want overhearing on a bus?
Anyhoo, to those of you with defective eyes, I salute you. To those of you with perfect eyes, I scowl at you in pure jealousy, and to anyone who has seen Final Destination 5 before an eye test, they will understand my recoil from some of the red lights.
Rants
Friday, April 4, 2014
Severe Submission Sickness (SSS)
It should have been novel submission excitement this week, but instead I was struck down, in the prime of lime with the dreaded SSS - Severe Submission Sickness.
Symptoms include but are not limited to:
Just in case that was a little too grim for everyone, I'm sorry, but we can't be all happy and positive all the time. What do you mean I am never those things? You're probably right, but just in case, I will leave you with a slightly more optimistic thought:
What if reading books was exercise? I mean, what if ingesting all those words and travelling off with our characters actually burnt calories? I would be so fit!
For instance, you're not stationary when you're reading, even if you are actually stationary. You move with your characters, you experience every thing they do, so why can't that involve the real sacrificial burning of some belly flab? (As my workout DVD lovingly refers to it.)
I have been devouring books lately and have stumbled upon an author I have been meaning to read for such a long time: Lauren Oliver. Oh my. I have been missing out. Ate Panic in just over a day and am onto the first in her bestselling trilogy: Delirium. Frickin' brilliant. I'd like to think by the end of it, especially with all the running the main character does, that maybe I will be trim and fit by the end of it. Though as I am likely to finish it tomorrow, then doubts are high. Shame though. That would be the most enjoyable way of exercising and keeping fit.
Anyhoo, it's Friday, so even if, like me, you are experiencing SSS, maybe wine or vodka or friends or a little break could cure at least one or two of the symptoms. It's not a case of keeping your chin up, it's more like unknotting your stomach, trying to keep your eyes focused, and if all the dots and squiggles become incomprehensible blurs of black, then step away, have a minute, and breathe, but that's a given.
Rants
Symptoms include but are not limited to:
- Inability to trust any judgement you make.
- Hating the world, disliking everything.
- The need to throw things, generally scream, shout and have a tantrum.
- A break out in spots, akin to that of a prepubescent teen.
- Additional/rapidly increasing grey hair ratio; the amazing little wiry ones that stick up and out the sides.
- Punctuation marks become a random assortment of incomprehensible dots and lines that seem to rearrange themselves when you're not looking.
- Inability to then correct those punctuation marks and therefore hatred of the comma, semicolon and colon.
- Temperature fluctuations to the extreme. Cold sweats. Hot sweats. Medium sweats. Being so cold you need extra layers, slippers and wrist warmers. Then stripping down to vest and pyjama bottoms.
- A increased tendency to spill things, drop things, walk into things, injure yourself.
- A tiredness that aches your bones, weighs down your eyes and makes you cranky.
- Emotions so close to the surface, it's a laugh or cry moment, every moment.
- Feeling like that submission will always be twelve steps out of reach, like the end of a rainbow or the mysterious entrance to the Gherkin building. But on the tenth step there's a precipice and you might just fall to your death.
Just in case that was a little too grim for everyone, I'm sorry, but we can't be all happy and positive all the time. What do you mean I am never those things? You're probably right, but just in case, I will leave you with a slightly more optimistic thought:
What if reading books was exercise? I mean, what if ingesting all those words and travelling off with our characters actually burnt calories? I would be so fit!
For instance, you're not stationary when you're reading, even if you are actually stationary. You move with your characters, you experience every thing they do, so why can't that involve the real sacrificial burning of some belly flab? (As my workout DVD lovingly refers to it.)
I have been devouring books lately and have stumbled upon an author I have been meaning to read for such a long time: Lauren Oliver. Oh my. I have been missing out. Ate Panic in just over a day and am onto the first in her bestselling trilogy: Delirium. Frickin' brilliant. I'd like to think by the end of it, especially with all the running the main character does, that maybe I will be trim and fit by the end of it. Though as I am likely to finish it tomorrow, then doubts are high. Shame though. That would be the most enjoyable way of exercising and keeping fit.
