What to do? What to feel?
I got an email last night from N. I was initially excited, since I thought it might be something relevant to this weekend's upcoming party in his, and his lovely fiance's, honour. I had spent quite a while perusing suitable presents for them last weekend. I wanted something that encapsulated how happy I am for them. Something meaningful. Something appropriate. Something memorable. Admittedly, I had set myself a high aim, and was tempted more than once to get something cheesy like the "George Foreman Grill" or dull, like linen. So considering my history with N, and wanting to convey my true pleasure for his choice in future life partner, I was taken aback by an email last night asking me not to come to their engagement party.
It seems that someone forwarded this blog address to them, and his fiance was none too pleased with what she read. Clearly, a recent entry regarding the up-coming party would have piqued her interest. Despite the other 180 plus entries that exist, which have NOTHING to do with her or N, I was also told in his email to "be careful what you write". Hmmm.
So how do I feel today? Confused, upset, tired, groggy (from taking sleeping tablets to try and sleep). Should I feel bad for writing about MY life and how it affects me? Should I feel angry for someone trying to tell me what is appropriate to write about on my own blog? Not sure about any of it really. What amazes me more than anything is that N and I do not share any common friends at all. So, any friends of mine who read this blog, do not know him and therefore, do not know his fiance. So how did he "find out" about the blog? I don't know. I have suspicions, completely unfounded, but certainly not someone who would feel the need to be anonymous to N.
I have always attempted to preserve people's anonymity on here. I do censor what I write, but only to a certain degree. There are things that have passed between not only N and I, but others and myself, which I would never write about in such a public, albeit theoretically anonymous, forum. All of this made me wonder whether I should axe this blog? Move to a super-secret e-location? Keep posted, I suppose.
So the lesson of today for me is: You really shouldn't be friends with an ex.
And the lesson for everyone else: If you don't like what you are reading.... then Stop!
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
My movie needs
Berry Boy and I went to the movies last night to see "Syriana". Admittedly, I didn't know much about it when I went to see it, and spent much of it over-awed by the sheer volume of greed. Despite this, it was a brilliant portrayal, and heck, I am always eager to see George Clooney acting like a fat old bastard, rather than a sex symbol.
But these are all garnish to the issue of the evening.
When we met at the movie, I declared that I "needed" popcorn. It was 7pm. I had just come from the gym, and hadn't eaten since breakfast. I was ravenous. This movie was the third that BB and I had seen together, and on none of those previous occasions had we ever consumed any food during the film. When I mentioned that I was going to get some popcorn for the movie, BB stated, "I don't think it is a popcorn sort of movie."
Now this is where I have to vehemently disagree. Movies are an excuse to stuff your face full of popcorn and lollies in the dark, free from social censure. Granted that the food available is usually heavily sugar and/or fat-laden. That is, of course, the point.
I do know of people who are fundamentally opposed to eating at the movies. Obviously, I don't go to the movies with them. Movies and bad food are intrinsically linked, i.e. any movie is a "popcorn movie".
The funny part is, when I fronted up to purchase a small popcorn for my personal enjoyment, BB offered my some money to upsize to the large, so that he might share. And share he did.
The irony was not lost on me.
Berry Boy and I went to the movies last night to see "Syriana". Admittedly, I didn't know much about it when I went to see it, and spent much of it over-awed by the sheer volume of greed. Despite this, it was a brilliant portrayal, and heck, I am always eager to see George Clooney acting like a fat old bastard, rather than a sex symbol.
But these are all garnish to the issue of the evening.
When we met at the movie, I declared that I "needed" popcorn. It was 7pm. I had just come from the gym, and hadn't eaten since breakfast. I was ravenous. This movie was the third that BB and I had seen together, and on none of those previous occasions had we ever consumed any food during the film. When I mentioned that I was going to get some popcorn for the movie, BB stated, "I don't think it is a popcorn sort of movie."
Now this is where I have to vehemently disagree. Movies are an excuse to stuff your face full of popcorn and lollies in the dark, free from social censure. Granted that the food available is usually heavily sugar and/or fat-laden. That is, of course, the point.
I do know of people who are fundamentally opposed to eating at the movies. Obviously, I don't go to the movies with them. Movies and bad food are intrinsically linked, i.e. any movie is a "popcorn movie".
The funny part is, when I fronted up to purchase a small popcorn for my personal enjoyment, BB offered my some money to upsize to the large, so that he might share. And share he did.
