A blog post about blogging…Yeah, REALLY.

This is a terrible cliché, but If I could choose just one weapon, it would be a pen. I’m not talking one of those scratchy bics that go all bitty and tear the paper, I mean the kind of pen that makes you want to improve your handwriting to prove to the pen that it isn’t wasted on you.
I choose a pen because the connection between my mind and hand, far surpasses that of mind and lips. I am a fearless writer, I am brave and secure in my choice of words. Confident that even if the final strung together mishmash means nothing to anyone else, that it has recorded something that for my mind, can take me back to that moment. I love the feel of words as I hear them in my head, nudging  gently at my psyche. Its nothing like that harsh garbled stream that is issued by my mouth. When I speak, I am nervous, uncertain, vulnerable. My voice feels weak, and choice and order of sounds, weaker. If we could only communicate by written but not spoken words it would be so amazing. For a while.

WordPress is a kind of pen. I come here and record snippets of my life and musings, and here I feel in control. This is my little fragment of the virtual world, and here I don’t need to answer to anyone. Even when I’m knackered from 4 hours sleep on the sofa and unable to think beyond tomorrow morning, I still wrap myself in the blanket that is pickledsparklymooseprincess, and inhale.

“Sometimes I wonder torn between my heart,
Torn between my heart and my mind.
And I feel my body to see if I’m in,
If I’m in tune with what I find”

In which I inadvertently comment on a colleague’s genitalia


“Oh wow! you’ve got a massive one!”

How. The hell. Did this come out of my mouth without quality control stepping in?

Puerile giggling ensued on my part before I could rectify the situation! These things can only happen to me!

I should add that this was said to a 50-something male coworker of mine…who’d just produced a substantially larger aliquot (not a euphemism) of something than I was expecting…

Ha! You’ve got to laugh. He didn’t see the funny side until I clarified. I can’t work out if I’m more of a loser for saying this, laughing uncontrollably about it, or trying to explain myself.

I am what I am not ( part 2)

Yeah I know I used that title idlewild reference before (quite recently in fact) buts it’s the only thing that seems relevant.

A few words triggered a massive inner hurricane and I felt like a damned superhero on the brink of unleashing some mortal power. The doors survived slamming and the grocery bags didn’t break as I threw them down because although I felt the need to break something…I was not far gone enough not to see the consequences (this time). It sounds like I have a terrible anger problem doesn’t it? But I think I coped quite well considering. Considering that I had, yet again, been told black was white.

It sounds trivial, but I was criticised for not running ahead to unlock the door for someone, so when I rushed and tried my best to find my keys (that had securely snuggled themselves somewhere between my wallet and phone) my companion impatiently said very bitingly that I was not bothering, like usual. Now, he was damned lucky I didn’t throw the groceries at him and walk off, but I didn’t, I just set my jaw and ran ahead to unlock the next door to prove him wrong (god. I hate reverse psychology, it’s the worst…) and then my mood was apparently unacceptable
Did I get an apology? Of course not.

I’m sick and tired of going told what I am ( when I am not) and vice versa. Sick of being told I am doing one thing when I’m trying to do something else. I’m not standing for having my perception and memories distorted out of all recognition.

“You were way out of line
Went and turned it all around on me again
How can I not smell your lie
Through the smoke and arrogance?


Ha! I even referenced the same puscifer song in my last post called “I am what I not”

Pre-dictable association.

Get out of my way, you fucking moron!

That’s what a cyclist yelled out this evening

“get out of my way, you fucking moron!”

I can only assume that someone took a dump in his desk drawer at work today or something. I’m not sure if this comment was intended for me, or the bikes coming the other way, or the stars, or the headlights but either way it seemed a bit unnecessary. I reckon he could do with listening to a bit more Jewel. I’m having a Jewel kind of week so far…despite the undeniable religious over, mid and undertones of many of her songs, the lyrics that don’t involve god, often provoke a sense of serenity and quiet introspection. Hands for example opens with the  following:

“If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we’re all OK
And not to worry ’cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these”

I find the sentiment both charmingly simple and culturally sagacious. It makes me think. We spend so much time and effort worrying and stressing, fretting and waiting for the sky to fall that we miss out on the good stuff. jewel declares that she won’t be idle with despair, and sometimes I need to be reminded just how wasteful it IS to just sit around being depressed and letting the whole damned world beat you up.

I’ll bet mister pottymouth on a bicycle has spent way too much time worrying, possibly about the lingering smell of the aforementioned hypothetical turd, and forgotten that sometimes it’s OK to give way to someone else, and sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Jewel is right about a good few things, and the importance of kindness is right up there. We spend our depressed, egotistical little lives scratching at intruders and causing each other pain, when a little pinch of kindness would go a long way.

I’ve also justfinished reading the invisible man and frankly am disappointed…I think the reader is supposed to feel some empathy towards the invisible man, but he’s such an intolerable prick that frankly, I was releived when he died and I didn’t have to read about him again. I’ll try the time
Machine and work out if H.G. Wells just isn’t for me….

PS no I am not on any new exciting drugs, unless you count salbutamol as exciting…its hardly recreational.

The Humiliation Game

How does it feel to be humiliated? How does the humiliatee feel? Is it ever ok to deliberately humiliate someone? What about plotting and threatening to do so?

