Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Forcibly Removed In A White Van

Today I was removed from my old flat. By men in a white van. ("Oh, I am so amusing...")

I'm here for one last time - on my own wondering what to do next. Cleaning/smoking/eating/crying(?). The last hurdle is finally here. My being here also means I don't have to feel guilty, watching two guys lug all my belongings, up four flights of stairs. All that remains to be done now, is to put all the tat that was left here, back in place and defrost the freezer. My job.

I have demolished pile after pile of my own crap over the past few weeks, and have halved pretty much all I had - but bloody hell, it still looks like twelve people lived here instead of one.

All the old memories have been flooding in and out of my head over the later half of this project - TRD has featured pretty heavily in most. The Woodsman, not so much. He seems a bit insignificant in the scheme of things. And as for the rest? "Who they?" Maybe it's the lack of sleep that makes me careless with my previous thoughts, a lack of sleep that allows me to keep walking forward. It's either that or the Valium.

T'internet shall be down until... God-knows-when, so who knows when I'll get back online - "GAH". I did keep mentioning that I was 'mental' to the ISP Lady yesterday, so may have suitably scared her into thinking that it would be better to give me, me bleedin' phone line and broadband, than have me on the phone every day. "Oh who gives a shit? This is dull. I need a fag..."

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

The Only Bush I Trust?

The contents of my underwear drawer is now trailed and trawled across the street. My UNDERWEAR. My old, greying pants, holey socks, scuffed, battered shoes and falling-apart-jeans; all of them scattered, poked and prodded and discarded by strangers. The bags, all carefully packed and taped are now ripped open and the contents... well, like I said. Laid out on the tarmac.

It's humiliating. Five bin bags, full of the half-decent remnants of my past went to the charity shop today, that was hard enough. Three bags of crap - and painful history - now float around in public, and all I want to do is scoop them all up and bring them back into the house and change my mind. I went downstairs a moment ago for a cigarette (I've banned smoking in the house now, to make sure it doesn't stink before I hand back the keys on Wednesday) and vainly tried to stuff things back into their, now shredded, jackets.

It's gross and horrible and all because the local Cleansing Department decided that today was the day they would 'forget' to come and pick up the 'special uplift' rubbish. Fan-fucking-tastic. Remind me next time, to bundle up all, greying underwear up into green, garden refuse sacks. They (the midgie rakers), didn't touch the bags in green, containing the clippings from my neighbours hedges.

Now, that, is depressing.

Monday, July 14, 2008

"Half Everything"

Oh dear God in Heaven; will it ever end? Boxes and packing and people, in my house, all over the place - everywhere. And stuff. Bloody annoying, shitty stuff. I can't even string a coherent sentence together, my head is so far into a bin bag.

"Half everything", was what I said to myself. Pah.

Ma has been here since last Tuesday, working like a trouper - but so hard to project manage someone else. But she has kept me going, kept herself going and held open countless bin bags as I crumple, toss and rip apart clothes and papers and various other items, in the vain attempt to downsize. Me Da arrived today too and tonight, I've packed them off to a hotel for the next few nights and I get my bed back. I can starfish 'till my heart's content.

And I can't even write anymore because this is so incredibly boring and I'm boring myself to death just... Yeah, just. Bloody stuff. Since when did possessions become so damn important. Why do I/we need things? Why do we/I think I/we need things?

Big, fat dunno - is the answer to that. Duh-no.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Post Psychiatry Appointment

Note: Venlafaxine to be increased to the maximum (BMI stipulated) dosage of 300mg per day. Starting today.

End.

I Think I May Have Broken My Online, (Black) Cherry

Strict Machine, (Goldfrapp) is blasting out of the speakers this morning. Seems to be representative of the mood of the morning; I nod approvingly as I type. I am amid pre-move chaos this week, punctuated by visits to both the shrink and Thursday.

I battered the living shit out of piles and mountains of dishes and laundry yesterday, and things, are beginning to look differently. Both in the flat and in my head. Making choices about the seemingly mundane, "To stay or to go?" has a seemingly domino style effect on how I see myself in a myriad of others aspects of my life. So determined am I to move with 'less' that my minimalist "I can live out of a suitcase" aspirations, actually seem possible, for the first time in my life.

