I've booked a covid test for tomorrow, just to be on the safe side, although the only thing bothering me today is fatigue and an awareness of my own mortality, which is Situation Normal these days.
I hope I get my mojo back soon. I miss it.
Nothing further to report.
Today's Photo: Leaf
Except for thinking it was a Thursday, I felt fine all morning and most of the afternoon but then I suddenly got all droopy again.
Forced myself out for a walk after dinner, unwashed and unlovely, to try and perk myself up, which helped, but I've just got home now and started sneezing.
Perhaps I'm allergic to being in my flat.
Met a fine jungle tiger while I was out:
He was very handsome. Definitely heartthrob material:
Also came across an amazing Thank You NHS mural:
I'm trying to keep busy this week and have had two productive mornings so far, ticking lots of things off the To Do list. It feels great to be functional again. Amazing what I can get done when I'm not tearing myself apart with anxiety.
Today's Photo: Coot Skywalker
Feeling vaguely off-colour today. If my thermometer is to be believed, I don't have a temperature, but I do have tiredness and a nascent headache and a sore-ish throat and the weird dry sensation I get across my upper lip when I'm just about to come down with something.
I hope to god it's not you-know-what. I dare not even think it.
Today's Photo: Sad Bouquet
It's time for a long overdue bookmarking exercise. Here's a round up of things that caught my eye recently:
Ryan George's brilliant The First Guy To Ever videos:
A woman with no episodic memory. I may have already posted this. No irony intended.
Why autistics wander off. I've always been a big fan of wandering off, but had never connected it to being autistic. Reframing it as 'solitary foraging' is not only accurate but joyous.
An article on 'pandemic brain', and how 'soft fascination' can help.
Some oblique strategies and a reverse bucket list.
Howard Goodall's enjoyable analysis of Beatles music:
And here's Howard again with a thoughtful reflection on how music helps us through times of national crisis, written April 2020: "Something someone is writing will be the voice of our time, for all time."
A batshit crazy 18th century screed called The Whole Duty of a Woman.
A Long Walk Back To You - a woman walks from London to Oxford along the Thames Path to visit her brother's grave. I did something similar (Greenwich to source) to memorialise my mum.
Radio Lento - Blue Sky Empty Beach Low Tide (37 minutes of delicious seaside susurration).
No More Emails: Why I'm Walking From Lands End to John O'Groats. Okay but why do this uphill? I would definitely do it in the other direction.
A fantastic breakdown of the Odeon Covent Garden frieze by the always interesting Look Up London. I saw the world premiere of Eight Days A Week at the Odeon Covent Garden in September 2016 (i.e. the other day) and now I understand why it was there and not anywhere else:
A blog post about Seaham sea glass that makes me want to go to Seaham immediately.
Nick Cave being amazing again. His photos reminded me of something I saw in Reykjavik - the sign on the gate says 'Single Gloves Speed Dating':
Laziness Does Not Exist and a response, Finite Resources and the Absence of Laziness, by a splendid ADHDer.
Some more ADHD truth:
And finally, to nantle, a verb to live by:
Today's Photo: Cheese and Kimchi FTW
Every day for the last five or so (forty five?) years I've woken up with intentions, intentions to do stuff, best summarised by this tweet I saw today:
But you know what? Today was the day. I was finally going to tackle that clutter:
So I put some music on and got started. Did 5k steps just dancing around while doing housework; eat your heart out Joe Wicks.
Here is the 'after' picture:
What it doesn't reveal is that all the stuff on the floor in the first pic was just piled up on the bed and the sofa. And the desk remains obliterated by paper strata. But hey, at least the carpet got hoovered.
I also needed to hang a recent art acquisition, Bayeux Kicking Out Time by the magnificent @Jimllpaintit. Trouble is, the walls are made out of cardboard in this bedsit and picture hooks are in short supply. Had to juggle a few things round, but I found the perfect spot in the end - I think placement in the tiny kitchen alcove just adds to the Britishness:
The image:
Meanwhile outside the robin who lives in the magpies' tree sang sweetly all day.
Observing it through the zoom lens, I got a surprise. It's only got one leg?
I thought it must just be perching like that, but there was a gust of wind and it could barely stay upright.
The poor wee thing. I'm going to have to call it Tarzan now.
Anyway apart from the robin's misfortune it was a happy day, and wine o'clock came round fast.
Today's Photo: Cheers
Yesterday's best guess was that the essay had been marked, but for whatever reason the result hadn't been uploaded to Turnitin.
The final results were due to be released today, so I guessed I only need worry if the grade for this module didn't show up there.
At 10am sharp, the results were uploaded. And there it was, Creating Culture:
The relief. Talk about a weight off.
And it did way better than I expected.
Suddenly, my brain started working again. With no tension there was clarity, for once.
I went to email the tutor to ask her to upload her feedback toTurnitin, but got an out of office message. Okay, that can wait until she's back.
