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 Originally for the 30-Day Blog Challenge. Now just a blog about a flailing mermaid |
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The 30 Day Blogging Challenge ..... lets see how far I get... Pretty far it seems! Winner (1st place) for the July 2013 "30-Day Blogging Challenge" Second place for the September 2014 "30-Day Blogging Challenge" |
| In the country of me, my national animal is a mermaid. Want to debate whether a mermaid is an animal? Sure. A mermaid is half fish, half human. A fish is an animal, and so is a human. Done. Letās move on. Why would my national animal be a mermaid? It has nothing to do with wanting to be a princess like Ariel. Although, I do have wobbly legs like her. So, maybe I am more similar to the famous cartoon character than I thought. I am the mermaid. The mermaid is meā¦ flailing or otherwise.* I looked up the symbolism of a mermaid, and I thought Iād give you a bit of a guided tour of me whilst showing you what a mermaid symbolisesā¦ I think this will make sense in the end. Weāll see. In case you're wondering (you wonāt be), I left out the bit about vanity and destruction because in the country of me weāll have none of that, thank you very much. Duality Mermaids represent a balance between the conscious mind and deep emotional or spiritual realms. Iām not sure about the āemotional or spiritual realmsā, but I definitely have a duality to me. Wait, is that a thing? Sure, why not. I am a Gemini. Now, ordinarily, I pay no attention to star signs. I donāt read them; I donāt go around asking people what their signs are because, in reality, Iām not sure I even know what all the signs are. But I am definitely 100% Gemini - there is no other sign I could possibly be. Especially the twin thingā¦ sometimes, I genuinely feel like two people at once. I donāt mean that in a split personality way. I just mean in a āI could argue with myself about this all day and get absolutely nowhereā kind of way. It can get genuinely exhausting. There have been times when Chris has asked me a very simple yes/no question, and Iāve just stared at him because in my head Iām saying, āyes, no, no, yes, no, yesā¦ā In the end he has said, āyou want to say yes and no at the same time, donāt you?ā Yes, yes I do. Freedom and Independence Mermaids embody a life lived outside of conventional societal rules. I actively stand out as someone who is different. Not necessarily because I have a very obvious - cannot be hidden - physical impairment (although definitely that too), but more because of what I do with that. When my parents found out I was disabled, they were basically told that I wouldnāt be able to do much. But I was taught to be fiercely independent, and Iāve carried that on through my entire life. In fact, I think I even enjoy the challenge of finding new ways to do things. My problem-solving skills are pretty impressive, even if I do say so myself. Iām also very patient. So I don't mind spending two hours putting together something that would take the average Jo 5 minutes. Anything to be independent and freeā¦ and hugely fucking stubborn. Feminine Power and Allure Mermaids represent both the beauty and the dangerous, unpredictable forces of feminine energy. Iām not sure Iām very alluring, or feminine for that matter. So, I donāt think I quite fit into these in a traditional sense. But I can definitely lure someone into answering a question they didn't want to ask themselves, which tends to mean they have to actually deal with the thing they've been avoiding for six monthsā¦ even if I donāt quite know what Iām doing myself. Transformation Mermaids symbolise personal growth, adaptability, and change. As I said before, Iām a problem-solver. This means Iām incredibly adaptable: kinda have to be, I suppose. Iām not opposed to change, for the most part. Obviously, I prefer positive change (who doesnāt?). But I do pride myself on my ability to see the other side of the coin. If someone comes to me with a problem, I can nearly always offer a different perspective or way of dealing with it that they havenāt yet considered. Iām also a big fan of personal growth. I donāt believe we ever stop learning, and I donāt think anyone should ever say they know everything there is to know about something. Whenever we feel that, we need to look harder. *If youāre lost at this point, look at the name of this blog. Prompts ā¶ļø |
