Psychos and narcs

 Some dude made a comment, on a local newspaper news post about whether people will continue to self-isolate after testing positive, that only a psycho or narcissist wouldn't.

Or, you know, they could be a person who doesn't have a job where they can work from home, and they can't afford to miss work now they no longer have the government's support & back-up with their employer. 

But not to worry, those sorts of psychos and narcissists won't be able to afford to test to find out if they have Covid, anyway, so it's all good. 

Finished: Snap - Belinda Bauer

The saga continues

 

Green

 Once in a while, I get the urge to Write: you know, like a novel, like "everyone has a book in them", like there's a story I could tell, not just blogging random stuff or dodgy poetry. I was quite proud a fortnight ago when I wrote a couple of thousand words of this opus. 

And then, I'm back to thinking, I don't know enough, and, let's be frightfully honest, darling, I can't face the actual work of research or even plotting it out, I don't really know where it's going. I regret telling my bf that I did some writing because he asked me about it and I didn't really know how to answer most of his questions about it, as a half-formed idea, so it kind of put me off. Plus the more I think about it, the more derivative it feels and someone has no doubt done it better already. 

Whereas, there's an acquaintance of mine who has just knocked out a novel in about a week and seems bursting with confidence and enthusiasm about it, and she's already started the next in the series. This morning I read a post from her bemoaning her writer's block. What are you even talking about? You've written an entire book in a matter of days, part of another, and you've been blocked for about five minutes! 

Am I envious? Yeah, a wee bit - the apparently boundless confidence to write whatever and put it out there. 

I guess, a few years ago, I did actually start sharing some of my bits of creative writing online, and that went OK with a limited audience and all. I got a real kick out of it when it was well-received and it was a positive kind of environment where if you don't like it, you don't say so. (Is that positive? Hmm, to be considered). 

I moved some of it here when I left that online community a couple of years ago. Note that I have labelled it five-minute-poetry and so forth, which is a way of getting in there before someone else can, isn't it? Not exactly brimming with confidence in the work. Not but what it truly was pretty quickly done, because if I go back over things too much, I overthink and there it sticks, never to be seen again. Which might not be a bad thing, frankly. 

I know if I want to write, I need to just do it. It's really entirely up to me. 

Alas

 I feel quite sad that the neighbour's cat has had to be put down. He'd gone downhill very rapidly and the neighbour let me know as she'd asked me to help her medicate him. She was devastated and the rest of the family too. 

He was an unholy terror to mine and most neighbouring cats, but he was a Cat, just doing cat-things. 

Alas, chap, I salute you. 

Finished: Exit - Belinda Bauer

"Incident" on the bridge

That's what the radio said. It always makes me think that means a suicide attempt. 

I think it was this time, as there was a copper standing over a crumpled figure on the pedestrian lane. I guess it could equally be physical illness or intoxication, as despair.

I saw them manhandle down a potential jumper once on the bridge. Looked pretty rough, but I guess they needed to be decisive. Left a funny sort of snapshot of the action in my mind.

You get these kinds of moments in memory - once I was driving up the dual carriageway, someone was overtaking me, and suddenly something smashed into the carriageway ahead of us. It was a windscreen, a whole windscreen. On the other side of the barrier, I saw the underside of a car hurtling towards us: it must have been sliding on its side. 

And then, we were past, unharmed.

It must have scared the hell out of the person overtaking me. It feels kind of unreal and I wasn't that shaken up by it at the time. But by the time I got to work, I could think about it a bit more and mentally thank the H&S bods that thought up and installed crash barriers. Never did find out what happened to the driver on the other side. 

Darker yet

 

We continue to follow the unnamed man's descent  as his children are removed from his care, probably due to the beer before breakfast. 

Pretty dark

 

Pretty dark, duolingo. Let's get to grips with alcoholism and social issues! 

It amused me. 

What I'm watching

 I'm currently watching "All of Us are Dead", which is awesome. Korean zombie series, very dark, some great story-telling, gripping emotional moments. 

I've revisited "Arcane", which is a great show, sort of steampunk aesthetic and based on the video game. 

Binge-watched "Loki" and "WandaVision" recently. I preferred "WandaVision" of the two: I felt the story was better. 

I've also been enjoying "Couples Therapy", which follows a few couples through sessions with Orna, their therapist, and her reflection sessions with her mentor. It's interesting stuff. I watched both series fairly quickly. 

HmmMP

 I've written to my MP a couple of times lately. 

She has dutifully written back: snazzy cream envelopes, House of Commons postmark and all, but I haven't read either of the responses yet. What's going on with that, I wonder? 

