Hello peeps,
I'm sitting here watching my washing machine spin round and round, and thinking that my life is rather similar at the moment.
A month ago Steve went into hospital for a routine Angiogram and came out a week later after having had a stroke caused by the procedure.
He is in relatively good nick, all things considered, but his speech is slurry, and he gets tired very easily. Occasionally he gets dizzy and nauseous, and he doesn't travel well anymore. Not too bad when you think how severe it could have been.
So he's at home.
And our landlady is coming home soon, too, so we have to move out.
This will be my 27th house move and I can't say I'm looking forward to it much.
I have been trying to keep up with my Uni work whilst looking after Steve and all his visitors, and house-hunting at the same time. Feel close to tears most of the time but can't seem to break out and have a good howl.
Had to do a PowerPoint presentation on screen printing today, and to say it was a rush job is an understatement of epic proportions, as I was up till 1.30 last night fiddling with bits of graph paper, trying to see if our furniture would fit into the house we like.
My head is not in the game.
My head is a foggy, achy, snappy, wobbly place out of which good PowerPoint presentations, imaginative poems, or succinct and witty prose are not forthcoming.
My house is a tip, like my head, and I just don't give a shit.
Last night I had one of those rotten 'worry-dreams' so I woke up badly too. You know the sort - you're late for something, the car breaks down, you're stranded somewhere and nobody helps you. Last night's one featured my sister-in-law offering to drive me but then stopping off for a coffee that took forever. The more insistent I got that we didn't have enough time, the more upset and offended she got. (She's not like that, really).
In the end I had to travel back through time, in order to warn her that we would have a major falling out and she would just have to forgive me. Just for a bloody ten-minute Power point presentation!
I'm too tired to shop or cook most of the time so I'm living off bread and peanut butter.
Stomach has ballooned! Can't fit my sodding clothes.
And my guinea pig, Sandra, is ill.
So that's my week, folks, and now I have to write a monologue for my new script-writing tutor.
At any other time I would find that a stimulating and interesting challenge. Today I just want to unscrew my throbbing head and drop it in the dish-washer.
Ah well. Back to the writing board.
Tuesday 19 March 2013
Monday 28 January 2013
Onwards and upwards, friends
Monday 28th January 2013
BIG NEWS! I am a student!
I am 53 - and a student!
How did this come about? How is this suddenly my life?
To be fair, when I tell people I am doing Fine Art and Creative Writing, they all say "What a doddle".
And it sort of is.
But on the other hand, nothing that is new is a doddle at 53, and even perfectly normal things have changed in character.
Bending down to pick up a pencil (I drop a lot of things now - why is that? Does middle age make me slippery?), I emit a groan.
I am not in pain.
Have I become one of those toys that, when you tip them, moo like a cow with the escaping air?
Doing something new - especially if it involves technology - is a minefield. I am relatively comfortable with the PC at home (it fouls up what I am trying to do. I swear at it a lot. Steve comes home and it works perfectly. We carry on as normal), but they have Mac's at Uni, and I've never used one.
So how is it that I can thread or dismantle any sewing machine in the world without a manual, or drive any number of different cars within minutes, but I can't work out how to transfer what I do on my PC to a Mac?
Or have a clue how to use the screenwriting program I downloaded last night?
Or handle newer editions of Photoshop?
Was there a year that, if you were born earlier, you don't have the right pathways in your brain that allow you to adapt to this? Is it like being born knowing the Earth is flat, and never quite being able to get your head around the idea that it is spherical?
It seems I am a flat Earth thinker.
I could keep up with the 'yoof' on every level imaginable -- be botoxed back into my thirties, dance all night at Glasto and hog the social media, but my crapness with computers would always give my age away.
Similarly, just as I only use one tenth of my brain, I only utilise a quarter of my phone's capabilities.
So many things I don't wish to do, like play shoot-em-ups, and have my life orchestrated to the sound of screams, punches, kicks, or things expiring. These all betray me as part of the pre-PC generation.
