I have become THAT woman at the office

One more thing

Paul just got off the phone with his brother, Mark (Hi, Mark!), and I just wanted to say that I hope Clares mum feels better and gets out the hospital soon so that she can go on puttering around on her nice organic farm. Mostly so that I can visit said farm and maybe cuddle some turnips. If they have turnips which are so inclined.

Anyway. Hope you feel better Cathy.
And Mark & Clare, this is totally what you get for reading this blog:
FAME!

Weekend Unspecial

A few updates:

1. Possum has begun limping in a very cute, albeit somewhat worrisome way. We should probably take her to the vet to get her scraggy paw checked out, right?

2. I have finally won the long and embittered battle about what to feed the cats. They are now on pellets only, and loving it godammit.

3. I saw my mom for the first time in two months, and it went relatively well. That is, until she lost her parking ticket and nearly drove over a car guard.

4. I have officially given up all pretense of being an interested or talented cook. Also, I have given up caring whether or not the dishes are done. There are some battles that can never be won.

5. I have managed to feel elated, angry, irritated, sad, hopeless, excited, hysterical, bored, inspired and confused, all in the time it takes to google 'mood disorder'.

6. I got a really lovely email from my father which I won't elaborate on, but which has left me feeling more loved, understood and supported by him than I have ever have in my life.

7. I was a total bitch to Paul about some undercooked pasta AND he totally didn't kick my head off, probably because he is going to wait until tomorrow morning before pouring boiling hot coffee into my ear.

So I guess not such a terribly unspecial weekend after all.

Brainus Fuckidupous

So yesterday I was speaking to my therapist about this and that, as one does, and I mentioned in a somewhat offhand way a strange sensation I experienced sitting on my couch on Saturday afternoon. The experience wasn’t a particularly unusual one, in that I have been having them since I was about seven years old, but on Saturday it was sufficiently intense for me to mention. It started the way it always does, which is with a floating sensation rushing in waves across my body, causing my mind to drift upwards and away from reality, all the while causing reality to seem more real than real. Sounds become slightly distorted, and life seems very far away; my heart starts beating very fast and spikes of adrenalin twinge in my stomach. This normally lasts a minute or two, and it is, in a word, disconcerting. Because I have been struggling with these sensations since I was little, I always assumed that it was just a part of who I was, part of my anxiety and something that would go away with time and experience as I got older. I always thought that if I could just get a hold of myself, dammit, these weird feeling would stop.

When I was finished my story my therapist looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked a few questions, like do I ever see things in the corner of my eyes, or do I ever have mood swings? Yes, yes… so what, right? Well, turns out that I might, might have temporal lobe epilepsy. The minute the words came out of her mouth a rush of relief flooded my body, and I thought ‘oh please god, let this be true’.

Now before anyone accuses me of being a total drama queen and an attention seeking hussy, I should assure you that I am all those things and more. But this has no bearing on why I would want temporal lobe epilepsy. I want to have it because then it means that I am not crazy. It means that when I float out of my body and have panic attacks about reality being more real than real, so real that the atomic vibration of a pea could crush me, so real that it is unreal and unmanageable; it’s not my fault. It’s not because I am mad, or unhinged, or because my grip on life is tenuous at best. It’s just an over stimulated part of my brain, and that, my friends, is GREAT.

Paul and I spoke at length about the possibility of it being TLE, and how that made me feel, and how it could be controlled. I admit that I may be getting slightly ahead of myself here, considering that tests haven’t even been done yet, but it’s amazing how deeply this has already affected me. For the first time in my life the thought that my crazy spells are not my fault is beginning to surface, and that already makes me feel more in control. I have never really admitted to how far reaching the affect these sensations have had. Can you imagine not being able to drive a car because you can’t handle the stress of the stimulus? Or of feeling out of control at a club, not because you are drunk but because there are lights flashing in your eyes and you can’t walk or think straight? And what if, WHAT IF you could take a little pill and it all went away?

That’s why I’m so excited.

One! Whole! Year!

