so, friends – this marks post number #1,000.

back when i was 10 and in fifth grade, i tried keeping my first diary. it was bound in red leather and came with a genuine lock and key. at first i was really good about keeping it up. i wrote about my gymnastics meets, sleepovers at my friend natasha’s house where we did freestyle “fame” inspired dance routines to pat benatar songs, my crush on a boy named marc raila, and heather the school bully. i wrote down what the weather was like, and gave each day an overall letter grade. i managed to keep this up for a whole 2 weeks. and then, i suppose it just started to seem like homework. in fact, i would often go back to the diary after not having picked it up for weeks, and feel guilty enough about the empty pages to start randomly filling in grades for each day, or maybe a one-liner about what had happened, if i could remember. sometimes, i just made it up. the empty pages were an indictment of my neglect, my failure to follow through.

sometimes, however, i was forced to keep a journal against my will. growing up, my father was firmly committed to building in extra-curricular learning experiences for his children wherever possible. so everywhere we went, whether on a week long trip to visit our grandparents in florida, or a summer long camping experience across the country, or a drive up to canada, we were forced to keep a journal of our days. about the museums we went to, or the animals we saw, or the friends we met. every day we had to write *something*, because everything was considered part of our education. i still have those journals, and today they form the foundation for most of my memories of those times, and i’m particularly thankful for that. but god, i hated doing them at the time. other kids got summer vacations full of endless hours of television cartoons – we got homework.

and i’ve said here before that some days, blogging seems like homework as well. that there is pressure to fill the blank page on a regular basis. when i first started this, i wrote only for my own amusement. i then began writing as a way to keep my family and friends informed – to answer the never-ending emails about what “life in london” was like. at a certain point, i began to realise there were a small handful of outsiders who seemed interested in reading my drivel, and i suddenly felt like i had to keep them entertained as well.

but since then, the pendulum has swung back again. nowadays it’s still sometimes like homework – but homework i set for myself. homework i am glad to have done when i finally finish, because it seems i learn something new about myself every time i sit down and start stringing words together. i learn a lot about my thought processes and how my brain works. i learn about why certain things move and inspire me, and others do not. i learn about the persistence of memory and the influence of time. i learn about the importance of familial bonds and the evolution of friendships. i learn about the ripple effect that can turn the most mundane of events into a tidal wave of change. i learn that even those things that frustrate me have something to teach me. i learn to take better note of the good that pervades my life, and the lessons i’ve picked up along the way. i learn to appreciate art and music. i learn to appreciate the beauty in the details.

i learn so very much.

so it’s still homework sometimes, but homework of the best kind. i may not assign each post a letter grade, or even write about what i saw or did that day. but i am learning and i am following through.

my dad would be proud.

leona naess – on my mind

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Poets may praise a wattle thatch
Doubtfully waterproof;
Let me uplift my lowly latch
Beneath a rose-tiled roof.
Let it be gay and rich in hue,
Soft bleached by burning days,
Where skies ineffably are blue,
And seas a golden glaze.

For oh the South’s a bonny clime
And sunshine is its life;
So there I’ll finish up my time
A stranger unto strife.
And smoke my pipe and sit aloof
From care by miles and miles,
Sagaciously beneath a roof,
Geranium-gay and panic proof,
Of ruby tinted tiles.

“red-tiled roof” – robert william service

vampire weekend – mansard roof

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…and is trying to look out for my dental health!

i have the bestest sister evah.