Finished: Rubberneckers - Belinda Bauer

Oh pants

 I have been learning Danish with duolingo for a couple of months, and have recently learnt the word bukser, which duolingo says is pants. I was amused by the similarity to boxers and by the app's insistence we keep talking about the colour of our pants.

Driving home last night, I came to the sudden disappointing realisation that it's using US English and means trousers. D'oh! 

Silent bob

 Going to the hair-dresser throws up some weird stuff for me. I really struggle with small talk, which is part of my social anxiety. 

My bf thinks I have some level of autism, which I have doubts about. In some ways, it would be a relief to think that, because then it would mean I don't have to feel guilty because I'm not trying hard enough. I feel like social anxiety is something I should be able to overcome and when it doesn't seem to get much better or I have a bad day, then it's just me being rubbish and awkward. A diagnosis would seem to offer a break from that, because while there are strategies a person can use to manage better, if you're neurodiverse, you're neurodiverse, and it's not a question of "getting over it" by putting enough effort in. But I dunno, I feel like it's a "popular" diagnosis and for people to claim it sometimes seems like appropriation. While when I do those online questionnaires about it I come out as likely, I wonder who wouldn't. 

Anyway, today the social anxiety was looming large - I guess partly sparked by having ducked phoning them to let them know T wouldn't be attending his appointment as unwell. In fairness, I only knew the night before - but really I could have called their answering machine, and that would have been better. Why didn't I do that? Phoning them first thing to let them know seemed too late and not worth it, and then I was nervous about going myself in case they were cross about it. But they were fine. 

I also got the time slightly wrong and turned up early so was sort of adding up minor stresses about it - all entirely of my own making - could have checked the appointment card before leaving, even thought I should, but did not. 

It's funny how I react to things - head massage is fine, but occasionally feels like my head is a big pimple they're trying to pop - they ask me if the pressure is OK, and I say yes. Mostly it is, sometimes it's nice, sometimes it's head-pimple-time.

Is the water too hot? Sometimes. Will I say? I will not. 

And when they ask me about using the massage chair function, I always say no, because it feels sort of wrong, indecent(?) to have a massage in public. What is going on there?! Maybe I'd like it. Why am I so horrified by the idea? I think it's the prospect I might enjoy it that worries me most, to be honest.

When the lady beside me accepts a hand massage, I'm a bit nonplussed and repulsed by it - why would you want that? 

People, well, women really, sometimes talk excitedly about spa days and "pampering", and it feels like the last thing I would want. 

And I'm not sure what is at root here. There's my personal discomfort about having someone in the service position, I think - some sort of idea of hierarchy of the Indulged and the wage slave, I guess? And I have a kind of horror of touching strangers, even in these perfectly socially acceptable, everyday ways. Hmm. I presume that the people who go into jobs such as hairdressing, manicure, massage etc largely do not share that horror. I hope not, anyway. 

There's a bit of a puritanical thread, something about vanity and indolence. I feel like it might be coming from my granny, but I don't know - she gets a lot of blame for stuff. 

Mum never really wore much make-up - I think she'd have foundation and mascara maybe - but she was in a very physical job, very male-dominated, so it was just not practical, and it was always jeans and jumpers, and like country-living and horses and such for me growing up. Which it's not impossible to combine make-up and fashion into, but I never was much interested. 

I remember playing with make-up with my cousin and I was getting her to try terrible combinations of colours on herself, and then she did me; I was quite shocked and hurt when she had done awful make-up on me in return. Which is entirely unreasonable, looking back!

My whole life, make-up has just been for special occasions and it feels weird on my face if I do wear it. I'd say about 50% of the times I do put it on, I end up wiping it all off again. 

And I don't really like to spend much time looking at myself in mirrors - I do it, and feel a tiny bit guilty and like someone might catch me at it. Perpetually faintly embarrassed someone might see me checking myself out! Thus, sitting in front of a big mirror at a salon for ages feels weird and uncomfortable. 

And the general hubbub of chatter and blowers - it feels vertiginous and so very alien.

When it was finished, I was relieved: a few times I had considered getting up and leaving partway through. It's not always like this - I must remember that so I don't stop going. Although that vertiginous feeling is a regular feature. 

I tip reasonably well in recompense for being slightly odd. 

Ha

 It pleased me when a white BMW driver who zoomed past me and a truck in a really dangerous manner, got to see me again in their rear view mirror ten minutes later. Really, that bit of driving got you nowhere at all, did it?