Procrastinating Forevah

So yeah, procrastinating is still my thing (obviously). In fact, I've been procrastinating from posting on my procrastination blog (another obviously). The problem is, even when I do post on my procrastinating blog, it is only because I am doing so in order to procrastinate from doing other stuff.

Makes sense, right?

Also rambling. (See above paragraph). Still do that, too. (I really want to put 'obviously' in parenthesis again, but that would be repetitive).

So. Procrastinating and rambling. They really do go hand in hand. Ask me a question, and I will invariably go around the houses (as well as catch a bus, travel to the city centre, and pop to the cinema) before you get an answer (which will most likely not even be a straight answer, more like a bendy one).

Hmm. Parenthesis are clearly also a 'thing' with me (as is placing words inside inverted commas). Apparently I have lots of 'things'. Sadly, one of them is not sticking to regular blog updates.

Anywho, life is not much changed for me. I still work in the same place, I still wonder how I will stretch my wages to last a month, and I still have vague plans to get back to writing 'properly' again. So why have I decided to randomly blog today? Well... I think it's mostly because I have encouraged my daughter to blog as a distraction for her (she suffers poor mental health). And I would be a poor example to her if I said 'do as I said' rather than 'do as I do'. 

So I do. Or I did. Or... well, you know what I mean. Will try to add a quick post weekly, though I will not formally commit, as that really doesn't mean anything to a procrastinating rambler like myself.

In the meantime, here is a picture of myself with my daughter taken from last year (I am the hobbit, she is the gorgeous one), and a picture of my youngest boy (because he is clearly so adorable that he needs no excuse to have his picture shared).

Man, I really need to get a grip on my parenthesis thingy...

My Auntie Is Giddy

As in oh my giddy auntie. As in oh my daisies. As in oops. As in *shifty*. As in any and all polite ways of saying the word that rhymes with 'duck'.

My bad. My very bad. My so bad that there should be a personalised definition of the phrase especially for me. It's been two months since I last blogged (I feel like I should have gone to confession to say that, even though I'm not a churchy person). Hmmph.

I'm in the throes of a deep bout of procrastination. Not only have I not blogged, but I haven't done much of anything else either. Except work, try to keep up with the housework (the keyword being 'try' there, because I'm pretty sure the housework is stomping way ahead of me in that particular race), and doing my best to not let the Shingles Beast get the better of me.

Technically I recovered from shingles about six weeks ago, but in reality I'm still feeling the effects of it. To say it knocked me for six would be an understatement. I'm one of the lucky ones; the pain 'only' lasted about a month. I can honestly say that I've never had pain that bad, and that includes childbirth, because childbirth never reduced me to tears (well, it did on my daughter, but that wasn't because of the actual pain, more because I was stressed). The nerve pain that I had with shingles was excruciating. But while that was bad enough, it's the lingering tiredness that I can't quite shake off that is debilitating. I find that I can't do as much as I used to do without feeling exhausted.

None of us are getting any younger, and sure, I can't do what I could do ten years ago, but I find that I haven't got the stamina to do what I was doing ten weeks ago. It's really odd how something as simple as the chicken pox virus can really send you body out of whack.

Anyway, moving on...

I'm gutted I failed the April A-Z. To make it worse, I only failed by three days. I manged to limmerick my way from A-W, then I ran out of steam. So close! Arghh!! I'm pretty sure this embarrassing failure has compounded to my avoidance of my poor, wee blog. In fact, my Writing Mojo is not only blushing, but refusing to have anything to do with me.

And it's not only my Writing Mojo who is shunning me either. My Editing Mojo has a distinct look of disdain on his face, while my Manuscript Read Through Mojo keeps looking at me as if I'd just crawled out from under a particularly nasty rock. Honestly, I'm surpised I'm still alive after all the Daggers of Doom glares that have come my way.