| Yesterday, in my discussions about freezer and suitcase art, I missed something: bookcases. I am very good at fitting more books than youād think onto a bookcase. This post will feel like it is about bookcases. But it is about much more than that. It is about taking something completely logical and making it illogical; either by accident or on purpose. Either way, I judge it harshly. To warm us up, Iāll give you a quick example. Letās say you have three drawers (there are those drawers again): the top drawer is pens, the middle drawer is misc (because it is the biggest and thereās always a misc drawer), and the bottom drawer is Post-it notes. This is logical. Itās not the law and has no basis in etiquette. But it is logical because you know where everything is. Therefore, an illogical action would be taking some pens out of the top and putting them in the bottom drawer to make room for some Post-it notes in the top. If youāre thinking that would never happen because it's so illogical, youād be wrong. I digressā¦ back to bookcases. Iām very fortunate to have quite a few bookcases in my house. At this point, it might surprise you to learn that Iām not a massive control freak about how I order my bookcases (massive is the keyword here). The one in my lounge is alphabetical, whereas the one in my office is organised loosely by genre. So, you know, as long as logic is applied, Iām breezy. The amazing thing about books is that the logic is automatically handed to you on a silver platter. Itās all there for you: author, titles, series, genreā¦ Itās all there. Magical readymade logic. The downside of having an alphabetical bookcase is that if you want to add more, you need to shift books around to do so. So, I tend to let new books stack up, then do one big shift around all at once. Ages ago, it was time to do the big shift. So, I got someone to help me move the books around. Obviously, it didnāt need the order changing: just up or down according to which new books I needed to add and where they fell in the alphabet. It was going really well until I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. But I thought I must have been mistaken, so I let it go. But then I saw it again. I noticed my friend swapping around one or two books here and there. When I asked her what she was doing, she said that she thought certain books looked better next to each other because they ālooked like they kinda had a similar vibeā. āSure,ā I said as I smiled and nodded. But in my head I screamed, BUT ONE OF THEM IS IN A SERIES! (also, the "vibes" were very different but that's not the point) Not only was it in a series, but the spines had the series numbers on them. In my opinion, you canāt get a much finer definition of readymade logic. 1, 2, 3ā¦ honestly, itās as easy as A, B, C. Itās just there. Choose any order you wantā¦ by genre, book size, author, title, vibes, colour (but not colour or 'vibes' in my house, at least), I really donāt mind. But blatant disregard for things that are clearly already logical, then making them illogical, is unacceptable. But then I wonder if I should just chill outā¦ Prompts ā¶ļø |
| I can be a control freak about certain things. But only because I know Iām highly skilled with these things: an artist, if you will. Namely suitcases and freezers. I genuinely believe that I am better than anyone I know at packing suitcases and freezers. Not anyone, ever. Just anyone I know. I feel physical fury when I open a suitcase or freezer someone else packed. My husband is used to the words āwhat exactly was your goal here?āā¦ although I swear he does it badly on purpose now because he just laughs at me and walks out of the room when I start fixing the copious amounts of errors. The second I see him reach to open the freezer door, I say, āNo, leave it. Wherever you think you were about to put that, it doesnāt go thereā. I know I should chill out and let him put things wherever he wants. But I canāt do that, for two reasons: - You should never mess with an artistās process - This would lead to unnecessary chaos in which nothing else will ever fit Over the weekend just gone, we had a friend come to stay. In preparation for our friendās arrival, Chris went food shopping. The minute he drove off, I knew I should have gone with him because our freezer was already full. It was full because we use Too Good To Go way too much (if you donāt use this app, you should give it a go). A few hours later, Chris walked in looking all proud of what a great shop heād done. As Iād expected he might, heād bought three big frozen pizzas, some frozen desserts and a few other bits for the freezer. I knew it! When I say our freezer was already full, I really do mean it. But, ever the charmer, Chris said, āWell, you like showing off your skills. So, I thought youād appreciate the opportunityā. It was 10 pm; I genuinely did not appreciate the opportunityā¦ okay, maybe, secretly, I did a little. So, I set to work, pulling everything out, repackaging stuff, giving things a little jiggleā¦ swearing a bit. And about 30 minutes later, having fit everything in and left a sliver of extra space, I held my arms up and genuinely said (out loud): And that, my friend, is art! To be honest, Chris looked at me like Iād lost my mind. But when I showed off my efforts, he was nonetheless impressedā¦ unless he was just playing on my need to win at these imaginary little games I have. Itās hard to tell these days. The key to a well-packed freezer is freezer bags. Not boxes. Boxes are a total waste of space. Take as much as you can out of its original packaging, put