Archive for category cake
This post comes post a large unjustified identity crisis and a great deal of panic at the Bad Robbers who were not at the door (eventually proven by Brave Boy who unlocked the door) so if it is a bit discombobulated and confused please write to my cpn at
CPN name of choice
Mental illness aid land
and ask for an increase in my don’t-bo-so-paranoid pills and the don’t-panic-about-non-existent-Bad-Robbers medication.
Thank you. (whenever I write ‘thank you’ i think back to my prior self who thought thank you was one word and feel smug due to my improved literacy skills, I aim that one day the same will happen with my use of commas..and possible my ability to deviate from the topic of socks.)
Today, I purchased a pair of Easter themed socks…
They are grey and pink and have easter eggs on them (which could also be ovals with spots and stripes in, but who am I to nit pick drawings?)
Anyway – the bottom line is that these were seasonal Easter socks, not just your run of the mill, every day socks.
I promise that this post have a point and I shall get there, but (in the style of ‘Miranda’) bear with, bear with!
This Christmas I purchased for myself and others, and in turn received, a large amount of Festive Christmas Socks…
Mine had slightly psychotic looking Penguins with Santa hats and a candy cane on them. (and trust me, they really did look Psychotic, I should know).
I also have a pair of Birthday socks…
And I so WISH they were copies of that image, but I am not so lucky…mine have purple presents and cakes on. Be it not for the cakes, they could have been mistaken for Christmas socks, especially as my birthday is in December.
Lastly, I have Valentines socks…
I am proud of my sock collection. I mostly spend my days in dresses, as the Eating Disorder complain less loudly when I am buried in fabrics than held tightly by jeans..and thus my feet are often covered by tights. I do not let that small fact stop my sock enthusiams, no! I wear socks over my tights and if I do venture Outside Into The Scary I hide them with my big clomping DM’s.
Today as I was placing my Easter Egg socks into my shopping trolley and eyeing up the pjamas I do not need and could not afford I realised how much had changed….
I actually used to hate seasonal socks. With a passion.
I know, I was so wrong!
I thought it was a waste. I thought that people would only wear those socks once a year and it also made them appear overly happy people who would happily suck up to a materialistic, consumerist world view.
Yes, I was a teenager at the time. These days, now I am OLD and approaching the mid-twenties I realize I LIKE being sock-happy and I happily admit I am somewhat materialistic-in as much that I buy seasonal socks, creame eggs when they are at till points and any biscuits or food advertised in the breaks between the tense bits of CSI-and consumerist because I like all the above and spend money.
But, before, I was a bit scared of breaking my own sock rules…and so many other rules. Rules like…’I can not eat until 4pm’ ‘I can not stop washing my hands for 35 minuites on my phone timer’ ‘I must get 100%, A’s, Firsts or U’s, 0%, fails and nothing in between’ ‘I can not open a door’ ‘I can not eat chocolate without the mother of all binge purge sessions’ ‘I cannot think any nice things about myself’.
I do not know what came first, relaxing my sock type rules or the bigger scary ones – but what I do know is that I have made really progress, and I was able to identify that fact while sock shopping in Tesco. It may sound odd but I used to fear any positive progress, I wanted to be the most depressed, the most eating disordered, the most scarred, the most borderline, the most ill…and when I realized that would equate to the most dead I tried for that too.
I do not think like that any longer, or not often.
I will happily wear Christmas scary penguin socks in the summer…and while things to do with my illness are still very prominent in my life I do not want to be the ‘most’ or ‘worst’..or, perhaps the ‘best most worst’. My mental health is not a competition.
I dare whom ever reads this to buy some Easter socks and wear them in October, when there are no real exciting events..only the terrifying run up to fireworks night, which shall never be saluted with sock desgins as bangs and fire are very terrifying things.
Now, in homage to the humble sock I intend to inundate any readers with countless socky images..
WORD FACT: I also recall the time when I accepted the fact a ‘drawer’ was drawer not jsut plain draw…such a confusing word day, but I learnt it.
I am now googling sock cakes further to see if these are things you can buy, or a deft example of how useful origami really is in modern life. (and proving to my younger self that materialistic tendencies and consumerism is okay if it ends in owning such an item…)
It seems to be mostly folding…and aimed as presents for young babies..bit I prefer the wedding cake idea..I think the boy would like something edible though, so maybe a mix of the two.
I am constantly surprised at the amount of words I am happily devoting to the subject of socks..
and, of course..I can not finish this post with out adding an image of sock animals, can I?
I need an I love socks badge or something. Some people conquer elements of mental illness and find a higer power to believe in…I find socks.
