Sitting quietly

I am not very popular with Miss R right now. What have I done? Nothing that I think justifies the wobbly Miss R had. Now it’s no secret that most of us shorten names. Anything two syllables (or longer) is fair game. Miss R does not share this view. In fact she sees my need to shorten names as pathological. She had never had anyone shorten her name before me, and while she is prepared to accept it as something that I do, she’s not happy for anyone else to do it. 

Here’s where it gets tricky. She won’t actually tell anyone that she doesn’t like it. She’s too nice for that sort of directness, (which is probably why she did so well with Japanese). So as the instigator, it’s all my fault, and I will be yelled at accordingly. 

I should point out that I find this all rather amusing. In the grand scheme of things I can’t see any of our friends having an issue with using her whole name, provided she ever works up the courage to tell them. I also know that most of the steam is a result of Miss R not getting enough sleep. However, while she is working on her garden (and has both a sledge hammer and a metal hoe within reach) I am going to stay out of her way. 

Safety first.

Still living …

Yep, I’m still alive. I apologise for any worry or concern I’ve caused. I’m fine, really. Mostly. Just the physical giving me grief. I’ve spent the last six days not touching the laptop, or much of anything really. Apart from going to work I have only left the house to go to the blood bank, and a trip to the market for more sugar (the cupcake ladies took pity on me and gave me a free cupcake). The rest of the time I have been on the couch, cradling my defective arm, consuming large amounts of sugar and painkillers, watching lots and lots of Dr Who.

I know I was leaving my box set until after I had finished with uni, but when you can’t use your dominant hand without shooting pains (even with enough drugs in you to down an elephant) then there really isn’t much else you can do with your time. Miss R is completely over Dr Who. She was even happy to let me watch some of the rugby. You know I’m not myself when I am willingly watching sport.

I am feeling better today. Pain is at a manageable point, so I am trying to get as much done as I can before my arm/hand packs it in again. Frustrating, but such is life. The last assignment isn’t due until the 21^st, but I’m trying to get as much done as possible. Don’t want to end up in a position where it’s due and I can’t physically do anything. Which is why I spent the weekend doing nothing. Plus, cranky Hawm is nobody’s friend. So I channelled my inner couch gnome, and tried to relax.

While I’m not 100%, I managed to get through work and most of the day on minimal painkillers. I even managed to catch up on everything I’d left going on the laptop. Well, after I had to completely reboot it (twice), upgrade the anti-virus software (which had apparently disappeared after being corrupted), and ran a total system scan (which meant I couldn’t actually use it for two hours while it sorted its shit out).

I’ve got another appointment with the torture merchant on Wednesday. I always feel better (once the screaming stops). If I still feel like crap by Friday then I’ll go off and see the doc. Won’t be a great deal he can do, but I’ll go anyway. Ah, the joys of getting old.

Familiar pain

Miss R is very annoyed with her best friend. This friend is stuck in a loop of her own making. She wants a relationship, with a good man, but instead hooks up with losers (who do the “I just want to be friends” dance, usually just after she’s finished blowing them). Now I’m not making any judgments. What a person does with their body is their own business. And we’ve all put ourselves in dangerous situations at some point. However, most of us learn from our mistakes, rather than repeating the behaviour and crying “Why me?” when everything goes to shit. 

 

Miss R started out being very supportive, but she has reached her limit. Now she is channelling her inner Hawm. And it feels good. She is normally the nice one, as anyone who knows her will attest to, so this new attitude is a bit of a shock. But it gets the job done. It won’t last long, the guilt will eventually be too much. For the moment she’s getting on with things and taking no prisoners, so I’m enjoying the show.

What’s this got to do with pain? Good question. Part of her friends problem, and something many people also suffer from, is the inability to leave a wound alone. As human beings we take perverse pleasure in wallowing in our own pain and misery. Rather than let the scab heal we keep picking at it. We read text messages/emails/letters from people who’ve hurt us. We listen to music, watch movies/tv shows, read books they recommended when they were still part of our lives.

Why do we do these things to ourselves? Lots of different reasons. Mostly, I think, it’s because we don’t really want to let then go. Even though they treated us like shit, even though we are better off without them, even though we know it’s wrong. Computers and the internet have made this harder to avoid. Now you can check that persons facebook/twitter/myspace/blog/webpage etc. anytime, from anywhere. Every email/tweet/message you ever sent each other is there. Every click keeping the wound open.

How much simpler thing were, when you could just burn the letters and move away. That is always my policy: destroy everything and move on. But it doesn’t always work. Sometimes the pain still lingers, even months after the wound closes over. Every day, it’s still there. Granted it is not as sharp as it once was, and it no longer fills the entire space, but it is still there. Most of the time I can ignore it, but I’m not having a good few days. Unfortunately another familiar pain has come back to visit, which is making me more cranky than usual.

