I was supposed to be going to Birmingham this weekend for a comic convention.
But I can’t.
I was supposed to be treading water whilst looking after my disabled mother virtually alone this week.
But I won’t be.
I’m supposed to be looking to the future and staying positive.
But that’s impossible for me to do right now.
It will be a week of fretting, guilt, loneliness, and possibly some anger.
I could really do with a hug.
I don’t normally have that big an issue with the trains, but this past weekend I did.
I had some place to go, someone to see, and it was all arranged to happen earlier than previously so that there would be a bit more time to discuss important matters. But thanks to the engineering work happening that weekend, it didn’t go at all according to plan.
It didn’t exactly help that I got on the wrong train in the first place. If I’d gotten off of that one, and crossed the tracks via the bridge a little quicker, I could have gotten on the train that would have taken me back to my starting point and caught the rail replacement bus to the place I wanted to go a lot sooner than what I managed.
Instead I had to wait for a delayed train back to the beginning and then hop on a very crowded train that had to take an extreme detour. Train surfing is ok, for a wee while, an hour and half has taken it’s toll on my joints, especially with the sudden, unexpected and thus unanticipated jolts.
I met an Australian couple, who where going to spend the rest of the week getting on and off trains in a bid to see the country. All with a broken strap on their very large suitcase. We discussed the recent weather and the problems it had caused to the rail network in the local area. That and the state of the River Severn at the time, which was a tad full. They found a couple of seats, I’m guessing, cos they disappeared after a bit. Then I gained some new fellow surfers, and I wish I hadn’t. A family of three adults and two kids. Although when they charged into my until then, quiet area between carriages, there was some confusion over where the husband was. The mother was yelling up the carriage for Ian, and telling the kids to go find him. Their many bags were chucked about something chronic. I heard all this above the not-that-quietly playing music being pumped into my ears. Then in a moment of lull between tracks, I could hear an announcement over the tannoy for Ian to move to a specific area of the train. It might have been a proper drama if we hadn’t been stationary in Newport for approximately 20 minutes.
I was extremely glad to get off the train in the end. It was made even better by the person I met. Got a hot chocolate for all my woes too.
It wasn’t the end of the train misery for that day, but I didn’t spend the hour waiting for the train back to the station to get the train rail replacement bus to take me home, all alone and cold. Small mercies to hold onto in trying times.
There is rain where there shouldn’t be rain.
I’m really not happy about this weather. OK, so it keeps the hated crane flies at bay, which is a very good thing in my book, but it does present problems for human interaction and sociability. Umbrellas do their thing in seeing the rain off, but they can also take someone’s eye out. Waterproof coats and jackets keep you generally dry except I find, your legs, but also can be a bit warm. Hugging someone who is sweaty on the inside and soggy from rain on the outside isn’t a pleasing thought.
The biggest current issue is that the rain keeps coming inside; it wasn’t invited in, why would I do that? It lets itself in without any warning and proceeds to drag itself throughout the property, lacking any social graces. It’s left a smelly, damp mess behind it, and also the slight paranoia that my ceiling might cave in. It’s edge of the seat stuff. Just another thing I can be grumpy about.
I haven’t enjoyed this bastard month on the whole, so I am glad to see the back of it.
I’ve spent much of it being frustrated, angry, upset, hurt, annoyed and generally thoroughly fucked off with too many people.
Yes, there have been some delicious highlights, like getting to see Son of Dave live, despite the sound issues he had. The Innocent Fete was on the whole, a lovely day. And wandering around bits of touristy London the day after wasn’t as hideous as it could have been:- I’d had no sleep the night before (boo), but I wasn’t hungover (yay).
The small matter that I completely pwned the arses off a bunch of poker regulars was, likewise, a joyous high.
But the emotional fall out that resulted after certain causes was the massive down on those ups. It would appear that I’ve lost a friend I trust. I have felt utterly shit about the whole thing.
There’s also been the continued anxiety over my father’s health and the wait for the hospital admission for his triple heart bypass. It hasn’t helped that he has this thing of not talking to me, another all too fucking common event of the month. We found out a little over a week ago that he will be admitted to the hospital that he will have the operation in on the 21st September 2008. He’s been quoted a 3% mortality risk, which everyone says that is good, but all I can see is that 3 people in 100 die on the table. Someone has to be one of those three, but that’s me and my usual fucked up way of looking at the world. He’ll be in for approximately four days afterwards, and then I’ll probably have two people to care for when he gets home. That’s if he doesn’t follow through with his crap plan of buggering off up North to stay with a friend for a few weeks. Why do some people think that disappearing is the right option?! Wish I fucking could, and I know exactly where I’d go right now.