I thought about how come every single thing I've handed in has felt to me like it's utterly superficial, scraped together with minimum endeavour, poorly argued without depth or merit and yet I'm getting these stellar marks. And I realised, maybe I'm comparing myself to everyone I've ever read, all those hugely smart and talented writers whose words and ideas I've been hoovering up voraciously for years, rather than to other undergraduates.
Then the lightning bolt - instead of quitting or flouncing off to OU, why don't I see if I can transfer my degree programme? The uni does Anthropology and Heritage combined, which would mean I'd get practical experience of working in an archive and this, realistically, would suit me a thousand times better than ethnographic fieldwork. I mean, I archive for fun in my spare time. Why did I not think of this before???
[Note to self: find out if I'd be able to study remotely and/or get temporary study leave from my job.]
With my future suddenly magically sorted, everything just kept getting better and better. I finally washed up a sinkful of mouldering dishes. My friend Sam texted and we're going to hang out on Wednesday. I went to the cinema to see The Reason I Jump and it was great. I cycled there and back which was pleasant and crossing the River Taff I saw two unusual sights - a submerged car, and a huge congregation of massive fish - about 30 or 40 of them in the shallows near the bank (somebody said they were trout?).
It was like I was enjoying life again.
I even thought about maybe trying to plan a day or two away quite soon.
Yes, today has been so miraculous it's made me want to do this:
Today's Photo: Oh
The essay remains ungraded.
Or does it? When it finally sunk into my thick skull that it isn't going to be marked now, something has happened, instead of just emailing someone to find out what's going on I invented a whole range of logical explanations, starting with deliberate/accidental tutor intent and spiralling out in every direction from there.
I won't bore you with the details but it's basically Schroedinger's Essay now, both marked and unmarked.
(It's quite tiring being autistic sometimes. There is an awful lot of thinking to do.)
Today's 'planned event' was taking my van into work and cleaning it with the jet wash they have there. The sofa won out though and was a welcoming friend.
Today's Photo: Asleep Or Dead
When I said I had something planned for every day this week, today was just the weekly video appointment with the NHS counsellor, which doesn't really count as 'an event'. But I love this down to earth, good natured lady and her hearty contempt for all things academic, and always feel better for having talked to her.
The rest of the day went like this:
9:00am - refresh the link to see if my essay's been graded yet. It hasn't.
9:30am - the essay remains ungraded.
10:00am - the essay remains ungraded.
11:00am - the essay remains ungraded.
12:00pm - the essay remains ungraded.
12:45pm - the essay remains ungraded.
2:00pm - the essay remains ungraded.
2:08pm - the essay remains ungraded.
2:45pm - the essay remains ungraded.
4:15pm - the essay remains ungraded.
5:10pm - the essay remains ungraded.
6:45pm - the essay remains ungraded.
It was handed in ten days ago; I think they're meant to get it back to you in under a week. I don't know what to think or feel or do so have fallen back on that good old reliable stalwart, anxiety-ridden catastrophising.
Over the course of the year, I could never really settle while waiting for a mark to come in; my brain would keep zoning in on that and only that, so this time it's especially bad because this is the final essay and without that mark I don't know whether I passed the year or not.
6:54pm - the essay remains ungraded.
I try to think about other things, but, nah. So, same again tomorrow.
In bird news, I've had sparrows come visit. Sparrows are always welcome here. They seem to have moved into the magpies' tree as it's full of their noisy chattering, and I spied a pair on the lamp post outside this morning:
Another new visitor is a herring gull who wants the apricots I've left ripening on my side of the window. It keeps landing on the window ledge and trying to get at them, even though the window's shut. Eyeing them and then peck peck pecking at the glass. The daft twat.
Today's Photo: Non-Crystalline Transparent Amorphous Solids For The Win
Went to see some old friends today:
Happy Solstice. There wasn't much sun today, and it was cold enough to wear a fleece, and so windy Roath Park lake had chop, but yay it's midsummer. Not long to go to Christmas!
</s>
After yesterday's descent into inertia, I made a real effort today. The first thing I did was book a ticket to visit the National Museum tomorrow. Then I booked a ticket for The Reason I Jump on Friday.
Next I checked coach tickets to London. I could get there and back in a day for a tenner if I wanted. If I fancied staying longer, budget hotels in central London are dirt cheap on a Sunday night.
But that's where my courage failed me. I couldn't make myself book the bus.
It felt too huge, too scary. This from a person who regularly used to get the bus to London for no particular reason, just because she loves the buzz and missed the place. This from a person who used to think nothing of hopping on planes to explore new cities. This from a person who drove round Europe for a month on her own in a van in 2019 and was looking forward to doing the same again in 2020.
Small steps. I'll get there. At least I have something planned for every day this week now, to protect me from the sofa's siren call.
Spent the afternoon in the aforementioned cold and windy Roath Park, having lunch al fresco at the café (vegan sausage wrap & chunky chips = phenomenal) then enjoying a slow walk round the lake. It was pleasant to take my time and not feel rushed. Not working or being a student is great!
