Hair scares and Toodle-pip!

Age plus ammonia plus peroxide have finally wrought havoc with my trademark long red locks. In the past two years I’d estimate the lengths have lost about half of their thickness and this makes me rather sad. Sadder still when I recognise that my hairdresser is right and I will indeed have to chop the whole lot off if I continue with this 6-8 weekly bleaching bonanza on my already traumatised mane. To clarify, I’m not balding yet but hair is snapping off in a most distressing way. I’ve never had to have hair cuts more often than once a year before, and now I’m on a 3 month call back and bank account draining,borderline prescription strength kerastase products and snag free invisiblobble hair ties. I’ll be popping some perfectil tablets, eating more protein and keeping those bleached lengths red in the meantime using some nice conditioning semipermanent direct dyes and just dealing with the fact that my roots are disappointingly brown and a little bit grey. Roll on two or three years when all this damage has grown out and maybe I can start afresh (but no more luminance for me). Sigh.

It’s been a blast writing these entries here but now I think it’s high time to put this blog to sleep for a well deserved (perpetual?) nap. Anonymous ranting and whingeing is overrated, unhelpful and frankly (despite the above paragraph of woeful hair lamenting) I’m getting rather bored with the sight and sound of my own inane blathering (hence the scanty entries of late). Maybe some time in the future I’ll rekindle this sparkly nonsense but more likely I’ll focus on something new elsewhere. Yay! New things! Ciao!

Fuelling the festive chasm

Let’s not beat around the bush here, I’m pretty sure WordPress hasn’t missed me complaining and I haven’t missed being here because too much urgency whirlwinded into 3D life again. There is, however, something about Christmas with someone else’s family that forces my hand back into typing. I had hoped this time it would be different, and I’d like to say the turning point wasn’t when a statement from the hostess to me began with the words ‘if you have a big poo..’ but I’d be lying. It is a veritable wonderland here. Those xmas things you see in the shops, singing dancing trees, flashing lights rudolf lights and the like appear to have sufficient appeal that some people buy and display them.  ho.ho.ho.indeedy! 

The culture shock is always somewhat stark for a snob like me when we come here. The welcome of someone having a pungent christmas morning piss in the shower so that everyone else can smell their urine while they try to wash under the weakly dribbling showerhead is not a custom with which I am familiar. When watching an ensemble performing Leonard Cohens hallelujah which reminds me of someone dear who is no longer with us (she used to sing along really badly!) my remembrance was interrupted by ‘eugh, is that a couple of pooftas?’..and giggling about the over the top costumes and apparently nauseating sentimentality. There is nothing nice to say in response to that really. 

Sigh. it’s going to be a long day and I’m waiting to see whether the current degeneration into teenage rebellion status will manifest in anyone’s attendance at the dinner table complete with headphones and ipod again; at least then I guess the claims that the wine (albeit very average to questionable quality) gifted from us was off and would make people ill, wouldn’t need to be heard. 

Merry yuletide with YOUR local weirdos, you lucky sods. I can feel some sparkly pompom earrings of allergenic origin calling…

Short and sour

Remember how I was saying that I couldn’t pass an eye test? Well now I’ve done 4 and they are all different. So much so that this new optician has referred me to an ophthalmologist. Not only that but they stipulated some degree of urgency that I can only assume is code for “suspected maggot infestation of visual cortex”. 

The maggots may have ventured further still because last night after a bathroom trip in the dark, I mistakedly walked into the spare room and wondered where the hell that cd rack came from and where the fuck my bed was!

I’ve had to look at some childhood photos for a family project and it has made me realise once again that I am a very weird looking human. I think this has triggered that relentless recurring dream to descend; the one where I’m single and no-one is interested in me because I’m so hideous and awful. Today I’ve put on my frumpiest jumper to prove a point. 

Learning to cope.((I don’t have the drugs to sort it out)). 

For the whole of my adult life my mood has been controlled by psychiatric drugs. Since puberty emotions became something intolerably intense for me that needed to be dampened because I felt I wasn’t strong or capable enough to deal with them. 

Any mood swings or problems were considered pharmaceutical in nature; an issue with my medication or dosages, and not just normal human fluctuations.