Then there’s my mother who is becoming increasingly dependant on others. By others I mean us, the family, or more precise my father and me. She very nearly set the house ablaze the other night with her stupid insistence on not using an ashtray, which doesn’t bear thinking about considering there’s a full oxygen tank in the bedroom with her, and my father. She won’t let the nurses visit her more often to deal with her wounds on her feet and won’t allow anyone in to help us care for her. There was another pointless visit from a Social Worker where my mother absolutely refused all help. All in all, she adds to the general head banging that I’ve done most of the month, year, decade, y’know.
But then the really unexpected happened. A guy who isn’t a weirdo, not a creep, shows up on my virtual door saying he likes me. And I like him back. I had one of the best days of the entire year yesterday thanks to him. And it was my first date in over 3 years! He bought me a Radiohead cd as a present, which to those who are heavy into the romance thing won’t see that as being particularly romantic, but to me it was. There was actual, premeditated thought behind it, and that to me, counts for far more than the gift itself.
I am going to be true to myself on more things, not give in and keel over just because I will feel guilty otherwise. I’ve got to learn to let go of the guilt; I can’t be blamed nor held responsible for everything, by myself or others.
Dammit, it’s gone emo again.
Must write fewer emo posts!
Wondering what September brings. As much as I love Autumn, it brings back bad personal memories of life going very shit.
Edit, 10 years plus: Oh fuck honey, it was only going to get far, far worse, you stupid, naïve “teenager”
There’s a poker night held at a pub I frequent that I’ve only recently learnt about. After a certain amount badgering from someone who mildly enjoys poker, I decided I’d show up one night, just to watch. Playing straight off the bat when I can barely get my head around the game didn’t seem like a good idea to me, despite the increased hounding, from more than one corner. I got a text a few days before the night in question, seeing if I was up for going there, which was serendipitous, as I’d already made my mind up.
When I was outside waiting for my chum, I saw a guy in a cowboy hat that I knew would be playing, and I was reassuring right.
When we went downstairs, I became utterly invisible. Which is quite a feat, considering. I will have to go back to being a redhead again, but I don’t think that will change much in most circumstances.
There was only one woman playing, but they all seem like a really friendly bunch, if a little predictable. The guy who organises these nights at this pub is an alright bloke, if a very poor loser. He gets very quiet and sulky as soon as he’s out of a game. it’s very strange sight to see this cellar that I’ve been to so many times in the light, it’s normally barely lit, just enough to see where to dance. They’d shuffled the tables around and plonked on a blaze-covered top which has storage for ones chips. Nice.
They’d already started playing when we eventually descended, after loitering upstairs and outside, talking about recently events, so we just watched. During the game, both my friend and I were asked a few times by various players if we played: my buddy’s answer was along the lines of “yeah, mostly online”; I told them that I was complete beginner. Apparently there’s normally about two tables playing, but the attendance was low enough that night for them to only justify one table. Chris, the manager of this beloved local was playing and he was very new to poker, but he was doing really well. The first several hands never got beyond the flop, and he was getting a huge stack of chips. The little chip holding arrangement wasn’t enough. He played a hand that pissed off the cowboy (or Sheriff!) somewhat, as he had had his first decent hand. Chris won, two more sevens turned up, one in the flop, one on the river. Twas highly enjoyable from my point of view see everyone’s reaction it to. The Sheriff had nothing it turned out.
The Sheriff had this thing of whenever he had a decent hand (or maybe not!), he’d take out the slightly crap sheriff-stylee star from his hat and put it on top of his cards. One of the other players had commented that it was a really good psychological trick, I quietly disagreed with this. I was generally being quiet that night anyway. One time he did this trick with what turned out to be a pair of sixes. The only other player in that hand had higher value cards, (I couldn’t possibly recall what, as I could just about see the action for most of it, when I was paying attention and my mind wasn’t wandering off some place else about something completely different) and it was generally assumed by all that the other player would get the pot. But a six turned up in the flop. As did another on the river.