The irony was not lost on me.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
The dulcit tones of the radio... not.
I am at an emotional loose-end today. Bad luck has befallen me and I am bereft - musically anyway. It seems that my iPod decided to begin acting strangely; so strange that the people at the shop commented that they "had never seen one do that before".
Oh Goody.
When I have heard others problems with their mp3 players and the like, I have just nodded my head sympathetically, but been thankful of my good fortune. My mother, swayed by an obviously convincing sales-person, bought a Sony mp3 player. She felt confident of her purchase, but after having to reload all her songs to not only the player, but her PC, three times in the first week - she was none too impressed. I just re-iterated my lack of problems and the easy interface of iTunes.
Until now.
It was with a head hung low that I walked into the shop where I purchased my player, after battling with iPod Updates, iTunes software and a non-compliant iPod. With nary a backward glance, he declared that my, up until now, faithful iPod, was stuffed. (That is, of course, a technical term many of us familiar with computers are au fait with.) He relieved me of my receipt, ensured it's date within warranty, and wrapped up the iPod in a piece of paper attaching a statement of its "stuffed-ness".
Apparently, I will have a new one in my hands in about 14 days or so. But what until then? On my drive home this afternoon, I oscillated between no less than four radio stations trying to find one where the music fit my "exacting" standards, the announcers didn't shit me, and where there wasn't an overabundance of advertising. To no avail.
It is going to be a long 14 days.
I am at an emotional loose-end today. Bad luck has befallen me and I am bereft - musically anyway. It seems that my iPod decided to begin acting strangely; so strange that the people at the shop commented that they "had never seen one do that before".
Oh Goody.
When I have heard others problems with their mp3 players and the like, I have just nodded my head sympathetically, but been thankful of my good fortune. My mother, swayed by an obviously convincing sales-person, bought a Sony mp3 player. She felt confident of her purchase, but after having to reload all her songs to not only the player, but her PC, three times in the first week - she was none too impressed. I just re-iterated my lack of problems and the easy interface of iTunes.
Until now.
It was with a head hung low that I walked into the shop where I purchased my player, after battling with iPod Updates, iTunes software and a non-compliant iPod. With nary a backward glance, he declared that my, up until now, faithful iPod, was stuffed. (That is, of course, a technical term many of us familiar with computers are au fait with.) He relieved me of my receipt, ensured it's date within warranty, and wrapped up the iPod in a piece of paper attaching a statement of its "stuffed-ness".
Apparently, I will have a new one in my hands in about 14 days or so. But what until then? On my drive home this afternoon, I oscillated between no less than four radio stations trying to find one where the music fit my "exacting" standards, the announcers didn't shit me, and where there wasn't an overabundance of advertising. To no avail.
It is going to be a long 14 days.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Introductions
I don't usually remain friends with my ex's. For a variety of reasons, usually something to do with me hating their entrails, I usually don't maintain any form of relationship with them.
N has been the exception to this rule. I have talked of him before offering me sympathy sex, despite his girlfriend. But irrespective of this oversight in proper behaviour on his behalf, I still like and respect him. His current girlfriend has never really taken to me. Perhaps she is a little insecure about me, or maybe she really just doesn't like me (hmmm, surely not?).
So it is with some hesitancy that I am going, alone, to their engagement party in a couple of weeks time. How shall I be introduced? It seems too insignificant to be introduced as merely a "friend". But certainly, beyond weird to announce that I am his ex.
I will probably opt for the safe "friend" line, but will definitely neglect to mention that he proposed to me well before her. Twice. And I turned him down both times.
And still, I wonder why she hasn't taken to me.
I don't usually remain friends with my ex's. For a variety of reasons, usually something to do with me hating their entrails, I usually don't maintain any form of relationship with them.
N has been the exception to this rule. I have talked of him before offering me sympathy sex, despite his girlfriend. But irrespective of this oversight in proper behaviour on his behalf, I still like and respect him. His current girlfriend has never really taken to me. Perhaps she is a little insecure about me, or maybe she really just doesn't like me (hmmm, surely not?).
So it is with some hesitancy that I am going, alone, to their engagement party in a couple of weeks time. How shall I be introduced? It seems too insignificant to be introduced as merely a "friend". But certainly, beyond weird to announce that I am his ex.
I will probably opt for the safe "friend" line, but will definitely neglect to mention that he proposed to me well before her. Twice. And I turned him down both times.