There were coot babies to look at:
And a very nice grebe:
And I admired a duck. Look at those colours!:
Then I sat on a bench by the rose garden and read a book and got hit on by squirrels:
It was a restorative afternoon. I'm much happier when I'm outside, even if it is freezing.
Today's Photo: Fibonacci Rose
Lost the day. Did nothing until 6pm, when I watched an Eventbrite thing, then did nothing again after that.
Once I get into this weird dissociated apathy-inertia endlessly-stare-at-the-laptop state it's really hard to get out of it. I didn't even eat dinner.
This is how last summer went; I do not want to get sucked into that same black hole again.
Tomorrow: must try harder.
Today's Photo: We're Talking About
No idea why yesterday's post didn't publish - I'm sure I clicked the Publish button last night. But there it was, still a draft, when I just logged on.
Ironic, considering what I wrote about.
The book I started yesterday, I Will Never See The World Again by Ahmet Altan, also touches on the subject of time going peculiar in confinement, although his confinement was of course a little bit more severe than being told to stay at home during a pandemic. He also expresses it rather more elegantly than I ever could:
Each minute was the same as the last. It was as if a tributary of the river of time had hit a dam and formed a lake. We sat at the bottom of that motionless pool... We couldn't tell in which direction time flowed. Sometimes it flowed towards the past, towards our memories. Sometimes it flowed towards the future and our worries. But more often it stagnated in this strange-smelling gloom.
I decided to conquer time today by going across town to see Billy the Seal in Victoria Park. I don't often stray into the badlands of Canton so it was good to go walking somewhere new.
When I arrived, it was difficult to get a photo of Billy without a million kids swarming all over it. Nice to see Billy is as loved as s/he ever was:
The park was packed, with lots of children's birthday parties going on. I sat on a bench and enjoyed the happy vibe, entertaining myself with the thought of what adults would look like if they behaved like the kids I was watching. For example:
- grown man in a business suit fumbles an easy catch, declares "I nearly caught it!" then drops immediately into a downward dog.
- middle aged woman talking to friends outside a coffee shop suddenly runs away from them, stops dead, then runs back yelling "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH" for no discernable reason.
- father of two bellows "It's my birthday today" at fellow commuters as they wait for their train.
- in a work meeting, Bethany from accounts suddenly starts rolling around on the floor; nobody bats an eyelid.
- at the supermarket, a man is jumping, then he stands still with his arms over his head, then he rugby-tackles someone further up the aisle. They wrestle for a while.
I wonder how we get to be so self-conscious when we start off so pure.
Today's Photo: Taff Crows
It was the last day of my semester-time only job today; this morning I reset my "Get Up" and "Leave Now" phone alarms to 06:20 and 07:14 on the 27 September.
Last year, after the initial delight of being paid to stay at home wore off, I crashed rather spectacularly. Turns out being trapped alone in a tiny flat for months on end is not great even when you're autistic. Add to that the horror of watching a government actively trying to kill people and it was not a happy time.
This is why, on a desperate impulse three days before the start of term last year, I signed up for university - free money, something to do, a temporary avoidance of a customer-facing job - and it was also why I started blogging again come January.
In 2020, time went very weird. It stopped functioning; or maybe that was me. Anyway, at Christmas I was still adrift so I decided to try blogging every day just to try and pin time down, fix it back into its proper position - make it a discrete flow of days, like beads on a rosary, rather than one formless, horrifying, frogspawn mass. Assigning myself this small daily task - take a photo, write something - to provide some direction and the illusion of control.
And now we're 169 days into the year, days which have more or less resumed their correct form, thanks to uni and getting up and going to work every day and doing this blog.
Except two of those things are no longer here to prop me up. I'm at the start of another summer that looks just as scary as the last one.
Only the blog can save me now.
Today's Photo: Back Of A Bus
It's exactly six months to/from my birthday. Where does the time go.
Thankfully I was back to normal today and feeling much happier. After work I was able to slide into holiday mode with consumate ease:
To stop myself from getting stuck in a Twitter death spiral and wasting the whole day, I forced myself to stand up to get a glass of water from time to time. Then, instead of sitting back down, I'd use the momentum to do what I can only describe as pottering.
In this way, I managed to do a bit of tidying, a bit of cleaning, a bit of laundry sorting-out, a bit of taking some books to the phone box library up the road, and all of the washing up.
And I'm as hydrated as hell FTW.
There's been a lovely thing going around Twitter today and yesterday - everybody sharing their stories about finding departed loved ones immortalised on Street View.
It made me have a look at the house I grew up in. It was sold in 2012 after Dad died. The new owners threw money at it and made it unrecognisable, but the Street View pic's from July 2012 so it's still as I remember it, only with that heartbreaking For Sale sign out front:
I lived there from 1968 to, basically, the last time I walked out the door before it was sold - no matter where I was in the world, it was always 'Home', and I'm still not entirely reconciled to its loss.
Today's Photo: Red Paint
