I refuse to let this be much else than a holiday. As a result I have done little (I mean no) work. Instead I have painted my room, caught up with some VERY far away friends-they're in Paraiba- and done not much else save for covering myself enough to say "I'm overcome with emulsion!" many times....Probably to my family's detriment. Never mind.
I actually have work today! In a way. I've got to go down to the centre and spend a day at Burges Salmon- I've done the research and been to see the building already and this legal firm is HUGE. And very good. I'm sort of nervous as they've said casual clothing will be fine... And what I, in fact, have left that is "casual" is now covered in paint and therefore smells like I work in the decorating business. Nice. Noice. Najs.
Right, well I'd better go and scrub up. Have a good day everybody!
Happy reading, folks!
Friday 15 April 2011
My very twisted take; Friday April 15th 2011
I am agnostic. For those of you who do not know, this means I am not sure whether or not God/god exists. For the sake of manners, I’ll be putting a capital at the beginning.
I was on the bus today and a thought popped into my head that when you create something a tiny bit of who you are is reflected in that thing….because it is your creation. It doesn’t have to be a physical thing. I’m talking about, it’s the fabrication or creation that has come from an idea or act that is made and controlled by you, so it belongs to you. It doesn’t matter if someone else has had the same thoughts as you, because you each have your own spin on the matters surrounding the thought- depending on your life, individually, and your mental state; your physical state; your experiences and views. And a whole tangled heap-mess-mush of other things, too.
My point is, if God does exists then technically we are his/her creation. Therefore we are reflections in part or his/her thought pattern. So God, in a way, could be that creepy man who sat next to you on the bus. Or the little girl who cut her sister’s hair off because she was jealous. Or the son, that lonely boy, sat outside school at the end of the day, waiting for his father to pick him up. And also God could be, in some ways, part of the father of that boy, who is late because he is with his mistress. And the mistress who only sleeps with him to get a raise, not because she likes him. The wife of the cheating husband, and she knows he’s cheating… But she doesn’t do anything about it because she loves him too much and she doesn’t want her marriage to break down. This could be because she is terrified of divorce because it tore a friend apart… It could be because her mother won’t forgive her. There are reasons for a lot of things.
I’ve just finished reading Fight Club by Check Palahniuk. It was quite excellent, though between finishing it and going to sleep I had to read a little of a lighter book to take my mind off the plot. It was very strong, the plot of that book. It drew you in, wound you into its spools, and at the end of the book you’re not just wool anymore, you’re a jumper. You can be a little rugged around the edges or you can be made of cashmere, the point is it changes you. The characters in it make you feel different. I had to start reading another book, or I’d have dreamt about it.
Tuesday 5 April 2011
Treatment
When you bring a child into the world and raise it, you hope (or at least most sane parents do) that it will be happy and healthy. You hope, that with luck, that child will get somewhere in life, meet new people, make contacts, have friends and family and fun and gain knowledge and experience from the entire thing. See, I'm getting the contacts, at the moment, and my mother is happy. But (there always seems to be an exception...) I have certain things that hold me back. The wonderful thing is I can actually alleviate these.
Currently I have an underbite. It means my lower jaw is further forward than my upper jaw, and it makes my bottom lip stick out a bit and my teeth are going pretty much insane trying to compensate- The top ones desperately leaning forward to meet the bottom ones, which are leaning back. There is still, when I bite together, a noticeable gap. I look, in short, a little strange. I'm very aware of this problem, and have been for some time. You know how you go to the dentist? Yes, I do that too. But I also go to the Dental Hospital for checkups- and they are figuring things out very nicely and quickly for my course of treatment.
Firstly, I should start at the beginning; it seems logical. When I was younger, genetically I just kept growing more and more teeth, without the old ones falling out. Sort of like a premature shark occurrence. I had nine teeth taken out before I was ten, in one operation. They were all rotten because the toothbrush wouldn't- nothing except acid, in fact- would get between them. So these nine teeth came out, and home with me. I thought they were pretty cool in that gross way that children think things are cool. My parents thought they were, for want of a better word, "Ew". They threw them away. Goodbye, teeth.
