Solidarity

November 30, 2011

 

“A Banker, a School Teacher, a Tory MP and a Daily Mail reader are sat around a table. In front of them is a plate, on which there are ten biscuits. The Banker scoffs nine of the biscuits, then the Tory turns to the Daily Mail reader and whispers in his ear “watch out, that teacher is after your biscuit” -Source unknown.

“Unions: the people who brought you the weekend. And capped working hours. And employment rights and protections. And fair wages. And pensions. And ended child labour. What a bunch of greedy bastards.” – Priyamvada Gopal

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Well knock me down with a feather, Internet. I done good.

 

I got up at 4.30am this morning. That is 4.30 A.M. That is 4.30 A.M. IN THE MORNING! This in itself is quite an achievement for me.* I said I was going to get up at 5.30 and I got up at 4.30. That means I started the day with my time-management balance a whole hour in credit!

 

And then, because the rest of the world was asleep, and because the Internet held no interest (I’ve already read all the good bits), I sat down and did some work. Just like that! No procrastinating, no distractions. I am still in shock. I just keep running through it in my head, trying to recall each stage of the process in the hope that I can recreate it. It went something like this:

 

1. Open computer

2. Quit Firefox

3. Quit Email

4. Open new word document.

5. Start writing.

6. Finish writing with 500 precious little words in the PhD bank – kerCHING!

 

Examining this process more closely, I see where it usually breaks down:

 

[Note: What follows here is an analysis of the above process. Because that’s what I specialise in  – totally pointless analysis of mostly pointless writing. Just watch me in action]

 

Step 1, it could be argued, seldom presents difficulty. Indeed, there exists empirical evidence to support this theory. However, steps 2 and 3 are likely to prove more problematic, particularly where the subject engages in a process of reflexive looping in which the legitimate pursuit of knowledge inevitably gives rise to a decrease in productivity. Entirely optional, step 4 can often be beneficial, particularly where the subject might suffer epistemological crises in relation to previous attempts at expression. Nevertheless, the real problem here rests not, as one might assume, with the successful execution of step 5, but in fact with the slippage resulting from what is represented here as a seamless causal relation between step 5 and 6. It would appear, in fact, that there exists several hundred sub-steps between these parent sets, sub-steps not anticipated by the model above. Such sub-steps may include but are by no means limited to: examination of eyebrows to see if they need plucking; preparation of multiple cups of tea; investigation of back of the wardrobe; assorted activities associated with animal husbandry. Etc etc etc

 

What total bollocks. Sometimes I really do hate myself.

 

 

 

*Granted this is probably owing to me going to bed at the unusual hour of 8pm last night. And there’s probably only so much sleep one person can have in one night. But so what? I’m awarding myself a bonus cat treat from the cupboard under the microwave.

Sunday Night Observations

November 28, 2011

1. Sunday nights are cack. Why is it that however old I get, I still feel as though the weekend has slipped by and I suddenly realise that it’s Monday in the morning and I haven’t yet done my homework. Oh yeah, because I’m nearly 29, still have time management issues, and (whichever way you dress it up) I still have homework. Progression fail.

2. Search terms: “fucking littlewoods advert” I applaud you, whoever you are – you restore my faith in the general public. And mostly I hate the general public. Hate them. Go away, general public, leave me out of your generalness. I infinitely prefer people who are both specific and private (clearly I do not practise what I preach since I am blogging publicly and indiscriminately about random crap. Gah! I AM the general public! Please excuse me while I have a brief existential meltdown).

3. M came over today and cleaned the flat. WIN. I am in the unusual Sunday night position of having a presentable flat. He didn’t come over specifically to clean the flat but that was a highly pleasing by-product of his visit. In the same way that chaos follows me, order and cleanliness follows him. He did however rebuke me for two cups of mould he found at the bottom of the pending pile of washing up. They weren’t always cups of mould. I think they used to be cups of coffee. Or possibly chamomile tea. I like it when M wears a hat because I can measure the frequency of his shock-disgust response by the number of times I can’t see his eyebrows. Without the hat, I have to guess.

By the way Internet, M is taking part in Movember which is now nearly over. I don’t usually use this blog to chug but it’s for men’s health, specifically prostate cancer and other cancers that affect men, and it’s a very good cause. If you feel you would be prepared to sponsor him (even a teeny weeny little bit) you would be doing a very good thing. You can see his moustache, and donate in its honour, here. Thank you x

Week End

November 25, 2011

And thus the week endeth. Thank fuck for that.

