Sweet F.A. - Furious Angel » Not impressed

The Day Without the White Knight

Vixx — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 17:54:22 +0000

I’m going to gloss over the last few days. I’d just … argh, I’d had enough. I hate feeling like the only grown-up sometimes – the only parent, the only responsible one. It pisses me off. The whole thing kicked off this massive clusterfuck of an argument and ended up with me feeling like – well, like I can do better. Not that I can do better than M per se (only because I’m pretty sure that I can’t – my husband’s still hot by anyone’s standards and I’m pretty sure that I define the term EMOTIONAL HIGH MAINTENANCE), but more in the sense that I can be better than this. Smilier. Happier. I’m a person who’s used to laughing a lot. Feeling like this – so utterly hemmed in by the humdrum of home and banal suburban hysterics … ugh. It sucks ass.

Anyway, it’s since blown over – which is usually does – but I’m still feeling wary. Weary. I worked til 7pm last night just so’s I didn’t have to come home and fake pleasantries, but today M’s working nights so at least I get my bed – some space – to myself.

Hmm. I just re-read that sentence and realised how melodramatic it sounds so, here, I promise – we’re not looking to Judge Judy or Divorce Court anytime soon. Honest, guv. It’s just that these kind of things often catch me off-guard, winding me with the sudden, slightly sickening realisation that – wait a minute – this is it. This is my life. Forever. It’s makes me want to stamp my foot and scream ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I’m 34 now. My life’s practically half over. And I have a (usually) great husband and a beautiful son and a job I love and a wonderful home but I’m still waiting for my white knight. I’m still waiting for someone to fall unbearably in love with me and spirit me away someplace to suck marshmallows out of my bellybutton for the rest of my life and tell me how fucking CRAZY I make him. And I know that’s being greedy as I already have a perfectly lovely husband but, Jesus, we’ve been together for half my life. Half of FOREVER. So you’ll have to forgive me if I can’t be the better person and not feel claustrophobic here. Right now it feels like I’m so hemmed in by the bombproof walls of my own life that I’m going to suffocate on my own screams.

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The Day with the Crap Day

Vixx — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 20:01:17 +0000

Let’s see … Son is a thug. Husband is a fucking prick. Boss is … well, a boss.

Today has not been a good day.

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The Day With the Craptastic Procrasination

Vixx — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 13:31:56 +0000

I’ve been rushed off my arse lately. June’s always one of those months when I’m all over the place, attending meetings and conferences across the UK, and this one’s been no exception. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks zig-zagging my way across the country and I’ve become oh-so-familiar with the failings of a takeaway cup of tea. Unfortunately. (Seriously. How hard is it to make it white but strong, Upper Crust?)

On the plus side, I finally – F I N A L L Y ! – finished off my MSc assignments, which – God and a pass-mark willing – means I’ve finished the first year of my part-time Masters. I tell you – this degree? I TOTALLY underestimated it. I underestimated how time-consuming it would be, but also how hard it would be. I know I’ve been out of formal education since my first Masters seven or eight years ago, but I just assumed that things were chiefly the same. I also figured that hey – this is my job. I’m told to think and write about this stuff for a living. Surely writing it up in assignment form’s no different? I WAS WRONG.

Firstly – the technology! I mean, don’t get me wrong – I love electronic submissions, and I love the convenience of accessing Uni mail and resources from home. But the restrictions on what to submit, how to submit – to not mention how not to submit – are a clusterfuck of contradictions and confusion. Plus self-plagarism? WHAT THE FUCK? That didn’t even EXIST five years ago! So if I write a groovy write-up of, say, arable farming on Austria, I’m not allowed to use the same text in a different (and hopefully pertinent) assignment? Why not? IT’S MY WORK. I own it. STOP MAKING ME WORK SO HARD, UNIVERSITY.

Anyway, as I said – they’re in. I ended up knocking out 8,500 words for two assignments over two days. These are not examples of my finest work and to be perfectly honest I’m a little embarrassed at the scale of my craptastic-ness, but at this juncture, I’m just glad to have given them in. I procrastinated SO badly that even with a month’s extension, I still left it to the last minute! How rubbish is that, eh?

Wait – whoops, I think that’s my train, which is clearly my cue to leave it there. So in the absence of anything else: what’s new with you?

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The Day With the Procrasination

Vixx — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 18:04:46 +0000

I’m having one of those weeks where I have too much to do but – because of my recent tendency to procrastinate – I’ve now essentially run out of time to do it. Any of it. Ever.

What’s due? Let’s see. Two 3000 words assignments for my MSc. They’re due Monday and whilst I’ve written an essay plan for one, I’ve done fuck all else. They’re not even easy or familiar subjects that I can just try and blag my way through.

But wait – there’s MORE. The best bit is that I actually had a month’s extension following ill-health in April (don’t ask :( ), so even though I had an extra month, I’ve still left everything to the last minute. WTF? What a twat.

I’m also travelling up to North England tomorrow to speak at a conference. It’s only a ten minute slot, but there’ll be 200 people there and I still haven’t written – hell, even thought about – what I’m going to say. (Hopefully though, I think that this is one of those things I can blag. Fingers crossed).

And the best thing? Instead of doing any of those things RIGHT NOW, instead I’m sat here in front of my Macbook procrastinating my ass off some more.

Awesome.

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The Day I Lost My Words

Vixx — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 06:00:03 +0000

I’ve lost my notebook.

It’s not lost lost. It’s in the house. (Um, I think). I distinctly recall taking it out of my handbag whilst going . . . well, somewhere, someplace where I obviously didn’t want to chance dropping/losing/misplacing my words. Only now the safe place I stored my notebook might as well have been inside a fucking BEAR TRAP for all the good it’s done me. There’s nothing safe about being COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY MISSING.

Neither strictly a diary nor a note depository, my moleskine kind of spanned the two, a no-man’s land for thoughts and ideas about my novels, including a list of possible titles, notes about my characters – birthdays, parents’ names, education, distinctive characteristics etc. – and nonsensical free-writing. It’s 50+ pages of my tight, loopy handwriting and the surreal outpouring of the more fantastical contents of my head. It is not good that it’s been mislaid.

What bothers me most is that it was a gift from Claire, uber-BFF and rootin’, tootin’ advocate of Vikki Blake, my literary alter-ego. It probably wasn’t her intention, but this notebook? It was one of the best gifts I’ve ever had, for – intentional or not – it symbolised her belief. Her faith.

I repeat: it is not good that it’s been mislaid. Sob.

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