But it's not all bad! No! Indeed, there's been some good stuff in the last two months! While I am mortally ashamed of myself for not finishing a read through of a friend's manuscript, I did recieve her debut book through the post last week (which, by the way, was one of the only original manuscripts that I have ever managed to fulfil my read through promise with, even if I was late with it *shifty*). My good friend The Watery Tart (aka Tami Hart, aka Hart Johnson, aka Alyse Carlson), was officially a published author earlier this month. Yay! *sends subliminal 'go buy it' thoughts to the world at large*

It's very cool to own a book that was written by a friend. *nods* I haven't read it yet (well I have, in it's original form, but not in this form), but I did open the book and have a *squee* moment when I discovered that not only is it cool to have a published author for a friend, but it's also cool to recognise other friends in the acknowledgments. *squees again*

My friend on my bookshelf.  So to speak.

I also discovered a new obsession in the last two months. I finally got around to reading some books by an author who was recommended to me ages ago. Now, I'm a Book Slut and will read almost anything, but every now and again a series will come along that really grabs at me. This doesn't happen very often - I can name the  Harry Potter series, the Lord of the Rings series, and Salvatore's Dark Elf books as the only examples - but now I have another series to add to my elite list. Robin Hobbs books, specifically her books telling the story of FitzChivalry Farseer and his friends. Loved, loved, LOVED these books. Loved them so much, in fact, that my FanFic Mojo is currently emerging from exile, rubbing his hands together and seriously thinking of flexing his writing muscles.

Some new friends.

In other news, my newest additions to the family (two bearded dragons going by the names of Pinky and Perky), have been busy beardies indeed. Pinky has so far laid 50 eggs in the last two months - 21 in the first clutch, 29 in the second), and judging by her frantic digging, and overall scatty behaviour of the last couple of days, there's a third clutch on the way. So far none of the eggs have been viable, but it's still cool to say that I have dragon eggs in my house (that'll be the geek in me).

Lastly, there has also been two birthdays in the Smith household this month. The Hubby was [undisclosed age due to self-preservation] on June 11th, while my eldest child turned sixteen yesterday. If ever there was a reason to feel old, it's when your children are closer to the age of twenty than you are.


Oh my giddie auntie indeed.

All images self-taken.

The Numbers Are Lying

See that little word count thingy on the right? Well, ignore that because it's lying. *nods* I haven't updated it like I should have, plus I decided to start from scratch again yesterday, so my word count went from 12,500 words back down to 0 all over again. I'm at 3,426 at the moment - not bad for two days - but I'm a long way from 50,000. Therefore I am not aiming for 50k. *nods again* I am now aiming for 30k, which works out at 2,000 words a day. We shall see how we go...

I have been a bad, bad, procrastinator this month. Well, technically I've been a good procrastinator, because I have successfully managed to avoid doing lots of stuff almost every day, but you know what I mean. I honestly think deadlines have the opposite effect on me compared to what they should. I also have too many distractions at the moment.

There's my son, who is sitting some important exams at the moment, and happens to turn 15 on the 24th. Scary stuff. Not the exams (well, they probably scare my son, but not me), but the fact that I have a 15 year old? Really, really scary.

Then there's my daughter, who has never been easy, but is slowly but surely turning into Regan from The Exorcist. Not that she's possessed, or can turn her head around three hundred and sixty degrees or anything. She's not spewing pea soup either. But she IS cursing at me more often than not. Complete with eye-rolling and copious 'whatevers' about twenty times a day. Gotta love these nine-going-on-nineteen daughters of ours, eh?

It's also that time of year when we have to renew our tax credits and what-not. Cue plenty of thirty page forms asking you lots of things the tax office needs to know, along with lots of things they don't really need to know. Oh, and don't forget to add the gazillion forms of identification when you post your form off. *rolls eyes* (Erk, wonder if daughter gets the eye-rolling from me?)

Lastly I am gearing myself up for changing from part-time to full-time at my job. I'm happy about the extra money coming in, but not so happy about working five days as opposed to two. On the other hand, I think having so much spare time on my hands has helped feed my Procrastinating Monster. I wrote more often and more prolifically when I worked full-time before, so maybe having less time on my hands will help me curb my dithering urges.

