No rest for the wicked...

I'm coming to the end of one of the busiest weeks I've ever known. There was a time, and it wasn't even all that long ago, that I has so much free time it was crazy. Except that, because all my free time was tied into the TV schedule it sort of seemed like I was busy, even though I was sat on my sofa all night watching TV.

I can't remember the last time I watched something in real time on the TV (unless you count the whole "these events occur in real time" of 24). I am completely up to date with 24 though and that was a real achievement of which I am quietly proud. It takes a certain amount of stamina mixed with laziness to watch 140 episodes in 6 weeks.

Its generally considered better to be busy what with the whole Devil making work for idle hands thing...apparently if you're sitting around doing nothing, then somehow unbeknown to you, you'll suddenly start plotting mass murder, or somehow arm a nuclear bomb. World War 2 possibly came about because young Adolf's train set broke.

Another over used expression is the whole "well I'll sleep when I'm dead" which we run the risk of happening sooner than we hope for given the both end burning candle thing people have a habit of doing.

I'm notoriously lazy so even when I agree to do something I know what excuse I'm going to give nearer the time to cancel. My boyfriend however does what he says he's going to do and has a diary that is bursting. Mostly with football and fixing computers.

This week though, we went out on Sunday, saw the Specials in Manchester on Monday, watched the Champions League semi on Tuesday, had a birthday meal out on Wednesday and tonight we saw Little Shop of Horrors at the theatre. Tomorrow we're going to watch wrestlin and Saturday another birthday party.

Roll on Sunday.

I keep buying presents for my boyfriend, I like buying him stuff, my way of showing him I'm thinking about him I suppose, and my way of rewarding him for being the best boyfriend ever! Plus I get to buy useless stuff that I want but just can't justify buying for myself.

Next week though, I think I'll try giving him the gift of time. While also treating myself to an unadulterated week of reaquainting my arse with my sofa and rediscovering the TV schedule.

There's always one isn't there...

I was on a training course the last 2 days. You know how there's always someone in the class that knows it all already, and answers all the questions and finishes the exercises before everyone else and sits twiddling their thumbs? Yeah I hate those people. Why are they on the course if they know it already huh???

Yeah except on this course, I was that person.

My company wants to have "IT Champions" and in order to become an IT Champion you have to get this qualification, and in order to get the qualification you have to take a number of courses. Just so happens the courses are mostly Microsoft office courses; programmes that I use day in day out. So sure I already know it but I have to be there to get the qualification.

Anyway, I did the exam today in Excel. I took the Microsoft Office Specialist exam towards my MOS accreditation (hark at me huh?) and I needed 690 to pass....I got 893...I hate me today! I'm probably really really irritating!

And as it turns out I seem to have this sense of surely I can do that better. This morning I got to the end of my road and saw a tailback of traffic right over the Seaforth Flyover. I quickly took a left and kept taking lefts to avoid long traffic queues. I never usually do that, but today, possibly under the influence of Jack Bauer, I thought I had a visual on a hostile and was constantly on the move...all the way to Wavertree.

My health too...none of this 6 months of medication testing and combinations of drugs to manage my blood pressure oh no my blood pressure is now normal on the 2nd try. Just one measly little tablet...I mean it still interferes with my eating habits and really pisses me off but all the same given that my dads cocktail of tablets meant that if he jumped up and down he sounded like a maraca, I think i'll take it!

Anyway, my 24 mission is going well...I'm now upto episode 8 on season 6. If I can put in some hard slog over the weekend my boyfriend may be able to t alk to me about the next episode he watches. I am loving this show but I will be glad to get to the end of it. I've got a backlog of Greys Anatomy, Big Bang Theory, Boston Legal, Shameless...So much TV and so little time.

Ah the things we do for love eh....at least... that's the excuse I'm using this week...not that a reason is ever needed to watch several hours of TV.

Memories

There are probably millions of things in this world that I don't know I've forgotten - given that I can't remember them now, I certaintly don't recall ever knowing them.

I used to have a great memory. I used to say things like "remember when.... yes you do, we were stood in town outside Burger King, and we bumped into John and he was saying...oooh i dunno about 6 years ago, I was on my lunch hour when I worked in Castle Street, it was a Wednesday" or something along those lines and I would be greeted with completely blank expressions.