Anyhoo, it's Friday, so even if, like me, you are experiencing SSS, maybe wine or vodka or friends or a little break could cure at least one or two of the symptoms. It's not a case of keeping your chin up, it's more like unknotting your stomach, trying to keep your eyes focused, and if all the dots and squiggles become incomprehensible blurs of black, then step away, have a minute, and breathe, but that's a given.
Rants
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Flashed and Embarrased
For so many reasons yesterday was the best day ever; my man back from the states; Kate Bush pre-order leaving me attending three dates - can't actually convey how much this means to me. But then there are the pitfalls of teaching 40 kids in one day.
The first class consisted of two of the seven toddlers, screaming and balling because they wanted to go outside with the other children. Cue some classical tones of Beethoven to soothe them into silence. It really does work.
The second class consisted of me fending off the children not taking part in the class whilst the teachers sat on their asses not doing a great deal. I'm not actually there to entertain the rest of the kids, that's your bloody job.
Then the third class showed the weirdness and down right cruelty of kids. One of the children who every week tries to join in and I have to tell him to come off the carpet area and go and play with his friends, proceeded to flash at me. And I mean, yes, tiny willy flashing. Very inappropriate and slightly insulting. I thought he was going to wee on us for not letting him join in. Little bugger. I think if his mum enquired about the lessons, I wouldn't have him on principle. It was almost like him giving me the finger, in an altogether more disturbing way. Ew.
Then, also within the third class, baring in mind the classes are half an hour each, and follow straight on from one another and contrary to popular belief, women do sweat; one of my kids decided to oust my sweat patches. The embarrassment.
"Why is your top wet Helen?"
NO! The shame!
I told him the truth and rolled my sleeves back all the way to my shoulders to try and hide it. I mean come on, even adults are polite enough not to say anything even if they notice the old sweat patches.
Damn inquisitiveness.
All in all I had been flashed and embarrassed but I still had tickets to three Kate Bush shows! Whoop!
Rants
The first class consisted of two of the seven toddlers, screaming and balling because they wanted to go outside with the other children. Cue some classical tones of Beethoven to soothe them into silence. It really does work.
The second class consisted of me fending off the children not taking part in the class whilst the teachers sat on their asses not doing a great deal. I'm not actually there to entertain the rest of the kids, that's your bloody job.
Then the third class showed the weirdness and down right cruelty of kids. One of the children who every week tries to join in and I have to tell him to come off the carpet area and go and play with his friends, proceeded to flash at me. And I mean, yes, tiny willy flashing. Very inappropriate and slightly insulting. I thought he was going to wee on us for not letting him join in. Little bugger. I think if his mum enquired about the lessons, I wouldn't have him on principle. It was almost like him giving me the finger, in an altogether more disturbing way. Ew.
Then, also within the third class, baring in mind the classes are half an hour each, and follow straight on from one another and contrary to popular belief, women do sweat; one of my kids decided to oust my sweat patches. The embarrassment.
"Why is your top wet Helen?"
NO! The shame!
I told him the truth and rolled my sleeves back all the way to my shoulders to try and hide it. I mean come on, even adults are polite enough not to say anything even if they notice the old sweat patches.
Damn inquisitiveness.
All in all I had been flashed and embarrassed but I still had tickets to three Kate Bush shows! Whoop!
Rants
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Door Handles, Door Handles And Envelopes
My word I injure myself a lot in the home; mostly whilst doing mundane jobs like hoovering or generally walking from one room to the next. And it got me thinking about the most recurring injuries that I inadvertently inflict upon myself. And the top three are:
1. Door Handles.
I'm not sure what it is about the height of a door handle or the amount it sticks out or what, but I have quite the knack for bashing elbows, hands, knuckles, hips, legs and fore arms. The amount of bruises I've sustained from door handles is quite ridiculous. And I wouldn't mind, but it's not like they move around, changing their height and sticky-outedness. So why do I continue with the regular collisions? Reduction in spatial awareness? Definitely. An innate clumsiness? Absolutely. Being drawn to shiny things much in the same way as a magpie? Hmmm, not really. Whatever it is, they seem out to get me.
