Day 165 – The best paper I ever did see
I wonder whether pride in your work plays an essential part in making up a pattern of positive mental behaviour. This week I feel as though I have played my part in putting out a paper which is perfect. Just the right amount of crime, doom and gloom, heart warming fuzzy feeling features, passionate readers letters and the all important guide to what’s going on in our town. Though I have seen the papers prior to print only the subs will see what it is that will be bought by Harborough Mail readers come the morning.
I was writing a story today, a piece about a lesser spotted rare warbling drain occupying bird when I realised that this is what I want to do and though I might only believe it 25 per cent of the time I’m not actually all that bad at it. 
I am getting my first ever paid for feature being published tomorrow. What was nice is that I actually found it hard to write it as in spite of the blog I finally have begun to write when at work like a journalist rather than just another flowery powery feature writer. I do my best to make copy tight, try to be disciplined about pars and whenever I see that creeping into my copy I expel it with a viscous backwards space.
Tomorrow we will be launching a community campaign complete with petitions and slamming several crooks brought to justice at Harborough Magistrates Court. Due to recent cut backs by the government our court is at risk of being cut and if I have to chain myself to the doors and appear in front of magistrates myself for causing public disorder and a nuisance to stop this travesty I bloody well will.
The great thing about small courts that many hard nosed journalists forget is what a source of sparkling copy it really is. Though one naughty lady might have been speeding and face a small fine when in mitigation she said she misread the dial because her ADD kid wouldm’t stop screaming or because she was putting on her mascara, all of a sudden bang, you’ve got yourself a lead.
We have a work experience irl here this week and she is fantastic. Though she is only 15 she writes better copy than some of the trainee journalists I met while at News Assocciates. She understands the importance of an intro, instinctively knows the key facts and keeps asking what she can do. Most important of all though, as all workies should know how, she makes a mean cup of tea. I wish we could keep her.
- Today’s dress, originally from Linea is a kind donation from Belinda Smears. Again my sincere apologies for the flip flop situation I hope my injury will soon heal. In the mean time please do not let my sloppiness and adaptation of slipper style shoes cause you to drop your standards. Unless their well built, lined with with gold or embellished with diamonds they are on the face of it, especially when you can hear people’s sweaty feet flap, nearly as bad as the ugg generation.
Day 164 – Mindless consumerism, yet still I want it!
When my friend and I were kids, just passing the 9-10 year old barrier we developed a game for ourselves. We had moved beyond playing with dolls but thanks to social conditioning our behaviour was already woefully womanly. As I understand it as boys reach this age they start to become more and more interested in women, earlier in some cases (see seduction and intrusion – January archive) at the same time I believe that girls also become more interested in women. We play more with dressing up, trying on shoes, pinching make up when mummy looks the other way, baking and thinking about what it will be like when we grow up.
Obviously if you are a healthy human being this fascination with traditional notions of woman as home soon recede providing one has intelligent parents and lives in a society which encourages females to embark on an individualistic rather than a collective and subservient role. In this way a girl soon leaves fantasies of playing the little woman behind and takes to learning, sports and boys looking to develop themselves as a whole and worthwhile member of society, whether this means they become a mother early on or not I like to think that at some stage every woman wants to be more than just a child bearer.
Yet here we were my friend and I playing a game based purely on these notions of woman as home maker. Even more unhealthily the whole game was based purely on consumerism. We would take an argos catalogue, or an “I want” book as my mother always called it and setting ourselves a pauper and a rich womans budget we would choose what we would have in our home when we were older. I will not deny that it was fun, looking at all those pretty colours and useless objects that to our ten year old selves seemed so necessary to our future homes.
It is the consumerism I guess which currently concerns me more than the leaning towards the home. As I said I believe this is a phase which in most cases we all grow out of, please God in good time. 
I have been reading a book of late, I wont go into details as usually I dismiss this stuff myself as a load of hippy crap but I am trying to give it a chance so don’t wish to receive a rage of comments on that’s brilliant or a heap of £$%^% before I have given it a chance myself.
