Smidge

As I sat last night reading your lovely comments on my last post and contemplating how lucky I am that I am not planning my own demise (how thoroughly morbid of me, but what the hell) I came across this post on a blog I’d newly subscribed to.

(To save you from clicking through, Miss Nic of PinkNic has done a ‘bucket list’ – that’ll be things to do before you ‘kick the bucket’)

I decided there and then that if death was peaking over the horizon, I better make it hard for him to find me. So this is the start of my bucket list…its far from complete and in my opinion something that shouldnt be rushed.

(btw  fao  Death- this list is in no particular order, so don’t try to catch up with me. Thanks!)

So, first up, the thing thats most important to me – Travel.

Before i die i will…

• Visit Machu Pichu, Angkor Wat, Petra and The Pyramids before they crumble to dust.
• Have had just one week at a 5-star hotel on an island paradise, where I don’t mind, suggestions include Mauritius, the Maldives or Hayman Island, Australia
• Scuba dive on Great Barrier Reef, Australia
• Climbed one of the world’s highest mountains, i’m not talking about Everest here, but I want to climb something higher than Scafell Pike (highest mountain England) and Snowdon (highest in Wales)
• Visited the famous cities of the world – next up Venice, Rome, Budapest, San Francisco, New York, Vancouver… 
• go back to Japan and see more than Tokyo.
• Lived in New Zealand, Australia, or Canada for at least a year.
• Danced in another country, whether that’s tango in Argentina, Salsa in the Caribbean, or swing dance in the US or go to the Love Parade in Germany again.
• Rode the Orient Express
• Backpacked, if only its a single country at a time.

but as i said, its far from complete…so what have I missed out travel wise? Where would you recommend? What would be on your list?

Kx

I might get through each day without worrying if tomorrow I might drown in the shower, get eaten by hundreds of semi-mechanoid spiders or squished into the ground by an invading spacecraft, but the question of my own mortality is something i’m terribly good about burying my head in the sand about; Death and I never mix in good company.

When you have no family history, the fear of death is based on the fear of the unknown; I’ve never even given blood for the fear of what they might find.

But the problem with burying your head in the sand is that it has a tendency to come back, bite you in the ass. Words that end in ‘biopsy’ or ‘scopy’ or begin with ‘cytol’ or ‘dyspla’ do not just belong in medical dictionaries to excite hypochondriacs; but exist to remind you not to take your body or what you put into it for granted.

Whilst i’m luckily (and hopefully) far enough away from the end of the mortal coil for them to save me this time, others have recently been not and despite their publicity grabbing ways, you can’t but help think what made me so special that I get to live when someone else dies? It’s not like I’ve been more saintly or more deserving of the good karma; in fact, I’ve got a lot less to live for, a lot less to lose.

But I can’t change that, I wish I could. This isn’t a time to dwell on what ifs, only what will be, what’s next for me. But, whatever it is, whatever happens next, i have to remember to get busy living; before I get busy dying.

Kx

I am an addict, I have an addictive personality.

Whether its cigarettes (15 years and counting), twiddling my air, chewing my lip, shagging around (that one has recently been broken), daily wine drinking; I do addiction with serious aplomb. (and i’m not mentioning the bad stuff…)

But my worst addiction – social media sites.

I’ve travelled through Myspace, Bebo and now Facebook, landing recently on Twitter. Like any addict I become bored quickly, always looking for a new fix, the starting up of a page, connecting to new people, building an identity and like everyone else, catching up old school friends lost in the sands of time; occasionally in a bitchy laugh – who got fat after school – kind of way.

But the addiction has changed recently; what i though was social freedom has turned into social paranoia, social inadequacy, social fear.

Social media lets you find out your flatmate has found a new flat before she tells you herself; or let you read ex-friends conversations about their forthcoming weekend that you know you are no longer invited to; or worst of all lets you find out your ex has got a new partner, is getting married, having a baby.

So, instead of allowing the internet to crack me up, to turn it into an obsession rather than on an addiction, I need an ntervention.

But what to do?

Should I remove all accounts, isolating myself? Or should I remove all those to which no sane person should be connected to – ex friends and ex’s which have leave sharp pains in my heart?

Do others out there feel the same way? How do you deal with the social paranoia these sites bring along with them? Is it ok to just opt out? Will I be missing out? Should I just deal with it?

Any advice and experience out there with this new kind of malaise is very welcome…

Kx

You might think you’ve come to the wrong place. You might think that i’m about to introduce a guest blogger. You’d be wrong. But there is something out of the ordinary going on here today, something different to the usual as i’m going to give you a weekend update; mainly because it was so bad it’s actually worth blogging about for once.

I think I’ve blogged before about how hopeless I am at births, marriages and deaths. Actually you should make that anything I need to think about, act upon, shop for, or turn up to. I’m far better at words than actions. I haven’t even managed to send off my divorce papers 2 years after they were signed. I fail every time. Including at Valentines Day. Yes, I even failed at Valentines Day.

I am officially hopeless.

But as usual I have an excuse. Multiple excuses:

a) I was honestly going to pop along to the posh shop on Saturday morning and buy him a card but instead I had accidentally ended up staying at the boy’s for the night.

b) I also didn’t expect him to offer to spend the day going shopping with me for a new handbag. I thought there might be football on, that I might get even a small half hour of opportunity to get a card.

c) I totally under estimated him  – I didn’t expect to receive a fancy card, a rose, strawberries and a chocolate lolly heart.