(I just wrote a long post & it deleted itself. Not in Drafts. Unhappy Blooger. Yes.)
Weddings + Me = Bad Idea.
That is what I always thought.
I was never the sort of child who daydreamed about a fairy-tale wedding. I drew pictures of fairys, yes, but I was more concered about lauching my career as a Full Time Fairy who would promote Green Peace (which confused with World Peace for years) than thinking about yucky Boys or a big poofy dress.
As I grew up I pretty much denounced anything girly. I was a Goth (or a Goff judging by many numerous clothing mistakes) I was also mad. As a child anxiety follwed me around like a hated imaginary enemy. It got worse. By 12 I was depressed and worried. By 14 I was in intensive therapy for my Eating Disorder, my self harming, depression & anxiety. I rattled with medication. I was sad, bad, mad.
I thought that –
Mad plus fat plus scarred = never ever married. Ever.
I did not consider it a possibility. During my teenage years, and, to be honest, even very recently, the idea of any future at all was a shady ideal and overshadowed by my numerous suicide attempts.
What has changed? I am still mad, bad, sad. I am still scarred. I still self harm. I still have a rampant eating disorder that rules my life. My anxiety is isolating. My OCD rocks even my strongest relationships. The Great Depression II just ruins everything. My psychosis puts me in hospital.
But I have The Boy. We got engaged to cement the fact we were solid in our relationship that we know will last forever. We got engaged because December and the months before it were hard and horrible, the engagement was the light at the end of a very, very dark and scary tunnel. We were not expecting to plan a wedding until maybe five years into the future….
Then The Boy’s Army ambitions really kicked off…and we talked, and talked, and talked.
We decided (well, maybe I decided) there was no way I was letting him go to a war zone without him being my Husband. We wanted something for me to work towards and in both situations a Wedding seemed like a brilliant soloution. The obvious choice.
I thought it would all take a while to get off the ground..I thought we’d both go off the idea, be put off by the money and the planning.
Like with so many other things, I was so very wrong.
We have both jumped into wedding planning feet first. We love it. I love it. It is making me excited & happy, I wake up with a smile, feeling like Chrsitmas is coming as I count the days until we can go view the first two possible venues. We both have made lists, and counted pennies and started savings.
I am mad – but contray to what I always thought this does not means I can not get married.
I really, really did not think I’d ever cathch Wedding Fever, it is so un-me…but so is the fact I have a First Class degree and am going to start a Masters..but so is my newfound love of pink, my striving to get better, my shakey communication skills that are improving every-time me and Boy sit down with a cup of tea and talk into the night, I am trying in therapy. All of these things one felt like things i’d never ever do.
I would not care, really, if Boy and I had to be wed in a in-use cow barn while wearing bin bags. I’d just want us to be Husband and Wife. But, because we are able to plan a wedding, we are.
It is going to be a pinky, vintage, crafty themed wedding. Boy will be wearing Army Gear. It will be very ‘us’ Controversial and a little bit mad. I am so happy.
I think my fable-esque message at the heart of this post is:
I am mentally ill and physically disabled. I may well be that way forever. But that does not have to stop be persuing my career (as an author not a fairy, sadly) and my life (marrying the Boy and sobbing as he leaves for War). It does not have to stop anything. I can weave it into the fabric of my days….
and If I can do that I really think anyone can.
I will update properly soon, I have things planned, just little motivation and lots of illness and mood crappity-ness. (Ah, self expression fail). I am planning to order a new mouse soon so I can improve on my rubbish paint jobs…also am writing my MA interview story thing at the moment so I feel like I use all the words, ever and have no left for blogging. Hopefully it should improve the quality of my posts, but I doubt it.
Thought I’d post you a short list about sleep
List about sleep (or lackthereof)
Things I think of when I Should Be Alert And Awake
Things I Think About When I Want To Be Asleep
1) All the words to 1,2,3,4,5…
2)stol fo domnar sdrow sdarwkcab…ywh?
3)Of all the cat vidoes I have ever seen, and listing them in order of current favorites..
4)The words to as many A.A.Milne poems as I can remember from childhood –
5)and this poem. (Just for intellectual contrast)
6) Every little thing that has ever worried me, ever…
7) The names of everyone in my class at school starting from year zero…
8) All the words to this song…
9) All the words I can make with ‘knob’ in them.. knobhead, knobdick, knobbydickwad,knobshaft, itchy knobshaft,
10)And all the e-mails I should send to friends.
11)All the parcels and letters I should send.
