Doctorin' the House - or, One Day, my PhD may come

I'm a student again. Well, sort of. I'm officially registered as an external student with the University of London's International Programme (Goldsmith's) which means that I basically have to teach myself a degree. I'm still writing and have planned it so I have plenty (or some, at least) time for both. Probably.

If only the vertigo would stop. The sudden stomach lurching knee-quaking moments where "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" shoots through my cerebral cortex and flashes its hot pink knickers in my mind's flinching eye. After all, I have a fairly easy life, on the surface at least. If I simply wanted to read books for the rest of my life, I'm lucky enough to have a husband who would support me. As long as I'm happy. But I'm not happy, not really. Autonomy isn't mine. I don't run my life, I often feel like I'm simply an appendage to his. He's the best person I know but he has his life and I need to remember that I have mine. Coasting along, constantly asking myself why I feel so unfulfilled - it's hardly a question with a difficult answer - has become about as much fun as grating my bum cheeks.

I've been afraid for most of my life, or so it seems. In reaction to the fear, I've bedded down into the comfort of my marital security and nested there like a legless elephantine-gestating-bird. Or something. However, amidst all that apparent safety, I've become lost. I'm halfway to the witch's house and the birds have eaten my breadcrumbs (actually I probably ate them and that's why I have a tummy ache, just to make matters worse)

It's time, as they say, to do or die (figuratively speaking, natch) I'm in much better shape than I have been in years, both mentally and physically; I'm the same person but improved and souped up, still afraid but feeling it and doing it anyway. This is in no small part down to the fact that in the past year or so things have changed, things and people around me have opened my eyes. We have a cracking group of friends who have shaken me up a bit (whether they know it or not) They've blown the cobwebs out of my recumbent brain and have made me want to take charge of my life again. My dear friends on the much-maligned Facebook (a facility that has practically saved my life over the past few years) have also stimulated and inspired me (Matron) I'm lucky to know a lot of smart and interesting people, many with a lust for life or, at least, a lust for not pissing their's right up the wall. They've inspired me to stop skulking in the shadows like an embarrassingly cheesy ballbag and come out into the open, to not be afraid to realise what I want, to say it out loud, and to go after it. They've made me be myself again. I like it.

My dream is to get my PhD and enter the halls of academia. That path might be open to me, but if I fail or if I deviate, at least I've tried, at least I'm living. It's a cliché, perchance, but all clichés ooze truth. Living in a world of constant wondering (what if, what if) is a ball aching way to exist. It grinds you down and robs you of your zest. And everyone needs a little zest.

A Grand Plan

I confess my attitude to weight loss is hardly what one might call "hard core" but it is working ... at the same rate as mountain ranges are formed, admittedly, but still working. Lately, however, I've lost a bit of focus. While changing my lifestyle is good and "dieting" is bad (or, rather, setting yourself up for a fall in the long run) it has meant that I seem to have forgotten just how much weight I still need to lose. Yes, I've done really well. Yes, I've lost 7 stone or so which is exactly what I needed to do and I should be pleased with myself. But not too pleased. Maybe I can't play in the front row for England anymore (that's a self-derogatory rugby reference) but that doesn't mean I'm done.

Thusly, I have come up with a plan. A refocus, if you will.

One week on Tuesday, it will be 70 weeks until my 40th Birthday. If I lose 1lb per week (0.5kg) I could potentially lose 5 stone (approx 32kgs) in total. That's slightly more than I've been planning on, which makes it seem eminently "doable".

So, challenge issued and challenge accepted.

Bon voyage.

COLLYWOBBLES!

I'm going back to University. I've already bought books, even though I can't register until next month and most people don't start until September. I have notebooks, pens, all sorts. I'm good at that. Getting organised, sorting out what I need. The thing I'm not very good at is the rest of it. I can buy a great folder or a right shiny exercise book, perfect for whatever I need, but can I actually USE it? Can I study? Can I do what I should? Generally, I excel at not doing what I should, I'm an absolute Ace in that department. Give me a rule or an obligation and I'll have flouted, broken or ignored it within five minutes, tops. Even when it benefits me. ESPECIALLY when it benefits me. I get this odd feeling in my stomach, like butterflies if butterflies were partial to lead boots, and the urge to do the opposite takes hold of me. I can't concentrate for toffee, never have been able to. How in the Bejesus Derby did I ever get a Master's degree? Luck. Must be. And WHAT THE GODDAMNED HECK DO I THINK I'M DOING ANYWAY? Shizzle. I need a little raft to take me to a little island where I can live out my little days just reading and mooching and doing little else.

But that's the trouble, isn't it? If I just sit and vegetate, if I don't push myself, don't try to live the life I want, do the things that I believe are the right things for me to do - whether or not my collywobblers try to tell me elsewise - my life will be a little life. Not worth a mention. A footnote to the lives of others. If I didn't care about that, if I didn't want more, then that would be just fine, but it seems like a big barrel of meh to me. I've never thought of myself as having ambition, never felt like I was entitled to it, but that same rudderless rebel within tells me that I'm no stinking footnote (at least it has some use, I guess) I'm the goddamned main attraction in my own life, for the love of Galactus.