They've mostly grown back, of course. As I sort of stuffed myself when I was starting puberty I got lots of protein and fat (the latter of which is now slowly burning off quite nicely, thankyou), so I'm still okay in terms of nutrition. I should think so too, considering to keep up with what I need I have to eat around four or five times a day. Sometimes because the jaw isn't aligned correctly it hurts to bite so I'll eat yoghurt a lot.
I went to the Dental Hospital on Friday. The surgeon who will be doing my operation in around a year and a half's time, came to see me. I think this is very good, that they are so well prepared. He was incredibly blunt and straightforward: "There is a seven percent chance that after the operation you will not feel your lower lip; it will be completely numb. There is a one hundred percent chance of this for the first eight weeks afterwards." I nod and smile; seven percent is enough to worry about, but a numb lip does not affect speech so it wouldn't be that consequential. He, I believe, attempts to scare me: "Of course, there is a chance you will die-" and I say, "but that is tiny." He looks a little miffed but nods. There are about five or six people standing around watching us have this not-so-intimate chat. I am very used to being watched now as I'm a rare case so the students always come and peer while Mr. Harradine (who actually is the head dentist at the Dental Hospital) does his job. But today it was the surgeon's turn to take the limelight first... Or rather mine. As usual.
The surgeon and I talk for a while; do I have any questions? Yes. "How many times have you done this operation before?" "Thousands". It is quite common but my case is unique in that there is so much to be done now to prepare. He feels my face, mentally taking notes on the structure, testing the shape, telling me that this will make me more "classically beautiful", rather than merely less ugly. He explains they will be bringing my face forward (the middle of it) and the lower jaw back, to meet it. This will result in a very different facial shape. I hope that the blog is still running so I can tell you all about it, because I sure as hell won't be able to speak.
He gets up to leave and I thank him for coming to talk to me when he is evidently very busy- he also thaks me, and shakes my hand before walking away at a pace that I thought was near impossible to define as walking. Doctors.
I turn to Nick (Harradine) and say, "Right, what have we got to do today?" I am always to the point and chipper about dental appointments. Yes, they may be long, painful and/or boring. Yes the dental students may take me height and be embarrassed about me knowing so much on this subject, but yes, also, it is important to remember that I am good friends with all my doctors. I joke around with my GP; also called Nick (useful for my Nick file; I now technically know five) and with Mr. H, well... He taught me how to get out of, and put someone in, a headlock. Also useful!
We get to business. I meet a new dentist who will be working on me. The looks on their faces tell me the next step will be very introductory; I am right, they plan to bring me back here on June 10th to insert some springs between my back teeth. By said new dentist; I like her, so it's all good. But then, I like all my dentists. A week later exactly (to the hour) I will be back in the chair for a brace fitting as far as I know- no, I lie, to have a wire fitted which stretches my upper jaw as it is too...thin? It is not wide enough, not to meet with my bottom teeth. The problem I had a child was called crowding (of the teeth). On July 15th I will go back, presumably for full bracing of all my teeth, along with wires, elastics, wax, and (please no) VERY flattering headgear. Cough.
The only bit I really don't look forward to is the having to wear a mouthguard to skate once I have the brace in- but I would rather look stupid wearing a mouthguard than stupid with shitty teeth and a messed up jaw.
After the operation I will be in hospital for around 3 to 5 days. I cannot go to work or school for two to three weeks, at least.
I hope they do it in the holidays or else I'll miss something important like University!
Happy Reading, folks! Wish me luck, there will be pain. And lots of it. :D
Currently I have an underbite. It means my lower jaw is further forward than my upper jaw, and it makes my bottom lip stick out a bit and my teeth are going pretty much insane trying to compensate- The top ones desperately leaning forward to meet the bottom ones, which are leaning back. There is still, when I bite together, a noticeable gap. I look, in short, a little strange. I'm very aware of this problem, and have been for some time. You know how you go to the dentist? Yes, I do that too. But I also go to the Dental Hospital for checkups- and they are figuring things out very nicely and quickly for my course of treatment.