I didn’t even get him a card. Yes I know I am officially an awful girlfriend.

He then took me for lunch at Café Anduluz for my favourite food – tapas – and refused to let me pay; he bought sirloin steaks for dinner from the butcher; and then took me out to Bond No9 (Leith’s own champagne bar where I had a ‘Kara Blossom’) when I wasn’t hungry enough to have the steaks, just yet.

But to really top it all off, he put me in a taxi when I started to feel ill; made me a cup of hot water to help my poor tummy; helped me climb the stairs when I couldn’t walk anymore; listened to me be sick; put me to bed with a hot water bottle and kissed me on the head and told me he loved me despite the fact I was terribly ill. All the time.

And I didn’t get him a card.

Suggestions on how the hell I make this one up to him welcome…

Kx

It’s been a pretty interesting week at my work. To cut a long story short:

1) I’ve been pretty ill recently
2) I’ve been off work a lot
3) My work has procedures to go through
4) They did them
5) No, I didn’t get fired
6) But yes, there is a chance I will be
7) But the HR woman actually had a sensible suggestion for once Which I will try
9) To try and not get fired
10) As that would be bad
11) But I also had to go to the hospital, which I did yesterday
12) And they are going to make me swallow a camera to see what’s wrong
13) And hypnotise me to make it all better…
14) If they can
15) Well I hope.

More interestingly, as I was a tad stressed by all this (as you can probably imagine, even though it was not a disciplinary), a colleague asked me if I had a work ‘friend’ that I could ask to attend the meeting with me. To hold my hand. 

I had to rack my brains and to be honest, I came up blank. I don’t really do work friends.  She immediately looked contrite and quickly added that maybe it was because I am such a private person.

 (Yes, I sniggered at that too.  If only she knew about this here blog and what I tell you guys on a daily basis.)

But I had to agree, I do the Christmas lunch, but not the watch-each-other-puke long evening of drinking that has to take place after; I do the works quiz, but a couple of glasses of wine will suffice, no rolling out of the pub at 1am for me and skulking under my desk the next day. If i’m upset, I cry at home, not in the toilets (although It has been known in the past when a bitch at work was bullying me), I talk about things in my life in a kind of code, half referring to them with a nod and a wink. I don’t do the bitching lunches, the mixing, and the ‘friends’ at work thang.

Maybe i’m missing out on a great social life by not mixing with my work colleagues, but to be honest, Id rather come across as private than an open book. Work is an environment where even in the cuddliest of offices a tiny amount of backstabbing could sucker your career. Especially in times of redundancies; who knows what people will use to get ahead…

There is need to know and all that.

But all this means my work colleagues have no idea about who I am. About what i’m really like apart from the report writing, community engaging individual they hired.

They don’t know about my internet life, my ex’s (even when I broke up from my 7 year relationship I didn’t even tell them) the new toyboy, my ex clubbing past (i’ve not totally grown out of it yet). They don’t know about my plans for the future, my search for new friends, for a more fun life..

I keep these things separate, apart. I keep myself free.

Are you the same? Do you hide yourself at work?

Mwah 

Kx

In my quest to fit in somewhere, anywhere, I came to realise a while ago that the internet is not the world of oddballs the redtop papers like to make out. Without even a slight gag – life would be dull without it. But I have a confession to make. Blogging is my crack. It’s addictive, self harming, depreciative, self confidence bashing piffle. But I can’t stop – and this is why:

1. Even though I stopped wearing my school tie years ago I still feel like i’m stuck in a never ending popularity contest. Me, who cynically came to the conclusion years ago that having lots of friends is more trouble than its worth has developed a burning desire for followers, for comments, for awards.

This has got to stop.

2. Recently, everything I write sounds like a load of self indulgent wank. I don’t sound like me anymore. Somehow i’ve managed to forget that blogging is meant to be personal, about me, how i’m feeling, not about how people respond. Somehow I’ve started writing for an audience.

This has got to stop too.

 3. Blogging isn’t just about keeping up with your own blog, but your readers too. But I’ve been over doing it; I thought being a good blogger was to spread myself far and wide, to spread the love, to draw you in with my witty banter. But my comment love has grown thin; I’m struggling to keep up. And to be honest I haven’t the time or inclination to add worrying about the fact that I have failed in this to the list of crazy in my head.

I have to stop feeling bad about this.

So, I just did it; I’ve put my conscience in a locked filing cabinet and I’ve started on the path to breaking the addiction.

No. 1 – mark ‘all as read’.

(Just once, that is all, you can do it)

Yes, I know I’ve probably missed some amazing insightful posts, a lot of rubbish, some sadness and pain, a few Melbourne fire photos, a few look at my amazing life, and even an occasional ‘look at me indulging myself by posting pictures of how hot I am’ posts (I don’t know why I read these ones either, they just make me feel worse about myself).

My reader was just one more thing that was driving me insane.  I’ve even deleted a few of the blogs that I regularly just click on by (particularly the ones without full RSS feed, or those on a diet when they aren’t fat).

Ok, yes, I do feel awful; I’m a rather bad blogger, a bad reader and more often than not these days, a bad commenter.

But ill get over it.

Mwah

Kx