the latest

Oh dear, the tempus has fuggited again.

  • I have a huge project on, with a totally ridiculous deadline and no matter how hard I work, I just can't keep up with it. It's just a mean series of false summits. The kittalo is doing what she can to hinder by leaping deftly on my drawing table, and walking up and down casually on my work. Yes, kindly reader, I could shoo her off, but I am too cowardly. She draws the line at biting or scratching but her hiss is a terrible, primal thing. Words hurt, Kitty.
  • I've come out in a rash of Margarets. Does this happen to you, I'd like to know? There you are, meandering along aimlessly, (in my case. Others may move purposefully.) and you come across a series of Rodneys, or Sharons. What can it mean?

    (Isn't it interesting to see the way names come into fashion and then slowly move out of it? I don't mind my name, as such, but it has a bit of a sixties/seventies vibe about it due to the popularity of a certain actress at that time. On the other hand, I can't think of a more suitable one. Do you have an alternative name you fancy for yourself? I think I'd have to invent a name. I am not sure if I am cool with the ready pigeon-hole-ability a name that already exists gives you. You know? The way it telegraphs that you are a certain type of person, before you have even said a word. On the other hand, a lifetime of spelling Qwansoolie (or whatever) might be a bit of a bore.)
  •  The reception area in the Hotel Tallafornia is disappointingly devoid of action of late, with just a few Pencostal leaflets fluttering around. Thrillingly, however, some mannequin heads have been sighted being transported down the corridor. HOW FANTASTIC. A girl in my class said with total confidence that there must be a dentist school opening in the building. I love the idea of that. I don't know if I would love going to a dentist who trained on mannequin heads, not being made of plastic myself, but the idea I love.
  • It's anniversary (of my miscarriage) time of year and I am occasionally assailed with sadness, usually briefly. Such things never go away, do they?

  • In related news, I feel all grown-up-and-shit, for I have booked an appointment with a counsellor, next week. I feel nervous about it, so I am telling myself it's just a conversation. One hopes an effective one, for it's not exactly cheap, this doing of the right thing.
  • Oh, sigh.
  • Our adoption plans are still stalled, waiting for the Authority to get it together to organise things with the Indian authority. This is massively frustrating.
  • Oh, re-sigh.
  • On the other hand, it's spring-ish, and some day, you know, in the future, I'll have finished this project and will be able to go out. Out! To town! Or even to another county!

For the moment, I content myself with a walk, if I can prise myself off this chair. I'll be fantasizing about going on holiday, somewhere warm. How about you?

Tell me, ah, go on.




Uh-oh. The mood-o-meter is hovering on semi-hysteria. It has taken me weeks to pluck up the courage to ring the Maternity Hospital of Doom and make my follow-up appointment. The thought alone was enough to make me all quake-y. But today I got a whiff of bravery about me; I rang, and, wouldn't you know it, the secretary wasn't there. Try again tomorrow. Try to actually make appointment. Try to attend appointment. Try not to have palpitations or cry.

My ideas for surviving the return to the scene of the crime, so far:
  1. Load up mp3 player with comedy podcasts and music that can be played loudly and rotated at will, according to mood.
  2. Wear sunglasses and a wig, or maybe a whole disguise? My thinking on this: the wig would be both a nice distraction, and something I could hide behind. Liking this disguise idea. It's cheering me up already.
  3. Take off glasses when entering Dr's room. (Would that be bad? I prefer the impressionistic vision the world is reduced to without powerful vision correction. It's all vague and pretty).
  4. Take vast quantities of Rescue remedy/a stiff shot of whiskey/valium?
  5. Your suggestion?

Other points:

I am a bit sunburnt. The colour of a raw frankfurter, you could say.

No sooner had I stopped whingeing about needing to get a life, I was spun into a social frenzy. I ate out 5 times last week, if I remember correctly. Various glasses of wine were imbibed in various establishments. It was fun. (Imagine. What a thing.) And The Husband Experiment (thank you for helpful comments) is going better because of that. I continue not to nag (mostly). He continues to rush into the breach with apologies, and plans for dinners and parties. I continue to feel smug.

Ah, and this. I applied for a residency in Florida, that sets you up with a professional graphic novelist, so you can work on your book. This was Quite A Step - I was combing my memory like a compulsive metal-detector on a beach trying to think of narrative work I'd done, and BINGO! I bethought me of this blog and gave the link. Good. But, eek! It's the first time I have connected this to the real life so directly. I feel a bit naked, quite frankly. It's draughty, with your parts all uncovered, I can now report. I mean, it's one thing to show this stuff to my sympathetic and cool IF community friends, but this is another whole different thing.
I would never have done it were it not for your encouragement, and residency or no, I am happy I have. At least I can say I tried, right? I'd be happy if they wrote that on my tombstone.
Here lies TPtheEG, a trier.


and we'll never forget you


Oh, even this ending seems sad to me. It has to be some time, I suppose.
We are going to Kerry for a few days and I'll be back, Terminator-like, after that.
Thank you all for your excellent company this month.

though some things are clear, like snapshots, in my mind

Like my consultant, who came to sit on my side of the table, after the bad scan, and offered me his hand to grasp. So kind, he was, in his well-cut blue suit.

And the theatre nurse who, well-meaningly, no doubt, said she hoped to see me back there again [eye-roll]... for a "happy event" [re-eye-roll].

the hospital seems so distant

I drew this dismal view during the long wait for a bed on that day. We sat for hours in an isolation room beside the maternity ward, with rerun after rerun of Fraser on the television.