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m somewhat socially awkward as a human being. I also admit that I do done stupid things and I make some colossal mistakes, but I rarely have regrets. Anyone wishing to humiliate me probably has a ton of ammunition, and I can’t hide from that, I just sit there and hope (but don’t trust) that they have sufficient respect for me not to bring those things up.
I guess I and probably most others too have another issue: when people keep putting me down, laughing at me, making fun of me and making me feel powerless, something horrible happens in my brain, and I just want them to stop no matter what. So sometimes something slips out that ordinarily I’d never dream of bringing up but I’m just so damned beaten and impotent that I feel I owe it to myself to say something back. I’m like a tame cat that is just sick of being kicked and I finally scratch back. I guess the wise would say to turn the other cheek but there is a point where you start to lose your grip and are being thrown in a shallow grave of shame and perceived flaws and the only person who has the right to put you there is yourself.
Why do humans do this to one another?  Is it just some psychological power struggle? Is it just a game?

What game is this that I can be accused to being a manipulative bitch when I finally retaliate? What game has an open threat hanging over that if you try to fight back that they will humiliate you so badly, and that they know such terrible things about you that they’ve been storing up for such an opportunity?

I don’t want to play this game. I’m no good at it anyway.

“These foolish games are tearing me apart,
And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.”

foolish games

What anxiety is like for me


If you have never experienced anxiety or panic problems before or know someone who does and don’t quite understand, then let me tell you about my experience.

Anxiety is
– like a thick smog that you breathe in and it saturates your whole body and mind
– a culmination of old and new problems, morphing into a giant inseparable and unsurmountable behemoth
– the feeling of utter powerlessness
– a magnifier of even trifling problems, distorting them into dangerous proportions
– something that can physically hijack you, giving symptoms of acute illness
– a dysfunctional overreaction of your brain to stimuli that it wrongly perceives to be dangerous and life threatening (fight or flight reaction)

How anxiety affects me symptomatically:
– Lack of concentration
– Nervousness
– Muscle tension
– chest pains
– Neck, limb, and torso pains
– Headache
– Dizziness
– Loss of coordination
– Tingling and numbness of hands, feet and ears
– Tinnitus
– Palpitations
– Sweating
– Hot and cold flashes
– Dry mouth
– tight chest
– Wheezing
– Circular and repetitive thoughts
– Nausea
– Acid reflux (gastritis too)
– Diarrhoea
– Insomnia
– Night sweats
– feeling out of control
– Belief that I am dying
– Shaking or trembling
– Restless movements of limbs

How anxiety affects my life:

I try to manage my anxiety by staying as relaxed as I can, but I avoid driving, social activities, public transport, public speaking, crowds, overexhertion, drinking alcohol, phone conversations, and sometimes even leaving the house because I fear that it will trigger a panic or anxiety attack. I always carry valium around with me for emergencies. I have not yet learnt to deal with the sometimes crippling effects of what amounts to being unable to discriminate subconsciously between life and death situations and those that really don’t matter.

I’m documenting this here because I am currently at the mercy of a week-long tight chestedness and breathing discomfort that the Dr thinks is from anxiety ( a few months after the mystery kidney pain was diagnosed similarly) I felt so bad that I had to come home from work, and I really don’t want anxiety taking over my life and jeopardising my career. Even if my breathing issues turn out to be of physiological rather than psychological origin this once, there is still no excuse for the three hour panic attack I had when I got home. I know I CAN cope with all that is going on but there is this niggling voice inside telling me that I’m too weak and that I’m incapable of doing anything properly. 

“I turned around and it began standing there
Panic stricken
Every face became the same everyone shouting
Out names and my heart could
Not be tamed”



I am feeling low. I feel low in both the mood and musical senses.
This reticent melancholy was not entirely unforseen but that does not make its shaking off any the easier. I have listened to “The Great Destroyer” three times today, and it still isn’t getting old. You might know what the great destroyer means , but in case you don’t it’s a poetic description of time according to Isaac D’Israeli, a song by  Nine Inch Nails and also an excellent album by the band Low. I refer, on this occasion to the last, but also with allusion to the first.

“Time the great destroyer of other men’s happiness, only enlarges the patrimony of literature to its possessor”
~ Isaac D’Israeli (father of Benjamin)

Time. Time has gouged out a year from our calendars, a year of our lives, a year of others’ death. It has chewed us up and spat us out into a fresh year, and I cannot say I’m sorry to see 2014 leave the stage.

That year brought me so much sadness and disappointment, so much anxiety and fear. I just hope that the new year is a bit less contagious with greif, and that I can learn to accept myself even of others do not.

Midnight struck as I lay in bed in the pitch black. The moment punctuated by fireworks and cheers, and snoring from beside me. It is just another day. Why must it always just be another day? How can we bear the sorrows we carry when we don’t celebrate at times? How long can we survive through grey, passionless days. And why am I enforcing these on myself? Am I?

I don’t want to be lonely, I don’t want to be ashamed, I don’t want anxiety to ruin my chances of a few happy days…and yet, it would seem that against my bidding, it has me in a stranglehold.

“Just like diamonds in your hand
I’ll just cut you in the end”