sheldrake

I was going to do a proper post but I feel too lethargic and stuff. Here's what it would have had in it:

some pictures of stuff
Me saying I've probably got some Dreamwidth codes if anyone wants them.
some other stuff I forget now.

AND NOW. I shall type without thinking first. It's a clever trick.

( only read if you're quite bored )

THINGS!

1. I am moving house out of my flat and into a real live house at the end of the month. Hoorah!
2. I am enjoying my four-day week.
3. I liked the new Star Trek film lots! Spock is adorable now he's not a serial killer.*
4. I went to see The Sixteen in Bury St Edmunds cathedral, singing Purcell and James McMillan -- they were really wonderful.
5. Ok, you win. I'm on Dreamwidth as tadorna (my Latin name dontcha know), but I haven't really bothered to do anything with it or seek people out or anything basically.

Ok, I think the numbers are intimidating me, and also I have been corrupted by Twitter. I keep wanting to express every thought in 140 characters. Ummmm, what else? I've been feeling pretty good lately. Work is still all a bit up in the air and not great. I need to do more exercise, eat more healthily and do more work. I'm trying to get back into the creative groove, to spend more time making and doing. Not that there's anything intrinsically wrong with reading and watching stuff and noodling around on the internet. But, just for myself, I could be doing more, and I feel it would be a shame if I didn't. I don't actually include knitting in the things I ought to be doing. It is creative, but in a different way -- I love doing it, but it's a hobby. That only applies to me, though. Singing is the same, and sewing. For me, these are hobbies, because I enjoy doing them, but they're not really my 'thing' -- I'm an extremely average knitter and singer. Writing and making... other stuff -- that's work. But work in the good way, not as in my job. That's work in the bad or at least necessary evil way. If you're somebody who 'makes work', sometimes you can allow 'going to work' to prevent you from doing your real work. *ties self in knots*

Sorry, that was really convoluted. So yes, mainly I'm concentrating on taking pleasure in small things, and making a start on doing more good stuff (although I've got distracted by this moving business now).

Anyway, have I ever mentioned my damn annoying social phobia? It trips me up sometimes, and makes me worry a lot more than I really need to. I had to go to a social event with work the other day, and it made me very anxious and left me feeling low, although I made my excuses and went home pretty early. I got my hair cut the other day too, and I always hate that -- I find small talk really difficult. I can't help subjecting myself to an in-depth analysis of my 'performance' as a human being, and the conclusion is always that I have failed miserably. I am of course aware that this is unnecessary and I am much better at all this than I used to be. I do try quite hard. I'm also aware that lots of other people feel shy or out of place at times -- but this is a particular problem for me, and affects my life hugely. It has done for as long as I can remember, and is probably at the root of my problems with depression in the past. It hasn't gone away, but I think what I've come to realise is that it can be battled with. It doesn't always have to force me under. Life's just too damn short, basically.

Er, yeah, anyway. Dunno why I felt the need to go on about that suddenly, it's just stuff I've been thinking about. Have some random photos!

*This is a casting reference. There is no Spock-is-an-ex-serial killer plotline in the film, don't worry.

( random photos )

I've never been a huge new year fan, but even by my standards this is not a very new yeary new year. We'd all kind of expected to get off a bit early from work, but in the event we were all still sitting there at 6pm, doing incredibly not-urgent work. Miserable buggers. And I'm working tomorrow too, so have reluctantly turned down the many, many non-existent invitations with which I was not flooded.

So far this evening, I've eaten a pizza I dug out of the freezer (all the shops were closed when I finally escaped from work. Even the corner shop. Which is always open). I've watched an episode of Simon Schama's A History of Britain (we're up to James VI), and spent many fruitless minutes attempting to find an arrangement of The Three Ravens which was similar to the one they used in the programme... until I realised I could just buy the soundtrack, and did so. Last purchase of 2008.

Now I've put Jools Holland's Hootenanny on. I just turned the sound down so I didn't have to listen to Adele.

I'm drinking a glass of wine and eating some chocolates I got for Christmas. They're very pretty, they've got little white stars and snowflakes printed on them. They taste quite nice, too.

I am a trifle bored.

But anyway -- a very Happy New Year to you all, my friends!

Oh look -- Duffy. *turns sound down again*

Half an hour and then I can go to bed.

Sadly, Leonora's cake tasted of nothing.

***

Everybody stood around awkardly with their tea. Sarah said, "I'm not into poetry," and just then, her phone rang. Stephen said, "That's a dinky thing. Are you aware you're trying to contact your mother on a cigarette lighter?"

***

The difficult bit was over. Afterwards, they walked together by the river, and it wasn't very long before Henry lost his temper again, because Thomas had said the wrong thing again. He always did say the wrong thing, Thomas, he was bloody-minded that way. Words floated to the top and had to come out. It perplexed people, the way Thomas just flung those words out into the world, willy nilly. It was as though he didn't really care. Even at the end, he didn't care very much, or at least that's what they say.

Henry said, his voice rising dangerously, "What, you really think I'd do that to you? Is that what you think, Thomas? Is that what you think of me?" He was like a bulldog, square-chested, large-hearted, wound up and spoiling for a fight.