Even a year ago I had a better memory than I do now. My boss found it odd that I never took notes in meetings but I still remembered all my action points. Now though my most over used phrase in work is "Shit! I forgot - sorry" which is followed by "write it down in future" which would be fine, except I don't even remember writing it down to read it

And I'm not sure what has caused this loss of memory...getting older...health issues...new romance... although I'm not even certain I can remember when my boyfriends birthday is...I think it's the 4th Feb but I couldn't say for certain without checking my phone or Facebook or something.

I've been nurturing an addiction to 24 over the last few months. I'm up to episode 9 of series 4. I watch about 8 episodes at a time but then I forget what day it is in real life. This week I'm even more disorientated due to the long Easter bank holiday. I think today is Thursday but it feels like Wednesday and yet when I woke up I thought it was Friday.

I depserately want to reach series 7 while it's still on TV. My boyfriend has no one to talk to about Series 7 and I feel sad for him...he keeps telling me of the sleepless nights he has worrying about what's going to happen next and I am resolved to get up to speed so he can talk to me about it. Is is wierd that our biggest problem in life is having no one to talk to about a TV show? That the thing that worries us most is "how will Jack Bauer get out of this one?"

I should probably worry about my health or money or work or something...but I don't really have any particular worries. I'm in good - or at least managed - health, I earn a decent wage, and have good friends and family. What have I got to worry about?

Normally under these circumstances I should start worrying that my boyfriend will suddenly realise I'm a bit of a tit and dump me...but I can't even summon up that fear because if I'm a tit then so is he. So Jack Bauer it is then....God how Is he gonna get out of this one???

Bored to death

Apparently when you yawn it's because your body needs to take in oxygen. I often find I yawn when I'm bored so if being bored leads to a lack of oxygen, if I didn't yawn could I die? Could I literally be bored to death?

I've certainly on occasion been so bored I've lost the will to live. And I know I shouldn't say that, my sister always shouts at me when I say I'm losing the will to live. And when I think of all the people I've lost over the years I do feel a moment of guilt for being so flippant.

Weirdly I have a vague awareness of my mortality. That awareness comes and goes though. Like sometimes I'll be really aware of it in some kind of weird belief that I could die at any minute. Well I suppose we all could really. And then I have other moments of arrogant belief that stems from a reliance on the reality of television and film and novels where everything always works out well in the end and as I am the lead character in the story of my life then surely nothing bad is ever going to happen, that won't eventually come good. Rather than dying my story will just end on a high note and my life will be preserved in a state of suspended animation or something...actually I have no idea what a state of suspended animation even means, but I was listening to the Divine Comedy the other day and that line is said....I might wiki it and see what it actually means....

*opens up a new tab on t'internet*

Oooooh ok, I have decided I don't want to be preserved in a state of suspended animation at all...I hate being cold! And in any case I've completely lost my train of thought now. The point is that sometimes I find myself wondering if what I'm about to do could potentially be fatal. And then I go and touch the nearest bit of wood - because of course touching wood means that no bad thoughts will ever come true - I dunno how it works, it's a branch of science that I don't understand.

I had a funny spate of car accidents a few years ago - nothing major, and none of them my fault. I'd be stationary in my little clapped out 17 year old VW Polo (Margo her name was, I loved that car, everyone ridiculed her and called her names but she was like a beloved pet to me) at some traffic lights, or in a queue for the roundabout when some buffoon in a fancy car would misjudge the distance and smash into the back of me. I often wondered if they were so amazed by the age of my car that they needed to get a closer look, but it did mean that each time I got into a car I wondered if I would have another accident and if it would actually be serious. I was so worried about it in fact that after Margo finally went to the big carpark in the sky after her final arse ramming, I acquired a beautiful Mazda (The reverend, he was green), and was terrified everytime I drove it because it was just too pretty to injure. Perhaps due to the respect the Reverend demanded by other drivers I never had any incident in it, but the stress of driving him became too much and I sold him on and bought a slightly scratched Ford Fiesta...(initially named Fernandez after my Spanish friend Cristina Fernandez, but the fact that Fernandes played for Everton and my car was blue...well I had to change the name to Fernando for Torres)
Within a month of owning Fernando a black cab drove into the back of me. But it was ok, just nicked the corner and no damamge was caused.