Anyway the basis of this book is that one must always ask the question will this bring me pleasure or will it bring me happiness. A healthy individual in search of contentment must choose the things and make decisions based not on the momentary pleasures in life but on one’s overall happiness. In this instance and in the case of an affair, though it may give you momentary pleasure to cheat on your partner, the coupling however pleasurable will in most cases lead to feelings of guilt and self loathing as well as the knowledge that one has hurt another human being. In this way the sensible, though not always easy option is to not because it will not bring happiness.
The logic is also applied to consumerist tendencies and our constant need for the latest trend, the nicest food, a bigger salary or a hotter husband. The writer challenges this idea as it is based on the principle that objects can bring happiness. If one, the guru says, bases one’s happiness on such a system it will eventually lead to disappointment as one will not always be able to get the next greatest thing. Even if money is no object, there are waiting lists which if one is totally centred on consumerism and getting the next iphone, mulberry bag or Kurt Geiger shoes then one’s life will always be seeped in disappointment.
I use these examples because if truth be known one of my saddest but greatest ambitions is to one day own a Mulberry bag. yes I know it is tragic but I really want one and its such a status thing that I think I would use nothing else and if ever someone tried to steal it from me I’d choke them with its bag handles and beat them with its soft leather till they apologised. Equally I acknowledge that my obsession with shoes may be a tad unhealthy but for this I blame society and a mother who just never seemed that interested in ridiculously impractical heels.
Though I have tried to smother my own leanings towards greed in recent years, mainly because redundancies and NCTJ course fees have left me with nothing but a penny and a piece of flint to rub together. Now though I am getting paid again and as I proved on Saturday left unchecked my needs and wants are insatiable. Yes I could technically afford four pairs of shoes but did I need them, I would argue yes but I think the guru I’m reading about would probably say no. Though he is a man and lets face it if men understood these things we might think they were a bit of a girl.
The problem I find myself with is that at the moment the office is awash with smart phones. Nearly everyone seems to have a new phone with free internet, kick ass camera and all sorts of things called “apps” which I understand means amazingly awesome bits and pieces to play with for sure. I nearly bought myself an iPhone at the weekend, I have never in my life bought a phone so this would have been a big step for me. The boy unfortunately cock blocked me and told me he thought I should think about it. Though I did not speak to him for an hour following this appalling judgement call after a coffee and lemonade I started to see his point, the meanie.
It has now however been four days since and still I find myself wanting the iPhone. Yesterday I was so determined to finish work in time to zip over to the apple store that I bashed out 11 stories, skipping my lunch break and fueling myself on coffee and consumerist pride. Due to a “dog in hot car” situation and a certain car company’s determination not to answer mty press enquiry it was 8.10pm when I emerged out the doors. I did consider driving over and breaking in but on reflection it seemed excessive and I was hoping I might get to see Ronaldo cry again so I hot footed it home.
It might be mean but it brings me pleasure and happiness to see this grown man cry like a child. I should exercise forgiveness, but unlike Wayne Rooney my tolerance for tantrum throwers on the pitch is minimal. Leave it till your in the dressing rooms lads.
To remind me to avoid the perils of consumerism I found this quote, it made me laugh but in a sinking economy which is literally spilling money on to its coasts while unemployment continues to fall I thought it was actually rather sad but telling of how far we have fallen.
Carlos Cortez who has an iPhone
“I pay 150 dollars per month. And now they want me to pay another $12?” said Carlos Cortez, a 28-year old bricklayer from Jersey City, N.J. “And I don’t need it. I treat my phone better than I treat my woman.”
- Today’s dress is from Ocean Club, an old friend of mine Danielle Star who I went to primary school with gave it to me along with a bag of other dresses. I am not usually a bandeau dress wearer as it often leaves me looking a little top heavy but its boiling and I need something which looks smart but has as little material as possible. I figure that the stripes give it the appearance of stripy 80′s power house glamour but this is possibly challenged by the blister plaster clad feet dressed in, dare I say it – flip-flops. I apologise but the pain has been too great.
Day 163 – Moving on because its better than staying stuck
Today’s post is going to be a little on the soft side as I am aware I have been getting a bit political, cross and serious of late and don’t want you to feel you are being ranted at.
This is not one for the men folk unless you like ladies to have nicely painted nails or are considering treating yourself to a manicure, just so you know my view on this is just because it has man in the title doesn’t make it manly you big girls blouses.