it in freezer bags, squeeze out all the air, then freeze it as flat as possibleā¦ You can thank me later. When it comes to suitcases, I have been known to unpack apparently full cases that just wonāt close. I have been specifically asked to come and repack suitcases for peopleā¦ Iām not entirely sure this is a skill to be overly proud of. Some people can create vaccines; I can pack suitcases. But we have to go with the hand weāre dealt. Perhaps I should monetise the skill because when I do repack them, the owners tend to discover they still have half the case left to play with. See, art! What is the answer to suitcase artistry? It's fourfold: never underestimate the corners, work from the edges, not the centre, leave a square in the centre for a wash bag, then fill the gaps with socks and pants, and fold, not roll. The last one is particularly important. Iāve seen so many āhack videosā that say that rolling clothes is space-saving. Thatās absolutely ludicrous. Rolling clothes in a suitcase is absolutely not a space-saving hack. This is a hill I am willing to die on. Folding, done properly, uses the suitcase's actual rectangular space. Rolling uses cylinders, and cylinders do not tessellate. Ask literally anyone who's tried to pack a box of tins. There will be gaps. More gaps than you could ever fill with socks and pants. In other words, I donāt have an answer to āwhat is art?ā but I am capable of writing over 700 words about packing freezers and suitcases. Prompts ā¶ļø |
| I am very much a ātreat the person first, not the condition firstā kind of person. A few years ago, I had severe back pain. For a while, I was taking morphine and all sorts of things because it was so debilitatingly painful. Just for context, before I go on: I have cerebral palsy, so my muscles donāt stop moving unless Iām asleep, and they donāt quite work the way they should due to brain damage. Blah blah blah, itās a whole thing. So, I had spent about 18 months trying to get someone to help me with this pain. In the end, I was sent to this guy at the pain clinic (where youāre sent when they donāt know what to do with you). I immediately disliked this doctor because he basically didnāt listen to a word I said. I am confident that he decided, the second he met me, that the pain was a psychological response to having such a depressing life. Therefore, his first response was to send me off for some mindfulness exercises and to chat to someone about what hobbies I could take up to distract me from the pain. I had one session of both before being discharged from the services because it clearly wasnāt what I needed. After much back and forth, the guy decided he wanted to inject something into my spine. From what I could decipher, it was some kind of placebo-esque injection designed to make you feel like you feel better. It doesnāt matter what it was; I had different reservations. Nevertheless, I went along with it. I checked in to the outpatient clinic a few weeks later to get my ācureā. Thankfully, my guy wasnāt able to be there, so I got a different doctor. When the doctor walked into my room, I looked her in the eye and said, āWell, this should be interesting, shouldnāt it?ā She was momentarily taken aback before I saw the realisation hit her. After a few minutes of the usual introductory stuff, she said, āCan you keep still?ā Nope. Long story short, she was horrified at the mere suggestion of having to inject someone in the spine when that person could not keep completely still. In fact, her exact words were: āI donāt know why youāre here. Iām not willing to treat youā. Didnāt think you would be. See ya. A few weeks later, I had a telephone consult with another doctor. He established that because of my cerebral palsy, the likelihood was that all the muscles in my back were in severe spasm. Turns out that he was absolutely right. In fact, it was so bad that the treatment left giant black bruises all over my back. Ta-da! Looking at the whole person meant the final treatment made sense. Iāll give you another example, while Iām here. In 2005, I had reconstructive surgery on my foot, due to a sports injury. Nine years later, I fell and broke the same foot. When I went to the hospital, I asked them not to cast it because the only way they could do so would cause damage to the reconstruction Iād successfully had done. The people I saw couldnāt comprehend why this might be. So, obviously they went ahead and put a cast on. A few months later, during a follow-up, I told the consultant that I could now no longer walk properly due to the way my foot had been cast. In response, the doctor said, āOh well, thatās okay because you use a wheelchair anywayā. Now, this (as you can see) was not the first time I realised someone thought of me differently than I thought of myself. The first time was probably when I was about three. But it is a standout example of the idea that not even a doctor can look past the first thing they see. I established that because I had a nice wheelchair, he assumed