Leprechauns and Varnish

This week has completely run away with me! As though a troupe of leprechauns arrived with little rucksacks and sleeping bags, having decided to camp out on my floor. Such disruption! I have tripped over them in the dark, found their laundry heaped in the dishwasher, a bottle of Extra Old Cognac ... drained (yes, the little people do enjoy a drink), and two litres of pineapple juice have simply disappeared. (Did they mix that with the cognac? Yuck.) And I can’t even speak of the mess in the bathroom.

The leprechauns eventually moved on to pastures new, just before I took delivery of 3 hand-carved screens, which came all the way from India. How exciting! I immediately unpacked the grubby boxes on the boring beige carpet in my living room. I knew my attitude was cavalier. But dust can be vacuumed up.

Not until all 3 screens were out of their packaging and arranged with abandon around the room, did I notice that my hands were not grey with harmless dust, but dark brown and sticky with ... VARNISH. The screens had been packed before they had dried!

And the marks on the carpet could not be sucked up with the vacuum, although I tried and tried. The carpet is stained with VARNISH.

Could I have been more stupid? The answer, of course, is NO. :-/

Like fizzy water gone flat...

Was exactly how I felt earlier this week, when I began to get very uncomfortable with the new sense of warm, fuzzy calm that had engulfed me since the start of the year.

At first I enjoyed it. It was new and strange and nice. And I almost convinced myself that it was good, that I had turned some kind of corner and this was how life would be from now on. Perhaps I had matured. (Oh, no!) Or perhaps I had reached a stage of enlightenment.

By this Wednesday, however, I was decidedly bored with this plateau. I missed the old feeling of low-level panic, the stress -- the edge. Then, luckily, the exhaustion of working 7 days a week (counting writing on top of my usual job, which has been a bit slow this month, I admit) took hold. On top of that, I made a small series of faux pas.

The warm, fuzzy calm caused me to act on a few occasions without thinking enough, or properly. I made a few comments during conversations, and probably left a couple of comments on blogs, that I regretted and if possible would have liked to retract.

None of these mistakes were too big or too bad, but that does not erase them. I began to wonder: Does a lack of anxiety make us less considerate, and also less self-aware?

And, yes, I think there is danger in being too pleased with one’s lot.

Without the edge, without some anxiety, I also found my creativity and productivity suffered. Like most things, or so I’m told, it’s all about balance. To be too stressed is counter-productive to work and health, but to be too relaxed is not great either.

So I’m happy to feel under pressure again, to be a little bit anxious, and experiencing some self-doubt. :)

Post No. 100

To celebrate this, blog post number one-oh-oh, I thought of writing a list of one hundred wonderful things. A list that would include everything but the kitchen sink: from Appleby Horse Fair to Handmade Dolls to Awido.com.

Then I remembered: I kicked the list-writing habit back in oh-eight. (Self-induced stress: be gone!) It is so much easier to write a lovely, long to-do list than it is to complete all those tasks in one day. And perhaps, the fact that I no longer write to-do lists is the reason for my new sense of warm, fuzzy calm. My days used to come with an edge, a sustained feeling of low-level panic. This somehow changed as the old year flipped to the new.

So, as we spoke earlier of kitchen sinks, I offer this fabulous TV commercial for PG Tips tea. And the way I feel right now, it will take just one small step before I, too, am singing and dancing and milking a cow. ;)

A Bright and Shiny New Year

There is nothing more optimistic than a bright and shiny new year; that wonderful sense that a page has been turned, that the future has arrived.

A new year is fresh and clean. We don’t know how it might turn out -- but it presents an opportunity to achieve our goals, to get things right.

A new year is ready to be created. It is up to us how we mark it, how we shape it, how we choose to use our time.

I have just one new-year’s resolution: to write -- but without setting unrealistic deadlines, which I did last year, and failed to meet.

I hope 2009 will be an even year, fluid and consistent, without too much disruption, upheaval or trauma.

I hope, for everyone, despite potential economic woes, 2009 will be a year filled with kindness and success! :)

Oh Crikey, It’s Nearly...

No sooner am I released from prison ;) than the shops start opening until midnight. Christmas is well and truly upon us, overpowering us, seizing our minds, our money and our time.


I have very mixed feelings about Christmas. I love the ideal: snow, sleigh bells, twinkling lights, crisp air, carol singers, roaring fires, games of charades, tidings of comfort and joy. But the reality (aside from my allergy to roaring fires) of the preparations slightly overwhelms the event.