Anyway, must go. I need to procrastinate write!

*is shaking her fist at fate*

Oi! Ms Fate! I'd like a word with you, Missy. *glares wrathfully* What's with all the crap you've been throwing in my path lately, huh? If I was speaking literally, I'd have been cleaning muck off my shoes for the last month. What the heck happened to giving me a break, huh? *glares again*


You know, I do my best to get along, I really do, but when you keep doing horrible things to me, it's kinda hard.  First you decide that my husband needs to have weekly accidents on his upper limbs for a while. Look, Mrs - my hubby can get himself into scrapes all by himself, he doesn't need any other help thank you very much. *pointed glare*

And as for my son... well, when exactly did you decide to turn him from a reasonably well behaved child into The Teenager Most Likely To Threaten His Teacher With A Hammer? What's up with that?

Oh, and don't even get me started on my daughter. You know, the One Most Likely To Drive You Insane - remember her? Not content with making her possibly the most exasperating little girl within a twenty mile radius, you seem to have decided that excess cheek, downright rudeness, and infinite wind-up capabilities are now Miss Ellie's new foibles. She's my daughter, and I love her to bits, but really... you need to let up a bit with her or she may end up being strangled. Or at the very least gagged.

And what on earth have my poor pussies ever done to you to deserve near death experiences? I'm a conscientious pet owner. I feed them well, they have the run of the house, I keep my daughter away as much as I can (though there have been a few incidents of the poor things being Ellied, granted), and I make sure they get treated with anti-flea stuff regularly. So, any chance you could tell me why this month's flea treatment caused most of their fur to fall out, gave them open sores, and caused my older puss to constantly shake for almost a month?? *glares through narrowed eyes*

Now don't get me wrong, none of these things happened to me personally, but still, they've happened to my nearest and dearest, and that's not on, Missy, that's not on at all. Give the Smith family a break, can't you?

Of course, although none of the above directly happened to me, you couldn't leave me out, could you? *eyeroll* Oh no, that wouldn't be right, would it? I have been happily cough free for the last two years (after suffering every winter for twenty odd years) - probably something to do with not having to walk to work in the bitter cold at the crack of dawn - and I thought I was clear of the damned thing. So what did you do? You gave it back to me. Well thanks very much for that. No really, thank you. It's really made my year. Not only to I struggle to get above five hours of sleep at the best of times, but now I get to wake up every hour or so and enjoy a fifteen minute coughing fit. Lovely.

You're a bit of a bitch really, aren't you Miss Fate. Take that. *punches*

*is plodding along*

Yup, it's slow going, but I am plodding along. Of course, it's Saturday, and I did say I would blog on Friday, but seeing as it's WriMo month, and I finally had a bit of luck with the writing yesterday, I think I can get away with it. *winks*

It's been a funny week. I got off to a good start by pumping out a thousand words as soon as the clock struck midnight and it was officially November the first. Great! Start as I mean to go on anallat, yes? Of course, this is me, and nothing is ever as straightforward as that, so there was bound to be something to cock up my good intentions.

Yup, my hubby got hit off his motorbike early Monday afternoon. He seemed fine, and I breathed a sigh of relief, not least because he had already camped at the local A&E department a fortnight before after being 'glassed' at the local pub, and then knocked down by a car as he was chasing the person who did it. (Knocked down, if you can believe it, by one of his friends (!!!) who was on his way back to the pub to help break up the consequent kerfuffle). Anyway, twenty stitches to the arm, and several cuts and bruises later, hubby was home. All good. I figured the Smith family was done with the A&E for this year, after all, one visit to the emergency department is quite enough, thank you very much. *nods*

Monday evening arrived and I was getting ready to pump out some more words on my NaNo. The kids had been fed, the house was tidy, school preparations had been done for the following day, and I had a lovely take away pizza to sustain me. Hubby was doing his best to eat his meal, but found that he couldn't lift his arm very well. Trip number two to the A&E, here we come. Several hours later, we finally get home, with severely bruised shoulder and ribs, and a broken thumb to add to my hubby's injured arm (which, by the way, was infected from the glassing incident).