But I've still got the collywobbles. Still got the little voice that says "You're an idiot if you think you can do it. It's all just another waste of time, you pointless girl". Fucking collywobbles.

An Amendment

I'm not sure I made my point in that last post. I made A point, but perhaps not THE point I had in mind. I got carried away with myself, I frequently do. My point was that I've realized that I'm ALLOWED to feel aggrieved. Someone might well see the same set of circumstances in a very different light, but my perspective is not negated simply because it's mine. I have a right to feel imposed upon or injured (I'm bowdlerizing Emma, it's a terrible habit) just as anybody else does. I shouldn't immediately jump to the conclusion, which I all too often do despite my bluster, that I must be the offending party and that my hurt is simply covering embarrassment or wotnot. Sometimes people are fucking shitty. Sometimes people should be called out on it, but sometimes you need to walk away because it will never be made right. But that doesn't mean you don't have a right to feel hurt. You are and I am entitled to our own perception and reaction. And fuck anyone who says otherwise. They're probably ballbags.

Bygones. Finally, bygones.

The large woman on Supersize vs Superskinny last night really reminded me of someone from my past, someone who I haven't had contact with in a long time (and they will know me by the trail of the offended and the aggrieved) I'd been thinking about trying to get back in contact (I doubt I'd get any response) but this timely reminder changed my mind. 

Some people really do treat you wrong and those people, no matter how much they think they're the wounded party, can fuck off. I was hurt and I was let down. I'm allowed to say that because that's how I felt. I did shit wrong, no doubt, but the vitriol and the abandoment that I was treated to outweighed that billy bullshit. For a very long time I blamed myself entirely. I felt embarrassed and guilty even though I knew it wasn't all down to me, that I had certain problems that someone who cared for me would not condemn me for. I'm allowed to own that, to think enough of myself to say "I wasn't the only one in the wrong actually. You were shitty too. You should be ashamed of yourself. My behaviour might have seemed unacceptable to you but, if you'd known me at all, it was understandable, if not palatable. If you had really been my friend you would have weathered it because god knows I had to weather your ballbaggery often enough." Besides, I don't need that kind of weedy arsebiscuit hanging on me, sucking my energy. My demons aren't gone but they are currently cowering in a corner licking their wounds. I'm strong. I survived. Clinging onto tiresome worries about bygone shitdickery can only hold me back. 

So I say, enough. 

The small stuff doesn't need my sweat. And that episode is small stuff now. Bygones. Over. Done. Thank you large lady from Supersize vs Superskinny. I hope you get healthy and stay happy. You've done me a massive favour (no pun intended) You made me feel approximately 800% better about something that has been weighing on me for several years. I feel free of it. It took its own sweet bloody time. 

This session of whining was brought to you by Self-Indulgence Inc.

Hoodwinked by the Chuff Weasel?

Hold on a minute! While I was running this morning I caught the sticky flatulence of George Osborne on the pinnacle of journalism that is Daybreak. He was talking about how the Old Age tax allowance freeze and abandonment would raise a massive - I repeat MASSIVE - £1billion. That's a shit load right? Well, if I remember correctly, yesterday when he was talking about the billion quid the 50p tax rate had garnered, it was dismissed as negligible. And I guess the decrease in Corporation tax is neglible also - as it's only going to lose £550 million (you know, half a BILLION quid) Because it's going to encourage business to stay in the UK and help growth, right George? Well, from what I can gather (and I will admit up front that my knowledge of the mechanics of these matters is indeed negligible) it seems that there's little to no evidence that cutting Corporation tax helps growth at all. And as to decreasing the tax to keep us competitive in the international market, well one has to frown because apparently (my thanks to @joncstone on Twitter) it's now a full 18% less than the US, 16% less than Japan, and 8% below Germany. It puts us on a level with Ireland, Iceland and Hungary - financial safe havens indeed.

Smoke and Mirrors, baby. With a side of ballbag.

NHS Reform

Honestly, you're a fucking idiot if you think the damage the government is inflicting on the NHS is either repairable or a good idea. When you pay for your own healthcare (insurance or not) - and that's if you can afford the premiums (I'm sure no one will try to make money out of that ... !) it's so much easier to not go to the doctor, to ignore the little niggles that you know you shouldn't ignore at all. You'll wait instead until your cock drops off or your heart explodes, and forget about calling an ambulance in an emergency - do you know how much those fuckers cost? Shitdickery at its height. The rest of the world admires the British NHS. That's right, "admires". So let's cack on it and destroy it with our meaty fists of greed. Shame on you, Tory bastards and Liberal turncoats.