For over 17 years feelings have been tempered, flattened, smoothed over by daily waves of serotonin with a pinch of norepinephrine and dopamine and one bland day I’d just had enough.

It has taken me two years to complete my borderline homeopathic taper off prozac but as of a couple of months ago I have been drug free. It will be undetectable in my blood soon if not already.

The world has changed. Everything is more vivid and vital, sharper, urgently demanding my attention. Things are loud and overwhelmingly contradictory, and tears flow freely for the sake of a broken pen, or missing words. 

I would like to clarify that although I have never learnt to cope with strong emotions, that does not mean that I am weak or incapable. I need to remind myself this on a daily basis.

And so I wade through the great spectacular symphony that describes the breadth and depth of human emotional capacity. I never realised that the orchestra was so big, that there were so many different instruments that all used to feel just like a blanket of disappointment or anger but now have individual notes of their own.

I don’t know how to deal with the stitching on a favourite dress coming undone, or how to stop myself from shaking while I’m telling you my point of view, but I know this is where I am now meant to be amomg tears, smiles and torn up letters.

I’m incapable of taking an eyetest and not all news is good news

My left eye is a menace. It refuses to behave in eye tests so I’ve been to the optician 4 times during my ‘holiday’ and have had new glasses made twice; I’m still not convinced that the correction is right. I’m to give it another few days before I’m allowed a third test with a more experienced optometrist….I’m getting all the spiel from the regular staff about adjustment periods etc while I’m sat there wondering just how far away they are from my face and how bad the cross eyedness will be when I remove them this time. The first left lens was the wrong power and I suspect the second has a marginally wrong axis or centre of vision does not align, or, y’know, both, or neither. Lets face it, I don’t like change. 

The staff clearly think I’m some kind of nutter…the way this should work is, you get your new glasses, accept everything’s been done perfectly and just deal with the headaches, you don’t tell them all about it for god’s sake, and not repeatedly! I hope they are right and I don’t fall off my bike tomorrow.

What a nice headache-inducing way to spend my time off work. Sigh.

………..

It was my intention to be creative these two weeks, make something, create something, but inspiration has not been abundant and playing ‘ori and the blind forest’ took precedent. I’m shite at computer games at the best of times, but one on a PC without a controller is well beyond my skill level even on easy.much swearing has passed. 

So instead I downloaded a karaoke app that lets you record yourself singing along to the songs on your phone. So I did that, and recordings  (so far only k’s choice) are only available for a laugh on request because I kind of hate my voice and don’t want it here for posterity. I will say though that it’s annoying how few contralto alternative, indie and (+/-pop-) rock singers there are out there to copy ;p

………..

Also the depressed, anxious and otherwise unpredictable and neurotic dachshund who I was playing with, picking up and generally bonding with last week viciously bit the damned gardener on the leg on my birthday so considering her age and deteriorating behavioral problems, she was sadly wished all the best in her journey to the doggie afterlife 😦

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It is upsetting but being small and cute doesn’t mean a dog is immune from being dangerous. Responsible dog ownership means making difficult decisions. In a weird way, I’ll miss my mum’s snappy, growly little fluffball, but not nearly as much as she will.

………

In other news, for a change and to build my confidence, I rode the Highland pony today while my friend rode ‘the beast’ that is Buster, but they were both like lazy angelic horses the whole ride so that was lovely and relaxing for all. 

Now thanks to said pony my knee injury that I’ve been trying to ignore for a few weeks is niggling again. Dammit. 34 and griping about my joints and singing karaoke at home alone. How did it come to this??? 

Gastroscopy timeline (educational but not so fun)

Oversharing warning!!!

Description of an unpleasant medical procedure on a health anxiety sufferer – Get out now while you still can and go read about puppies instead!

Ever wondered what it’s like to have a camera down your throat? Well, it’s about as fun as you imagine it to be, but it’s not painful, and it’s not deadly and even a freakshow like me can go through with it whilst conscious…so…I reckon pretty much anyone can do it.

Here’s my timeline:

T-6 hours, breakfast and 1mg diazepam 

T-2 hours, last water plus 2mg diazepam

T-1 hour, leave for the hospital

T,  taken for blood pressure and pulse check 

T+45 mins, still browsing the oatmeal for amusing distractions, wishing i’d taken more valium

T+50 mins, taken to the theatre

T+55 mins given lidocaine throat spray and description of what will happen, seriously wishing i’d taken more valium.