I used it all the time anyway. But the truth is, prior to this completely avoidable charade, my wheelchair (as nice as it was) predominantly lived in my car. It was not a permanent feature of my life. The first thing this doctor saw was my reasonably expensive wheelchair. Therefore, if I spent money on a wheelchair, it must be a defining feature of my life. Not something like, āthis person works hard, earns good money and wants to look reasonably well put togetherā. In both of these examples, none of the doctors asked me anything about my life or sought to treat my issues in conjunction with what I already had going on. It wasnāt until a few years later, when I saw another doctor (about my ongoing foot issues), that my hospital notes were updated to reflect the person I am. While we were chatting, he discovered that I was a former athlete and went to great lengths to make a log of this. Because, he said, this indicated that I have a good understanding of your body - ācombine that with a life with cerebral palsy, people really should be listening to youā. Fortunately, none of this counts as an illness or disease. Other than Malaria as a kid, and Chicken Pox as an adult (what a bastard), Iāve never really been properly sick. Nor do I, thankfully, have experience of anyone I love having a life-threatening illness. However, this lack of experience doesnāt mean there arenāt illnesses and diseases I would love for science to try and eliminate from the world; of course there are. Iām not heartless; Iām just not picking one. I just wish we treated the person more often, rather than just the condition theyāre presenting with. Prompts ā¶ļø |
| I believe curiosity is something we should all use daily. And I would argue that curiosity has to come before confidence (sorry E.E Cummings - we disagree). If youāve ever watched the Winter Olympics for any length of time, this thought will have crossed your mind at least once: āHow do you realise youāre good at that?ā The truth is, no Winter Olympian is immediately good at skeleton or jumping off a mountain going 80 MPH with just a helmet and goggles to protect them. In fact, I would say that most Winter Olympians are initially very bad at the sport they end up being good at. Theyāre going to be more confident about the probability that theyāll break a leg than theyāll be that the run will be a success. But what they will have is curiosity (and maybe enjoyment - give or take a broken leg): I am pretty bad at this, but itās kinda fun; if I practised, could I get good at it? I broke my first World Record in the pool - at my first national competition - at the age of 13. I only learned to swim at age 12. I can assure you I didn't go into that competition brimming with confidence. In fact, I had no fucking idea what I was doing. The thing I felt most confident about was that I would be able to see better if I wore goggles and a swim cap to keep my hair out of my eyes. When I wandered up to the starting blocks for the race that ultimately changed everything, I didnāt do so with the swagger of someone who thought they were a really good swimmer. Hell no, Iād just eaten a McDonaldās for lunch. For all intents and purposes, I was pretty much winging it. What I did have, however, was curiosity about the knowledge I had to hand (helpfully, I knew the current World Record holder personally). So, while there was no way I went into that race thinking I could win, I did go into it curious about what would happen if I entered. As it turned out, that slice of curiosity went on to dictate what happened for the next 23 years of my lifeā¦ so, maybe be careful what youāre curious about! Conversely, I do believe that the more confident you are, the more curious and spontaneous you can be with that confidence. This has to be true, right? For example, as a website/content creator, Iām definitely confident in my abilities. I know for a fact that Iām more willing to do things that may or may not work - compared to people I know who are less confident and are unwilling to deviate from the checklists they wrote 5 years ago. Because these people are unwilling to look past those checklists, they never give themselves space to be curious about what it is they are doing. I have no such checklists. However, in order to gain the confidence to try new things, you need enough curiosity to ask āwhat if?ā and āwhatās the worst that can happen?ā Prompt ā¶ļø |