When I ask for help, young people are kind (as they so generally are), but puzzled - how can I not know? They cannot even remember a time when they did not.
I have a very early memory. I am sitting at a desk in the lounge with a crayon and some paper. I am drawing long lines of loops, over and over, one below the other. I present it to my mother as a letter. I remember clearly thinking that that is what writing looks like - long rows of loops. I am stunned that she cannot read it.
Not being able to read or write is such a long time ago now, but that is what I feel like around tech - an illiterate.
Being around the young kids though, with all their marvellous energy and enthusiasms, is a doddle.
I wish everybody still lived in communities that encompassed all age groups, that we didn't separate off into our own peer groups. My life becomes glorious when I jump out of my box.
OK, so their concerns are often trivial and over-indulged in. So were ours at that age. I would not wish to deny them their chance at reckless, ridiculous, all-encompassing stupidity. We are never so free again.
Let them cry for a week over some idiot of a boy who kissed their mate and isn't worth even thinking about. Let them miss lessons, overspend on shoes and shots, eat curry and throw up.
I don't want to join in (ghastly thought), but being around their honesty and abundance and foolishness is better than vampire blood.
Bring it on.
BIG NEWS! I am a student!
I am 53 - and a student!
How did this come about? How is this suddenly my life?
To be fair, when I tell people I am doing Fine Art and Creative Writing, they all say "What a doddle".
And it sort of is.
But on the other hand, nothing that is new is a doddle at 53, and even perfectly normal things have changed in character.
Bending down to pick up a pencil (I drop a lot of things now - why is that? Does middle age make me slippery?), I emit a groan.
I am not in pain.
Have I become one of those toys that, when you tip them, moo like a cow with the escaping air?
Doing something new - especially if it involves technology - is a minefield. I am relatively comfortable with the PC at home (it fouls up what I am trying to do. I swear at it a lot. Steve comes home and it works perfectly. We carry on as normal), but they have Mac's at Uni, and I've never used one.
So how is it that I can thread or dismantle any sewing machine in the world without a manual, or drive any number of different cars within minutes, but I can't work out how to transfer what I do on my PC to a Mac?
Or have a clue how to use the screenwriting program I downloaded last night?
Or handle newer editions of Photoshop?
Was there a year that, if you were born earlier, you don't have the right pathways in your brain that allow you to adapt to this? Is it like being born knowing the Earth is flat, and never quite being able to get your head around the idea that it is spherical?
It seems I am a flat Earth thinker.
I could keep up with the 'yoof' on every level imaginable -- be botoxed back into my thirties, dance all night at Glasto and hog the social media, but my crapness with computers would always give my age away.
Similarly, just as I only use one tenth of my brain, I only utilise a quarter of my phone's capabilities.
So many things I don't wish to do, like play shoot-em-ups, and have my life orchestrated to the sound of screams, punches, kicks, or things expiring. These all betray me as part of the pre-PC generation.
When I ask for help, young people are kind (as they so generally are), but puzzled - how can I not know? They cannot even remember a time when they did not.
I have a very early memory. I am sitting at a desk in the lounge with a crayon and some paper. I am drawing long lines of loops, over and over, one below the other. I present it to my mother as a letter. I remember clearly thinking that that is what writing looks like - long rows of loops. I am stunned that she cannot read it.
Not being able to read or write is such a long time ago now, but that is what I feel like around tech - an illiterate.
Being around the young kids though, with all their marvellous energy and enthusiasms, is a doddle.
I wish everybody still lived in communities that encompassed all age groups, that we didn't separate off into our own peer groups. My life becomes glorious when I jump out of my box.
OK, so their concerns are often trivial and over-indulged in. So were ours at that age. I would not wish to deny them their chance at reckless, ridiculous, all-encompassing stupidity. We are never so free again.
Let them cry for a week over some idiot of a boy who kissed their mate and isn't worth even thinking about. Let them miss lessons, overspend on shoes and shots, eat curry and throw up.
I don't want to join in (ghastly thought), but being around their honesty and abundance and foolishness is better than vampire blood.
Bring it on.
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