T+60 mins, mouth guard in, tube in, and around 4 mins of weirdness and wretching while I hyperventilated and set off the heartrate alarm and the consultant took a video and three biopsies. I wasn’t allowed to watch the screen while they did it 😦 

T+65 mins, breathing and heartrate returning back to normal, results explained (stomach polyps, no sign of reflux), and released home.

T+4 hours, unnecessary irrational concern that the sudden rise in heart rate might have caused damage. 

T+13 hours, wake up overheated, wander around looking for thermometer in case I have a deadly fever. Cant find one, go back to sleep because it’s probably just the valium wearing off. 

T+18 hours, eat breakfast but discover mild vague stomach soreness and consider perforation, cancel horse riding, even though it’s probably muscular pain from the wretching.

T+20 hours, order myself a cute handbag as a reward for being so brave yesterday

T+24 hours, observe dull heartburny chest discomfort that I worry is either my heart or some esophageal tear. Take gaviscon, it gets better.

T+30 hours, starting to get a grip because I’m not displaying any dangerous symptoms…still checkimg temperature and avoiding exertion :/

****

I’m intrigued as to the biopsy results but expect them to be normal..Someone could have told me they were going to check for celiac because I’ve been gluten free for over a month! I also anticipate another day or so of vague discomfort while my insides heal from the bruising and the little fleshy chunks they cut out. Lets be honest here through, even if these mild and largely non-worrysome symptoms don’t improve overnight I’ll still be on the phone for some medical reassurance as soon and the department opens tomorrow! I like to get my money’s worth out of the NHS!
 

Phew! What an adventure. I’m glad I did it, but I’m not voulenteering for another any time soon. I highly recommend the sedative that I declined this time. If there’s a next time I want to be out cold (as long as I can control my tube pulling-out reflex).

Indecisive miscellany 

At the traffic lights a middle aged woman siddled up to me and positively beamed about the Rolls Royce that had just driven by. Wasn’t it glorious! Her brother had owned one back in the day because he was quite well off, don’t you know, but not she. Oh no, she was a humble lady, proud to have built up her organisation by talking to 750 people in 32 different countries, and not a smart phone in sight! Not like those immoral noxious drivers who won’t change their selfish habits until they kill someone. 

And then the lights changed and I bid her farewell.

I really need to stop making eye contact with strangers while my bike is static.

Pickledsparklymooseprincess et al. Is out at a reputable journal near you now. It comes with metrics too, some kind of mesmerising social experiment on manuscript popularity and self-indulgence….so exactly how many people have tweeted about my findings, how many news sites are relaying our message? More importantly, why do i care? The work speaks for itself, the scientific community will either accept, digest, cite and build, or disagree, overlook, or seek to prove us wrong. And yet I keep on checking of anyone has ‘liked’ that tweet by #healthypartidgesnutterideology*

I’m favouring the Oxford comma these days. For no real reason except a dry need to jazz up my punctuation parties.

(I’m wearing the parenthesis costume so don’t even think about it.)

This ongoing dietary adventure is somewhat of a sideshow. All “gluten-free” this and “dairy-free” that and all I want to do is lay in bed eating apple pie with icecream chased by an Irish coffee. When hunger strikes it’s not a lesson in exploration but in stock-taking and problem-solving. An academic exercise in keeping myself preoccupied with anything else but fixation on this shameless digestive oppression. 

A word of unsolicited advice if I may though: when at a wedding and rolling your eyes at everyone throwing themselves around to the likes of ‘five’ or ‘sclub7’ don’t be pulled into telling anyone what kind of music you like because to a wedding dj, rock/metal/electronica is a metaphor for Bryan Adams and bloody Bon Jovi. And having effectively ‘requested’ this shit, someone’s dad is gonna make damned sure you dance to it even though you’re dying inside. 

*fictional, or at least presumed fictional. 

Ps. It is probably clear that I  don’t know how twitter works…please don’t mock me, at least I didn’t draft a 400 character tweet (I’m looking at you boss lady)