That was quite enough drama for one day. I was tired, it was late, and I figured Tuesday would be a better option to get to my writing.

*rolls eyes*

Yup, Tuesday was no good either as it turned out. My daughter woke up with a stomach bug for company. Cue two days of multiple changes of clothes, excess use of toilet paper, and repeated speeches telling my daughter that no, she can't have anything to eat because her belly will never get better if she doesn't give it a rest. The problem with stomach bugs is that often you don't actually feel ill as such, you just can't eat anything. And seeing as my daughter loves her food, you can imagine how difficult it was. If I heard say "But I'm starving!" once, I heard it a hundred times.

Anywho, Thursday arrived, my daughter returned to school ( after a hefty breakfast *snort*), and I thought to myself Yay!!! Shortly followed by... oh bugger. Stomach bugs tend to be catching you see. Yeuch.

So yesterday was the first day that I actually managed to do some work on my NaNo, which is why I got sucked in and decided to keep writing as long as the words flowed. Hence the slight change in my blogging schedule. I'm still a bit behind, but I have decided that I am not doing anything today apart from write, so hopefully I can catch up a bit. I won't hit my personal goal of 17,500 words by tomorrow night, but the recommended target of almost 12k by the end of day 7  (according to NaNo standards) should be doable.

And so I am plodding along.

To Casserole, Or Not To Casserole, That Is The Question...

 Mark, being the delusional bloke that he is (and I mean that in the nicest possible way) was bound to give me at least one topic suggestion that would stump me at least a little bit. But I never dreamed that of the five requests he would make of me, casseroles would be one of them (and if I'm worried about this post, I still have darts and Noel Edmunds to cover in the next few days *faints*).

I'm not a fan of casseroles, in fact I've never liked them at all. Possibly because my mother used to make them every week during the winter (along with the obligatory stew, which I also disliked), and there would inevitably be several vegetables lurking inside that would make me cringe with every forced mouthful. The thing is, I was brought up to eat everything on my plate whether I liked it or not. If I wanted 'afters', I had to eat my main meal. An odd sprout left here, a spoonful of peas left there, that was allowed, but the majority of the meal had to be consumed.

We also had set meals for certain days, depending on the season. Summers were cool because we basically lived off various salads, which I've always loved, but winter meals were a different deal. Sundays would obviously be dominated by the roast chicken dinner (which fortunately I love), Fridays would be fish of some sort (I detest fish), Mondays were ham, mashed potatoes and parsley sauce (hate ham, loathe parsley sauce), and Wednesdays were stew days (or casseroles, one or the other). Luckily the other days weren't so structured, and we had things like steak pies (yum), corned beef hash (yum yum yum), curries and pasta (yumminess all round).

Anyway, when it was casserole or stew day, I would dread sitting down to eat because I knew I would have to hold my breath so as not to smell the food, and bypass chewing as much as possible and move straight to swallowing, thus avoiding much of the tasting process. I still cringe at the memory of those times when a hint of swede or parsnip hit my taste buds and I had to stop myself from... well, you get the idea.

You may think I'm a fussy eater, but I'm actually not too bad. I like way more than I don't like. If you want to know what a fussy eater is, then you should meet my kids. My son lives off a diet of cereal, cheese spread sandwiches and chips (that's fries to those of you in the US of A). My daughter is not much better, though she will at least have ham, eggs (but only the yolk, mind you), sausages and fishcakes. Offer them real fish, and they would laugh. And meat? Uh-uh. As for vegetables, you can forget it. I do a lovely Sunday roast every week (well, actually the hubby does it now because I work every Sunday), and out of all of the meat and the trimmings, my kids have potatoes. That's it. My daughter will have a sausage on the side rather than real meat, and they'll both have the gravy, but as for the idea of giving them a proper roast dinner, I might as well talk to the wall.