12)Forgotten rules of grammar..Kill the pandas, whaaaaaaaaaa
13)My life history in Birthday cakes…try it, start at your earliest cake memory and work to now – amazing! I would list, but I think I shall save it for its very own cake-memory post.
14)Reasons why I hate people who use the words ‘First World Problems’…I would expand, but I am too tired thinking about it…
15)The clothes I would dress my dog up if I had a willing doggy-participant (Little Dog is too old for the scary change of jumpers on fur and BigDog would hate it, he dislikes even his collar..)
You can get it the other way around though…..
16) If i would rather be hot or cold at this exact moment..
17) All the names to all the people in every job I have ever had. In alaphabical order. Chris..No, Alan, Chris, Becky..No, Alan, Alex, Chris, Other Chris, Becky…
18) What it would feel like if my left ankle itched…
19) Why thinking about itching makes you itch…
20) How far ‘head, shoulders, knees and toes’ I can get without thinking about someth…..huh? Was that rain?!
21) Robbers, bear, tigers, scary things
22) Just Robbers
23) Just Bears
24) Just tigers
25) All of the scary things at once…
WHY AM I NOT ALSLEEP YET?
Rubbish post warning
Things that are lame (said with a 14 year old pout)
1)Loosing my phone, finding it and then it breaking.
2)Wee infections…my friend said ‘weeing should be an AHHHHHHH experience not ARGH, oh how right she is
3)Chronic Pain – everything hurts. Insert four paragraphs of moaning here.
4)Catching your ball of wool on a door handle and somehow pulling all the 50 stiches of casting on you did off
5)Holby City having got oh so rubbish and cringe making
Things that are good
1) Finally getting the matts out of BitDogs silky ear fur
2) Managing to crochet a flower..and flower! (photos to come)
3) LittleDog snoring at my feet
4) Being excited to see the postman tomorrow
5) The Co-op fairtrade white chocolate with crispy bits (and not feeling guilty)
6) Stealing Boyfriends oversized PJ Bums just out the dryer
7) The picture to follow:
Shit post. Sorry. Will improve soon.
Mkay, so – this blog is having a good influence on me… I can freaking knit!! Well..sort of. Casting on/off invloves me lobbing the wool et al at my mother while pulling my petulant five year old face..but garter stitch? Check Me Out
..I am not going to post a photo because I am lazy and I want to wait until my second ball of wool comes tomorrow.. but I do think I deserve one, or five, of these:
Did you used to get those in school? I was a bright kid, but growing up I was anxious and awkward. I began skipping geography lessons because I had a habit of choking every.single.lesson. Of course I was sitting next to the effortlessly beautiful, popular (thin!) girl…
I used to take water into all my lessons, obsessively, but for some odd reason geography was the only one i’d nearly die in. Anyway, I was never really a sticker-getting student. My handwriting was terrible, my spelling poor and my concentration span usually would include the lesson plan..but I’d have doodles of stars/dogs/zombies all over my work.
I am also chronically left handed, most people know this leads to an total inability to use fountain pens without destroy the nibs and having an uncanny ability to smudge work across every single page. I always wanted to be the class swat though..but because I wasn’t really made for it I used to steal stickers from other kids hjumpers when they were left in the cloackroom during the summer months.
I often wondered if my parents ever realized my supposed achievement were direcltly related to the weather. If feel a little bad for my school-age stealing..but it wasdn’t as bad as my ingrained sens of fairness which extened to the ‘Lunch Box Drama’.. I used to be stupidly jelous of other peoples lunches. I’d have a damp ham or sweaty cheese sandwhich, a brusied apple and on a good day a penguin bar.
I wanted to live in the homes of people who had fluffy white bread rolls and exocitic biscutis like Mini milkways or BN’s. (remeber them?..I can still hum the theme tune) So.Good. (In hindsight the faces are scary but still..) One day I had reached my fill of comparing my craptastic lunch to the exciting ones of other people..I had squash in a flask that my Brother had gobbed in and my friends had cartons of ribena..or in some cases, Coca cola or Lemonade.
The Green monster came out in me, but, being the slightly creative, kooky kid I was I took a notebook to school and listed all the names of all the kids in my class. Then I’d give them a happy or sad face next to thier name indicating if thier lunch was good or ‘bad’. Once I had the information I spent a few days plotting my next move. I did not just feel for my own injustice but also for my other struggling school friends who looks on enviously on at the Peanut butter and Jam sandwiches some kids unknowingly gobbled before lurching off to play Cops and Robbers.
Oh, if only they knew how much we all wanted to be them!
It came to me in the middle of the night, as all the best ideas do. I was going to right all the wrongs!