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in retrospect, i should have known within the first few minutes it wasn’t going to have a happy ending. as she sat me down in the chair and asked, “so what are we doing today?”, she was visibly distracted as i was trying to describe what i wanted. quite long in front, i said, pointing to an inch below my collarbone, and to the base of my neck in back. ultra short, choppy fringe in front. layered a tiny bit at the ends so it swings under and has some movement. she nodded absentmindedly as she looked around for a shampooist. red flag #1.

back in the chair after the requisite shampoo, i sat staring into the mirror, suddenly realising her own hair didn’t look that great. it was kind of haphazard and a little dowdy, with lots of salt and pepper in it – the “too busy to really do my hair in the mornings much less care about dying it” look. red flag #2. she wielded the comb awkwardly, pinning the lengths of my hair in front of my eyes.

and before i knew it, i could see that it wasn’t what i’d asked for. the front was too short, the back too long. i was getting the matron’s version of a bob, but there was nothing more i could so about it – the hair was already gone.

i was looking for dramatic, and she kept trying to give me the anna wintour pageboy.

i have *very specific* ideas about what i want when it comes to my hair, and my short fringe is my trademark – some people hate it, but i love it. it’s the one thing that makes me feel slightly edgy as i advance further into my 30s. and i know i’ve found a good hairdresser when they listen to my explanation and do exactly as i ask.

she dried my hair and set up her next client before she began on the fringe. at this point i knew she wouldn’t take my short fringe request seriously. she tried to convince me to leave it very conservatively long. red flag #3. i insisted she take it shorter and then shorter again. i pointed to the line of demarcation – the prominent wrinkle across the middle of my forehead. i asked for her to chop into the ends to soften it, and instead she began adding feathery bits, so i stopped her, realising in my mind i’d have to do it myself when i got home. when you’re already planning the corrections you’ll make in front of your own sink with a pair of nail scissors, that’s red flag #4. she couldn’t have made it clearer that she didn’t like the looks of it, but by that point i was just desperate to get out from under her scissors.

when i’d made the appointment, i’d initially asked for my regular stylist, but he was on leave for another two weeks. dying for a cut, against my better judgement i agreed to an appointment with carole instead.

never again. it’s not the worst haircut i’ve ever had (that honour is reserved for the one that made me cry before i’d even left the salon chair). it’s not even horrible. but it’s not what I wanted at all. not by a long shot.

scissors for lefty – lay down your weapons

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i’ve taken a few random yoga classes at various points in my life, the last one probably 5 years ago or so. i’ve enjoyed them for all the stretching and breathing stuff, less so for the touchy-feely “connecting with the life force and aligning chakras” stuff. i was looking into classes again recently, but a) they all require travel to get to and b) they’re not particularly cheap.

so i got a video and yoga mat from amazon instead. total cost: £20. location: living room floor. i figured if i really stick with it, then i’ll see about investing the energy and money into classes.

wow. your body can age a *lot* in six years.

where i’ve always been a fairly limber and balanced person, today i was seeing stars and falling over. my wrists hurt. my knees hurt. i was tilting and leaning. i was wheezing and straining. i felt fragile.

i am physically beginning to feel the signs of aging.

it’s not very fun. i don’t think i like it.

someone please make it stop.

dr.dog – heart it races (architecture in helsinki cover)

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the original: architecture in helsinki – heart it races

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the british psychological society has determined, in its delayed inifinite wisdom, that my b.a. degree from new york university, does not meet their criteria. this is because they clearly can’t count.** they have, however, offered me the opportunity to withdraw my application and refund my £100.

i guess i’m supposed to be grateful,*** but it feels like a fucking slap in the face. part of me wants to scream and appeal even if it does cost £100, just for the sake of my tattered pride.

**the bps criteria are that the degree must be made up of at least 50% psychology. nyu’s b.a. required completion of 128 credits, 68 of which have to be in your declared major (psychology). however they only counted 55 credits out of 135 credits??!? not to mention the extra psychology credits from mcgill which nyu wouldn’t even transfer (the rule being that you must complete more than half your major credits at their university).

*** now that our plans have changed and i won’t be attending grad school here anyway

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three months late, but just when i need it most… my christmas cactus is rioting.