My favourite kind of nails is either a French manicure or a dark manicure which is where the nail colour is dark and the tips are light, it looks pretty dramatic but is striking and a bit sexier than the more clean cut wedding day classic polish.
My nails in the past have been a shambles, they were usually cut short because every attempt to grow them ended in disaster and as my eczema was constantly playing up the longer they were the more I scratched and the worse everywhere else looked. When I was a kid my mother had to smother me in oilatum and put on little mittens so I couldn’t scratch. I may have been hot and looked ridiculous but at least I wasn’t trying to tear my skin open in frustration.
After years of using nail strengtheners and learning the right way to file my nails I now have a set of nails which are acceptable to bear in public and my eczma has cleared up along with my self control and I only ever now scratch in my sleep or when I’m so stressed I don’t notice I’m doing it.
My friend from Ireland who I lived with last year was an expert in painting her nails, I however can only do other peoples or my left hand, the right usually ends up more on the finger than the nail. The other day though I finally mastered the art of the manicure and though it peeled off three days later it was so nice typing with pretty nails that I will be doing it again as often as I get the chance. I have some beautiful colours and hopefully it will add a bit of cheer to the blog and i especially on days where my mood is a bit black. I’m going to get a manicure tomorrow if I get the chance as it is £8 from a nail bar in Harborough which I think is a pretty good price as when I’ve had it done there before it has lasted a week.
If I get them done I think I am going to green to support the tennis. A long time ago I painted them with tippex and pen in the colour of St George’s flag but in the end we were kickewd out and though the felt tip washed off the tippex remained as a constant reminder of our tendency to fly the white flag in every major football tournament since 1966. But there’s no use focusing on unfulfilled dreams, roll on Wimbledon and Murray mount, this may just be his year.
The colour below on the link is the one I will choose and let me just clarify that once again (as with the zip dress scandal) Victoria Beckham is copying my hair length and not the other way round. I am considering chopping it off just to make sure nobody mistakes my look for an attempt to be a wannabe wag, oh I’m sorry a designer. Oops nearly got to the end without a rant, ah well I tried.
http://news.instyle.com/2010/06/28/victoria-beckham-goes-long-christina-hendricks-models-and-more/
- Today’s dress is from the boy’s mother. She bought it from a charity shop and it is originally from Per Una. It is a little big but I didn’t bother to belt or pin it as it is hot and the thought of anything against my skin is repulsive. I had to wear flip flops as my feet are frankly frightful and though I tried to put my heels in the pain was too much and accepting defeat I confined myself to the shoes which took me across the states in 2008. At least I’m not wearing crocs, it could be worse!
Day 162 – A gentleman’s choice and a bare foot brazen hussy
Yesterday while I was spending enough money to put England out of recession forever, it was a hard job but someone must step in to stop all this mental health cut back crap and so I was happy to help.
On a more serious note though, what is going on with these cut backs, do they not realise the less they spend on services to make people well, ie counselling, recruiting qualified psychiatrists and counsellors to the country the more people will be depressed and will stay as such for longer.
Do they have no vision, can they not see the dangers of these sorts of cut backs – can they not see the rope from the trees? The iller people get the more likley it is that they will be unable to work, maybe for a day or maybe for a week but in some cases and where treatment options are limited to pop a pill or get the hell out my office then the more thye government will find itself spending on health benefits and in time JSA. It is a travesty and will have consequences that are emotive as they will be expensive.
As I was saying prior to rant while I was shopping the boy who insisted on coming with me even though I did not want him to started having a bit of a paddy. I asked him if he would like a drink, a cigarette or to just leave me the hell alone so I could shop in peace without him trailing me like a sulking child but he insisted on staying at my side. After I had made my escape to the YSL counter to gaze in wonder at all the pretty colours I finally lost him. Later he discovered me by the bags but by then he had a bag in hand and insisted he had been unable to buy me the dress he had promised me. It was in the sale and so beautiful I cried because I wanted it so much but knew I could not buy it without undoing half a years worth of good works and trying to avoid such excesses of consumerism.
When he said he would buy it for me it is sad to admit but I was so happy that I nearly cried all over again, hmmm. Perhaps I might be a little emotive at the moment, ah well never mind. Therefore when he returned with no dress I was a little cross but sucked it up went off to meet my friends and had a bath and an early night later on to avoid getting into a pointless and diva style tantrum over the matter.