By the time I've done the cards and the presents (posted and wrapped), I have to admit, I feel I’ve done Christmas. The day itself lies ahead in my mind all wrapped-up in a sense of foreboding.

Each and every year, I think about escaping. But something stops me. Perhaps I would feel I’d bottled-out. And perhaps, if I did run away, despite all my griping, I might actually find I’d missed out ... on the annual frisson of fear, panic and, okay (I’m sure it WILL be okay), fun and laughter and joy. :)


EDIT: After re-reading this post, I realised that a couple of sentences, meant in jest, didn’t quite work. I’ve now deleted the paragraph that made me sound worse than Scrooge!!!

Message in a Bottle

My two-week blog break turned into a three-week blog break, and now... that three-week blog break looks set to become a prolonged hiatus. I am so entangled in the imaginary worlds of both fashion and fiction it seems I will be imprisoned here for some time. Things could be worse. Much worse. I am not incarcerated in a cold, dark cell. My sentence is not indefinite. The guards are kind; they even allow me a little time online! Occasionally. And one day ... I’ll be free!! :)

Boundaries

In the last two-and-a-half weeks, life has gone topsy-turvy. Not in a dramatic way (though you wouldn’t guess it from the picture), but more that it has become too amorphous in shape, too flowing in form.

Flow is good in the sense it is vital to the creative process. But if flow means one’s life is more like a flooded pond seeping down a partially blocked drain than a powerful running river, then it is time to build a damn or a channel. Time to switch off the phones, lock all the doors, and reclaim time for writing and reading.

And this is the perfect time of year. Although I’m not doing NaNo, it is helpful to grab hold of its spirit and, hopefully, hang on to the coat tails well past the end of November.

To reinforce this serious phase, I will wear my glasses from dawn till way beyond dusk -- with a tweed skirt and sensible shoes. REWIND: Second thoughts on the sensible shoes. Serious is one thing... frumpy quite another!

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot

If you do not love fireworks, look away now!

Tonight is Bonfire Night. However, in tune with the popular idea that everything is better at the weekend, my town held its public firework show on Saturday, November 1st. So... we had ghosts, ghouls and skeletons on Friday, followed by an inferno on Saturday.

My apartment is perfectly situated for this display. Quite a treat! And it made chez Mary a popular place to be.

These photos were taken from my living room. (Not a sparkler in sight. I saved those for tonight!)

Ooh
Aah
Wow
Weee
Cool
Crikey!
Fab
Gorge...
Yum
Beautiful!

Congratulations to Barack Obama!!!

Trick or Treat?

Photograph by Ralph Eugene Meatyard

It’s been an eventful week. What with the blogaversary on Tuesday, Halloween today, and Wednesday and Thursday spent in legal dispute. I wish I could say more about that, but I can’t...

What I will say is that my solicitor is quite an inspiring character. The case was challenging and the time frame tight. There was a wonderful moment when this ordinarily composed, curly haired man with highly polished shoes, slammed down the phone at the end of a call to someone on our side, put his head in his hands, and said, “Sweet Jesus! We need a plan.” Then he bit his nails as his eyes flashed left and right.

I love the way people act when under pressure or thinking out loud.

My side emerged in victory. Thank heavens! And I feel very pleased but peculiarly drained. Most appropriate for Halloween. Though this evening, I really can’t write for toffee.

Happy Halloween!

Stream of Consciousness

It is only October. And in the last two days I have sneezed a million times, used three boxes of tissues, and replaced tea and coffee with Lemsip Max. My head feels heavy, thick, and dull. My creative synapses are under siege.

Which leads to this question: Is a boring blog post better than no post at all?

A question that sounds like Carrie Bradshaw wrote it!


And now she’s got hold of my laptop!


Whenever I write a sentence that echoes a well-known writer it never rings with the resonance of Colette, Flaubert, Amélie Nothomb, or Markus Zusak. In fact, I’d prefer to channel anyone but Carrie Bradshaw -- because she is a fictional character and not a real writer at all.

Conclusion: I am doomed. ;)

How do you wake up from a nightmare if you’re not asleep?

The title of this post is the tagline for The Machinist, and it is a very good question indeed.


Unlike Christian Bale’s character in the film, my insomnia didn’t last a year. Had it done so, I would probably be dead. And, not having seen the film, I don’t know what steps the character takes to cure it.

