Archive for category Funny things
Really, I am not.
I am whacked out my head on painkillers and new shiny head fixing psych meds, I feel a bit like I am drunk though..my head is full of cotton wool and I am sending inappropriate texts to a friend. Well, they are not inappropriate per say, just more ‘LOOK I Am Telling A Period Joke’ ..and i would not normally do that with out worrying about it for three hours beforehand, because I am oh-so-cool and utterly not an over-thinking weirdy.
So not drunk really..but I realized, in jumping to that whatcamacallit….comparison..I have realized I have actually forgotten what drunk feels like…just hazy memories of actions I mostly regret.
Anyway, this is my not-drunk-drunk post proclaiming I WILL POST TOMORROW..much like the way a drunk woman in A&E was clinging on to the nurse and saying thank you, thank you, I love you, do you know that, I really love you? (I do want to know the back story behind that one!! Did they know each other, and are actually friends? Did the nurse look like someone drunk-woman does know?Or was Nurse really a random stranger?)
Oh, and I blame everything on the meds. New rule. My post is shit? Meds! Raining? Meds! Sunny? Meds! I want to eat 800 calories of chocolate rabbit in one sitting but refuse a carrot for calories? Meds? Nothing I am writing make sense? Meds!
No, really, it is the meds!!
I am imagining my poor neglected blog hudled in a corner – looking up at me with BPD style ‘HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME?!’ eyes. I am accused. I am guilty.
I went mad. That does not usually stop me wiritng but it did this time. I think I feel uninteresting. My life drips along. Things happen. I knit. I sit. I stare. I smoke. That is it. But…post-going-mad-and-ending-up-stroking-owls-in-a-psych-hopsital (there really were real life owls) I realised I missed my silly little blog, so I have come back, tail between my legs and rattling with good intentions to Post Every Day. (It won’t happen, but they say it is the thought that counts, right? Does that gets out clause of life work in this situation too?)
This little one was my favorite. There was also a classic ‘Harry Potter Owl’ (obvs a better, more understandable nickname than the actual name-of-breed which I seem to have forgotten) and a massive Eagle Owl. So that was fun..not that I would put myself in hospital just to poke an owl, but it was an added bonus. I also got to make stuff from clay (a very wobbly 5-years-olds-can-do-better filter tip pot).
Where was I going with this?
Ah. yes. I have ultimately decided it is okay to Blog even if I do feel as If my life lacks achievment, worth, and anything remotely interesting…mostly because I feel all that is a Naughty Lie told my Depression Head and causes me to isolate myself more until things get to the pre-hospital stage where I am incapable of talking/moving/thinking because everything just feels so fucking worthless.
I am still doing all the crafty things. Phone cases still being my specialism. I still think it is one of the best ‘recovery tools’ I have stumbled across, it keeps my hands busy (important as I am a terrible skin picker, and when anxious I get crazy hand tics that only serve to make me look more crazy which = people staring which = more axiety. An evil spiral. So I have been known to knit while walking..really.) I have also disocvered card making, which I enjoy because it swallows up whole chunks of day in one big crafty lump..but I do not yet feel my efforts are worhty of blog photos. but, when I can afford it (emblellishments are an expensive little habbit) I endevour to become amazing so I can show off my skills to Blog Land. Yeah! Bet you are so damn excited now too. *rolls eyes*
Anyway, I recently made my friend a phone case..I learnt how to knit with alternating colours, and bought a big mutli packet of buttons..the two sort of got lumped together in my glee of having new things to play with. This is the result:
this is my most recent one, for a friend. I know the buttons are sort of wonky. I was having a minor (major) panic attack and button-sewing as distraction. Am hoping she will think it looks ‘quirky and handmade’ rather than ‘shit’. If you know me IRL..or sort of IRL..like..Good Place Friends (you know how you are) feel free to give me and order for colours/style/dimensions and I will happily knit you a case and send it your way. As the people who I keep ringing to buy houses from keep reminding me, it is not like I have a job!
Yes. I am house shopping. Although, I am still a bit disillusioned to find it is so much more stressful than nipping to Tesco’s for doughnuts. It IS a Good Exciting Positive Thing..but it also makes e want to tear my hair out. I have lived in many places…I think i have moved about 7 times since fleeing my parents abode at 17, but they were all tempoary places to sleep at, not really Houses To Live In so it did not matter that they were mouldy shitholes. Now it does and i feel far too grown up for my liking.
We are also looking to buy our own furniture. Buy it! Which also feels Old And Wise as i have always, always managed to find furnished housing that the past. The idea of a blank slate appeals though, partly because I can choose the ugly furniture rather than having it forced on me, and because the metaphor is a nice one. I feel like I am nesting. Me, the Boy and the cat we are going to re-home (even if boy is not yet aware of this.) So, furniture is expensive, everyone knows that..but this is the first time I have even internet-window-shopped for things like shelves. I found an amazing second hand recycled furniture place, that sells perfectly good ‘preloved’ stuff very cheaply. Am literally itching to go there. Asdie from craft shops I can’t really think of a more appealing day trip. (and I do realize that says far more about me than it should!)
On the notes of ‘objects that tell you too much about my personality’ I also seem to have developed an object-crush on wrapping paper.