2. Buggering Door Handles.
Now you may be thinking, this is the same as the aforementioned door handles, but you'd be wrong. This is a very specific door handle injury and one that I'm still in pain from. So, I'm hoovering the house and doing a good job of it, getting up all the fluff and hair and stuff and thinking wow, that's what colour the carpet really is. Then I head into the bedroom and you know when you're in the throws of hoovering and you just don't notice that door handle right by your head, as you bend down to get in the corners. Then BAM! Right on the pissin' corner of that wonderful metal contraption. I honestly thought there may be blood and a slight concussion the force at which I hit it, but it turns out there was just a lump and tenderness three days later. Whoop! And all that from trying to tidy up the house.
3. Bloody Love Film Envelope.
Yes, the bloody Love Film envelope attacked me with a paper cut spanning the entire width of my middle finger, yesterday. Blood everywhere. Ha ha.
I think the conclusion here is that I'm a menace to myself and most door handles. Door handles beware, you may be in for a collision with Rants.
Until next time.
Rants
1. Door Handles.
I'm not sure what it is about the height of a door handle or the amount it sticks out or what, but I have quite the knack for bashing elbows, hands, knuckles, hips, legs and fore arms. The amount of bruises I've sustained from door handles is quite ridiculous. And I wouldn't mind, but it's not like they move around, changing their height and sticky-outedness. So why do I continue with the regular collisions? Reduction in spatial awareness? Definitely. An innate clumsiness? Absolutely. Being drawn to shiny things much in the same way as a magpie? Hmmm, not really. Whatever it is, they seem out to get me.
2. Buggering Door Handles.
Now you may be thinking, this is the same as the aforementioned door handles, but you'd be wrong. This is a very specific door handle injury and one that I'm still in pain from. So, I'm hoovering the house and doing a good job of it, getting up all the fluff and hair and stuff and thinking wow, that's what colour the carpet really is. Then I head into the bedroom and you know when you're in the throws of hoovering and you just don't notice that door handle right by your head, as you bend down to get in the corners. Then BAM! Right on the pissin' corner of that wonderful metal contraption. I honestly thought there may be blood and a slight concussion the force at which I hit it, but it turns out there was just a lump and tenderness three days later. Whoop! And all that from trying to tidy up the house.
3. Bloody Love Film Envelope.
Yes, the bloody Love Film envelope attacked me with a paper cut spanning the entire width of my middle finger, yesterday. Blood everywhere. Ha ha.
I think the conclusion here is that I'm a menace to myself and most door handles. Door handles beware, you may be in for a collision with Rants.
Until next time.
Rants
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Kumquat
Hi and welcome to International day of the Kumquat. Or is it International day of trying to look like a constipated zebra? I always get confused between the two.
Anyhow, it's Thursday the 20th March and it must be the International day of something, because what else would we do if we weren't been told to talk like a pirate or wear odd socks, or for heaven's sake, be happy. Honestly, I'm not sure how we coped before International day ofs.......
I would like to know who decides what they are and when they are, because there's only 365 days in the year but an infinite amount of possibilities for a day of. I can think of about three hundred right now this very second. So who makes the cut? Sadly the kumquat does not have it's own day but it does have it's own festival in Dade City, Florida. And I think the constipated zebra day of, proved somewhat unpopular. But annoyingly making the cut is the day of happiness, which is today.
My first thoughts were, fuck off. I know, my naughty mouth. Oo, but there really should be a day of swearing, where swearing is not only allowed but welcomed. That would be nice. I digress. So this day of happiness that is supposedly 'International'. Hmmm. How many nations are actually taking part in this? Nations in war, famine, poverty, disease? Or just those annoyingly optimistic people that are happy all the freakin' time anyway and like to ram it down your throats. They are unbearable anyway, don't give them a frickin' day to devote to general annoyance.