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courtesy of my mother, if this doesn’t improve my disposition, nothing will:

that’s a seriously hefty amount of candy – and i didn’t even manage to get the chocolate covered pretzles and sugar packets (yes, my family sends me sugar packets!) in the photo.

sugar – if i can’t change your mind

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this week is finally over, thank the sweet lord. thursday was pretty much sheer hell. i’ve been waiting what-feels-like-forever to turn a corner on this streak of crummy luck, trying to be patient and as optimistic as possible. that doesn’t, unfortunately, make for very interesting blogging.

however, amity has tagged me – so to go along with my renewed effort to be more positive, here’s a meme.

Five things I do for myself:

1. listen to zen podcasts
2. run (which i need to start doing again)
3. spend time with friends
4. buy whimsical socks
5. write here

Five things I do for my husband:

1. make him coffee every morning
2. cook him dinner every night
3. buy him socks
4. take his glasses off when he falls asleep
5. kiss the back of his neck frequently

Five things I have done for a stranger:

1. paid the toll for a car behind me
2. stayed with someone after an accident
3. called for help for someone who was passed out
4. let someone go ahead of me in a queue
5. stood up for someone who was being bullied

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i got into work today and wrote this email to jonno:

From: J
Sent: 4 March 2008 10:00
To: J
Subject: okay then

let’s go. i can’t take it any more. i’m tired of commutes where i can’t even get on the train. i’m tired of stepping over piles of vomit. i’m tired of the incredible passivity. i’m tired of inept public services. i’m tired of the invasion of privacy. i’m tired of the incredible expense.

let’s go. let’s get out of here as soon as possible. let’s go tomorrow.

and so we’re going. we’ve decided that it’s full steam ahead with the plans to leave.

it feels good to have made a decision, to finally have a direction.

i feel like i’m breaking free of a giant weight.

shout out louds – tonight i have to leave it

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another monday, another work week stretching out ahead on the bleak horizon. one of the few things i love about my job, though, is the ability to work from home. which i am doing today.

because y’know, when i start wanting to tear my hair out in frustration, or cry at the thought of enduring even one more day of this torture, i can crank up this:

afi – the despair factor

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and play with this:

and that goes a long way toward making things better.

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ugh.

it’s been a pretty bad week, the highlights of which were going for a job i really wanted only to get the rejection letter after a friday night out, and having horrible tooth pain only to find out i need an expensive root canal. in the interim, i still didn’t get any of the things i’ve been waiting on, i have to drop out of the edinburgh marathon because i’ve badly injured my calf muscle, my bloody expensive dehumidifier seems to have crapped out after less than a year, and my boss comes back from leave on monday, the thought of which makes me ill.

there’s not much point to this post – it pretty squarely falls into the “i’ve got a self-indulgent blog so i’m going to bitch, woe is me” category. i try to keep that sort of thing to a minimum, because really, who cares? but sometimes you just need to wallow in the morose self-pity a bit. and so i shall.

sing it howard…

howard jones – things can only get better

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i’m exceptionally bad at waiting. waiting makes me terribly anxious – palpitations, churning stomach, the works. i’ve always had the patience of a fruit fly, and try as i might, i’ve not gotten any better at it. the utter lack of control is completely crazymaking. i hate to wait. and right now i’m playing the waiting game on multiple big things: waiting to hear about my job interview, waiting to hear about my grad school plans, waiting for a rather large cheque to clear, waiting for my root canal, waiting for a doctor’s referral. i’m waiting for post, waiting for emails, waiting for online parcel tracking. i’m waiting for people to get back to me, waiting for applications to be processed, waiting for decisions to be made. i’m waiting for validation, waiting for acknowledgement, waiting for credit, waiting for consultation, waiting to qualify.

i can only conclude that the gods are conspiring to drive me over the edge.

built to spill – the wait

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i must have been really horrible in a former life.

it’s official: i do, in fact, need a root canal.

this news causes me no small amount of trepidation, and the whole time i was in the chair getting the bad news, all i could think was i wanted my dr. chessler.

the dentist have me 3 options: 1) dose myself on antibiotics and painkillers and postpone the inevitable 2) have a root canal (at a cost of £350) or 3) yank the tooth.