Now you might think that I should follow my mother's example and tell them that they have to eat their meals whether they like them or not, but you haven't met my kids. I've tried so many times to be firm with them, and each time they have gone without food for the night, or they have literally made themselves sick after forcing a mouthful down their throats. I'm sorry, but even though I know they're manipulating me, I can't stand back and watch my kids vomit, or go hungry. Plus having my own bad food experiences in my youth makes it doubly hard to force my kids into eating stuff they don't like. 

So to answer the original question, it's definitely Not To Casserole. It's just not happening in the Smith household, no sirree.

A Healthy Dose of Realism

Usually I blog about writing topics (or posts loosely based on writing topics at any rate), and sometimes I descend into madness and Taff for a paragraph or ten. Other times I have taken bonkers requests, or I've  just rambled about nothing in particular. Today I'm still going to ramble (I wouldn't be me otherwise), but it's going to be a pretty serious topic. Today I'm going to talk about illnesses.

Some of my family members suffer from a number of illnesses, mental disorders and genetic and congenital diseases. so I'm pretty clued up about a lot of things. It's actually quite scary to sit down and contemplate all of the health problems that we collectively suffer from.

My older sister has a congenital heart problem. Well, describing it as a heart problem is pretty stupid to be fair, because her heart issues are not the half of it. Her heart is on the wrong side of her chest and the chambers don't work properly, her stomach is only a third of the size that it should be, other major organs are in the wrong place, and her main arteries and blood vessels are completely screwed. She'd had two heart bypasses by the time she was eleven years old, and at aged sixteen she had pioneering surgery to re-route some of her main arteries in the hope of giving her a better blood and oxygen supply. Added to this, she suffered multiple strokes before she was twenty-five years old.There is a name for her condition (it has the word 'transpostion' in there somewhere), but it's so long and convoluted that I can never remember it. The condition is rare, not hereditary, and has sufferers in the thousands - not millions - worldwide. I'm pretty sure there are only a handful of people in the UK who have the same condition actually, that's how rare it is.

Then there is my younger sister, who was diagnosed as bipolar several years ago. She struggled a hell of a lot in her youth with all aspects of life, but the eighties wasn't a decade known for its enlightenment of mental health issues, so her problems were overlooked. To this day she can't deal with the public in any shape or form, and is unable to work as she has difficulty interacting with people. She will be thirty next month, and though she is married and has a home of her home, she is still largely isolated.

My mother, who has had to deal with one seriously ill child and one child with severe behavioural problems over the years, is no stranger to illness herself. She had minor health issues in her youngers days, but the last two years has seen a surge of problems for her. What initially started as high blood pressure, which is bad enough in itself, has escalated into her starting to lose the feeling in her legs. You see, the medication for her blood pressure caused some of the nerves in her brain to enlarge, which in turn was causing her extreme headaches and numbness of the face. She had brain surgery earlier this year which has largely fixed the problem, but her recovery from the surgery was hampered by the need to have a drain fitted to remove excess fluid from her brain. The spinal drain appears to have caused nerve damage to her spine, thus leaving her with drastically weakened leg function. Last year she was an active woman who was always on the go, this year she hobbles around like a pensioner, yet she is still several years away from the big 6-0.

Then there are my children. My eldest suffers from DAMP Syndrome, which is a blanket term for A.D.H.D, autism, dyspraxia, and a number of other disorders. He has elements from half a dozen disorders, though the predominant problem is the A.D.H.D. I could type for hours about the problems we have had over the years, but I won't. Suffice to say that after the hours I have spent researching, I could probably answer most questions relating to these disorders.

Then there is my daughter, who I lost almost eleven years ago. After a routine scan in my fifth month of pregnancy, I was told that my daughter had hydrocephalus and spina bifida. The damage to her brain and spine was so severe that even in the unlikely event of her surviving pregnancy to full term, she would not have survived childbirth.

To add to this, my husband is also a carrier for the Cystic Fibrosis gene, so my step-daughter has the disease. CF is an awful disease that affects the lungs mostly, but also has impact on the digestive system. Life expectancy for CF sufferers has improved in the last decade or so, though we're still a long way away from finding the medication that can give the sufferers of this disease both a better quality of life, and a chance to see their forties.