Being a cynic, a pessimist and a sarky little bugger, I find the idea of being told to be happy like being told to eat up all my sweetcorn as child. The fact that you want me to do it, makes me want to do it less and less. You can't tell people to be happy and just what is happy? Apparently it's something to do with a room without a roof, according to Pharrell. But I'd be pretty pissed off to be honest if my room came without a roof. Just saying, it rains a lot in this country.
Anyhoo, we all know I'm a bah humbug, any time of the year and I'm sure loads of people have had a great day full of total happiness - vomit - but to those who didn't, that's okay too. Be who you are and don't be ashamed of it.
And as for the international day of, I think we should all create our own, like International it's acceptable to walk around and sing along to your ipod out loud day. (Bit of a mouth full but worth every word.) Or International impression of a Velociraptor day. (I am so good at that!) Oo, even better, International wallow in self pity day. (Another classic.) And fingers crossed, maybe one day the glorious Kumquat will be rewarded its own International day of......
Until then, don't hold your breath, until of course the International day of holding your breath, and maybe buy a kumquat. (I sort of just like saying the word. Kumquat. He he. Kumquat. He he. I know, there's no hope..)
Rants
Anyhow, it's Thursday the 20th March and it must be the International day of something, because what else would we do if we weren't been told to talk like a pirate or wear odd socks, or for heaven's sake, be happy. Honestly, I'm not sure how we coped before International day ofs.......
I would like to know who decides what they are and when they are, because there's only 365 days in the year but an infinite amount of possibilities for a day of. I can think of about three hundred right now this very second. So who makes the cut? Sadly the kumquat does not have it's own day but it does have it's own festival in Dade City, Florida. And I think the constipated zebra day of, proved somewhat unpopular. But annoyingly making the cut is the day of happiness, which is today.
My first thoughts were, fuck off. I know, my naughty mouth. Oo, but there really should be a day of swearing, where swearing is not only allowed but welcomed. That would be nice. I digress. So this day of happiness that is supposedly 'International'. Hmmm. How many nations are actually taking part in this? Nations in war, famine, poverty, disease? Or just those annoyingly optimistic people that are happy all the freakin' time anyway and like to ram it down your throats. They are unbearable anyway, don't give them a frickin' day to devote to general annoyance.
Being a cynic, a pessimist and a sarky little bugger, I find the idea of being told to be happy like being told to eat up all my sweetcorn as child. The fact that you want me to do it, makes me want to do it less and less. You can't tell people to be happy and just what is happy? Apparently it's something to do with a room without a roof, according to Pharrell. But I'd be pretty pissed off to be honest if my room came without a roof. Just saying, it rains a lot in this country.
Anyhoo, we all know I'm a bah humbug, any time of the year and I'm sure loads of people have had a great day full of total happiness - vomit - but to those who didn't, that's okay too. Be who you are and don't be ashamed of it.
And as for the international day of, I think we should all create our own, like International it's acceptable to walk around and sing along to your ipod out loud day. (Bit of a mouth full but worth every word.) Or International impression of a Velociraptor day. (I am so good at that!) Oo, even better, International wallow in self pity day. (Another classic.) And fingers crossed, maybe one day the glorious Kumquat will be rewarded its own International day of......
Until then, don't hold your breath, until of course the International day of holding your breath, and maybe buy a kumquat. (I sort of just like saying the word. Kumquat. He he. Kumquat. He he. I know, there's no hope..)
Rants
Monday, March 10, 2014
Insert Your Own Profanity...............
"Can you do a show for parents as my child is leaving the nursery for a while to go travelling?" (Kids these days eh. I didn't get a passport till I was 21.) I was given two weeks notice and have rallied around to try and do this for next week.
The mum just emailed me and said she can't make it.
*insert profanities here______________________________*
I didn't want to do a show in the middle of the term, I wanted to do it at the end of the term. (To be quite honest, I don't want to do one at all, especially as I only have 6 kids and they'll probably all get stage fright and it'll be me just jiggin' about and singing by myself. Whoop! Great. I can't freakin' wait.) I have also just had a new kid join who of course is younger and likes to throw things etc. Hmmmm, me thinks next week will be a failure.