Allow me to introduce you to the outline of my latest (ahem only) satirical novel. Title: Please Hold Tag-line: We dream of an afterlife that frees us from the weight of red tape. All you have to do is get through purgatory first The premise: Purgatory is a multi-tiered, colour-coded staircase system. At the top of the staircase is the promise of an afterlife everyone dreams of. But in order to transcend the staircase, you first have to file some paperwork. The colour-coded stairs relate to how far along your paperwork is. AKA your current bureaucratic issue. The colours are as follows: - Red: Urgent/overdue - the paperwork has been marked as a priority - Orange: Awaiting a second signature - there is no indication of who this signatory needs to be. - Yellow: Under review - unfortunately, it is well known that the review board hasn't convened in decades. - Green: Approved, pending processing - the paperwork is visually and technically fine. It's just waiting in someone's in-tray. - Blue: In transit between departments - it hasnāt been ālostā, but no one currently knows where it is. - Brown: You have a duplicate filing - the same form has been filed, and the system can't reconcile which one is real. - Grey: The form has a typo, and all forms must be mistake-free. Protagonist: Meet George. George spent his life as an office administrator - he loves reading HR guides, tuna and cucumber sandwiches, and following the rules. Opening: George died while waiting on hold with IT (the desk phone was still cradled to his ear when they found him). Upon discovering what Purgatory entailed, he was excited. After a lifetime of following the rules and being a stickler for detail, heād get this done in no time. Inciting incident: After filling in his form, he is told there is a typo on the form itself. So, even though his form-filling is meticulous (blank ink, clear print, and triple-checked), he is punished for someone else's mistake. He proceeds to the grey stairs. First turn: After 8 years of trying to go through proper channels and getting nowhere, George begins questioning his fundamental beliefs in following the rules. We see him tempted into gaming the system instead of trusting it. Rising complications: George meets Tracey, who introduces him to the dark world of bribery, forged paperwork, and a black market in queue-jumping. Given his background in office administration and knowledge of HR, he becomes very popular. But this popularity costs him. Midpoint reveal: George discovers who is actually responsible for the typo on his form. It is a guy called Mike. It turns out the typo on his form was deliberate. It is all part of a quota system whereby some souls are kept in purgatory on purpose to keep the machine running. Worse complications: The black market catches up with George. Rumours spread that the forged documents he did for others are starting to get flagged. He is suspicious about his friend Tracey and is unsure whether he can trust her. Low point: George is, at last, moved from the grey steps. But he ends up on the brown steps and is arguably worse off than when he started because no one believes he only filled in one form. Climax: George realises that because of his āduplicate formā, the system considers him two people. So, he uses his impeccable HR knowledge to keep one of his forms stuck on the brown stairs, which keeps Mike's attention occupied. Meanwhile, with the help of the queue-jump loophole his friend Tracey gave him, he uses the other form to move closer to the complaints office, where he files a strongly worded letter, along with his meticulously kept records of the quota scheme and Mikeās involvement. Resolution: The letter results in Mike getting "reassigned" rather than punished, while the quota system gets rebranded rather than abolished. George finally gets his original purgatory form approved. All he has to do now is join the queue because the gates to the afterlife are currently grossly understaffed. Georgeās Dating Profile Status: Deceased; It's complicated (bureaucratically) Looking for: Someone who understands that "just filing it wrong on purpose to speed things up" is not a real strategy, no matter what Terry from accounts says. I would also appreciate someone who won't judge me for the black market queue-jumping thing. It was for a good cause. There were spreadsheets involved. About me: I spent 30 years in office administration. I'm not ashamed to say I hit the peak of my career on the day I got the stationery cupboard reorganised by category *and* colour. I am innately suspicious of people who appear to like me. Currently: Residing on the Brown steps of Purgatory, which is a long story involving a form, a typo, and a man named Mike who I will not be discussing further pending legal advice. Likes: Tuna and cucumber sandwiches, correctly formatted headers, HR guides (the juicy ones), a well-laminated document, queues that move in an orderly fashion. Dislikes: Duplicate filings (allegedly mine, still disputing this), people who staple in the corner instead of top-left, unresolved paperwork, being on hold. Prompts ā¶ļø |