If you're still reading this, you might be wondering why I am talking about all these health problems. I guess you could say that the recent decline in my mother's health  (as well as my own experience with episodic depression) has made me look at things a little more closely.

My elder sister doesn't have a good quality of life, yet she actively keeps involved with the family and doesn't for one minute bemoan her situation. She never complains about her significant problems, and rarely lets things get her down.

My younger sister, despite her mental health issues, has managed to move away from home and settle into married life with her husband. She is also making moves to further her education in the hopes of improving her confidence so that she might one day be able to cope with working with people on a daily basis.

My mother, in spite of her deteriorating health, still puts everyone else first and devotes all of her time to her family, despite my having told her off for it far too many times to remember.

My son has battled not only his mental disorders, but also verbal and physical abuse from his peers for most of his life, yet he is now embarking on his GCSE's and participating in a weekly mechanics course that will hopefully lead to employment when he leaves school.

My step-daughter, who is eighteen, is a typical teenager who recently passed her driving test and is enjoying life with her friends and family, not for one moment letting her illness stop her from achieving anything that she wants.

Do you see a pattern here?

All of these people, along with the millions of people worldwide who suffer from not only these illnesses, but others too, haven't given up. They've taken the crappy hand that was dealt to them and pretty much stuck their fingers up at Fate and carried on regardless.

It's kind of humbling, yes? And also a little guilt-inducing for your typical procrastinator. Life is short (I know that's a cliche, but it's true), and we get thrown huge curve balls when we least expect them. Maybe it's time to rethink my philosophy on life, because sometimes tomorrow isn't another day after all.

Manic Mumbles. Or Mumbles About Being Manic. Or Something.

Manic-ness, that's what it is. Complete and utter manic-ness. For those of you without those pesky things we parents call 'ankle-biters', I'm talking about the summer holidays. Those almost-seven weeks of stress-inducing, hair-pulling, voice-going-because-we're-constantly-yelling-at-our-kids, school-free days. I can never understand why Britain keeps the overly-long summer break going. I mean, it's not as if we have lovely weather between the end of July and the beginning of September. Sure, we have a few odd days of sunshine here and there. but mostly it's just so-much-rain-we-can't-leave-the-house-without-an-emergency-boat-and-a-flare-gun (I seem to be having a hyphen day today, don't mind me). Unless you have a car (which I don't) and/or lots of money (which I most definitely don't), then you're basically screwed.

The kids are either bored or almost killing each other. That's when they're not avoiding being strangled by their mum. *shifty* I swear, if I hear 'Mum, can we go somewhere today, pleeeeeeease?' one more time I will definitely be up on a murder charge.

Then there's the other kids. In other words, my kitties. Since joining the household around a month ago, little kitty Angel has ruined my curtains, bullied the other kitty (*lights candle for Belle*), given me countless heart attacks when she decides to disappear for a few hours, only to turn up in the sock drawer, behind the freezer, in the (closed) crisps box, or the tumble dryer, and is probably costing me more to feed that the two of my (real) kids put together.

And then we have The Job. If the lottery machine is going to die, it will be on my shift. If the milk delivery is going to turn up with ten leaking bottles of milk which subsequently leave a series of puddles all over the floor AND cover the rest of the delivered stock in milky messiness, it will be on my shift. If the newspapers are delivered late causing a bunch of Angry Old Men to shake their fists at you and bend your ear about What A Sad State of Affairs It Is When You Can't Even Get A Paper At 6:01am, then it. Will. Be. On. My. Shift.

*screams*

On a happier note,  I am now fitting into a size twelve in the trouser department, the tax people have finally sorted out my tax credits (so that I actually have some money now, imagine that!), and I've found two people who are willing to babysit for me (I almost fainted with shock at that one - honestly, two people who are willing to watch over my monst- er, kids? Wow!), and because of this I now have a social life. Who'd have thunk, eh?