And still, I wonder why she hasn't taken to me.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Double, nay, single entendre.
I went to the gym yesterday, attempting to re-immerse myself into some sort of fitness programme. I thought I would revisit BodyPump, a class I enjoyed many years ago, and I hoped an easy, non-impact way into some activity. For those not indoctrinated with the phenomenon of BodyPump, it is a class where one lifts weights for about an hour. Low impact, high repetition. You and a barbell with about 30 other people - 95% of those are women. When the instructor asked us all to get ready for the first workout track by exclaiming, "Bar Up!", I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Thankfully the two gentleman in the room seemed au fait with her terminology, and I was able to keep my sniggering to myself.
I went to the gym yesterday, attempting to re-immerse myself into some sort of fitness programme. I thought I would revisit BodyPump, a class I enjoyed many years ago, and I hoped an easy, non-impact way into some activity. For those not indoctrinated with the phenomenon of BodyPump, it is a class where one lifts weights for about an hour. Low impact, high repetition. You and a barbell with about 30 other people - 95% of those are women. When the instructor asked us all to get ready for the first workout track by exclaiming, "Bar Up!", I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Thankfully the two gentleman in the room seemed au fait with her terminology, and I was able to keep my sniggering to myself.
Friday, February 10, 2006
When tears are not enough
I have mentioned before my ongoing battles with depression. Medication goes a long way to helping me keep a clear head and a level of realism that is otherwise flawed when in the throes of a downward spiral. My flatmate views anti-depressants as an unnecessary crutch that should not be required. Clearly, he has no idea what it is like to be at the mercy of one's emotions.
In the past I had tried to wean myself off the medications, following discussions with my doctor on the correct process. Unfortunately, this resulted at one stage with me crying with a knife in my hand, demanding a hug from my then partner. It became quickly apparent that I was not quite ready to be off the drugs.
About a month ago my prescription was due to be filled, and with a combination of misplaced arrogance and a hectic schedule, this never occurred. So for the past month, I have been flying au naturel and letting my Seratonin do what it will. Up until the past week, things have been good. Moods have come and gone, but no more or less than what I perceive is normal.
But then I had a birthday.
The birthday itself was surprisingly good. My parents remembered. Many of my friends remembered. Good wishes were wished and celebratory meals were consumed. But slowly reality dawned. For the past few days, I have begun crying. A lot. On and off over the day, maybe about five times or so a day. Not knowing why, but just becoming overwhelmingly sad, and beginning to cry. Maybe it was the drugs had finally relinquished their lingering effect on me and my levels returned to their usual low. Maybe it was my birthday and that thought of being a little older and a little further away from youthful possibilities. Maybe it was also seeing the opera singer over the weekend, and again trying to reconcile the fact that maybe I am only the shag on the side and nothing more meaningful. And maybe it was knowing that I was about to undertake a significant process that I had decided that I could put off no longer.
I had earmarked this year to freeze embryos - with or without a partner.
Three days after my birthday I had an appointment for yet another stage in the process of fertility evaluation. This time it was an ultrasound to determine the state of my tubes. I was told it would be a slightly uncomfortable procedure, but no great issue. When I began crying and whimpering, even the doctor had the decency to be concerned. For a person who has had teeth drilled without anaesthetic, to be in such pain from the simple addition of saline and dye into one's uterus, was shocking. The doctor completed the scan as quickly as possible, with the somewhat surprising news that my tubes seemed to be blocked. This news never registered, and to be honest, still hasn't, since the pain was still so great to render my consciousness quite deaf.
Changing out of my charming procedural gown, I wept. I cried for the horrendous pain I felt. I sobbed at the thought of future invasive procedures and the possible agony I may feel. But most of all, I wept for my loneliness.
At that moment I questioned why I was doing this. Could I be a single mother by choice? Do I want to do this all by myself? Do I want progeny so badly that I will go through expensive and invasive procedures for it all?
I am not sure about any of those questions, and I think there is definitely no easy answer. What I do know is that the pain has diminished, and I feel a little stronger to face the next stage in the process. And just as importantly, I have filled my prescription for my anti-depressants.
I have mentioned before my ongoing battles with depression. Medication goes a long way to helping me keep a clear head and a level of realism that is otherwise flawed when in the throes of a downward spiral. My flatmate views anti-depressants as an unnecessary crutch that should not be required. Clearly, he has no idea what it is like to be at the mercy of one's emotions.