As the title to this post may suggest, this weekend marked a landmark in my life. Paul and I have been seeing each other for an entire year now, not counting all the extra hours we squeezed in by stopping time and climbing under a blanket. A full year, and one fuller than any other year of my life, probably. It seems kind of perfect, then, that we ran into Ross and his current lady friend not once, but twice today while wandering aimlessly around the Rosebank flea market. Which must be more than a coincidence, considering this was the first time Paul and I had ever, EVER decided to subject ourselves to the various sensorial assaults that the market has to offer. The best part? Without any irony? I was happy to see Ross. Not that any kind of exchange took place, each couple bowing rigidly to the code of not existing in the others known universe. But I didn't want to scream, or cry, or gnash my teeth, and Ross looked happy, and that made me happy. Despite having days when I would like nothing better than to watch him lose every hair on his head, as well as the ability to breathe, I am ok.

I am ok because I have someone in my life who holds me together when I need to be held together, who makes me laugh and who I can dance with and fart in front of and never, ever feel embarrassed around. (Not that I do that, because I totally don't). But mostly, I am ok because breaking up with Ross was probably one of the strongest and most honest things I ever did, and every step that I take from that point has been one that I chose, one that I directed and took responsibility for. And every step that I took has been supported by someone who is more together, and kind, and genuine, and intelligent, than I ever thought I deserved. The best thing about being in this relationship is that I don't feel like I need to be in it. I want to be in it.

[For those of you threw up a little bit in your mouth when you read that, don't worry: more stories of drunken cat handling and suchlike are on their way.]

Happy anniversary B***y.

· · · — — — · · ·

Some people seem to live their lives within the confines of an exclamation point.
I live my life in an elipses that never quite joins up to the next paragraph.

Friday Night Fights

Last Friday Paul and I ventured forth for the second time in weeks to a party, an actual party, with alcohol and drunk people and singing and jumping.
And also, fighting.
Not with us, you see, but rather with our nice, peace-loving friend Matthew. It should be duly noted at this stage that there may have been some aggression at this party; a party filled with people we don't normally associate with, for these exact reasons. A party filled with people chanting (chanting!), as well as jumping around drunkenly and falling all over each other. To be fair, the party was pretty fun, if only for the car-crash like quality of most of the guests. Black tights and slouchy shirts abounded, as did an abnormal amount of singing the wrong lyrics, loudly, to old classics such as Deceptacon. A typical Joburg do, then. Filled with clueless trendoids who only wished that they could appear in SL magazine. HAHAHAHAHAH!
But I digress.
Because Paul and Ben were dj'ing, Matt and I were left to shuffle tipsily in front of the dj table, avoiding the overzealous shudders of a crowd that had been drinking since noon the previous day. This is when two things happened:

Firstly, while I was innocently standing next to the bar, rolling my eyes with the bar staff (oh, how they liked me), the host of the party (who shall remain anonymous) got down on all fours next to me and began smacking me repeatedly on the bum. While whinnying and neighing like some oversexed foal. It took me a few seconds to register all this, and I guess it may have had something to do with all the cider I had drunk, but my reaction was swift nonetheless. Near as I could tell he wanted me to hop on and ride off into the sunrise. Instead I smacked him as hard as is humanly possible, in the ear. He immediately sprang up, red-faced, and walked quickly away, leaving me and his friend to stare at each other and wonder what the fuck had just transpired. I didn't see him again.

The second thing that happened that night had something to do with a very drunk, very obnoxious young man who got unplugged, mid-speech, by Paul, and who 'we' may or may not have taunted with the words 'speech-smeech'. When I say we, I mean Matthew, for it was he who truly incurred the wrath of this curly-haired wreck of a human being. As Matt was walking out of the building he ran full-tilt and knocked Matt down, where he crouched, mouth-frothingly menacingly over him shouting and threatening to do bodily harm. If it weren't for the kindness of a fellow party-goer, Matthew would not have been able to share his weed with us at the end of the night.

Thanks party-goer! And also, thanks Matt, the weed was awesome.
..............................................

In other news, today Possum vomited her own body weight in something that looks and smells suspiciously like the cat food I have been begging Paul to stop feeding them.