Seriously. As well as constantly Googling Houses, Stuff to put in house, Stuff to put in house that I will never ever afford, ever and doughnuts I am also addicted to posh fancy wrapping paper. I love it. Possibly more than the thrill of wondering what is inside. I need to send a gift soon & I begun the supposedly simple task of shopping for some gift wrap (online of course, the internet is the social phobics bestest friend) and, I can’t do it. I can’t buy any because I simply want ALL of it. I tried to choose some last night (aka 4 am this morning >.<) and my ‘basket’ came to a total of £20. *jaw drop* I am very worried a similar thing will occur when I actually arrive at shop for house things. Every room will be burting with chairs. There will be nothing by chairs and sofa’s.
Easter. That happened too. I dislike the huuuuge amount of Eating-Diosrder panic that ensues when chocolate is around..but, I did get to wear my bunny ears (which I will happily admit, I have worn in public more than once, and to sevral seminars during my undergrad degree).
Despite apperances I am not actually posing in that photo! I was watching the dog and had no idea that Boy has stolen my camera!
I have run out of words. Which is probably a good thing. But i will be back, hopefully a lot sooner than the last time.
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 was making tea for me and Boy and wondered into the front room to find them like this:
They are both so beautiful. He loves that dog and dog loves him.
At the moment every time I look at Boy I feel sad because soon he is going to be fighting, far away from me. But, I know this will pass and I need to spend our time together in the best way possible.
Today will be a happy day, the above photo is testament to that. ❤
Do you remeber that Polo-high? From school, when you’d eat a packet or two of polos and spend the afternoon in graphics flicking rubbers off a non-shatterable ruler, which does actually shatter – and later, the polo come down..and the reminder that is has a laxative effect?
Well. It seems that there is a polo-to-age ratio.
It only seems to take half a packet to cause that effect in me..and the come down is faster and worse.
And why, oh why did they take lovely minty treats and make them into nasty fruits O’s? Ick.
I think polo’s are a product of the vending-machine generation. In fact, maybe they caused the vending machine generation. They were the only sweets cheap enough to afford after you had searched your blazer pockets and rooted out the rubbers, the leaky pens and the notes that you had been writing to a friend when you should have been learning algebraic equations.
I wish the spearmint polo’s were still as easily available as the orginal…now, those were just epic. They deserved a cape and a wand. Give me a packet of sperming polo’s and I could turn any boring, depressing Monday lunch time into fun with a capital F.
Wow. I can’t believe I actually wrote that sentence, that is lame.
I need a sign: ‘under influence of polo’s’…
When I started this I promised myself (crossed my fingers, toes, arms, ankles and eyes) that I would not just neglect this Blog when my mood took a dip and I became obsessive about something that was not Blogging..
For days I have been like,
‘What Blog? I have no Blog!’
and then I saw my friends new amusing post with amazing illsutration and was overcome with Bloggers Jealously.
It may now just happen that I rely on above friend for any inspiration to Blog but I promise I shall try harder. (Story of my life, my school reports always said ‘Alexishereidrawlikenick has potential but Must Try Harder)
So, here I am admitting to being an Inspiration Thieving Copy Cat..
(Part of me did write the above as I previously viewed the copycat image and needed an excuse to post it. Thanks Char -toothy smile-)
M’kay – onto the actual content of this post.
I have an interview on Wednesday *insert dooms-day muzic*
It is for my much-talked about Masters, it is for Creative Writing. I write stories, I write poems, I write a terrible Blog with coupious grammatical mistakes. I do not do interviews. The boyfriend kindly tells me that my ‘creative personality’ means that I am not good in those one-on-one situations. But he means people. And that I am a loonely.
It is a tad like the clip below, only I may well get out a guitar and use offensive language…
A List Of Things I do During Interviews
1) I twitch. Endlessly. A bit like a Durcell Bunny that is on it’s last three seconds of life. I can’t control the twitch, it is a nervous disorder but it looks a lot as if I am just very cold. It maes people twiddle with the heating until we re all sweating profussely and I am still damn twitching and shivering…uncomfortable for all and I may as well wear a sign proclaiming my lack of mental health.
2) I am the sort of person who cannot get my fringe straight. I worry about it making me look stupid, so I fiddle…and fiddle and fiddle. I do not even know I am doing with it but it does not convey an air of confidence…it also makes me look like I am apperance obsessed, when really I’d happily leave the house in a big ban if only my hair would be straight.
I have many iteams with the Edward Monkton design on as testament to my fringe-woes..
3) When I get nervous I speak really fast. Reallyfastsononoecanunderstand. For someone who is enthused by language this is not a Masters-winning skill…
4) The more important the person is, the higher the authority the less I am able to listen and the more easily distracte……LOOK A RABBIT!
The Boyfriend grabs my hand when we cross roads – and not because he loves me so much he always wants to ber romantic and hold on to me…
5) I am likely to forget my name, age and any interests and, if pushed on this topics I may cry and/or burst into flames…
In summary – I am very glad they wanted a portfolio of words what I wroted as well as seeing me in actual person. I am hoping the will have already decided my writing skill is oh so amazing that it does not matter than I am totoally unable to sit still and reply to any interview questions..