Insomnia is now buried in my past, though I sometimes have difficulty sleeping. But there’s a huge difference between lying awake for a few hours, turning the light back on, then reading another chapter before finally crashing out, and not actually sleeping at all. Well, except for maybe two or three hours one night in four.

By which point you have discovered that a warm bath wakes you up, lavender smells atrocious, alcohol gives you headaches, sleeping pills don’t work, a night-time walk is dangerous, and any work you attempt at 4am -- having been encouraged by people who wish they slept less -- the next day turns out to be rubbish.

And during those daytime days you look terrible, you loose co-ordination, your voice sounds awful, you drag yourself around like a mixed sack of coal and scrap metal, you forget things you should do and imagine things you don't have to do, as well as occasionally hallucinating.

All is beyond a struggle. The vacuum cleaner is so heavy you can’t even use it, and all you want is sleep. You are so TIRED. And each night, completely exhausted, you crash in to bed ... but DON’T SLEEP.

Then you discover there are devices especially designed for your condition that are categorically proven to work. You LOVE the auditory glory of nature, so you order, and anxiously await delivery of, a sound machine, more luxuriously known as a sound conditioner.

(Like a sleepless night, this post goes on and on.)

You plug it in at your bedside, and feel like an old person. There is nothing cool about this beige plastic thing. However, there are important choices to make. Will you sleep better to the sound of a lake lapping on the shore, waves crashing on a beach, a babbling brook, Niagara Falls, or cute little crickets accompanied by croaking frogs?

But lo, you are soon yanked from the lakeside as you recognise the pattern of the water lapping on the shore. The waterfall’s tap is shut off as it re-loops, just for a nanosecond -- but you know exactly when it’s coming. You are wide-awake, and doomed to a life of insomnia.

You rest your head on the pillow and listen to hours and hours of crickets and croaking frogs. The glass windows break. You are surrounded by tall grass, your feet slipping on slimy, frog-covered ground. You swipe cat-sized insects away from your face, slithering to escape a gigantic monster, ready to whip its tongue around your neck.

You wake up screaming. Oh, happy day! Nightmares are so much sweeter than no sleep at all.

Perhaps it was all a dream...

No, it wasn't!


It sounds like a cliché, but I honestly don’t know where the last week has gone. As though I went to sleep on Sunday night, was transported to another realm, and then woke up back in my real life yesterday afternoon.

This was primarily caused by the global economic crisis rippling its way into my little corner of the business world.

Things have steadied, but even my most trusted crystal ball is struggling to provide a clear prediction of the situation beyond the next six months. (Which is slightly worrying, as a major part of my job is to predict future trends two years ahead!)

So... I have decided to embrace the fog and regard these as exciting times. :)

The Curse of the Cracked Toilet Seat

What is this blog coming to? I never thought I would stoop so low as to blog about toilets. One toilet in particular, to be more precise -- and that would be the toilet in my bathroom. But, although I am writing about my toilet, I’ll excuse myself by telling you that’s not entirely the point of this post.

In the meantime, back to the toilet seat, which, as you can see from these photos, has a lovely big crack in the lid...



Just as it did when I viewed the apartment in April. That seat was replaced. And I moved in at the beginning of June to enjoy a pristine and un-cracked loo seat ... for all of six weeks, because that seat then cracked in exactly the same place as the first one.

A couple of weeks later, the plumber replaced that seat. And all was well in the bathroom ... for about six weeks, because on Saturday evening, when no one was here, that seat then cracked in exactly the same place as the first and second one! Making this the third toilet seat to have cracked in less than six months.

Weird! Bizarre!

I thought I’d left the ghosts and ghouls behind when I moved out of my haunted house. But perhaps the little poltergeist jumped in with the pots and pans.

Or, was it a mistake to write a story about a woman who is haunted by a ghost that hangs out in her bathroom? That story is currently on submission. If it’s accepted for publication, will my toilet seat woes be over, or *shiver* have my problems only just begun...?

Roller Coaster

Apologies for my absence: I’ve been unwell, but am now on the road to recovery. I hope it’s a straight one.

But my life does seem to be in one of those roller coaster phases. And though I dream of a place of consistency and calm, I’m perhaps destined not to reside there. (But I do remain optimistic.)

I’ve chosen the X2 to illustrate this post. The X2 adds a new twist to the old roller coaster ride. It has seats that extend off the track, allowing them to rotate 360 degrees ... while zooming along with the train.

Please excuse me. I think I’m going to be...

A Missing Relative and a Peregrine Falcon

Expect the unexpected.