the fact that he even suggested just yanking the tooth kinda scared me. i like my teeth. i need them for chewing.

but the pain this weekend has been intense – excruciating electric pains that woke me in the night. so i found myself at the mercy of the drill, with more fun nerve excavation to come.

i think i’m gonna be sick.

pixies – gouge away

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my four year bloggiversary was on 7th jan! i totally missed it.

that’s a long time to keep up what started out as a one day project. this site has been through so many incarnations, i couldn’t begin to describe it as anything but an exercise in diy learning and self-exploration. this melange comprised of a little talk therapy, a lot of spleen venting, a tangled mess of css and html, and some random cat photos.

all that… and yet so much more. it’s strange how attached i’ve become to this little corner of the web which reflects some of the best and worst (but never all) of me. it’s strange how important this has become – as a means of communication, expression, creativity.

it’s a piece of me, in all its sloppy glory. like that warped clay ashtray you gave to your dad on father’s day when you were a kid, earnestly proffered with both hands.

here. i made you something.

janis joplin – piece of my heart

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yes, i know, things are screwy, including comments. must fix tomorrow, bed now. sorry!

edited to add: comments seem to be okay if you use the pop-up box (i.e. click the link under the post title that says comments)

ugh. i wish i could pay someone to do this for me sometimes.

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alcohol = bad.

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i know i’ve been quiet the past few days – a combination of being busy, and waiting with bated breath for our holidays. t minus 2 days and counting.

but in the meantime… i have finally applied for another job. it’s a difficult move for me – i feel like i have a lot invested in the place i’ve worked for the better part of the last 5 years, i feel very indebted. and in many ways, i still don’t have a lot of confidence in my job skills here in the u.k. it’s taken me a long time to learn the system, to not feel self-conscious opening my mouth in new situations, to begin to understand some of the myriad intricacies of the workplace, and in particular, local government.

but life is too short to spend 35 hours a week being miserable, and if you don’t do something about it, you are then complicit in causing your own misery. i don’t want to be responsible for that. i deserve better. even if i don’t get this job, i’m stepping out of the rut and moving on.

so, fingers crossed, and holding my breath. that’s what i’m doing today.

more tomorrow.

cake – waiting

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had our friends kerryn and tracey round for dinner last night. as i haven’t cooked in a while i decided to do an all south african themed meal. we had:

bobotie – South African version of a curried mince pie topped with savoury baked egg custard

yellow rice with raisins – traditional accompaniment to bobotie

tomato and onion kachoomer – chopped side salad

cornbread

and for pudding, vetkoek - sweet fried dough with butter and jam

a few nice south african wines to go with.

i really wish i’d thought to take a photo of it. it’s always a little nerve-wracking cooking people’s childhood dishes, particularly where i have no real frame of reference. but last night three saffas testified to the authenticity of my recipes and cleaned their plates… i was well chuffed!

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this is what i had for breakfast (courtesy of a colleague)

a red velvet cupcake from the american hummingbird bakery. delectable, with the best cream cheese frosting i’ve ever had in my life. with a strong, sweet cup of coffee.

heaven.

no better start to the day.

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i love my mum. i often complain that she never calls me often enough. however when she does call, she has a knack for doing so at inopportune times, like just as i’m getting ready for bed, or while i’m at the pub on a saturday night.

so when i was sitting down to watch my beloved masterchef (which is my television crack addiction) and the phone rang… i was sorely tempted to let it go to answerphone. sorely, sorely, sorely.

it was mum. with a rare afternoon off, she’d been thoughtful enough to pick up the phone and call her eldest daughter long-distance. because she is a good mother.

and the whole time i was talking to her, i couldn’t help groaning inwardly, knowing i was missing the drama and tension of the masterchef showdown.

we hung up 30 seconds after my programme ended.

yes, i know, i’m going to hell.

cake – no phone

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