Eventually, things turned against Chris, and the Sheriff started to come out on top. By this time my friend was dealing. When it was down to the last two players, several of the knocked out guys were getting restless and wanted to start up a side game. When that was being set up, the Sheriff won the main game. I was drunk enough by this time to say, “yeah, I’ll play”.
Handed my fiver over, and got a stack of chips back, as you do. The chips had no value, blinds at one and two. I didn’t have to ask too many times what I was doing throughout, which I astonished myself with. A mate of Chris’ had turned up during the main game, and he took part in this new game. To my huge surprise and carefully hidden glee, I wiped him out in the first hand. He proceeded to become the dealer, and stare at me with a grin on his face for the rest of the game. I wish I could have whipped him, honestly. I might have enjoyed that even more than the game being played.
First few hands went in my favour, mostly because they were fucking good hands. Not that I can remember them now. I do remember the pocket aces, mostly due to the shock of seeing them. I had to contain myself when they appeared before me. “Play it cool, draw them out, see what they might have, then slap them!” were the general words said to myself. And I did pretty much that. It went right up to the river and a bit beyond, if that can be generally understood, before I turned over my cards, (and every time it came to any of that, I always waited for the others to turn theirs over first, I’ve no idea why, other than I’m that sort of dick person) and the joint response to what they saw was very interesting. (Said in my head complete with bad German accent.)
A guy called Mike got very spooked by me and he really didn’t believe I was new to it all. Because I knew I’d spooked him, I was going to play on it. He kept staring at me during play, so I stared back, because I can be that level of annoying. I started relaxing, and really playing for fun, totally not believing this is gonna last and that I’ll be out in no time. I threw into play a few random hands, but my bluffing wasn’t good enough. Mike said that he wasn’t convinced I had the 9 at one stage, and I must confess I’m kicking myself for not playing more aggressive against them. My big stack shrunk a bit, before I came back and start to wipe them all out. One hand I really relished, more for the collective reaction of it, was when I had A4o. The only two other players in at the time, had short stacks and quickly went all in, with about 1 chip difference between them. I called and we went for the flop. On turning over all our hands, it turned out we all had an ace and low card. The possibilities of how this could go, as well as the sudden edge-of-the-seat moment it brought really brought it home to me why people enjoy this game so much. The flop wasn’t helpful to anyone, ditto with the turn. But the river, ……………………………….was a four! I couldn’t believe it. Nor could anyone else. I quietly told myself that my luck was running out.
It was then decided that the blinds should go up, there was only 3 of us playing by then. I figured I’d only play, regardless of what I had, when I had to due to having to pay the big blind. But I didn’t, thanks to more good hands. At once stage, I had a Qsomething, but I didn’t want to just fold, despite the flop not helping, nor the turn. I played nowhere near as aggressive as I now know I should have, but the guy still folded.
The next hand was pretty much the same affair. It was down to just myself and another player. He spent a fair bit of time when the cards were being shuffled and dealt for the next hand, arranging his chips into piles of five, simply so it would be easier to play on at the stage. We both had fairly hefty stacks by then, understandably so. He must have thought he had something worth playing because he announced all in rather suddenly. So I called straight back, I think I had a Q & something, but the mists of time and a poor memory on beer have robbed me the ability to share with you all what really happened. Before I knew what the fuck was going on, I’d won. Cue much open-mouthed and wide-eyed shock from me.
I got £40 for my trouble. I spent £9 drinks, so all in all, it wasn’t a bad night out.
I did say right after I’d won that it was the first time I’d really played poker, but I they all thought I was bullshitting.
The dealer, an Irish guy, afterwards told me to sit back down, just when I was about to leave. I asked why and he got a bit shirty with me, so I said “I don’t just do as I’m told, especially by some stranger, so what do you want?”, politely but firmly, he didn’t answer me but asked a bit more nicely for me to sit back down. The polite thing continued for me and I did. I should have stuck to my guns. He wanted to see how I’d play a hand, so with Mike, he dealt us all 5 cards. However he didn’t learn anything further from me that evening.
That was my first proper taste of poker with strangers. I’d do it again, probably whenever, wherever! I don’t ever expect things pan out financially that way again, so I’ll play more for the physiological aspects of the game.
I realise this has been a shit way to explain a game of poker, so rest assured that I won’t be starting up a poker blog any time soon!