Firstly, I should start at the beginning; it seems logical. When I was younger, genetically I just kept growing more and more teeth, without the old ones falling out. Sort of like a premature shark occurrence. I had nine teeth taken out before I was ten, in one operation. They were all rotten because the toothbrush wouldn't- nothing except acid, in fact- would get between them. So these nine teeth came out, and home with me. I thought they were pretty cool in that gross way that children think things are cool. My parents thought they were, for want of a better word, "Ew". They threw them away. Goodbye, teeth.
They've mostly grown back, of course. As I sort of stuffed myself when I was starting puberty I got lots of protein and fat (the latter of which is now slowly burning off quite nicely, thankyou), so I'm still okay in terms of nutrition. I should think so too, considering to keep up with what I need I have to eat around four or five times a day. Sometimes because the jaw isn't aligned correctly it hurts to bite so I'll eat yoghurt a lot.
I went to the Dental Hospital on Friday. The surgeon who will be doing my operation in around a year and a half's time, came to see me. I think this is very good, that they are so well prepared. He was incredibly blunt and straightforward: "There is a seven percent chance that after the operation you will not feel your lower lip; it will be completely numb. There is a one hundred percent chance of this for the first eight weeks afterwards." I nod and smile; seven percent is enough to worry about, but a numb lip does not affect speech so it wouldn't be that consequential. He, I believe, attempts to scare me: "Of course, there is a chance you will die-" and I say, "but that is tiny." He looks a little miffed but nods. There are about five or six people standing around watching us have this not-so-intimate chat. I am very used to being watched now as I'm a rare case so the students always come and peer while Mr. Harradine (who actually is the head dentist at the Dental Hospital) does his job. But today it was the surgeon's turn to take the limelight first... Or rather mine. As usual.
The surgeon and I talk for a while; do I have any questions? Yes. "How many times have you done this operation before?" "Thousands". It is quite common but my case is unique in that there is so much to be done now to prepare. He feels my face, mentally taking notes on the structure, testing the shape, telling me that this will make me more "classically beautiful", rather than merely less ugly. He explains they will be bringing my face forward (the middle of it) and the lower jaw back, to meet it. This will result in a very different facial shape. I hope that the blog is still running so I can tell you all about it, because I sure as hell won't be able to speak.
He gets up to leave and I thank him for coming to talk to me when he is evidently very busy- he also thaks me, and shakes my hand before walking away at a pace that I thought was near impossible to define as walking. Doctors.
I turn to Nick (Harradine) and say, "Right, what have we got to do today?" I am always to the point and chipper about dental appointments. Yes, they may be long, painful and/or boring. Yes the dental students may take me height and be embarrassed about me knowing so much on this subject, but yes, also, it is important to remember that I am good friends with all my doctors. I joke around with my GP; also called Nick (useful for my Nick file; I now technically know five) and with Mr. H, well... He taught me how to get out of, and put someone in, a headlock. Also useful!
We get to business. I meet a new dentist who will be working on me. The looks on their faces tell me the next step will be very introductory; I am right, they plan to bring me back here on June 10th to insert some springs between my back teeth. By said new dentist; I like her, so it's all good. But then, I like all my dentists. A week later exactly (to the hour) I will be back in the chair for a brace fitting as far as I know- no, I lie, to have a wire fitted which stretches my upper jaw as it is too...thin? It is not wide enough, not to meet with my bottom teeth. The problem I had a child was called crowding (of the teeth). On July 15th I will go back, presumably for full bracing of all my teeth, along with wires, elastics, wax, and (please no) VERY flattering headgear. Cough.
The only bit I really don't look forward to is the having to wear a mouthguard to skate once I have the brace in- but I would rather look stupid wearing a mouthguard than stupid with shitty teeth and a messed up jaw.
After the operation I will be in hospital for around 3 to 5 days. I cannot go to work or school for two to three weeks, at least.
I hope they do it in the holidays or else I'll miss something important like University!