| At some point in time, someone said āwrite what you knowā as advice to wannabe writers. No one knows for sure who said this, and I have to wonder if thatās on purpose. The person who said it realised it was horrific advice (with potentially dire consequences) and backpedalled so hard that they managed to remove their name from the record. The advice āwrite what you knowā is generally attributed to one of two men: Mark Twain or Ernest Hemingway. If Twain had genuinely written only what he knew, Huckleberry Finn would've been about a middle-aged Missouri newspaperman with strong opinions about riverboats. Whereas if Hemingway had genuinely lived by the advice, you have to wonder whether half his heroes would just be a guy, drunk in Paris, arguing about prose style and correcting people's wine order. On that basis, if you saw the book title āThe Jigsaw Manā (by Nadine Matheson) youād probably be hoping for a book about a guy that clears his kitchen table every Sunday morning so he can spend the day tackling his latest jigsaw. However, you and I both know that is not what that book is about. Therefore, if āwrite what you knowā was good advice for writers, we would have to look pretty seriously into the backgrounds of crime and horror writersā¦ even fantasy authors, if weāre being honest about it. Because, you know, cook-oo! To prove that this argument holds up, you need to look no further than the legends that are Stephen King, Anne Rice, and Agatha Christie. Stephen King The man has written a killer clown who lives in a sewer, a possessed car that reshapes its owner's personality, and a guy who buries someone alive under a repaved road. If "write what you know" holds up, we have some questions. Was King, at some point, chased through a storm drain by his own unresolved childhood fears? Did a 1958 Plymouth Fury once take an unhealthy interest in his personal growth? Has he ever spent a long weekend slowly burying a man under fresh tarmac while that man screamed for mercy? We may never know. What we do know is that King got hit by a van in 1999, badly enough that doctors debated amputating his leg, and his response to nearly dying was to write several more ways for other people to nearly die. Anne Rice In Riceās world, vampires live forever and survive exclusively on blood, and Louis and Lestat's relationship spans two centuries, several breakups, and one house fire. Statistically, we'd expect Rice to have at least one very long, very complicated relationship on record, ideally involving arson. However, as far as I know, Rice had no such relationship. Sadly, Rice did have a daughter, Michele, who died of leukaemia just before her sixth birthday. As a tribute to her daughter, Rice invented the character Claudia. She gave the fictional Claudia the thing her daughter never got: eternityā¦ but at the cost of never being allowed to grow up. So, technically, sure, "write what you know" is marginally relevant hereā¦ if what you know is loss (plus two hundred years of gothic drama to survive it). Agatha Christie Impressively, Christie wrote sixty-six detective novels, dozens of methods, and the murderer gets away with it every single timeā¦ until Poirot or Marple shows up. If any of the authors in this post deserve an actual background check, it's her. What we can say for certain is that she trained and qualified as an apothecary's dispenser during the First World War, handling real doses of real poisons. So, realistically, she didn't need to know how to get away with murder. She simply needed to know exactly how much strychnine it takes to kill someone, and she found that out at work. Taking the advice literally Could you imagine if we took the advice to "write what you know" literally? Geezā¦ just picture the research process. I wonāt go into detail ā¦ you might have just eatenā¦ but these are the potentially dire consequences I alluded to at the beginning. I want to write a fifteen-book series about a single serial killer. Let the research commence! Can you write what you know? Or do you need more? Above, I talked about three of the biggest names in fiction, and not one of them lived through the things they're famous for writing about. King never met a haunted car, Rice never dated anyone for two centuries, and Christie never actually got away with murder (that we know of). What they had was smaller than definite knowledge: grief, in Rice's case, turned into something that would live on. A job, in Christie's case, that happened to teach her exactly how poison works. Finally, an accident, in King's case, that he then converted into other people's experiences of death, because he had the material and wasn't going to waste it. But all of these things came after they started writing. Therefore, even in the broadest sense, they werenāt writing what they knew. Instead, they used experiences to boost their imagination. The advice to "write what you know" feels like good advice because it is simple and sounds like discipline. But really, it is missing major parts of the puzzle: Imagination and empathy. Do I write what I know? Sometimes, yes, I do write what I know. I am fortunate enough to have had lots of experiences that lend themselves to good stories. But for the most part, as a writer and content creator, something Iāve actually had to unlearn is the idea that everything has to be based on absolute rock-solid truth. I donāt mean that Iāve learned to lie. I mean my content ideas come from somewhere (knowledge), but to make them interesting, I have to take those ideas and mould them into something the reader wants to know (either for entertainment or to spark their own ideas). I also taught myself (during my degree, actually) that I can learn as I write. I found that if I tried to research everything before I wrote, I just got lost in words and half-formed thoughts. So I learned to simply write and explore what came out as I went. If what I wrote was absolute nonsense, at least I could get curious about it and explore exactly why it was nonsense. Prompts ā¶ļø |