Ma is arriving today to give me a few days worth of many hands, and I am at pains to make sure that when she arrives she sees what I have done - by myself. "Is that childish?" ("Yes") I don't know, but it seems very important a thing for me to do right now, so I'm going with it, watching myself like an impartial observer. In no way do I want anyone to think that they have, "bailed me out, yet again"; so I have to go and sweep and wash the kitchen floor, giving me/us at least one room in the house that is a safe haven of clear surfaces. Now that, really does sound like something my Mother would say...

I get a tick for finding my own flat in less than 24 hours of being evicted, negotiating a lower rent and booking the removal men. Interesting that I feel it so important to prove to my family that I can do things without relying on them to do it for me. Where does that come from then?

As an aside - because that is exactly how it feels at the moment and nothing more; I suppose even this/that is interesting at this stage, considering where I was and have been, very recently. I put my profile back up on the dating website the other day. I finally met the last of the 'old' boys the other week and as another fantasy was brought to earth, with a very large and disappointing thud, I thought it time to move my (big) ass onward. Last night, The Woodsman stopped by my new profile and left a message: "... nice to have you back" - my reaction? I raise a none to impressed eyebrow.

Oh how things change. I expect something else will be different tomorrow - maybe even later this afternoon and I shall be with different thoughts, but for now - Strict Machine.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

I Woke Up, After A Giant, Pale Yellow Snake, Sunk His Jaws Into My Left Thigh

I pissed the letting agency off enough (this morning), that they shoved the keys to my new flat, in my hand and told me to go and see it for myself. It freaks me out that they know me by sight these days. I must be a trouble maker...

The calls began at ten to nine this morning - even after all had been said and agreed yesterday, when I went to see the agents personally.

Phone rings:
Them: "We can't move the [ugly, giant pine] wardrobes out of the flat [like we said we would]"
Me: "Well, we have a big problem then - it's an unfurnished flat"
Them: "OK I'll speak to the owner again"
Them, (calling back three minutes later): "The owner has agreed to move the wardrobes"
Me: "Great"

Me: "I can't see radiators in the flat - are there any?"
Them: "There must be"
Me: "Do you know if there are ANY?"
Them: "Hold on, let me just ask ______"
Them: "There must be"
Me: "Do you know where they are situated in any of the rooms?"
Them: "Hold on..."

I hear only a dialing tone, as the line goes dead.

I call back and find the office manager, who pretends to breathe fire, at the end of the line:
Fire Woman: "Are you going to back out of this flat - because we would normally charge £200 holding fee for a flat that would be lost if you pulled out. And we haven't done that for you. I have taken it off the market now you know"
(Giant pause - I may have sighed. )
Fire Woman: "Let me give you the keys and you can go and see for yourself. But I must have the keys back today"
Me: "Thank you very much, I'll be right down to collect them"

So my sister, (slightly perturbed by the sight of a clipboard, copies of a self made floor-plan, measuring tape and spare house phone all going into my bag) is dragged off the couch where she is lying in a jet lagged haze, and is shoved under the shower. "You can be my assistant", I say. She laughs, she thinks I am joking. I have told her that she must come back for work experience as my couch. (I have no couch in my new place - I think my hips may be thankful for this small mercy) She still thinks I am joking.

"Can I finish this tomorrow? I am so tired I feel sick..." "Yes, of course you can my angel - you've had a long day" ("I am practicing my 'self soothing', Thursday!")

No Lady Friday tomorrow. She's on holiday.

Banishing The Critical Parent

I cried. I cried with Thursday when she told me to tell my, nagging, (critical) "Parental Voices" to "fuck off". I shook my head and cried at the impossibility of what she was asking me to do. They were proper tears, I could feel them, sliding down my face - river after tiny river. Beads of salty emotion popped onto my chest as they rolled off my chin. What would be after the voices had gone? Who would I be - free? "Never..."