My missing relative is now safe and well after “escaping” from his wife as they drove through Italy. He walked away from the car with only his wallet and phone and the clothes on his back. Several people, myself included, received a brief phone call from him to say he was okay -- but he refused to tell anyone where he'd gone.

After searching for a month, his distraught wife eventually found him at a dilapidated farmhouse in southwest France. But he refused to speak to her, claiming a desperate need for peace and quiet. Several days later, he returned to their home.

That same day, after heavy rain, water started to pour through my bedroom ceiling. (I live on the top floor of a seven-storey building.) As I mopped up, the management company investigated the problem and found a Peregrine Falcon residing on the roof. It has been killing pigeons, plucking their feathers, eating the flesh, and discarding feathers and carcasses in the gutter above my bedroom... Wow!

Unfortunately, for health and safety reasons, I am not allowed up to the roof to look at the falcon. I once saw a large silhouette swoop down in front of my office window and realise it must have been this hunter. I now glance at the windows as often as possible, and am proud to have a falcon on my roof. :)

My no-longer-missing relative is getting on with his life as though nothing much happened.

“In Europe,” he told me, “husbands disappear all the time.”

Really?

This Is Not Goodbye

I have a tendency to over-extend myself because there is so much I want to do. If only there was a microchip implant that meant one could read a book, write a letter, watch a film, and take a relaxing walk along a river, all at the same time!

Unfortunately, there isn’t -- and time constraints rule.

I’ve had to re-evaluate my use of the 24-hour restriction placed on each and every day. I have to prioritise my time, and it’s tough when some of the fun stuff has to slip away. Yes, this is a longwinded way of telling you that I'm temporarily retiring from blogging. And I will miss it ... greatly.

But this phase won’t last forever. And I will still be around, and can’t imagine I would ever stop reading my favourite blogs (and several more besides). Especially as I now have an iPhone 3G, so the Internet is always with me! (Gosh, I love technology.) :)

À bientôt!

WALL-E

Charming and clever; one of the best films I’ve seen in my life!


On Wednesday evening I took my mum to see WALL-E. I thought she would enjoy it, but she adored it, and cried buckets and buckets of tears. When we left the cinema she was a wreck.

Despite her puffy red eyes and dripping nose, she insisted I stop at Tesco before taking her home. She never misses an opportunity to swoop in and buy two or three things she needs urgently, but had forgotten.

She headed straight for the toy aisle, where she spent 20 minutes cooing over WALL-E and EVE and M-O.

She bought a pint of milk and some fresh fruit salad. Then I drove her home.

My grandmother’s favourite film was E.T. And I now know that my mum’s favourite film is WALL-E.

Which leaves me wondering: what will mine be…?

Summer Madness

Crazy People


We have probably all encountered them. These are people who get the bit between their teeth so tightly that they swirl like a dervish spontaneously increasing their passion and speed. The crazy person gradually loses all sense of etiquette, as they wind themselves up to a frenzy.

The crazy person involves other people in situations that aren’t their business.

The crazy person’s vital weapon is the phone. They will ring and ring, but always avoid email. Perhaps it would slow them down.

Regardless of whatever it was that incited their craziness, this person is now crazy because you didn’t return their call within 2 seconds of receiving their message.

Any normal function you might perform -- such as sleeping at night, taking a shower, speaking to another human, going out to buy food -- is a lie. You weren’t doing any of those things, but insulting them by refusing to take their call.

Is there a crazy person in all of us, just waiting to get out?

If so, then the behaviour of 56-year-old Keith Walendowski, who shot his own lawnmower, seems the saner way to go... ;)

The Summit

I did it! Project complete, client happy (yippee!), and my apartment … a mess.

It’s been an intense couple of weeks, and it’s strange how time distorts when you’re working furiously towards a goal. It feels like I’ve been away from blogland much longer than 17 days.

And signing in to my Blogger account seems lovely and fresh.

And speaking of fresh: There are many pros and cons to working from home. But the number one advantage, a perk I never fail to appreciate, is putting a load of washing in the machine while also being at work. :)

Blog Break

This blog is on hiatus for two or three weeks.

I’m working on a design project that has turned tricky (naughty thing). There’s a mountain to climb. I don’t mind the challenge, but need lots of energy to reach the top. Once I’ve stuck a flag in the summit, I’ll be back...


In writing news: How I love submitting short stories! (Though I’ve sent out only two, thus far.) It’s so gloriously different than querying a novel. I’m hooked! :)