It’s been a funny old week. Well not so much funny. More, y’know, shit. But it’s over now and I’m about to wash, get dressed, and go out to celebrate its demise.

Before I sign off, two things:

Firstly, I’d like to wish you all a great weekend but there are two people in particular who I know are probably not going to be having a particularly great weekend. I hope they know I mean them (if you think I might, I probably do). I am thinking of them.

Secondly, I would like to blame this shit magazine, and others like it, for all that is wrong with the world:

WTF!!!?

Harsh? I don’t think so.

(Almost) Fully Operational

November 24, 2011

[Notice: It seems my brain has been experiencing some technical difficulties. Whilst I am working hard to resolve these issues with the minimum of disruption, some services (such as coherency, quality, and bracket-impulse control ) may be limited. I apologise for any inconvenience or frustration this may cause.]

Good morning, Internet.

After several days of distress, things have vastly improved. Most of these days were spent playing Sims3 on my phone because the pixellated world of Lou, my sim-avatar,  seemed a far less shitty place to be than Real Life. Being new to this type of strategy game (which is apparently what we call them – thanks M!), it took me several attempts to work out how to prevent Lou from starving to death. On my final attempt, she was flourishing in health and got a promotion at work thus doubling her income. Sadly, on her first day in her new job, she choked on a pretzel and died. I couldn’t cope with the cruel irony of this latest demise and have now deleted the whole bloody game.

Nevertheless, after recent events (in Real Life. I am talking about Real Life now people), I think having limited autonomy of my own actions is possibly the way forward for me so I’m now accepting applications from people prepared to manage my life in this way. Duties include: reminding me to shower, take a pee, and eat; restricting my interactions with people to a friendly greeting; and managing my budget and life goals. The successful applicant must be patient, reliable, and willing to work anti-social hours. Time-wasters need not apply, (that’s one area in which I’m already fairly competent).

Anyway, it’s Thursday, so it’s time for the second installment of Haiku for ADHD. This week, it’s a pair of haiku/haikus (how do we pluralise haiku please Internet?) for additional emphasis.

Conversation fail:

Speak, listen, speak, listen, speak,

Speak, speak, speak, speak, speak…

Let’s try that again. Go:

You then me, you then me, me,

Me, me, me, oops….

November 23, 2011


Making things worse

November 21, 2011

Sorry about this. Something appears to have gone very wrong since my last post. I think I am having some kind of breakdown that started approximately two hours after my last post (or perhaps that post was a way of me trying to talk myself out of the breakdown as it was breaking), and seems to have spun off on its own trajectory of crapness since then.

The whole story (which would involve me going back in time several months and relating a tale that would probably have you shutting your browser and reopening only once you were sure it was safe) is not for now. But it can be summarised in that age-old formula: Girl meets Boy, Girl and Boy break up, Boy has royally fucked up,  nevertheless Girl and Boy can’t stay broken up, Girl and Boy make up, Girl fucks up, Boy doesn’t break up with her, Boy fucks up, Girl does break up with him, which in and of itself is a fuck up. I concede that.

Still with me?

The point of this back story is this: Why can’t I just leave it? Why do I have to keep poking and prodding to see if this thing is still alive when I dealt the possibly fatal blow? I’ve never been able to cope with leaving things. It’s torture for me. I get that other people have to back off and calm down or figure things out or whatever and I can see why that’s probably a good idea but I just can’t do it. And it feels completely beyond me to do anything about it because even when told, repeatedly, that I am making things worse, I just keep trying to fix it. Nobody likes being unhappy, I’m not saying I have some extra-low tolerance for unhappiness, but when something is wrong with one part of my life, it consumes all of it. Compartmentalising is as alien to me as living underwater. Or putting things away when I’ve used them. I just can’t do it. Sticking with the compartmentalising metaphor, I want my life and mind to be made up of a series of secure chambers or boxes, all sealed off from one another so if the iceberg hits one, the vessel stays afloat. But I just don’t work that way. If one box springs a leak then we’re all going to fucking drown. That’s what’s happening now, with the hurt, but that’s also what happened on Friday with the anger. It sprung a leak and I just couldn’t stem the flood so I sunk the whole thing (apologies for this, I can hear how I sound, I just can’t help it).