| Iām currently learning how not to kill plants. It is very much a long-term project. My garden makes it look like I'm very good at keeping plants alive. Alas, however, I am simply very good at keeping weeds alive. Luckily, some of my weeds are actually quite pretty. I have been given a few plants in recent years. It surprises me greatly that four of them are still alive. Although being alive and comfortably thriving are very different things. One of the plants I have came in like a ābowlā of three different plants, which I now assume youāre supposed to separate after a while. I say this because Iām fairly sure the strongest of the three ate the weaker two and morphed into some kind of Frankenstein plant. To be fair, itās actually quite impressive since it appears to have grown into itself. I used a plant-detector app to work out what it is supposed to look like. It looks absolutely nothing like it. So, kudos to me, Iāve developed a new plant species. My other two main plants are Peace Lilies. They were gifted to me with the promise that āthese are really easy to look afterā. What a load of crap. They are so picky it's unrealā¦ especially one of the buggers. Too much water, too little water, too much light, too little lightā¦ DUDE, what exactly do you want from me? During my very long-term āhow to not kill plantsā project, Iāve learned about cutting off dead leaves in order to help the rest of the plant grow. What a game-changer. I mean, thereās a metaphor for life if ever there was one. The other day, my efforts in this project were rewarded. Chris came home from visiting his parents, holding a mint plant. He said, āMum thought you might like this since youāre so much better at keeping plants alive these daysā. Imagine my pride! Praise indeed from the green-fingered mother-in-law. Of all the things Iād hope to be complimented on, my ability to become less bad at killing stuff has never made the list. Iāll absolutely take it, though. But then, you know, my successes in keeping plants alive have been taken down a peg or two. By ants. I mean, sure, I think we can all agree that ants are surprisingly smart - regardless of whether or not youāve seen the film āA Bugās Lifeā. Really, you have to congratulate the tiny critter for its ability to create spaces just big enough for them and their mates to storm your home as if it's a full-on battle scene from Game of Thrones. Fair play, my friends, fair play. Yet, it does make you question your place in the world. Iām a 41-year-old, reasonably intelligent human who has only just figured out how to stop (kinda) four plants looking like theyāre being savaged by some kind of flesh-eating disease. If you compare that to ants, who have been able to farm fungi in the Amazon rainforest for over 60 million yearsā¦ it just gives your life a rather harsh perspective. Although if I were to be hypercritical, Iād have to say that fungi wouldnāt be in my top five choices of possible things to start farming. Prompts ā¶ļø |
| 14 years ago, I sat on my Kindle. Except I didnāt actually sit on my Kindle; thatās just what my husband and his dad love to say every time they see me with a Kindle. And oh how we laugh. Picture the scene: It is Summer 2012. London is hosting the Olympic and Paralympic Games; Chris and his dad have tickets to both Games. But first, his mum and dad are camping in France for 6 weeks. Mike (Chrisās dad) had already established that he would have to drive back from France for a few days to go to the Olympics. So, we (ahem, Chris) decided we would fly over to France for a few days and come back with Mike in the car. I hate camping. Not because Iām precious and only stay in five-star hotels. I just donāt appreciate being at one with nature as much as I perhaps should. Therefore, as holidays go, it is probably one I would gratefully forget. I think it was also the first time Iād been away with my in-laws. So maybe part of my discomfort was trying to be well behaved. Anyway, I made it throughā¦ my Kindle played a starring role in my ability to keep my cool and style it out. We packed up early on the morning we left because the drive was around 9 hours (not including a ferry crossing)ā¦ remember this because it is really bloody important. As soon as we got in the car, Mike put on the cricket highlights. Iām really not a fan of cricket (read: I hate cricket), and I knew this was a sign of things to come for the trip. So, my plan was to use the journey to knock out a few books. But first, I was still a bit sleepy, so I decided to take a little nap. My Kindle was next to me, and I leaned over, using the pile of bags beside me as a pillow (I was in the back). When I woke up from my 20-minute nap, I pulled out my Kindle, ready to get reading. To my absolute horror, the screen was cracked. Donāt test this, but if a Kindle screen is cracked, it is unusable. 