My body is on the warpath, which means my pain levels are up. I’m due at the blood bank, so I can’t take any painkillers, and I’m stuck doing everything with my left hand. I’ve got an appointment with the torture merchant tomorrow morning, so hopefully things will improve. If not it’ll have to cancel the blood, and hit the hard stuff.

Meeting up with my cousin and her mum in the city tomorrow. Should be interesting. Hopefully I’ll be able to move my arm by then.

mood music

Ok, so I was trying to do some work while I manned the Children's Desk @ AN this morning, something that was not going well (and I didn't finish). No real surprise there. Plus between trying to get things done, multiple children/people wanting assistance, and running to the other end of the library every time the fucking bell went, my brain managed to throw Ms L into the works. This helped my mood no end, so by the time I got home I was ready for "angry" music.

Music has a big impact on my moods. I only listen to classical music while I'm driving, (anything else and I am prone to road rage/speeding). I play jazz/swing when I have people over for dinner and conversation. When I clean I play techno. When I'm fragile I play Ani diFranco. When I'm pissed off I play music appropriate to 14yr old boys, who hate the world and everyone in it (including themselves). 

So I was all set. I had the Spawn, Dracula 2000, Preaching to the Perverted, and Matrix soundtracks ready to go, mixed with some Nine Inch Nails and a little Rage Against The Machine. Before giving myself over to my music therapy I made the few phonecalls Miss R had asked to to make, and I checked the mail. Not huge, life changing tasks (thought finding someone to mow my lawn is starting to seem like the quest for the grail), but in the end I didn't need the angry music.

Now obvioulsy the gas bill wasn't going to make a huge difference to my mood, but the other piece of mail did. There seems to be a fair amount of gratitude floating around at the moment (which, given the amount of crap that has been circulating over the last six weeks, is a nice change). Last week chocolate roses, this week a card from the blood bank. 

To be fair, the nurses always say thank you each time I donate, and I don't expect a card from every single person who benefits from my donating plamsa/platelets, (38% of Australians have blood type A, so that's a hell of a lot of cards). I don't do it for recognition. I do it because it's the only way I can contribute. I never have any money to give to charity, and my schedule doesn't leave me time to volunteer, so donating for me is the best option. With that said I think I am entitled to feel a little proud that out of the 26 fortnights in a year, I donated in 24 of them. My arms may have more scar tissue that your average heroin junkie, and three quarters of the nurses may hide until I'm actually hooked up to the machine (the scar tissue makes getting the neddle into me rather challenging), but it's worth it.

No matter how big an arsehole people may think I am, or how terrible they may believe I've made their lives, the two hours I spend in that chair every other Thursday makes a huge difference to people all over the country (and their families).

And that feels fucking awesome.

But in the garden of simple ...

The good mood continues. I know, I'm even starting to freak myself out. Though I did have a few moments of pettiness the last three days. Actaully it works out to one each day, so I guess that's not too bad. The cardinal rule is to never piss off your librarian. Especially not when I am the librarian in question. I will continue to smile at you, and tell you everything that you don't want to (but need to) hear. And then, once you have gone, I will fuck you up! Some examples of this from the last few days are:

• I will send emails to my boss letting her know in advance all about the little temper tantrum you had because your supended account wouldn't let you use the internet. I will also include the details of how you demanded that I find a way to work around the software just so you could use the internet, becasue you are a library patron and you pay your rates. (Seriously, when the rates argument comes out it's time to go home, you're only embarassing yourself).

• I will make sure that the book you still haven't finished reading, even though you've had it for 9 fucking weeks, will be given a chance to be borrowed by someone else. (Even if that someone happens to be Miss R, who thought the whole thing was hysterical, especially when I produced the book at the end of the story).

• And lastly, arguing with me about the library's opening time will not make me open the doors any earlier. We run on council time. All the clocks are set to council time. I don't care what your watch says, and jumping up and down won't change anything, though it may improve you chance of a heart attack and given that it's been a really long time since I did CPR I really don't think I feel comfortable thumping on your chest. Actually, that's not true. I could have happily thumped this woman.

I'm not good first thing in the morning, as anyone who knows me will attest to. Anyone that tries to talk to me for that first hour ... it's just better not to. Every now and then Miss R forgets this, and tries to have an indepth conversation while I'm trying to eat my cereal. It does not end well. 

Other than that life is moving along. Am looking for full time work with another library, as there seems little chance of me getting something where I am unless someone dies. I am happy in a community library, but there are a few academic library jobs advertised at the moment. Hard to know what would be best. 

Was talking to a friend about my funk, and everything that lead up to it (plus my epiphany). She said something rather interesting. She said, and I quote: "Your 'friend' is behaving like a scorned lover, not a friend. I think you're better off without her." I hadn't looked at it that way. 

I guess perspective is everything.