The D word has been used!
With a first in front of it too. Cue me hysterically laughing for the rest of the week and failing to manage to sort out anything now. Oh, and throw in expectation, nerves and a tad of anxiety to the mix. I must not get drunk.
I wasn’t expecting this.
I never set out to gain anything other than some new friends. I’ve never said in all the profiles of the social networking sites I had a mad joining session on a week or two ago that I was out looking for anything other than friends. And anyone who sends me a message that has decent typing, punctuation and whathaveyou, gets a reply. Now there’s someone, via I site I’ve been on for ages, saying they “like” me. Minor head fuck.
I’m not expecting this to develop into anything, I’ve been in the situation once too often before. How I come across on the net is one thing, but meeting me usually results in the need for them to run away or get smashed out of their head on the nearest available alcohol. As a ego boosting exercise, it doesn’t work, trust me. I know my place in the world and what I’m allowed to do and expect. Whilst I’m mildly pissed off with myself for the persona I seem to have created for the wilder world to see, I’d rather be seen as that cheery soul who’s stupidly honest than the sarcastic, pessimistic, somewhat neurotic, angry, morbid, miserable, anti-social cunt that I really am. That wouldn’t do, now would it?
I’m told I’m too hard on myself, but I’ve had enough life experience to know that others are all too ready to put the boot in, so I might as well supersede them. Not that anything I’ve been on the receiving end of has been original. Words they mean nothing, so you can’t hurt me.
So I and this Yorkshire-born, Edinburgh-raised, now living in Bristol, legal administrator, film and video game geek are meeting up on Saturday. There’s a cinema visit planned, with a drink opportunity after. Like I said, I don’t expect anything and neither should they, if they know what’s good for them. We got that sorted out in a serious I’m-levelling-with-you-here conversation, that I hope they didn’t walk away from thinking “fuck, shouldn’t have said that!”. How do you convince someone that you really do mean what you are saying, particular via typed words?! Overly explain that I’m not in the business of playing games with people’s feelings, and that being honest is a very good thing, and that’s about all I can do. I could say that, I guess, which I do believe I did anyway.
Just no one call it a date, as I will spend the rest of the week rolling around gafforing and achieving nothing.
There nothing I can say, do, emote, no, absolutely nothing, to make things better.
I have no magic pill, cream nor plaster to make the pain go away and the healing happen any faster. If I did have anything like that, I might have used it all up on myself over the years away. I feel quite sad at being so helpless, so I’ll do the only thing I’m really good at.
There was a fan, sat quietly in the corner, whirring away.
Opposite was a steaming pile of fresh poop minding it’s own business, as poop is want to do. Without too much warning, the poop flew into the air and headed straight for the fan. You should know the rest.
The horrible thing is I knew it was going to happen. I could see it coming about beforehand. I knew where the fan was, and more or less how the poop was going to travelling at such speed, if not when. Not a lot you can do in those situations. No one wants to be told I told you so, nor does anyone want to listen to advice, not mine at any road. I’m mostly told to stay out of it, so I keep my head down, back off, stay away, avoid everything before I open up a can of worms. Sometimes that’s appropriate, sometimes it’s stupid beyond reason.
As a result of some of this, before the end of the week I shall be attending a favoured local public house. Within the bowels of the building, several members of the gathered great unwashed of the surrounding area will be completing in a game involving cards, chips and ultimately cash. I will be playing a very quiet and different game, a cardless version of Go Fish.
1 Early hominids may have developed a sensitivity to UV rays for the good of the species. Based on a study using blood plasma, just an hour in direct sunlight could cause a 30 to 50 percent drop in folate levels — and low folate is linked to both abnormal sperm and birth defects. Good news for nerds: It’s survival of the palest!
2 World War II sailors were early adopters of sunscreen. The zinc oxide they smeared on their noses served to reflect and scatter UV light. Today’s lotions have added organic compounds that absorb UV energy and dissipate it as heat.
3 The sun isn’t all evil. It stimulates your skin to produce vitamin D, and one study suggests that 1,000 IUs of D per day reduces your risk of certain cancers by up to 50 percent. But that’s not a free pass to bake: More than 15 minutes of exposure daily over 40 percent of your body might just be an invitation to skin cancer.
From the glorious Wired
head ventilation 