20 minutes into the trip! I was absolutely livid. When I told Chris and Mike, they immediately jumped on the idea that I had sat on it, which (for reasons best known to themselves) they found truly hilarious. I did not sit on the Kindle. My elbow must have slipped onto the screen while I slept. But this doesnāt matterā¦ not only did I have to spend 8 hours and 40 minutes listening to cricket and the men cackle about my displeasure, but Iāve also had 14 years of ādonāt sit on your Kindle, Fran!ā Shut uuuup. I obviously bought a new Kindle as soon as I got home. Aside from that, I would love to tell you that spending 14 years sorting out Mike and Chrisās Kindles (AKA being the family tech guy) for them would put a stop to the ādonāt sit on your Kindle, Fran!ā It hasnāt. I wish I could say I fixed this mistake (I guess I did by buying a new one). But the truth is, I live in fear and am massively overprotective of my Kindle. I even have different covers and cases based on where Iām using it. Iāve owned a Kindle since the very first generation. It is not my most treasured item, but it is definitely up there. Iāve had various versions of the Kindle, my favourite being the Paperwhite. Every so often I add a Kindle Scribe to my shopping basket. In fact, just this morning I found a refurbished one that Iām very tempted by. I quite like the idea of annotating the books I read. But not like those absolute lunatics who buy limited-edition hardback books and then write all over them. Oh, the horror! I annotated a physical book once; I felt bad until I realised I really hated the book*. So, I love the idea of a Scribe and having fun with the words Iām reading. But do you know what stops me from checking out every time? What if I sit on the bloody Kindle? * The book was Getting Things Done by David Allen - a horrendous book that makes no consideration for goals or why youāre adding things to your to-do list, just that you doā¦ a lot! It makes me shudder. Prompts ā¶ļø |
| Yesterday, I told you about the drawers in my office. Today, Iām going to show you some. Obviously, Iāve tidied up the ones Iām going to show youā¦ Iām not a crazy woman. I donāt want no drawer shame. I am extremely fortunate to have my own home office, especially one that I love. I have a custom-built fitted desk and bookcase, and I overlook an unused farmer's field. So, I get to see the colours changing in the morning and watch the sunset in the evening. My office is also practically a Hobby Lobby (ooo thatās a store in the States, right?). It is virtually impossible to get bored in my office. Apart from when Iām actually working, I guess. In fact, it could be some kind of personality test: if you get bored in my office, youāre not my kind of people (totally banking that idea for future use). But I will admit that it is bordering on extreme. If I were to be asked what my hobbies were, I would say reading and then struggle to find anything else. I might say journaling, depending on who was asking. But thatās all I got for you, which is surprisingly helpful because I can never feel guilty about dropping hobbies... because I don't really have any. Score! That being said, if you were to look around my office, youād either think: 1. Iām a very specific hoarder 2. I am a mean arts and crafts hobbyist It is possible that both of these things are somewhat true. For me, though, I think it is more that I really donāt like being bored. I also do not know the meaning of the word āmoderationā Oh, and I get obsessed with specific things at specific times. So, my collections have built up over the years (Iām not a shopping addict). I have huge numbers of pens because Iām always looking for the perfect pen (doesnāt exist... trust me. You could disagree but I wouldn't bother). I have masses of Post-it notes becauseā¦ not sure. I have washi tape in every colour and pattern. I have stickers, art supplies, and decorative paper for every occasion. I also donāt think I need to buy a journal for about 5 years. Oh, and booksā¦ donāt forget the books. I think my office alone has over 300 books. Right now, Iām obsessed with A6 notebooks. Sooooā¦ I have a box of A6 notebooks (to be fair, I am reviewing some of these).  Whatās the hobby in all that? Not sure. But amongst all that lovely, delightful stuff, there is a rather large object that haunts me on a daily basis because I do NOT use it. I canāt even pretend I do because it is dusty. What is it? An exercise bike.  Should I use it? Absolutely. For a retired professional athlete, my fitness is shocking. Will I use it any time soon? Sureā¦ Prompt ā¶ļø |
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