Thomas looked at Henry, and Henry looked back at him, twitching under the skin like something waiting to be let out of a cage. But Thomas was statue-still, and his face was like the blank white sky. "Heaven forbid," he said. He spoke softly, slowly, as though to himself. "Heaven forbid." A little way off, there was a soft splash as something -- a rat, a bird -- launched itself into the water and swam swift and silent into the river's brown depths.

Thomas's pale hand was still curled like a comma over his heart. He looked down at it, as though noticing it for the first time. Then he turned and walked on ahead down the path. He'd made up his mind now, and all things would follow as they were meant to. As they were always meant to. The difficult bit was over.

***

Stephen said, "You have to look a bit for their graves, but when you find them, they lie side by side, as in life. And as in life, there is Imogen, peeping between their shoulders... Have you ever seen a picture of her? I saw her once, she popped up very suddenly from some shrubbery, tall and thin, with the little round specs, just popped up like that. She was like a heron. Sort of like a Mr Bean, like a Miss Bean coming up out of the shrubbery."

***

When terrible things happen, someone has to be to blame. Stands to reason. Like the time Robert was killed. Just a boy, Robert was. You know who was to blame, don't you? We all know it. Who even knows what they get up to, that lot? They don't belong here -- they never have. They've probably been getting up to all sorts. Richard ought to have sent them packing, years ago. But Richard's not here, is he? He's never here. Not even sure where he is half the time, always abroad somewhere, on some crusade or other. Well. If he won't take care of things back home, somebody'll have to. What they did to that little boy... We've been too soft with them -- I've said it before. They'll have to go. They'll have to get themselves gone, them and their nasty ways. Nobody wants them round here. If they don't take themselves off smartish, it'll all kick off. You mark my words. I won't answer for what'll happen. They've only themselves to blame, haven't they?

***

I'm really tired this evening. Can't be bothered sentences.

Anyway. Reason recent reticence. Tired of own ranting and angry talking sad things. Gone to ground. Buried head in sand. Pulled wool over own eyes. Went back under bedclothes.

Try for positive! Unexplained recent positive:

Radio: John le Carré, Attenboroughs.
Books. Brave Roman boys on noble quest.
Tickets for Russells.
Singing.
Battlestar G.
Beer festival. Mmm, chocolate orange beer. Friendly folky beardy men.
Friend's beautiful wedding, idyllic sunshine, butterflies etc. Friendly folky beardy men.
Chilli on plate.
Chilli on plant.
Sharing lolcat love.
Knitting Seaman's Cap.
Tomorrow: Keyboard buying for musical playing.

I still heart Ray Kowalski.

I has got my Firefox back! :) Now to fix the rest. But not tonight.

Just time to note the following:

I think Kirsty Young is secretly a Timelord.
I like Sue Perkins in a turban. But Giles Coren has no actual brain.
They gave me a Biggins story at work! I have to write a headline about Biggins! :) Sadly, nothing pornographic would fit the space. :(
The Biggins story is about him visiting the Pauline Quirke Academy of Performing Arts. No, seriously. I am not even making that up.
I award myself a prize for 'lamest headline of the week'.
I'm listening to Vivaldi's Gloria, having acquired it a while back for choir nostalgia reasons. I can't believe I was actually allowed to sing this stuff. In Notre Dame. And what was going through my mind at the time? How can I subtly let F know that I don't even care that she doesn't want to hang around with me any more? Just because she's discovered S now, whose brother auditioned for Cats. Like that makes her so much better. What she doesn't know is that S slags her off behind her back all the time anyway and complains to everyone that F followed her all round Paris and she couldn't get rid of her. Why must they play Vanilla Ice and Jive Bunny at the disco? I have no friends.

I've crawled out of the low mood I was in from Sunday to Thursday, which is very yay, and have done some nice things. Went to St Edmundsbury Cathedral with my mum, to see (well, hear, really) the Tallis Scholars singing Palestrina and Tavener, among other things. They were pretty darn amazing. Then spend Friday evening with friends and some bottles of wine in the very nice, tiny Indian restaurant round the corner from my flat. Mmm, food. And today I've been down at curiousworld's allotment, where I dug up a bed of stubborn leeks. Then we ate some of them and I took some home. Mmm, leeks. :) Also blisters, to prove how hardworking I am.

Also recently received my electricity bill. :( Will be eating cold food by candlelight for the rest of the year.

I'm going to Dorset for the weekend, maybe forever omg! But in reality for the weekend.

Not that this will make the slightest bit of difference to anyone, seeing as I have apparently watched too much of BBC4's Sacred Music series and entered a period of monastic silence.

Anyway -- laters, friends.

One charming Night, Gives more delight, Than a hundred lucky Days...

***

I'm feeling appallingly posty lately. The old brainbox is brimming with THINGS, which need syphoning off at regular intervals.

Laptop woe. After its unscheduled day off the other week, the laptop seemed to be back to normal. So yesterday, I decided I'd just drop it on the floor. Miraculously, the dear old trooper still works! But I've knackered the catch -- it wobbles around, disturbingly like a loose tooth, and closes no more. Poor lappy.

Local news woe. ( cut for those not in the mood for sudden rantiness )

To be perfectly honest, though, I'm not feeling particularly woeful this week. The sun has been shining too brightly on the frosty park in the mornings, the ducks are all smiling on their pond, and there is Purcell on my iPod.

[Note to self: may be going mad, poss?]

My iPod appears to be completely dead. I've never seen a deader piece of machinery. I don't think it liked all the Bach.

I can has new iPod?