When I couldn't, she hollered at the voices, trying to emulate what I needed to do to when they begin to shout; when they tell me I'm not worthy. She sat in front of me and yelled and shouted at the horrors, telling them she wanted: "No more!" That they were banished from our sessions - that she didn't want to see them here again. She tried to show me how to react when the voices tell me I don't deserve to be happy, that I'm lazy and pathetic and weak and that all this, (the illness) is just bullshit and I am just a pathetic attention seeker.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Fun And Games

I bloody love Google sometimes. I have been wracking my brain to remember the name of a film I really wanted to see. For days. Unable to remember the title and the names of any actors in it, I eventually Google: "two young boys hold family hostage wearing tennis clothes". I get my answer immediately: "Funny Games".

I bloody love Google sometimes.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Eleventh Hour Brew's And Amicable Differences

First cuppa of the day at 11:50PM. At least I got one in before midnight. Bloody mental day though. I'm pretty sure I could do without another one like that for a while. Shame tomorrow looks like it shall be another of the same. My sister arrives home from the States tomorrow morning, before breakfast, then it's counselling with Thursday and new flat stuff and God knows what else. Weird that I am the one that is on Biscuit-Centre-Sanctioned, (as of last Thursday) S-u-i-c-i-d-e Watch.

There are so many breaks in this Blog of mine. I can't keep up with all that canon balls through my days. I keep starting posts, stopping, forgetting shit and then remembering other shit. The thought of some kind of 'backdating reportage' seems an impossible task at this stage - I need to consider breaking my own rules and adding in addendums. Arse, arse, arse.

I went for coffee with my recently re-acquainted, (little) step-sister, (my step-dad's daughter) this evening. I think we did pretty well considering it must be about fifteen years since we last spent any time together. She too was a victim of confused allegiances in between rowing, divorcing parents; the reason ( I think) for our fifteen year separation. It was nice to hear myself say: "Bollocks, I'm paying - you're the little sister".

Rather ironically I then went south, on the bus, (having a 'progress meeting' with my Life-Saver Mate en route) and sat with my lovely Clutter-Clearing Mate and her sister, going through troublesome emails regarding her recent separation. It was all too familiar for my liking; the upside being - I got to play with my littlest and newest niece, who was still up when I arrived at seven-thirty, all baby grows and smelling like bath time. God, I think I'm so damn lucky sometimes to have the friends that I do... just probably not often enough though eh?

And now I am home, sitting amid the chaos. No packing has been done again today - but with the rate my mind is trotting through lists of 'what stays' and 'what goes' - something could possibly happen tomorrow. I can almost feel it in me waters.

No Bowl, But There Was Sellotape

Roz, may I also take this opportunity to remind you: You did yesterday, exactly what you have been slagging your mother off for years for doing - when she used to cut your bangs.

You put sellotape across your hair, where you wanted your fringe to be and cut underneath the sellotape, making a perfectly straight line. You only omitted the use of a bowl to create the line for the tape. There was obviously method, in the Mother Madness.

"Like Mother, like daughter"

And just because you used 'masking tape', instead of sellotape, that doesn't actually make you any different. "She was right, she was right, tra-la-la-la-la..."

"At least eye didn't snip the corner of my eyelid like she did"

Post-It Note Tuesday

After killing the tea bag yesterday, (turned out to be the last one in the house - I should have been much more appreciative of that fact before stabbing it to death) I chopped about three inches off my hair. Even though I think I look the same as I did when I was twelve, I feel like my exterior image looks somehow, less chaotic. A tumbling, tousled mane is all very well when it looks intentional, but seems less appropriate when it highlights inward turmoil, if worn without make-up, slumpet in my shrinks armchair, all grief stricken and emotional. It also got dusty. Yup, dusty. So, now I am less Helena Bonham-Carter, more Natalie Portman (as Mathilde in Leon). I feel like I should be in a meeting.

Everyone needs me today, girlies with men troubles and girlies that just need a chat and some encouragement. I wonder how to find more hours in my day, there are fair few enough as it is. So, after putting paper clippings and business plans in the post to London, I am going to meet my newly re-acquainted step-sister for coffee before bounding southward, to help out a friend in need.

"Too much!", they would say - "I have responsibilities", I say.

I am trying not to think about the fact that I am supposed to be packing up my house this week. I move in sixteen days.