In our school the games we played at break time depended on which dinner ladies were manning the playground. Wednesday was hailed as the ‘best’ day because the dinner lady was espeically lax so the more violent games could be played without too much fear of getting caught.
This particular dinner lady also worked in the libary and used the time on her lunchtime duty to hide behind a tree and smoke..because of this she was popular with some of the older cool kids and so, even if she caught us punching ten bells of hell out of each other her fan group would hold up her old-lady waddle toward us because they literally hung from her legs.
So, it was a Wednesday and I fuzzed smudged and doodled my way through a specially taxing spelling test not even caring that Billy and Emma got stickers and I did not. Break time finally came. Everyone filed out..a thin, steady line of children which expanded and broke off in the open air. I approached the cloack room on tip-toes..my Nija skills already honed from my sticker-nicking stage.
Everyone was instructed to keep their lunches stored under thier coats, hung in a room near the playground and toilets. I was quick and efficent..picked on lunchbox from my good list and one from the bad and taking them into the girls toilet cubicle with my heart hammering in my chest. It was such a buzz and I decicded who ‘deserved’ what..
I felt a little Godlike.
I have never grinned that much through maths, ever. By the time the actualk lunch bell rang I looked as if someone had put itching powder in my dull grey pleated school skirt. Unfortunately the anticipation is better than the event..and for most of my childhood escapades I was somewhat upset when i -wasn’t- caught, I’d be a crappy criminal because I like the praise and grudging admiration of my pre-planned dastardly actions. So..the climax was a tad underwhelming. I didn’t really realize that the normal kids did not spend ALL their time staring at the lunch of others..
So, while Sanjay was shocked his normal health-conscious mother had given him chocolate spread and a Twix rather than his normal salad and a pear I bet he went home and thanked her, much to her confusion..rather than my anticipated of boundless joy and devotion forever aimed at me, their selfless lunchbox savior..
I do admit I have not utterly grown out of this packed lunch obsession.
I blogged a while ago about setting fire to the kitchen while boiling eggs and am still making my mother and the boyfriend daily lunches for work. Last night I was miserable, utterly dejected..and the main reason was my Mum asked for boring, plain Pate in her sandwhich rather than one of my more ‘jazzy’ and ‘exciting’ experiential creations.
The only reason I regret deleting Facebook is because i’d sort of like to see how all those kids who got stickers..and the kids who used to watch me choke in geography..actually turned out. Are they happy? Is there a direct link between sticker attianment and lunchbox contents and future gains?! I do not really know how my post about my new found knitting talent turned into a sociological query about stickers/packed lunches…Meh.
I am not entirely sure what possess people to make these videos, but, until they stop I say keep watching them, and laughing…
Funnily enough, after finding the link on that site ^ I took myself off to youtube to search more. (I just do not have a ‘stop’ button it seems). Unfortunately I couldn’t really find another gem worthy of the first one..
Talking of things I found online today it seems that using normal bodies to model clothes just is not good enough…H&M confess to using digital bodies to model clothing on their webstore..
This saddens me because it sends out yet another message that your average Joe/joaana/emma/tine/catherine are Not Good Enough. Our bodies and our hang ups are too great so computer generated ‘ideals’ take the place..how can they expect to have people respecting their brand if they conveny the message that normalacy is not ‘good enough’. It is sad. I thought the media were finally turning a corner..but, no.
This is a topic I have a lot of views about and I am currently attempting to write another post about eating disorders, or, really – my eating disorder. It will come, I am just trying to piece all the bits together in my head first…it is pretty scaring to launch forth into the net-o-sphere and write about something so personal, so secret, about a disease that has been dominating my life for a decade. But I also think it is important that is much is said as possible.
I can’t quite believe it is the 23rd of December already. Only one more morning of Advent joy – I so love my mini – chocolate with my tea & fag. I really think it should become a year round event, I’d be much less of a formiddable cow in the mornings if this was so. Poor, long suffering Boyfriend actually admitted to getting ready for work with the lights of, so scared is he of encountering my sleepy wrath.
Talking of the upcoming festivities, watching ‘Shrek’ tonight got my in the Christmas mood but I also realized I am going to spend tomorrow covered in sellotape with bits of ribbon dangling off both ears trying to make my presents look, well, presentable. Generally I use far too much sellotape and well chosen gifts turn into Fort Knox.
My sleeping tablet is taking affect so I shall cease this post before the drug kicks in fully and my typing gognjcgf;dst to dhityuxZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
I’ll try to update over Christmas, but in case I do not, I wish you all a Merry Fucking Christmas.