And what do you do when you feel unhappiness so intensely? I can’t work, I can’t write, I can’t even put myself to bed, even though being awake is too painful. So I do anything I can to try to make it feel just a little bit better, promising myself that this will fix it, just hoping that I can get through and that the other person will see this pain and have enough compassion to let me mend it. And all I’m doing is making it worse. I’m trying to patch up all the leaks but using the wrong tools, axes and knives rather than …..whatever it is you’re supposed to use to mend leaks, something less sharp, I suppose.

I’m sorry that I go about clumsily trying to mend it. I’m sorry am making it worse. I am human, I am flawed. Some of those flaws are irritating, some are self-destructive, and some make me difficult to be with. There was a time I thought we were impossible, that it could never work, that you were too flawed for me to trust you with my feelings. You hurt me badly once and it felt like I would never get over it but I chose to believe in the person I knew you could be, and in everything I knew we could be together. And so yes, there’s that bit of me always waiting to get hurt again, and so when the red lights started flashing I shut down the system in a panic. And I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t take the risk again, but you have better insight that I did then because you know how good it can be, you know that there’s something worth saving. All I ask is that you choose to believe in that, and in the person you know I can be.

Even writing this, I know I’m running the risk of making things worse. But no more now. I really will leave it here. I’m putting all the sharp objects away, and keeping my hands in my pockets. That’s it. No more.

I just hope it’s enough.

 

 

 

Dear Weekend,

You’ve been a long time coming. I’ve not just waited for you since last weekend. You’ve been looming for a while, for months. Until recently, you didn’t really seem real. You have been this artificial point in the road, a make or break, a hurdle to be jumped. You’ve been a built-in trip switch.

Well, fuck you weekend. You don’t scare me and you’re just not worth the hassle. I refuse to allow you, unusual weekend though you may be, to cloud my judgement or blind me to what’s important: all the days and months that follow you. I won’t let you be a part of those.

With love and trust,

Monday evening x

 

 

Haiku for ADHD

November 17, 2011

Hey hey hey, Internet.

Today finds me in a reasonable mood, despite productivity being low and distractibility being exceedingly high. So far today the only things I have finished are a whole packet of polos and the last of the loo roll (never did get round to buying any, despite repeatedly noting to self that it has been running low). Hopefully the laxative effect they warn you about only applies to the sugar-free variety. Otherwise I could be in trouble.

Anyway, because I am running out of day in which to achieve anything remotely useful, I thought it would be good for me to start a blog post that I could complete quickly and without becoming distracted. I therefore decided, Internet, that I would impose some restrictions upon myself. For, example, a 17 syllable length restriction, a three-minute time restriction, and a strict prohibition on the curly bracket, my Achilles heel of appropriate punctuation. For this reason I am introducing what may well be the beginning of a regular series of posts (in the name of brevity): the ADHD Haiku (really, the inventor of the Haiku should be given an ADHD genius award. Or summat).

So here it is:

ADHD HAIKU number 1*

Angry driver BEEPS:

The man is green and has been

For some time. Sorry.

 

Edit: You Americans and Canadians have green men on the traffic lights, yes? If not, apologies, and google is your friend.

*(where the fuck is the hash key on a Mac pls??)

Q: How many cups of tea…

November 14, 2011

does it take an ADHDer to write a PhD?

A: Not sure. Am on cup 5 and still counting.

Cup 1: Faff about.

Cup 2: Check blog stats. Notice that somebody searched for “restaurant bus” in russian. That’s автобус ресторан for anyone wondering.

Cup 3: Send some self-pitying texts about how much work I have to do. Modify plan.

Cup 4: Faff about. Check washing machine for napping cats. Put washing on. Realise once it’s too late that I forgot to add washing powder. I am reminded of the time I made biscuits and forgot to include the flour. But my childhood baking catastrophes are a tale that deserve a post of their own someday.

Cup 5: Open Word document upon which I have 800 of the 1500 words I need. Have some kind of minor brain melt and somehow accidentally disapperate and end up on WordPress relating the whole sorry tale.

Gahhh (or as oooshiny might say ‘shitpissfuckandbuggerybollocks’ – hi shiny!), I really need to sort myself out. Need to send work to Supervisor P by tonight latest. Need to get started now. Right this minute…

 

 

 

 

…I better just nip and pop the kettle on.