Happy Reading, folks! Wish me luck, there will be pain. And lots of it. :D
Sunday 3 April 2011
Mothers' day...
I don't know what time I wake up, but suffice to say it is not at my own house. I have no problem with this. I make a point of always knowing my place; it's technically very difficult to get lost if you know where you are all the time.
Having breakfast at the house (of Earl Grey tea, yoghurt and cookie crisp- yum!) I remember it is indeed Mothering Sunday, and proceed to wolf down the rest of my food -eating cookie crisp at speed can result in some serious coughing fits - and I then say goodbye to Mr. W. and practically run to the bus stop.
I say "run". I mean, "walk a teeny bit faster than my average sloth-like pace". Give me a break, it's Sunday morning.
The bus is late by two minutes. But then, I am late by one, so this lateness (and reliable unreliability of the public services) is welcomed like a glass of water in the desert, almost literally. I am tempted to hug the driver, but refrain on the grounds that he looks like he has some form of lergy; indeed, he's sniffing profusely.
I sit upstairs (it's a double decker bus) and as Mr. W. has stolen my iPod for the day (downloading the music off it can take some time, it's a temperamental so-and-so) I sit looking out of the window. It's cloudy but the sun is managing to sneak through the gaps- great rays of it, at times so clearly outlined that I imagine people might start floating up in the columns of light, as if they're weightless.
After half an hour we reach my stop. I am so busy people-watching (often the other passengers on the bus entertain me for the entire journey) that I almost miss it, but never mind. I begin to walk home, my hood falling off my head because it's windy and I look like an idiot, a pure and unadulterated idiot, if I draw the strings tight. Like that character off of South Park. It's not cold out; I'm walking pretty fast. I've got energy now- the yoghurt, Earl Grey and cookie crisp have seen to that.
Getting home, everyone is awake. Unsurprising as it's gone eleven am. Still. I say my "hello there"s and we're off, more drama. The child is meant to be picked up by her sister. Who does not show up. This sister is NEVER on time. My mother dislikes the girl intensely- she's not allowed in the house... Ha ha ha! Eventually, the child is dropped off at her mother's by her father rather than her sister (she seems, as can be gathered form that sentence, and occurrence, to have a rather complicated family). The three of us (my mother, her boyfriend and I) go out for breakfast- though for me it's lunch- at Sainsbury's. I have scampi, chips and beans. This is a bad choice, as I'm not fond of chips, but everything on the lunch menu seems to come with them.
We go to Tesco and shop for a few essentials, and then go round adding other things in. I add in hair dye, dark brown. Also in basket are jaffa cakes, oreos, slim-juice, and yoghurt. BRAN FLAKES! My favourite purchase today will be Bran Flakes. I love them.
We get home. The child is still out; my mother dyes my hair. It goes pretty much black, but I like it. I dye hers. We have somehow formed a new Mothers' Day action which we doubt will sweep the nation, but it is fun nonetheless.
The child comes back, ringing the bell, making noise. My hand is on my mother's shoulder. She says, "And she's back..." and there is a little pause while we listen. Her shoulders tighten- stress? Yes. "Calm down," I whisper.
We finish dying the hair and cook dinner. A huge roll of beef, with potatoes parsnips, peas and yorkshire puddings. And gravy, you can't forget the gravy. Dinner is wonderful. The child and my mother's boyfriend don't help at all; they sit there staring at the TV. My mother and I would rather read; for us TV is just a source of news and other interesting snippets of information from documentaries.
Dinner is good. I am very hungry and it's gone quickly- mum puts more on my plate. I notice she's all tense again- more stress. She's angry, very angry. The quiet angry that means after I have gone to bed there will be yelling and arguments and bangs. People in this house seem to strop a lot. Mother and I wash up and dry up and then put the things from dinner away. I wish her a Happy Mothers' Day. The worst bit of today was coming home and finding a card to her, with flowers, from the child. It is not her child. She is not it's mother. I wish the child would go, sometimes.
I'm tired. I brush my teeth. I come and write my blog. Sorry for the long and dull post. I have done no work this weekend... I will have to buckle down tomorrow, with my black hair and my stressed mother and my lack of space and freedom. I will have to work very hard.