Now, if I could just get to blogging a bit more often, and finish editing that novel that's knocking around on my hard drive, then I could maybe call 2010 The Year of Yayness. Or maybe The-Year-That-Started-Off-Lamely-Then-Gradually-Improved-Around-Midway-Then-Really-Got-Better-By-The-End. But's that's not nearly so catchy....

That Was The Year That Was....

Today is the last day of my thirty-third year, and what a year it has been! I think that the last year has probably had the most life-changing events for me personally than any other in the past (barring the birth of my children, that is). There has been  a fair few ups and downs this past year, and most of them have contributed to the person that I am now on this, the eve of my thirty-fourth birthday. Sure, events from every year of our lives shape the people that we are today - experiences alter our view of things, mistakes help us to learn to do better, and successes help drive us forward - but it sometimes happens that some years are almost non-eventful, while others have a spate of occurrences that somehow wake you up from the Plodding Through Life slumber.  My thirty-third year definitely falls into the latter category.

July 2009

My birthday falls on the 24th, so technically I can't include all of July in my recap of the last year, but the last week of July in 2009 can definitely be mentioned. I remember waking up in a mixed mood. I was feeling a bit down because my husband was starting his annual two weeks of working away from home that day, so I only got to see him for an hour or so - not the best start to my birthday. But then I logged into Facebook and was bombarded with lots and lots of lovely birthday messages, which cheered me up no end. I saw my husband off and spent the day opening cards and gifts, then finished it with a few friends sharing a celebratory drink with me. Lovely!

August 2009

August can best be described as a blur of madness. Most days were spent trying to entertain my kids in the limbo that is The Summer Holidays. *cringes* All would be well and good if we actually had decent weather and plentiful funds, but when most of the days are rainy and miserable, and finances are tight, entertaining two highly active children for almost seven weeks is exhausting. Yup, August was a bit of a blur.

September 2009

Back to school joy-ness! Soon to be followed by back to school annoy-ness. *snort* Schools tend to hit you with purse-emptying events in the first month of the academic year. As if being skintified by the Buying School Uniform Gloominess wasn't enough, we are bombarded by school photos, school trips and 'fund raising' events in the very first few weeks of term. Still, at least we don't have to worry about entertaining the kids so much now, eh?

October 2009

I started blogging! The first big 'up' of the last year.*grins* I never thought I would ever start blogging - it's not really something that a procrastinator does because blogging generally means commitment. I did really well in my first month, and blogged every day. I made a few new friends, had a ball writing the daily blogs, and discovered that my personal brand of craziness was mostly accepted by the blogging community. Awesome!

November 2009

I wrote a novel! Seriously, I did! *faints* NaNoWriMo sucked me in for the first time ever, and not only did I finish my 50,000 word novel, I also blogged every day too (well, I missed one day, but I don't hold it against myself *winks*). I introduced requests to my blog this month too, and also let loose on the general public the loony-ness that is Taff. Best month ever, November. *nods*

December 2009

December passed swiftly, what with the Christmas build-up and the general busy-ness that it brings, and the extra excitement added from the daughter because her birthday falls so close to the festive season. Mostly a good month, but with some underlying tension which was a prelude to what was to come....

January through March 2010

Dire, very dire. New Year's day brought with it a change in my personal circumstances, and this change led to a very big dip in my well-being. I've always been prone to periods of depression throughout my adult life, but usually I pulled out of them all by myself. This time it took my GP to pull me back from the abyss. After several attempts, my doctor finally found the right medication for me, but it wasn't until the end of March that I started to feel more like myself. Although the first quarter of 2010 were the worst months of my life, they actually caused me to take a step back and reconsider a lot of things. I finally lost the bulk of the weight that had literally been bogging me down for the last seven years. Okay, the first twenty pounds fell off me with no effort at all - not eating or sleeping properly for a month will do that for you - but the next twenty pounds came away through sheer doggedness and refusal to slip back into bad habits. Coupled with the new determination to look my best was a change of attitude in general. After too many years of plodding along through life, I finally took charge and allowed myself to be heard. I let myself speak up for the things that I wanted, and for the first time in a long time I didn't always put everyone else first. I'll never say that I am grateful for the circumstances that started this chain of events, but I can honestly say that I would probably still be stuck in a rut if they hadn't have happened. It's funny how the worst things in life sometimes lead to the best things. Maybe there is a God up there after all, and maybe He does work in mysterious ways.

