So here's a thought.

I haven't written for a while now because I didn't really have much to say. If I'm honest, I am bored of this blog. It takes a lot of thinking to work out what to say and how to say it and wonder if I have disguised myself enough and if anyone has worked out who I am. Or if anyone cares. I have considered taking the blog down, but in truth I'm kind of attached to it. I like the idea that someone would actually care about what I have to say, and that they (you) might maybe and even enjoy reading it. Call me narcissistic but I like being noticed*. Or maybe no one is reading it at all and this is the literary equivalent of chucking pebbles down a well - but I really like writing. So here's an idea... I could just come out. Maybe not a tell-all, but a tell-some. I'm kind of tired of pretending to be someone I'm not, and the self-censorship is starting to get dull. I could scrub it all (now THERE is catharsis - deleting nearly 3 years of archive!) and start again. What do you think?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Bueller?

* Perversely, I am also very introverted and shy and have a standing arrangement with my husband to call Bingo for me on the rare occasion that I might play (against my will) and win. I don't like being looked at but I crave attention. Weird, I know.

Because he's my favorite, that's why

It's a rainy Monday, again, but I have to say I don't really care! The weekend was glorious and I'll take that over the reverse any day. I spent a good part of yesterday sitting in my back garden - feet up - drinking a beer and reading a very good book:

Feet with Beer & Book

I realised that it has been something like 16 years since I last read The Bachman Books. I can pinpoint it thusly because I remember closely associating The Long Walk (one of the Books) with the usual Thursday afternoon Merit Runs that we had to do when I was in Junior High School. I remember suffering through the runs thinking "Well at least they won't shoot me if I stop". Quite a thought for 14-year-old me! Or maybe not - by that point I had probably read most of what ol' Steve had written to date and - let me tell you - nothing beats the deep-breath-and-a-page-at-a-time horror show that was Misery. In the 32 years since the first story, Rage, was written the world has changed a lot. These days, a story about a high-school shooting is rather more fact than fiction and so King has opted to let it run out of print. The other 3 stories (including Roadwork and The Running Man, the latter of which was made into a film starring Ahhhnold "The Governator" S.) can all be found under their own covers, but Rage has been allowed to slip away with the authors blessing "out of print, and a good thing". It is a fairly awful thing to read, as are they all (King does do beautiful stories too - I can recommend Different Seasons if you like your horror tinged with lyricism and nostalgia) but reading it now, after more than half my life has passed, is moving in its own strange way.
I recently finished reading King's Dark Tower series (for my money the finest set of adventure/fantasy novels in the world EVER) and for a brief moment could finally say "I have read everything* Stephen King has ever written".
It was short-lived - I look forward to getting my hands on Just After Sunset next...

* And I do mean everything.

Is it raining? I hadn't noticed...*

The first week back at work after a vacation is always a shock to the system – I usually spend it cursing my inability to buy a winning lottery ticket and bemoaning my lack of generous sugar-daddies (or –mommies, I’m not picky). This week wasn’t too bad, heartbreak aside – I would say right here and now that 2 ½ years (31 months, to be precise) is far, FAR too long in between face-to-face visits with my family. It was an excellent 2 weeks but went by far too quickly and leaves me trying to reintegrate into the real world with difficulty and a fair amount if resentment. I like my life and I wouldn’t change it but it is sometimes very hard to come to terms with the fact that I have deliberately separated myself from my homestead in order to make a new one in a country where I am always the proverbial Sore Thumb. It’s okay, I’m over it – but Friday was hard – I waved them off at the train station and then went home and crawled back into bed, exhausted and sad. I have some lovely, lovely friends though; who conspired to phone and text me, sending little messages of support and getting me through what was otherwise a very lame day. The Dude was brilliant and sweet and supportive and let me spend the weekend eating pizza and denying that my vacation was over and done.

So back to work! It was a better week than many, extremely busy and fast-paced, which makes for less of a pain. Of two huge report-type-things that I have to do, one is finished and handed in and one is just about halfway done (remember that feeling of finally finishing the homework that’s due tomorrow? It’s like that) so I can relax. Some stuff that’s bothering me has been sorted out and for once I feel like the facade of competent adulthood is holding. I have 3 train trips around the region planned for next week, which is something different to look forward to, and with the build finishing in the next four months or so, business planning is well underway.

It’s supposed to be sunny this weekend and The Dude actually has both days off work, which is a rare and treasured thing. We’re thinking a car boot sale early Sunday morning and maybe a nice, long sleep-in on Saturday – long as we’re together in the warm I’m happy.

* Worst. Quote. Ever.

One Day More

I won't be posting for the next couple of weeks (I know, I've been so prolific as of late) because my mom arrives tomorrow! I am in the final stages of being a complete control-freaky biatch, much to the alarm of the easy-wheeling Dude. My bathroom is cleaner than it was when we moved in (toothbrush detailing on the bath taps, people) and I am off to do a ginormous grocery shop - an eye-wateringly expensive list of Things We Totally Need (ketchup, toothpaste, toilet paper) and Things I Think Would Look Good In My House (like, you know - pillows for the guests). So I'm outsie - love you, mean it. xxx