Today though the dress was discovered among my other bits. I could have killed him because though I was surprised it wasn’t a nice surprise but a why the hell would you want me to be upset kind of surprise. As we were off to see his parents who I love again I let it lie as I didn’t want to ruin what was to be a better day than before but i was so frustrated that we argued all journey anyway over directions.
The trouble when you are in a long distance relatiolnship is that you have to make the most of your time together as you don’t have that much of it. Equally though it means that normal tiffs often do not have a chance to be resolved as all too quickly your leaving and though you try to make up the last thing you want to do is kiss the person goodbye. In a normal relationship come the next morning after the dust had settled things could be joked over, resolved through taking the mick out of each other and having a cuddle. For us though we argue and then we are gone, its leaving me low and I don’t know what to do about it so I go to the pub, get a bit tipsy with the girls and because my feet are about to scream walk home in tighted feet as we can not find ourselves a taxi. It is fun but I am worried that tonight’s single ljfe style of no care and no drama might be a sign of what is to come. Arguing sucks but so does sore feet. I am lost and so too have England or should I say four?
- The dress is from Warehouse in John Leis currently in the sale. The pictures are taken with the cooperation of a real life heron from the Birmingham NEC garden show.
Day 161 – And so we fall
Today was one of those ridiculously exciting occasions that come along every so often when for once money is no object. Obviously that is not entirely true, money is an object but its so thin and usually waves via plastic centred technological prowess that you never usually know it has been there till it disappears leaving a whiff of cash and a suspiciously thick statement sent in the post which leaves you wondering where it has gone and why.
Today though, for the first time in 16 months I was paid a wage which could go on things other than paying off my overdraft with the dreaded and cruel HSBC. Though I have been a loyal customer of theirs since I was ten these naughty people have been horrid to me of late and though they may be rubbing their fingers at the thought of all the money in my account they can now make use of they should be warned that this will happen over my cold dead body. Now I have paid off my overdraft for which they were charging me an amount so unholy it would be blasphemous to say it I will be withdrawing my account.
They have charged me far too many times and though I have savings with them they can get stuffed as I am moving the little money I have to Harborough Building Sociery. At one point these guys had the best ISA interest rate in the coubtry and they are not some faceless corporation who are operating from the tax free safe haven of Monaco.
Anyway, if I remember I had a point. Ah yes, having money again and what it meant for today. I refer you to the above images in which I am wearing what are some of the most beautiful shoes I have owned for some time. They are extremely high and they offer lessons in the shop on how to walk in them but still I keep tripping over and though my feet usually have asbestos style resistance to pain even I am in agony after walking round Morrisons to get a bottle of wine.
Yesterday I made use of my first real pay cheque to buy four pairs of Kurt Geiger shoes and though the money would have been enough for a small herd of goats I do not for once have guilt or regret. I know it is selfish to spend so much money on one self but it has been so long since I shopped and today I really wanted to treat not just myself but my poor poverty stricken recession effected feet. Though they are now bandaged in blister plasters they were so happy as soon as they felt the soft leather, the superior quality and the unmistakeable feel of forthcoming foot and back problems they just skipped with pride. I took all four pairs back to Harborough and though they may have hurt me seriously considered taking all four pairs to bed to keep them safe.
- Today’s dress is from River Island which I usually think is only good for tiny teen boppers on the pull or people who like store cards thrust on them. However this dress which was sent by the mysterious dress donor is not only colourful but well cut and even has a little class. It was still too hot a day for it to save me from getting a bit aglow but at least it was light against my shining skin.
Day 160 – Grumpy in George for ASDA
A lovely lady bought me this dress from George in Asda. She is one of those women with impeccable taste in clothing who will walk into what is admittedly one of the most depressing supermarkets in the world and find the thing of beauty hidden away in the corner wrapped in a plastic bag.
Though it is a beautiful dress the fact of the matter is that I am in a foul mood today. The day got off to a fairly reasonable start, since I’ve been back on the duloxetine I am not so permanently sedated, and the continuing flow of tears has stopped for now so it is far easier to function. As a result instead of arising at ten past eight only to take an age to get ready eventually arriving to work nearly a little too late, sleepy eyed and bushy haired I wake naturally at ten to seven, make coffee read and leisurely get ready. 
This week I have even taken the time to brush my hair before leaving the house rather than while I walk, a skill of which I am nearly as proud of as my unrivalled ability to live in high heels.
Today though I woke a little late and I exited the wrong side of the bed, literally. My room is a bit of a mess and beside me was a laptop, too many coffee cups and approximately 160 dresses waiting to be ironed, sorted, sold and worn. I clambered out by crawling to the foot of the bed and going over the top. As I banged my knee in the process and stood on a stilleto it was not the best start.
The day went down hill rapido from there. The dress fit but the bra was too black, too big, too small etc. and in the end I had to go with a strapless which is just irritating for anyone who has more than half a handful as you might as well be wearing a vest. 
I bolstered myself for work as I knew I had some good stories to write and follow up but after sitting in an air conditioned car for an hour after taking every turn off the round about but the right one in a village with little over 10,000 residents I was ready to scream.
I tried road karma to soothe my soul but the useless idiot didn’t see me so I held up the A6 for no good reason and erased all good road karma by beeping at him, flashing my lights and telling him to move his ass forthwith.
All of these troubles paled in comparison as soon as I reached my destination, a woman who is to receive an MBE. I wont go into too many details, you cheeky sods can buy the paper come Thursday but this woman reminded me in some ways of Pricess Diana before she started to have that broken look about her. 
She was fresh, young, vibrant and friendly without being too forward or false. The award is for her work as a nurse in the military in Birmingham where she worked to treat injured soldiers returning from Afghanistan and Iraw. She had also done several tours of duty in both parts and in Bosnia and though I moan about my long distance relations at one point she had to spend six weeks away from her hubby with only a 20 minute phone call a week provided by the military.
When I left I was still in a bad mood but by the time I returned to the office I had melted a little and all of my troubles seemed just that little bit too silly to think upon.
- Today’s dress is a donation from Belinda Smears who has previously brought me some beautiful dresses for the project. his one she bought herself from George in Asda for the really rather reasonable price of eight English pounds.
Day 159 – My best friend and I – sharing, caring, stealing and cheating
When I was 11 years old I met someone called KR. She was tall and pretty with a vute button nose, dark brown hair and long legs. She was tall and though intelligent, kind, friendly and sporty she was delightfully modest and well spoken. I however had come from Harborough and rather than looking to get in with my kind of people I was determined to as they say, “fall in with the wrong crowd”. I hung around with a group of three other girls for a while and though they were all individually lovely together they were quite a force and I was never quite part of the gang.
After a bit too much teasing my sensitive disposition and I ended up relocating to another form. As I was being a little bullied in the other it seemed like the wise choice. 
Sadly it turned out to be a massive mistake, as time had passed everyone in the new form had made friends and all the friendship groups were so solidified that yet again I would find myself on the outskirts looking in. Luckily I had friends from my school bus so hung out with them during breaks but it was all a bit lonely. Then when I was 13 I met Kat. We were the best of buds from the off, something just clicked. A bit like meeting the boy your going to marry, I just knew as with then that this girl was going to be a part of my life for ever after.
Along with Kat I met a whole other group of friends and for the firsttime since starting school I was happy. I got some confidence, started going out; to the under 18 parties where we would change into shorter skirts and what at the time seemed like impossibly high heels ten minutes after kissing our mothers goodbye) and every lesson and lunch time was, well, a blast.
I’d better start getting ready for work. Sorry for lack of blogging this weekend. I had planned to have a catch up but was too nervous about the football and then too angry by its result to write anything other than expletives which would not make for a nice read as my style is to astericks it so the whole blog may well look some thing like this.
$%^&*&*&*) ()( %^^*(&) *&(*&)( %^^&&*)()( $%*&*^(*&)( ^(*&)*)( &%*^(&()
Have returned from work, now, where were we. Ah yes, my best friend and I. This is the same girl to who I was to stand with in front of an altar 11 years later as she promised herself to a boy, the same girl whose son I love as though he was a nephew and the girl who even now I can talk to with no effort. She does not judge, she does not wag her tongue she just laughs, shakes her head and says, Oh Ellie.
It is an art and our relationship has out lasted every other coupling either of us has had. I saw two ladies together today, white haired with faces that were ever so slightly flush they were sat on a bench having a chat and every now and then turning to look out at the town. They were surrounded by people yet their unity was such that you could feel their sheer pleasure in just being beside one another from afar.
It was at this point I realised that whatever happens with men, marriage, and modern day crap about meeting the one it is our friendships which should always come first. Our friends never walk away from us and even if they do they will be back in a bit with a bottle of wine ready to sneak the last slab of chocolate while your looking the other way.
Day 158 – Awake by dawn to witness a dream come true
I am struggling with my sleep at the moment so when the dawn chorus began this morning I was already awake and by about 5.30am I decided to call it a night and just open my eyes. One of the lovely ladies whose works I follow, Rebecca Allison is doing a short blog every day on each sunrise. I really enjoy it and though I was shattered it was nice to see the sun as it began to leak through the curtains, though I do plan to buy some 1950′s style black out sheets to prevent this occurring in the future.
Perhaps the reason I struggled to sleep last night is the approaching clash between England and Slovenia. I have followed most of our group stage matches as well as some of the other big games.
I believe the only one who is hoping that England go out today will be my mother who asked yesterday whether if England go out there will be an end to all this horrible football. She has not been happy to relinquish her general hold of the remote control, but with three of us joining together in the visual coup we have just about defeated her. After being told that there was still at least another two weeks to go of the world cup which we would want to be watching regardless of the England result she has been sulking and now takes to asking questions like whose that every time Capello or one of the players comes on screen. Me and the giant are for once united in our annoyance at these underhand tactics to take back the reigns but we shall carry on united and divided until the end, much indeed like the England team.
As the match was on, we somehow managed to finish the paper up two hours ahead of schedule and because of this were allowed to go out to watch the match at the pub. It was brilliant and though I think I may now need to have a fringe to disguise the wrinkles caused by the stress of today’s match, the look will be worth it if we can just get through to the quarter finals. If not I shall revert back to my Irish heritage, we can stand strong in the knowledge that though we were denied our opportunity to attain the World Cup by the hand of Henri, karma has interfered or the hand of God to punish the French team all the way back to their homeland. Had we got through myself and all of Ireland our safe in the knowledge that we would have beaten you all, England included.
Though we did return to work after the match to do some subbing, my pint and a half had left me a little tipsy. Though I did try to help I may have been a tad over enthusiastic with my red pen and before long I was sent home. I will sleep well tonight, our dream and the hopes of our nation have come true this dayT.
- Today’s dress is from my mysterious dress donor who continues to send a package every week of at least two dresses. These have been a life saver and without which my supplies may well have run out by now. There is always a letter along with them though there are still no further clues though I still have my suspicions about the Polish Princess, we shall soon see as I have a plan to seek out the identity of the MDD. More details to follow. The dresses they send are always work suitable and I chose this one because it was as close as I could get to the England kit without stealing an XXXL shirt and keeping my back to the wall all day. It does not have a label but I think it could be hand made and looks as though it may have been made in the 1960s or 1970s though I do not know for sure.
Day 157 – To always do that which we are afraid to
“Always do what you are afraid to do.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
“You block your dream when you allow your fear to grow bigger than your faith.” Mary Manin Morrissey
The difficult thing about depression is that in looking back on an episode it is hard to analyse or even understand what exactly went wrong. The one thing I am always aware of though, as much from diary entries as its ever present lingering scent in the back of my mind is how afraid I become, of everything when I am ill. I anticipate rejection in every situation, expect that people want to be free from my gloomy shadow and feel genuinely fretful about even the most trivial situations.
Going to the shops to get milk can be borderline impossible because in order to get there I must first face my fear of being seen looking like a bit of a scut and from there all of my worries about coming across anyone I know. I fear their questions as I know that however they might respond I will assume they are judging me and thinking me a freak. All of this means that unless someone physically brings the milk to my door, the chances of which have been greatly reduced in recent years because of my mother’s ongoing feud with the milkman, I tend to drink a lot of black tea and coffee when I’m depressed.
Yesterday I returned to work and what had seemed like a near impossible ask was surprisingly easy once I got over the fear and the angst. Though I barely slept a wink the night before and had held off going on Monday as I’d had a tough weekend and was still too tearful to function today went okay. When I’m going through a low patch I get so caught up in worrying about what people think that it can be easy to forget that for all our faults human beings are generally compassionate, caring and understanding creatures.
Oh but to live a life free of fear, if only our own, oh what a wonderful life that would be. Elinor O’Neill, Tuesday, June 24
- Today’s dress is a gift from my God mother. She brought it over yesterday along with flowers, cakes and lots of love. It sounds silly but seeing her gave me the boost I needed to take back the blog and face the fear of returning to work. The photos were taken on an iphone and don’t do it justice. It is wool, beautifully lined and fitted. Unfortunately it was a little warm for the day and while in court I was suffering as I had to keep my cardigan on but once I returned to the air conditioned office all was well. It’s good to be back.
The curious incident of the disappearing blog – when you have a blog but all you want to do is hide
Before I began this blog I did quite a bit of research into the best websites available for people with mental health problems. At the time one of the biggest issues I had was the great number of blogs about or even websites started up and then abandoned just as quickly. It upset me because though I was researching for my own blog I was also looking for a bit of guidance for myself, my family and my friends about the best way to cope with my own troubles. The one thing I failed to remember at the time was that one of the symptoms of mental illness, particularly bipolar is the enthusiasm with which we enter into new situations.
Perhaps I am speaking only for myself but the energy I have when presented with new people a new task or a new challenge is often fervent and I would imagine those who I verbally bombard with the detail of my latest project might find it a little disconcerting. Once an idea struck me that the world was incomplete as there was no missing earring website – a place where those of us who regularly lose earrings could unite to find them once again. Perhaps we shall return to this theme at a later date but for the time being perhaps I shall return to the point.
Other than the enthusiasm symptom what is even more important in the mystery of the abandoned blogs is the decline factor. I am sure there is a more medical term for both of these symptoms but I’m darned if I’m coming up for it a time when brushing my teeth is an effort. With regard to the decline factor, many of those with a tendency to depression in bipolar can very quickly dive. All of a sudden as the darkness descends, the energy and enthusiasm evaporates leaving only a ghost of an idea once glowing bright with the sheer power of its passion. Often even this is erased as the self esteem drops and the embarrassment of failure is such that the evidence must be deleted. You could build a rainforest on the collected works of poetry and novels only just began that have been abandoned when I enter a black and blue patch.
All of this then is leading up to one thing, an explanation. I will go into things a little more in time but as those of you who follow will be aware I have been slipping for a few weeks and have been positively absent since Monday, June 7. It would be easy enough to blame this on technical problems, a dog ate my blog, the boy stole my camera (this at least is true) I ran out of dresses that didn’t make me look like a lady of the night (semi-true, office workers with spare frocks take note). Considering the nature of the blog though and the fact that I am trying to avoid falling into the trap of guilt and shame about my illness I suppose I had better be honest. In the weeks coming up to my digital desertion Cheryl Cole insulted me publicly and I realised I had run out of unpleasant things to say about my former beaus. Wait a minute, I may have borrowed that excuse from another brunette. In actuality in spite of my attempts to keep the blues at bay, tablet changes and sheer sadness got the better of me and before I knew it the black dog had clutched me in its claws and it was all I could do not to surrender to it completely (the s word).
As it happened everything slipped and though there were dresses worn between days 157 and 173 the days have been dark and many of my days have been spent in nightgowns. Though negligees might be suitable for certain websites I will not be parading myself in nightwear on the blog; though I do admit that some of the dresses potential for pyjama confusion has been questionable, see day 17 for exhibit A. Therefore as well as an explanation I have a request and a suggestion. If everyone would not mind too much I think it might be better for my general health and well being if I start the blog again from the day I feel well enough to return to work and start my tippity tap typing days over. If this is agreeable to my faithful followers the dresses worn in week 23 will be saved till some other time when I, the wearer am not too weary to blog or be captured on film. Week 24 did not really involve too much dressing or dresses or leaving the house for that matter so you have missed no images from then and any you have missed I assure you were too terrible for public consumption.
I hope you will forgive me for my lapse in updates. I did try several times before I plummeted all together to catch up and get back on track but I failed miserably. For those who have sent dresses in the meantime or paid visits to the site I thank you for your support and your patience.
Good tidings to you all, Ellie x x x