In the past I had tried to wean myself off the medications, following discussions with my doctor on the correct process. Unfortunately, this resulted at one stage with me crying with a knife in my hand, demanding a hug from my then partner. It became quickly apparent that I was not quite ready to be off the drugs.
About a month ago my prescription was due to be filled, and with a combination of misplaced arrogance and a hectic schedule, this never occurred. So for the past month, I have been flying au naturel and letting my Seratonin do what it will. Up until the past week, things have been good. Moods have come and gone, but no more or less than what I perceive is normal.
But then I had a birthday.
The birthday itself was surprisingly good. My parents remembered. Many of my friends remembered. Good wishes were wished and celebratory meals were consumed. But slowly reality dawned. For the past few days, I have begun crying. A lot. On and off over the day, maybe about five times or so a day. Not knowing why, but just becoming overwhelmingly sad, and beginning to cry. Maybe it was the drugs had finally relinquished their lingering effect on me and my levels returned to their usual low. Maybe it was my birthday and that thought of being a little older and a little further away from youthful possibilities. Maybe it was also seeing the opera singer over the weekend, and again trying to reconcile the fact that maybe I am only the shag on the side and nothing more meaningful. And maybe it was knowing that I was about to undertake a significant process that I had decided that I could put off no longer.
I had earmarked this year to freeze embryos - with or without a partner.
Three days after my birthday I had an appointment for yet another stage in the process of fertility evaluation. This time it was an ultrasound to determine the state of my tubes. I was told it would be a slightly uncomfortable procedure, but no great issue. When I began crying and whimpering, even the doctor had the decency to be concerned. For a person who has had teeth drilled without anaesthetic, to be in such pain from the simple addition of saline and dye into one's uterus, was shocking. The doctor completed the scan as quickly as possible, with the somewhat surprising news that my tubes seemed to be blocked. This news never registered, and to be honest, still hasn't, since the pain was still so great to render my consciousness quite deaf.
Changing out of my charming procedural gown, I wept. I cried for the horrendous pain I felt. I sobbed at the thought of future invasive procedures and the possible agony I may feel. But most of all, I wept for my loneliness.
At that moment I questioned why I was doing this. Could I be a single mother by choice? Do I want to do this all by myself? Do I want progeny so badly that I will go through expensive and invasive procedures for it all?
I am not sure about any of those questions, and I think there is definitely no easy answer. What I do know is that the pain has diminished, and I feel a little stronger to face the next stage in the process. And just as importantly, I have filled my prescription for my anti-depressants.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Friday, February 03, 2006
And a happy birthday to you know who!
Thanks to those who have offered birthday wishes and a big reminder to all those who don't have me in their diary! Amazingly my parents have remembered, and in a most generous and well-thought present, have offered my cash directly into my bank account. Aaahh the romance of it all.
For those interested, BB bought me dinner and chocolates.
Thanks to those who have offered birthday wishes and a big reminder to all those who don't have me in their diary! Amazingly my parents have remembered, and in a most generous and well-thought present, have offered my cash directly into my bank account. Aaahh the romance of it all.
For those interested, BB bought me dinner and chocolates.
| Your Birthdate: February 4 |
 You have an extraordinary character - moral, responsible, and disciplined. Your sincerely and honesty shine through in almost every situation. Driven and focused, you rarely let your emotions get the better of you. You're level headed and rational. People count on your to look at things objectively. Your strength: Your unwavering loyalty and ethics Your weakness: Your rock solid stubbornness Your power color: Navy blue Your power symbol: Shield Your power month: April |
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Has the moon lost her memory? No, it's just me then.
I have recently started taking Gingko tablets, since I am concerned about my ability to retain information. Witch-doctor medicine or not, it is worth a go, especially if I can remember a few additional details along the way.
This morning I realised how much I need to work on my memory, when I attempted to leave home and drive to work. I had to return not once, but twice, to pick up things I forgot (like my phone and wallet).
It seems I can forget nearly everything, except being a complete dickhead on occasion!
I have recently started taking Gingko tablets, since I am concerned about my ability to retain information. Witch-doctor medicine or not, it is worth a go, especially if I can remember a few additional details along the way.
This morning I realised how much I need to work on my memory, when I attempted to leave home and drive to work. I had to return not once, but twice, to pick up things I forgot (like my phone and wallet).
It seems I can forget nearly everything, except being a complete dickhead on occasion!
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