Next time I'll just say, you can come and watch a lesson if you want but I'm not making a song and dance about it. It disrupts the flow of the lessons, pisses me off and disrupts the other kids that don't partake of the music class. Or maybe next time I'll find the elusive No button within me and tell them to bugger off.
I wouldn't mind, but I email them every week, take photos every week and provide progress reports and certificates every term. What more do you want from me? *melodramatic*
I'm not having the best few weeks as you might have guessed. I haven't blogged in ages; I've barely written anything useful and I have this sort of feeling of defeat in everything I do. (Please don't psychoanalyse me right now, I might not like the outcome.) I feel like I've lost the fight and my fight is with words, so if I've lost the fight that means there are no words and being a writer and having no words is sort of an issue.
But enough about me and my undoing; how crap is the new, supposedly improved Amazon/Lovefilm? Anyone using the streaming functions from the day of release to about five days after would have been sorely disappointed, as it wouldn't allow you to watch anything. They now charge for some things and other things you only get free when signing up to Amazon Prime, which is also crap and you never get parcels the next day, it's just bullshit. It was way better when it didn't have Amazon blazoned all over it. I would like to say a huge echoing BOO to you and hope you get it sorted out soon. Oh and by the way, you'll never be as good as netflix. There, I said it.
Well, I'll slink off to wallow in self pity. I actually have a wallowing face and action but thankfully only A, my beloved, has ever seen them and in order for me to be kept out of the asylum, I think it's better we keep it that way.
Hope you're all having better Mondays than I am. And I hope you all still have your fight in you. Maybe mine will return after I bash my head in the wall repeatedly? Maybe then the words will return. And if not there's always really depressing music and TV to just further squash any hopes of picking myself up and carrying on.
Rants
The mum just emailed me and said she can't make it.
*insert profanities here______________________________*
I didn't want to do a show in the middle of the term, I wanted to do it at the end of the term. (To be quite honest, I don't want to do one at all, especially as I only have 6 kids and they'll probably all get stage fright and it'll be me just jiggin' about and singing by myself. Whoop! Great. I can't freakin' wait.) I have also just had a new kid join who of course is younger and likes to throw things etc. Hmmmm, me thinks next week will be a failure.
Next time I'll just say, you can come and watch a lesson if you want but I'm not making a song and dance about it. It disrupts the flow of the lessons, pisses me off and disrupts the other kids that don't partake of the music class. Or maybe next time I'll find the elusive No button within me and tell them to bugger off.
I wouldn't mind, but I email them every week, take photos every week and provide progress reports and certificates every term. What more do you want from me? *melodramatic*
I'm not having the best few weeks as you might have guessed. I haven't blogged in ages; I've barely written anything useful and I have this sort of feeling of defeat in everything I do. (Please don't psychoanalyse me right now, I might not like the outcome.) I feel like I've lost the fight and my fight is with words, so if I've lost the fight that means there are no words and being a writer and having no words is sort of an issue.
But enough about me and my undoing; how crap is the new, supposedly improved Amazon/Lovefilm? Anyone using the streaming functions from the day of release to about five days after would have been sorely disappointed, as it wouldn't allow you to watch anything. They now charge for some things and other things you only get free when signing up to Amazon Prime, which is also crap and you never get parcels the next day, it's just bullshit. It was way better when it didn't have Amazon blazoned all over it. I would like to say a huge echoing BOO to you and hope you get it sorted out soon. Oh and by the way, you'll never be as good as netflix. There, I said it.
Well, I'll slink off to wallow in self pity. I actually have a wallowing face and action but thankfully only A, my beloved, has ever seen them and in order for me to be kept out of the asylum, I think it's better we keep it that way.
Hope you're all having better Mondays than I am. And I hope you all still have your fight in you. Maybe mine will return after I bash my head in the wall repeatedly? Maybe then the words will return. And if not there's always really depressing music and TV to just further squash any hopes of picking myself up and carrying on.
Rants
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