the internet.
my tribe.
the first helped me to find the second. and they’re still turning up in all sorts of unexpected ways, in all sorts of unexpected places.
it makes me happy.
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If anyone cares, this is where I was at the weekend:
With Hubby and DSD:
It was the first time in about a year and was, in equal measure, frustrating and achy and painful and fun and shit. My confidence is completely shot to ribbons. I knew my physical ability would be far less than it was (lack of condition and being a good 20 pounds heavier than last time I went did *not* help), and adjusted my expectations accordingly. Or so I thought. I had forgotten, however, that climbing ability is not about strength to weight ratio alone. It was truly astonishing to realise just how much of it is related to the brain. I mean, yes, I was aware before of things like the right mindset, positive attitude, etc. But this weekend, I was practically smacked in the back of the head by the sheer enormity of its importance. At one point, I was sobbing like a big baby at the fact tat the routes that o wanted to climb – that were interesting to me – were all graded 4+ and various gradations of 5, yet I could barely manage a 2! It was mildly traumatic. However, having had a very bad-tempered and somewhat petulant argument with an overhang (really – don’t ask), something seemed to click into place. I didn’t instantly start spidering up grade 6′s or anything, but a tiny bit of familiarity crept into the experience. My body started to gather wisps of muscle memory. My brain started to pull stuff out of long-term storage.
I’m not nearly physically dedicated to it to ever be any good at it – I’m not into intense or intensive exercise (it’s boring) but I think it has the potential to be at least a pleasant and fun hobby. I daresay
Hubby will be pleased about that..
today was mostly spent being beaten up by my dental hygienist, or asleep.
i had to have a root planing (where the hygienist scrapes the roots of my teeth clear of deposits of… stuff…). i had seven or eight injections to numb my upper jaw, and then she spent half an hour or so or so scrubbing and scraping at the roots of my teeth. there was lots of blood and, despite the anaesthetic, a fair bit of pain. fortunately, it was mostly the itchy/scratchy kind, rather than the nerve kind, so more or less bearable (have i mentioned what a wuss i am about pain?). this, however, did not stop the tears periodically leaking from my eyes, nor great waves of adrenaline washing through my body.
by the time it was finished, i was shaky and only semi-coherent. partly due to the numbness of my upper mouth, partly due to the partial disconnection of my brain from reality.
i had to call in sick.
it took three hours of sleep, and bananas in blueberry custard, to get me feeling anything like human again.
i imagine that i shall now be obsessively cleaning my teeth when any kind of solid food passes my lips.
the notsmoking’s getting much easier, though…
this evening, i’ve been catching up on my overfull and groaning g-reader , because my creativity is still as dry as a bedouin’s flipflop, as previously whinged about. and in there was this post on The Blog Up North…
if you’ve ever experienced a creative dry spell, i urge you to read it. it made me feel better, and i suspect it will do the same for you.
thank you, @himupnorth.
it occurs to me that it’s the not-smoking. this inability to get into The Zone, that is. see, once upon a time, i had a wisdom tooth removed. i know – explains a lot, right? even more when you hear that i only actually have one wisdom tooth left in my head. but i digress. anyone who’s ever had a major extraction will likely remember what your mouth feels like afterards. the pain, the bloody drool, the awkwardness of it. the not-being-able-to-smoke…
yep. i went through a short period of non-smoking before. for three days, i couldn’t. physically, i was unable to smoke. but i found that i didn’t really miss it as much as i thought i would. so i thought i’d give it a go. see how long i could go before i gave in. i lasted until the first time i got drunk. however, in the ten intervening days, my concentration was shot to hell. i couldn’t read, or knit, or settle to anything for long.
and my concentration has been shot to hell this time, too, though obviously for a longer period. it’s not completely the quitting, but it’s a big factor. i’m also out of the habit of reading, and writing.
and tonight, i have a toothache, too. in a molar next to a big gap left by another molar that had to be extracted before. i really, really don’t want to have to lose any more teeth. i’m hoping it goes away….
this is me not feeling it.
ugh. i am so not feeling it.
no particular reason, but there’s no fire in my muse. she’s just sort of lolling about, going “Meh.” i havent seen The Zone for weeks. except for that poem, yesterday. i love The Zone, but it’s the kind of place you don’t know you’ve been untill after you emerge, blinking, into the light. it’s beset by typos and bad sentence structure, but the sheer flow of words feels soooo good. editing can come later, as i said – you don’t notice, whilst you’re in it. it sounds a bit poncy, but it’s like channelling the story…being the story… well, i suppose not that poncy, but still, i feel a little uncomfortable using phrases like this. which is why i’m absolutely no good at reviewing/critiquing/whatever. i feel uncomfortable using the language i percieve to be associated with it. and because i percieve that association, i’m incapable of thinking in, and therefore speaking in, any other terms.
whatever
*clunking gear change*
we went to see The Taming Of The Shrew, last night. our very first ever live Shakespeare. ’twas ace! 
the performances were, for the most part, smooth and layered, and Petruchio (Sean O’Callaghan) was, by turns, mesmerising and shiveringly terrifying. not to mention despicable. really enjoyed it, but it left me somewhat conflicted. i find myself necessarily thinking of it in tems of metaphor and satire since, if i take it as a demonstration model for how the relationships between men and women should be, even if it is over 400 years old, i die a little, inside. it’s bad. so bad. the worst thing? there are so many relationships out there that are built just like this. fuck patriarchy and male entitlement. the way he broke Katerina down made me want to weep with grief and fury. basically he starved her of both food and sleep, and fucked with her head, until she was desperate and broken enough to comply with whatever he said.