April/May 2010

I really started to get back to my usual self around about here, which could be taken two ways. For the good, I no longer turned into a cry-baby on a regular basis, so the episodic depression was thankfully under control. Unfortunately, the return of my normal self brought with it the return of the Procrastination Princess, so while it was nice to be in control of my feelings, the downside was knowing that my bad habits were slowly but surely creeping back into my life. But do you know what? Despite the fact that procrastination isn't really something to be proud of, I actually like being like this. I think if I became this organised person who did everything properly and kept to deadlines and what-not, I wouldn't be me. And for the first time ever, I am happy with who I am, procrastinator or not.

June 2010

The epic fail of BuNoWriMo should really have put me back into the Pit Of Doom, but thanks to the new-found acceptance of myself, I wasn't bothered that I didn't manage to complete my second WriMo. Oh, I felt disappointment in myself, sure, but it wasn't the kind of disappointment that sucked me into LaLa-Land and made me want to crawl into a corner and hide. I was able to shrug off the failure and see it for what it was - a blip in the general plan, but not something that would affect the rest of my life. I also started back at my old job this month, which in spite of the impact it will have on my writing, is actually a good thing. Getting out of the house for a few hours every week is actually fantastic for getting you out of a rut, and although I was feeling better in a lot of ways, I was still stuck in the Waste Time Just Because I Can zone. Now that my days are structured according to whether I am working or not, I have to fit things in as and when I can. Gone is the There's Always Tomorrow attitude, and it has been replaced with the Acckkk!! I Have To Do It Now Or Else It Will Never Be Done attitude. So despite having to get up at stupid o'clock three days a week, and having to deal with snarky customers and figures that don't always balance, going back to work was a good thing.

July 2010

Arriving back at my birthday again, in summary I would say that although the badness of last year probably outweighed the goodness, I am still in a much better place than I was on the eve of my thirty-third birthday. I'm healthier (dropping 40lbs was the best thing ever), I'm happier, both with myself and with my life in general, I've written a freaking novel - ! - and although far from being Blogger of the Year, I have mostly stuck with it and not delegated this blog to the Abandoned Projects pile (which is precariously teetering on the brink of collapsing owing to the size of it).

So that was the year that was.

You couldn't make it up....

So it's still absolutely sweltering here in Cardiff, and I'm sat on my sofa with my laptop warming my thighs and a big fan cooling my brow. I plan on sitting here all day; I have my blog to write, some finishing touches to my prologue for 'Cardiffella' to add, one more drabble to compose for next month's Burrow feature, and some notes to write up ready for next week's BuNoWriMo . Happy days!

I thought I'd ramble a bit today about my weekend, because it was one of those weekends where nothing seemed to go right. I don't know whether any of you are like me, but if you are I feel sorry for you. I'm one of those people that has things happen to them that would never happen to anyone else. You know, the stupid things that are so bizarre that they couldn't possibly be made up because nobody is crazy enough to think of those scenarios.

Take my Saturday - no seriously, take it. I had been looking forward to Saturday 22nd May for the last three weeks. Nothing spectacular was happening, you understand, just an arranged night out with the hubby at the local pub, but still, it's a night out, right? I rarely get an evening out with the hubby because trying to find babysitters for my kids is a bit of a nightmare. My son is easy enough to make arrangements for - he's almost fourteen so doesn't need looking after as such, and is happy enough to be left to his on devices. As for my daughter, though, that's where I hit the snags. Ellie's a bit, well, I don't know that there's an actual word for it, she's just Ellie.

We have a saying in my family about Ellie, and I seriously believe several people are actually scared of her. Not that she's an Insane Regan From The Exorcist type of child, it's just that she's demanding. