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Friday, November 24, 2000
17:00 
Hmm. An issue raised by a correspondent today.
Is honesty really a lot to ask of one's friends? I have to confess I don't think so. Perhaps I am a little odd. The Rules of Hospitality, which seem to be more a philosophy of social interaction than anything else, are very important to me. I fully expect the silly little amicable conflicts that arise from the guest insisting on doing the washing up and the host absolutely refusing. I love taking a bottle of wine when I visit someone and the resulting "You shouldn't have." I love the little rituals that go towards honouring both guest and host, and the various subtleties that arise depending on how attached you are to the other party. It makes me happy to have people come over to visit so I can make a fuss of them. It makes me happy to have friends I love so much I don't even have to tell them to make themselves at home.
A great deal of this is to do with an innate sense of honour. I say "innate", but I expect that this sense is a result of having manners and etiquette and a sense of consideration hammered into me by my parents (for which I am grateful). It is a philosophy of social interaction that I see in the customs and manners of dealing with guests in different regional cultures, and, in a more formal and extreme way, in the old tales of Ireland and the Mabinogion.
Honesty is not about always telling the truth, it is about dealing honourably with those one loves. I was told today I expect my friends never to let me down. Not true. I do expect to be told if they will be changing their plans, if those plans concern me. I do expect them to be honest in their appraisal of our relationships. In colloquial terms, I expect my friends to be straight with me. If one of my friends were a doctor who had bad news, I would expect that friend to tell me exactly what was going on, without any prettifying of the picture. I would also expect that friend to tell me exactly what all the options were.
I don't think that I expect too much. I think it is hard for other people to understand how simple are the things I want.
People have read this blog and they think they know me, they think they can see how my mind works. Reading this blog to find out what is going on with me is like looking at the surface of the ocean to find out what is happening underneath. Unless you understand the way waves break over a sandbar, you won't be able to tell there is a sandbar underneath. Looking at the debris thrown up on the beach doesn't tell you what life in the sea is like.
Some things here make more sense, are more readily understandable, and can be interpreted more accurately, if you know me. That is obvious to anyone.
Having said that, I really don't give a flying fuck what other people think of me anyway, save for a few exceptions, and they know who they are. It can be quite interesting to see what other people think based on this.
And while I do take total responsiblity for what write, I do not take responsibility for other people reading it. That's their choice.
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Thursday, November 23, 2000
14:39
Well, that's over for another 3 years. They did tell me once it's not supposed to be painful, but by gum it is. Apparenly my last smear was actually abnormal, it wasn't a technical problem, so we'll see if this one turns out clear. That's another worry I don't need right now.
Stopped off to see Bob. I brought a copy of the design home to fiddle with, as it feels a bit cluttered still, and the head isn't quite right. Bob says he's really getting into it now, and he's going to produce some more designs. I can't get it done for at least two weeks now anyway, because I'm going up to Scotland next Thursday, and the weekend after that I think I'm working. Plenty of time to fiddle. It's more important to get it right than it is to get it soon.
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11:37
Imagine this.....
An empath, frightened by the world, hurt so many times she is blinded by the world, digs down into the sand. She digs and digs, throwing up the dirt behind her, digging down into the Earth. She digs until her fingers bleed, trying to bury herself away from the heat and the light. Straight down she digs, past worms and dampness, the pain in her heart greater than the pain in her muscles. As it becomes colder she is not so sure of herself, but she cannot stop running, cannot stop deepening her hole, running away from the light.
At times she digs with furious rage, tears streaking clean down dirty cheeks, the sand flying everywhere. At times she scrapes the dirt away, slowly and laboriously, so tired she is barely able to move, nose wet from crying. Sometimes she just sits at the bottom hole and looks up at the distant speck that is the entrance to her hole. The sand she digs away seems to vanish as soon as she digs it out, no matter what she does. No matter how far or how fast she digs she cannot entirely get away from the speck that is the world she is trying to leave behind. No matter how far down she digs, there will always be that glimmer of light, that faint warmth, that reminder of the world above.
And as she digs further the hole seems to become narrower and narrower, restricting her movement. Some part of her knows that eventually she will not be able to move at all, and will be stuck at the bottom of her hole still having the faint light and warmth reminding her of that which she is trying to escape.
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Wednesday, November 22, 2000
21:41
Bugger. Decided to take the antibiotics because the pain was getting really very bad again, but it seems that my stomach is objecting to them. Pain is coming back everywhere else now as well, I fell like an elephant is standing on my chest. I am also feeling a profound sense of desperation and despair because, you know, I've forgotten what it's like not to be in pain. The dentist won't do anything about my tooth for another two weeks, the doctor won't do anything, I have to see the psychiatrist for "stress management training" and I don't know what to do about all the rest of the crap in my life, especially as some of it depends on the outcome of decisions by other people.
No booze on my birthday. That's just crap.
Gods it hurts.
But it looks like I'll be going up North towards the end of next week to sort out the website for Dad. Spend a few days at home, expenses paid. Almost looking forward to it, just hoping that the website doesn't take over and make things too stressful.
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16:00
Don't come up for my birthday because you think I'm going to be alone and you pity me, Andy (I'd put this in a mail but I don't know that you always read my mail any more). Frood is taking the day off. You are more than welcome to come and call me "old" and do all the usual birthday things. Like celebrate. I may not be able to drink if I have to take these antibiotics for the abscess, but I'm sure I'll manage something. Don't come simply because you pity me.
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13:47
I finally had to hit the voltarol last night the pain got so bad. Not sure how many painkillers I had yesterday, but I was pretty out of it with the pain and things were desperate. I have this sneaking suspicion that I had what amounted to a dangerous combination of codeine, co-codamol, paracetamol, ibuprofen and voltarol, spread throughout the day. I was doing a staggered stacking type arrangement and by 9pm I'd lost track of what I'd taken when, especially as I was being pretty heavy on the clove oil as well.
I had a strange dream last night. I dreamt that I had been hoiked off to the dentist by a couple of friends of mine. The dentist was female, as were her two assistants. It was a green chair, which I thought was odd. There were lots of bright lights. The dentist poked around a bit, then stood back, saying something to her assistants. One of them put this mask over my mouth and I smelled nitrous oxide. That had not been on the cards, as far as I was concerned, and I started struggling to get away. They were very calm and soothing, and seemed to be expecting this reaction. They seemed to know what I was and what I had been. I once again had that sense of being a thing that can be manipulated into doing certain things and behaving in certain ways if you know how that thing works. They certainly did, or had at least been told enough to do what they had to do.
The next thing that happened was that I woke up, in the dream, lying in the recovery position on this dentist's chair, which had been set into the fully reclined position. The dentist and her assistants were all smiling and cheerful and told me it would feel much better soon. I woke up at that point and had to take some paracetamol because it hurt so much.
But when I woke up this morning it didn't hurt at all. I was nearly screaming by this time yesterday morning. It hurts, and is starting to get more painful now, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was this time yesterday. So, whoever the dentist was, thankyou.
I saw the consensus dentist this morning as well. Apparently I have an abscess, that means I need root canal work or the tooth to come out. I've gone for the former, although it's more expensive, because I'd prefer to keep the tooth (only a 60% chance of saving the tooth, though). Unfortunately they can't see me now until the 5th, which is precisely two weeks today. I have been given a course of antibiotics in the meantime. I am not a happy bunny right now, although my Mum told me just now that my Dad has a recurring abscess, and has to carry emergency antibiotics with him everywhere. Just what I needed to hear.
By the way, my consensus dentist turns out to have a green chair as well. She's Irish, from Belfast, is called Cathy, and is very nice.
Have to call back later on and find out if I have to go up next week.
Will be calling in to see Bob on my way back from the doctor's tomorrow. Hopefully he'll have remembered to bring in my design.
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11:09
Hmm. Having severe archiving problems.
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Tuesday, November 21, 2000
13:49
Feeling like I've been relegated to the problem case bucket today. They don't know what to do with me but then they aren't obliged to do anything. It seems strange looking at other people and seeing how they are, if not rewarded, at least shown consideration for the Work they do. It feels absolutely miserable being outranked by everyone else, no matter what their ability or degree of experience.
Of course I'm in a lot of pain, which isn't helping. I'm falling apart. I haven't had anyone do any basic repairs since...well. Since before Core passed on. The Work hasn't stopped, though. This form is not terribly stable, either, although it should be. Normal, everyday worries aren't helping. I'm still without income and in dire straits with the bank.
I'm at the edge of despair today, the far edge. I can't see any way to get back on my feet. I'm also angry with myself for being so defeatist, and numb from the weight of everything on my mind.
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12:08
Strange dreams last night. Possibly prompted by the massive amounts of painkillers I am taking because the side of my face has swollen and that broken tooth is excruciating.
Wyrd and I were in South America. It was a mountainous area, and we were staying with this woman in a little wooden house on the side of a mountain, all the way up this twisty, windy track through dense forest. It was a nice house, very clean and almost modern looking on the inside, much bigger than it looked. I don't know what we were doing there and I don't remember very much about it. Perhaps the woman was Mother Jaguar. That seems to make sense. We stayed there for some time, just hanging out, meeting people, seeing things. We also helped out with some of the things that she had to do and some of the people who came to see her. There was a minibus-load of American neo-hippy tourists that came by one day and they thought that we were being trained as shamans by the old woman. She seemed to think that this was hysterical, and didn't bother to relieve them of this notion.
They told us that they were on their way to visit this sacred site, and when Wyrd and I expressed interest, they said that we would be welcome to come along with them as they had space in the bus. The old woman seemed quite content for us to go, so we joined this party of tourists in their ramshackle old bus (it wasn't a VW, but the character was the same), and held each other at the scary bits while we were driven down the mountain.
The sacred site was this huge geological fault area. I'm not sure where it was in relation to the old woman's cottage. Not desperately far, not so far that it took more than a day to get there, but it was dark or getting dark when we arrived. There was a massive gully, with caves on either side all the way along., perhaps 6 or 7 either side. The rock was sandstone, I think, or perhaps limestone. It was certainly granular and pale in colour. The bottom of the gully appeared to be a dried out river bed. There were still river pebbles on the ground and the ground itself had a sandy consistency. The walls of the gully were between thirty and sixty feet in height, the rock formations in ledges and horizontal bands, very stratified in appearance.
There was a lot of power in that place. I could feel myself affected as soon as we got there. Wyrd too seemed quite caught up in the place, her pace slowing right down. I wanted to touch all the rocks, feel everything.
We weren't the only ones there. There were the neo-hippies, obviously, but there were other tourists there too. There were also tourist guides there, based in a building at one end where there was a cafe and shop. The shop had one of those postcard stands outside it. There was also a coven, or something, who were doing their thing. They thought they were big and powerful and didn't seem to realise that the site couldn't give a shit about them at all.
I went into one of the caves and found that there were these steps. They had been cut into the rock amongst the jagged pits of erosion, and led up, then across, then up again, to this natural depression that seemed to have been used as an altar or something. There was dampness there, in the middle, and I knew that once it had been a spring, that each and every cave had once held a spring and that they would all have these steps in there. Some of the steps had been worn right away over the years, though, and so they had put up this metal barrier, sinking the ends into the rock itself like a safety rail on a seafront, to stop people going from the first set of steps onto the second one. The ceiling was also very low by the second set of steps.
But I was called to go. The spirits whispered to me that the barrier was there because the rock could get slippery and people would fall, but they wanted me to go over, to go up to the depression. So I did.
I was just making my way under the very low ceiling, across slippery, damp rock, when someone else came in. I think he was a regular visitor rather than a guide, and had the feel of being attached to the coven. He was going to tell me off, but something seemed to stop him. He said something else, sort of non-committal, warily friendly in that way people have sometimes if they are not sure of you, but I can't remember what it was.
I remember the feel of the damp rock, and I remember the feel of putting my hands out into that extraordinarily intense area that was the depression. I remember that water suddenly started welling forth from the spring and I remember that the man was more than a little surprised but tried to make his face look as though that happened for everyone. The memories fade out after that, although I think I remember rubbing the water over my face and tasting the minerals of the rocks, and the rocks seemed to be singing.
It was definitely dark by then, but there was flickering on the walls of the cave because the coven had lit a fire outside.
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Monday, November 20, 2000
19:28
Incidentally, today's soundtrack is being provided by Blowzabella.
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19:17
Apparently there is another pair of siamese twins that will be separated. I expect it's only news because of Mary and Jodie. The news report about Jodie's progress says that they are going to use tricks to help her get over the loss of her twin. While she's still fighting to recover, they might use a mirror in the bed next to her to make her think that Mary is still there. Do they really think that would work? Humans are primarily visual creatures, but not entirely visual.
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16:07
Letter from Mum at the weekend, catching up on the usual stuff and also asking if I can go up this week or next to talk to Dad about the Scott Process website. I obviously can't go this week because I have to see the doctor on Wednesday for the dreaded smear test, and the dentist on Thursday to get this damn tooth fixed. Working on Saturday, birthday on Sunday, but no plans for next week. I'll have to give her a ring and have a look at possible travel arrangements.
Wondering what to do about dinner tonight. We did have it all planned, but ended up eating today's dinner yesterday because I'm a bit dubious about feeding Frood nuts now until we can get him allergy tested and find out whether he has been sensitised to nuts in general. I'm sure I'll think of something that can be made from what we have in the fridge.
I wanted to get my desk and things cleared out today, but every time I move I feel like screaming because of the pain. I'm thus trying to do as little as possible. I'll go to the gym tomorrow, I think. Frood isn't working until 7pm, so I can fill up the hours between him going to work and coming back again.
Sorry, I seem to be rambling in a fairly boring fashion today. My head is full of really banal crap. I did have some weird dreams last night. I was living on a farm with my friends, rather similarly to the new story I am about to start, and we had this facility for caring for and tending sick and injured corvids. We mainly had crows and magpies in there, plus a few rooks. I remember the smell, that faintly acrid smell, and them all wanting to be fed at the same time. We had a lot of orphans.
Heh. Just checked my email. This morning I received a mail from a lady on a list with whom I had been having a discussion about appropriate behaviour at ancient sites. She had stated that she thought it was nice to see people tying ribbons on trees, even if the ribbons were no-biodegradable and so tight as to stunt growth, because in this world of pollution and nastiness it is good that people are considering the spirits. She was asked if she drove a car on short journeys, thus contributing to the pollution, or rode a bike, or did anything practical about the various problems she cited. She replied that she was afraid of being attacked so she drove everywhere. I said that if no one ever did anything because they were afraid nothing would ever get done, and she mailed me offlist saying I was teaching a grandmother to suck eggs. After pointing out that I had posted to a mailing list and thus my message may have meant something to others besides her, I told her I was still cycling despite being ill and despite having been attacked myself. She just mailed me back to tell me I am a fool.
Now, let me see. Which of us is foolish? I refuse to let past experiences force me to judge the rest of the human race as a bunch of nasty criminals, mainly because I know there are nice people out there. I also refuse to let my actions and decisions and the way I run my life be dictated by the actions of a few thugs I was unfortunate enough to meet in the past. I am more likely to be attacked walking down the road than I am while riding my bike. Should I avoid walking down the road? Perhaps I should start taking the car to Sainsbury's, even though it's only 300 yards. A woman was mugged by the bridge 4 weeks ago.
However, since being attacked, some years ago now, I have studied shorinji kempo and ju-jitsu, and am about to take up aikido. There is more than one way to protect oneself, and I don't intend to take any option that involves shutting myself in a big metal box with wheels.
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11:37
As a follow-up to the last post, it appears that the Gospel of St Thomas, the one central to the plot in Stigmata, is available online. How interesting. I thought they made it up for the film. I don't read religious texts of any description, as a rule.
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11:18
Well last night was exciting.
We recently bought a vegetarian recipe book and we have been trying new ideas. Yesterday we thought we'd have a nut roast, because I like nut roast, especially the way Frood makes it. While in the supermarket we found these things called cobb nuts, which apparently are the fruit of the European hazel. They look a lot like hazelnuts, but are bigger. They are very nice, sweet and moist and lovely.
Frood had one of these nuts, then went up to have a bath. Fifteen minutes later he came down with this enormous tongue hanging out of his mouth because it was too big to fit inside, absolutely enormous, drooling all over himself. He grabbed a pen and paper and managed to scribble that he thought it was the nut that was responsible. I phoned Chris, who suggested that we rinse it out and stick it into cold water with ice, because if we took out the piercing then it would close up. That didn't work.
We went to casualty.
He was rushed through to the major side, and seen within ten minutes. They thought they were going to have to remove the bar from his tongue, but the drugs they gave him worked inside twenty minutes. Once they started working it was possible to actually see his tongue shrinking back down again, which was a relief, as we were originally worried that his airway was going to be obstructed and he was going to have to be intubated.
After about 3 hours they told him that if he could manage to eat and drink ok they could send him home. So he got tea and toast with marmalade and everything! Then we waited another hour or so while they got a prescription together and a letter for his doctor saying "nut allergy, please prescribe Epi-pen" before we could go home.
Crivens. When I go in I'm lucky to be seen in 4 hours, and they make me bleed all over the floor then tell me I have depression. When he goes in he gets seen immediately and fed tea and toast with marmalade and sent home with drugs! There's something of a swizz going on there, methinks.
He seems to be all better now. He has a course of anti-histamines to take for a few days. So no booze. I was quite worried about him when he had a tongue the size of a horse.
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