Goodnight.
Happy reading folks!
Having breakfast at the house (of Earl Grey tea, yoghurt and cookie crisp- yum!) I remember it is indeed Mothering Sunday, and proceed to wolf down the rest of my food -eating cookie crisp at speed can result in some serious coughing fits - and I then say goodbye to Mr. W. and practically run to the bus stop.
I say "run". I mean, "walk a teeny bit faster than my average sloth-like pace". Give me a break, it's Sunday morning.
The bus is late by two minutes. But then, I am late by one, so this lateness (and reliable unreliability of the public services) is welcomed like a glass of water in the desert, almost literally. I am tempted to hug the driver, but refrain on the grounds that he looks like he has some form of lergy; indeed, he's sniffing profusely.
I sit upstairs (it's a double decker bus) and as Mr. W. has stolen my iPod for the day (downloading the music off it can take some time, it's a temperamental so-and-so) I sit looking out of the window. It's cloudy but the sun is managing to sneak through the gaps- great rays of it, at times so clearly outlined that I imagine people might start floating up in the columns of light, as if they're weightless.
After half an hour we reach my stop. I am so busy people-watching (often the other passengers on the bus entertain me for the entire journey) that I almost miss it, but never mind. I begin to walk home, my hood falling off my head because it's windy and I look like an idiot, a pure and unadulterated idiot, if I draw the strings tight. Like that character off of South Park. It's not cold out; I'm walking pretty fast. I've got energy now- the yoghurt, Earl Grey and cookie crisp have seen to that.
Getting home, everyone is awake. Unsurprising as it's gone eleven am. Still. I say my "hello there"s and we're off, more drama. The child is meant to be picked up by her sister. Who does not show up. This sister is NEVER on time. My mother dislikes the girl intensely- she's not allowed in the house... Ha ha ha! Eventually, the child is dropped off at her mother's by her father rather than her sister (she seems, as can be gathered form that sentence, and occurrence, to have a rather complicated family). The three of us (my mother, her boyfriend and I) go out for breakfast- though for me it's lunch- at Sainsbury's. I have scampi, chips and beans. This is a bad choice, as I'm not fond of chips, but everything on the lunch menu seems to come with them.
We go to Tesco and shop for a few essentials, and then go round adding other things in. I add in hair dye, dark brown. Also in basket are jaffa cakes, oreos, slim-juice, and yoghurt. BRAN FLAKES! My favourite purchase today will be Bran Flakes. I love them.
We get home. The child is still out; my mother dyes my hair. It goes pretty much black, but I like it. I dye hers. We have somehow formed a new Mothers' Day action which we doubt will sweep the nation, but it is fun nonetheless.
The child comes back, ringing the bell, making noise. My hand is on my mother's shoulder. She says, "And she's back..." and there is a little pause while we listen. Her shoulders tighten- stress? Yes. "Calm down," I whisper.
We finish dying the hair and cook dinner. A huge roll of beef, with potatoes parsnips, peas and yorkshire puddings. And gravy, you can't forget the gravy. Dinner is wonderful. The child and my mother's boyfriend don't help at all; they sit there staring at the TV. My mother and I would rather read; for us TV is just a source of news and other interesting snippets of information from documentaries.
Dinner is good. I am very hungry and it's gone quickly- mum puts more on my plate. I notice she's all tense again- more stress. She's angry, very angry. The quiet angry that means after I have gone to bed there will be yelling and arguments and bangs. People in this house seem to strop a lot. Mother and I wash up and dry up and then put the things from dinner away. I wish her a Happy Mothers' Day. The worst bit of today was coming home and finding a card to her, with flowers, from the child. It is not her child. She is not it's mother. I wish the child would go, sometimes.
I'm tired. I brush my teeth. I come and write my blog. Sorry for the long and dull post. I have done no work this weekend... I will have to buckle down tomorrow, with my black hair and my stressed mother and my lack of space and freedom. I will have to work very hard.
Goodnight.
Happy reading folks!
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