So I didn’t stop for a sleep. After a bit of a doze, and a bit more faffing with the work, I decided (‘cos I’m clever like that) that watching “The L Word” while my mum and dad were asleep was a good idea. I knew that I just couldn’t watch it with my parents around; I mean, it was just… not going to happen, okay?
Of course, right at the moment of a sex scene my mum decides to get up and wander in. Which I thought was simultaneously incredibly funny and slightly embarrassing, but I decided to soldier on, thinking my mum would just, well, probably head off and do some cooking (since she said she was doing a roast dinner for me today :-) ). Of course, the problem with that was… she didn’t. She sat there being caustic and prudish about my choice of TV Viewing (and of course, the lamentable fact that I was watching it when I should be working, and during the day! Disgraceful!). Which was both very funny & slightly irritating (I was, after all, trying to watch it…).
At any rate I’ve finished and am trying to get back into the idea of working. Watching TV at my parents isn’t exactly great anyway; I guess it’s not that much worse than at home, it’s a bigger screen, I think, and the colours are a bit better, but the TV is on it’s way out and flickers / gets and loses a blue tint now and then; of course, I also have to endure my mum’s commentary if she doesn’t like it :-)
Still, I bought Plunkett and Maclean which I can watch with them. I forget that
a: they don’t go to bed until after 11pm most of the time, by which time, when I’m here, I’m normally in bed. Don’t ask me why, it just tires me out staying at my parents.
b: there isn’t a TV or a DVD in my room; I took that with me to Bristol (where it promptly died after working perfectly, here, for 6 years and in Hemel, before it for another 6. I don’t think it likes moving, I must get around to fixing it). In fact, the only way I can even listen to music here is to stick it on my personal CD-Walkman (with special added hiss; mind you it’s still working after 3 years of abuse). That’s not true, I can stick it on the CD-Player, but I get a bit, mnyur, about putting on stuff which I know my parents won’t like.
If its something they’ll like too I’ll just stick it on; but this time I’m listening to my current-hits mix (yes, pop, I know, I have no taste. But I’m happy, so what does it matter) which I know, I just know, they aren’t going to like. That said, it’s got Les Fleur at the beginning (the 4 Hero version, not the original) – which I think would go down okay.
I can’t believe I missed the snow. I love snow, unless I’m on my bike, or I suppose trying to drive in it. Single speed wipers, rear wheel drive and snow make for an entertaining combination. I hope it snows again, but if it does so it’s going to make me getting to my placement quite difficult. And I don’t really like the salt on my car. Technically I could take my bike; but it’s not really that well suited to the snowy conditions. Or I’m not. It’s quite suited, although it could do with studded tyres, thin tyres make it pretty good as a snow bike, but still…
I dunno why, I’ve been looking forward to snow, I know it’s not snowed here for years, not at Xmas, and over here it never snows around xmas at all. February, I think, or late January. Not now. But I wanted it. I love the idea of snow in the middle of winter. It’s so picturesque. I was looking forward to taking another shot like the one I took of the phonebox (but better exposed); but no. Not this year. Unless it snows tomorrow – which would be a complete pig (since we’re meant to be going shopping tomorrow); or on Tuesday (which would also be a pig, since I’m going home Tuesday morning).
My dad’s Hb (Haemoglobin level) is below 9. This is not good. It was 9.1 when he came out of hospital, on Tuesday, he’s been bleeding [since before he went in]; and it’s falling. He looks very pale. He looks ill. It’s funny how cruel this cancer has been; in some ways; and how kind in others. For years, they think he had the cancer for years, symptomless but growing. Growing and spreading. Hence being completely inoperable. The cursor is flashing at me wanting me to type more. I should be working. Mother nature comes with a sting and it persecutes everyone. How apt. Bloody Zutons album.
My dad didn’t used to look ill. Even after his diagnosis, not until recently did he look really ill. He used to look perfectly healthy; which was very unnerving. Knowing that there’s this disease growing and spreading inside him, and he didn’t show it. He just got tired. That was the symptom. A cough and feeling tired. It’d spread to his lungs by then.
My god. 8 pages. I’ve written 8 pages since I came home. This is more diary than I’ve probably written in years. Months certainly. Nothing else to do. That’s not true. I’ve got work to do. Distraction. See, distraction. As soon as it gets near to the bone; near to the fear inside me; distraction. Carries me away, back to safety. Unless I can’t. When my dad’s ill; like now; and I can’t escape the thoughts. Then I’m trapped; then I have to deal with the fear. The fear can have me but for a few seconds, then I have to escape. I have to run.
What happens if I don’t run? I don’t know. I have never not run. I run from the fear inside me, perhaps because I’m alone. There’s no one there to help me shut the gates, close the box, to help me get back the control. And I’m scared of not being in control. I’ve always controlled myself… very carefully. Even now. Now I’m out, I still control myself. Less and less I hide myself away. Even when I came out, I still had a façade; I still hid myself; I had to. I had to be who people expected. Otherwise I’d be this freaky lesbian who loved books, music, cars, bikes and mountains. How weird am I?
I have this huge dichotomy of character. There’s the utilitarian me. The me who loves Minors, MZs, Trabants, that has my Ferguson Colourstar and the really basic simple stuff; and then there’s the intellectual me; the me who wants to have posh dinner parties, the me that wants to go to the theatre, who wants to wear her hair ‘up’, and look good, and well… I dunno. I think maybe it freaks people out. That there’s these two very different existances that co-exist in me; sometimes they work well together (like with the 1920s desk fan, that fits nicely both into the old/utilitarian side and the posh/nice looking side; or it will when I’ve fixed it!).
I think people meet me in whatever mode I’m in at the time, and I worry that they expect me to be like that the whole time, and I find it really hard to share with them that I’m not, and I expect them to laugh at me, or be shocked or just not like it when I’m not the person they expect. I dunno. Hey, am I coming across as weird? Heh. I like being weird. It’s one of the things about me I like. You’ll never meet another me. I can’t imagine people are likely to meet another person like me. Ooh, so big headed. So unique. Hah.
Mad as a teapot too, of course.
Possibly even mad as a lorry.
I never understand how I make a coherent whole. Heh, I think I might be talking out of my hole. Sorry. It’s funny what you pick up off people. I still stick ‘so’ at the end of sentences (not an affectation); and sometimes I say ‘runners’ (that is an affectation, ‘cos I liked it :-) ). Mind you it scares me that I’m picking up Bristolian. I used to take the piss, but I caught myself saying “Where’s it to?” before. Coming from me in my normal middle England accent it sounds so ridiculous. Mind you, the ‘so’ at the end of sentences throws people somewhat. Or it doesn’t, not until they realise a few seconds later that they probably haven’t heard so used that way before. It all adds to the confusion about where I’m from.
Denmark, Italy, Israel, Norway, France, America, Canada (I liked Canada – or at least the idea that I might be from there!)… they’re all places people have guessed I’m from. So disappointed when I say “Watford”. Apparently I have a very individual way of using English. Although it’s clearly English and clearly my first language, I use it my own way and it throws people, I’ve invented my own dialect.
Canada is cool ;)