*further clunking gear change, following procrastinatory laundry and desultory dicking about in the interwebz*
gah! see, this is what i’m talking about. i can’t even find the zone for a blog post, FFS! something for which i don’t (generally) have to make stuff up!!! i was dissembling, before, as there is a particular reason (though i am wary of it, as i am so good at giving myself excuses not to write) here’s the problem:
normally, when i write, i am to be found in the front room, curled up on one of the sofas, tapping away. the room is too small for a desk, but it does…ok. sort of. mostly. however, it depends largely upon what the television is doing as to whether i can get any actual fictionalising done. often, there will be computer golf going on, along with some music on the stereo, which is… not too bad. but that was before ss#2 came back to live with us. now, more often than not, there is some sort of fucking godawful warfare simulation dross being played. lots of gunshots and explosions, sounds of dying gurgles and stupid macho dialogue. and the swearing. oh, gods save me from the frustrated swearing that happens in my front room when these goddamn stupid-ass games are being played. i would swear, if they weren’t playing them ALL THE FUCKING TIME that hubby and ss#2 hated these games with a passion, and were being forced to play them at gunpoint. (ETA: i think hubby is actually fairly sick of them now, too, but it’s a case of share and share alike, i guess…)
anyway. my point is that it is very, very hard to find any kind of mental quietitude in my house these days, without escaping to another, less comfortable and usually colder, room. the only reason the above rant has happened with any kind of continuity is that i have finally cracked and am now hiding in our bedroom, with the cat for company. and he is asleep. it was that or scream in ss#2′s face. and possibly bludgeon him to death with a PS3 controller.
think i’ll take advantage of the respite and have a ook at that oogly piece i’ve been failing to write. it may go nowhere, but at least i can give it a fair crack now.
Breath of summer
Skin of feather
Dream of meshing, twining
In the swirl of lust and love, you pull my soul
warm it with your fingertips.
It’s you, my darling, my love. One intense moment
A bright point in the soft wash of life through my body
I feel you
I connect to you
I hold you so deeply in my heart it pumps and pulls on the breath of summer
I love you hard and soft and true
Messy, tangled and broken, I need you, bless you
You draw my laughter skylarking from my belly
Deep, deep down
Cut me in half you’ll find your name seeping from every vein, every entrail
Every cell stretches from my core, seeking you
Well, no – not really. It’s just a week late, that’s all.
But!
Srsly – there’s no way I could be pregnant, since the nice GP took care of that about 10 years ago (have I told you lately what a wonderful man Hubby is? He went through all that with the crochet hook and the pliers just for me, so I didn’t have to take the pill any more I *have* had a phantom period, though, which is odd. All the bloating, fatigue, ridiculously huge appetite, mood swings… But no bleeding and no cramps. Admittedly, some of that could or psychological, but still… So. Next candidate for why I have not bled, yet have previously (until the last few months, at least) been as regular as the moon (28 days, nowaiting)?
Early. Menopause.
H’m. Icm not sure how I feel about this, if it’s even happening. Which, to be honest, it probably isn’t. I have absolutely no concrete evidence to base this on, either physically or genetically, other than the fact that I’m a bit of a drama queen and hypochondriac.
N.B. No idea if I spelled that right.
*bellyrumble* 
…well, actually, you can’t at the moment, since the only photo that currently exists of the shiny is on my phone (which, despite almost a year of hard use is still shiny *happyface* )
good evening, dear reader.
this evening’s post is brought to you courtesy of those charming chaps at Dell, following their cynical and shameless seduction of my poor, innocent, acquisitive heart.
yup. Pooter is…well…not no more, but is being gracefully put out to pasture. it will be wending its way towards Stepson, who will be attempting to train it back up to something approaching operating speed again. he knows a man who knows a man… and i have a gorgeous, sexy new laptop!!!
initially, i thought she was due to arrive tomorrow, and then realised i was a complete muppet, and had got the date horribly (yet happily) wrong, and it was going to arrive a day earlier than expected. yay!
i had been on tenterhooks all day, waiting for the phonecall from the front desk to say my new toy extremely important writing tool had arrived. but the phone call never came! in fact, i almost didn’t get her today at all, due to a mix-up with the delivery address (partly Dell’s fault, partly my fault). however, following a mad dash to the local UPS depot at 7:30, here she is – all bright and shiny and new…
AND FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *giggle*
oh, yes – and my hair is currently in rags. tomorrow, i will have a fairly spectacular semi-’fro. i may or may not tweet pictures. it depends how much i want to frighten Twitter at 7 am… *grin*
…and i could really go for a cigarette right about now…
p.s. apologies for the incoherence of this post. it has been blighted by Masterchef and the football.