Anyway... I was watching Jade's wedding on Thursday night. And I cried. I don't much like weddings mind you, so it wasn't really the wedding. I like Jade. She's provided me with many hours of reality tv viewing. And she inspired one of my hair cuts - yeah most women copy Jennifer Aniston, but not me, I go in the hairdressers with a picture of Jade Goody. Again due to the nature of watching TV and all that, I am assuming that even though her cancer is terminal, and it's called reality TV for a reason, somehow at the end she'll pull through and it will all be ok. But then of course while watching Jade's wedding it occurred to me that that it's not a soap opera, or edited in a way to make you think it's worse than it is. She really is dying. And it's so sad.

When I think about death the overriding sadness for me is the thought of all the songs and TV shows I'll never know about. Sometimes when I'm thinking about my friend Nick who died a few years ago I think about all the cool songs he never got to hear. And I know it's stupid because well, once we're dead we're not going care about songs we wont get to hear - or maybe we'll still hear them...who knows?

But anyway. Life is for the living. Sometimes it crosses my mind that I waste a lot of my life sitting on my sofa watching TV when I should be making the most of it. But essentially at the end of the day all we can do in life is strive to live the happiest life we can. And we all find happiness in different ways. And if your home is where you're happy then my home is on a sofa under a red blanket in front of a TV.

The good the bad and the ugly

It took me a long time to realise that I was quite anti-social, given that I had always considered myself to be quite friendly and outgoing. It was probably when I was accepting an invitation to something knowing already that I was going to think up an excuse not to go nearer the time because it was a Tuesday night and Smallville was on.

I spent many years thinking there was something wrong with me because I didn't seem to be programmed to survive in a relationship, and then one day I just accepted that there was nothing wrong with me...I just like my own company more than most of the people - certainly the men anyway - that I have ever met in my life.

And with that realisation I happpily took the path least travelled, choosing to be single, not because I can't get a boyfriend, not because no one likes me, but because that's what makes me happy.

But all the people that kept telling me "You'll change your mind when you meet the right person" turned out to be right. And I'm trying really hard not to do a complete about turn and become all smug about it. But I feel damn smug right now!

Of course it's true that good can't survive without evil. I mean would the rebel alliance even exist if it wasn't for the Empire? Would Superman need to save the world if Lex Luthor wasn't trying to take it over? No!

So I realised this morning that I had been stood in front of the mirror in my unmatching black bra and Paul Frank monkey yellow Tuesday pants, with a big pair of green crocodile slippers on my feet, towel wrapped turban like around my head cursing myself for not having gotten round to replacing the old pretty/sexy underwear sets I'd thrown out last year on the understanding that no one would be seeing them anyway and I needed a whole host of new underwear after a random growth spurt saw me go up a bra size.

I was also aware that I was contemplating what I was going to wear when he comes over for dinner tonight...or rather - to cook me pancakes.
When I realised I'd been stood there looking forlornly at my reflection for half an hour it occurred to me that a) he really wouldn't care at all what I was wearing, coz that sort of thing really isn't very important, and b) he's not coming over for like another 7 hours...and I gladly pulled on my sweat pants and started making some breakfast!

Although this little random episode came straight after I'd had a bath, shaved my legs, plucked my eyebrows and moisturised...moisturised for Gods sake.

But I cant help thinking that I am making an extra effort because he doesn't actually expect it. He seems quite content and happy with me just as I am...I mean if he turned round to me and said "fuckin' hell you're a hairy bitch have a shave will you" I'd be throwing out the razors in a formal protest, or if he told me how rough I look when I first wake up in the morning with a hangover, I'd be thinking "hmph love me love my faults" and all those "if he can't accept me as I am then he can fuck off" "This is me take it or leave it" type cliches.
But he doesn't. He smiles at me, kisses my rancid alcohol stinking morning mouth and tells me I'm beautiful!

So while I moan about the grooming, and the having to be sociable and meet new people, it's a necessary evil, and totally worth it. I once said I didn't want to go looking for mr right, I wanted him to swing by and land next to me on the sofa...and that he did!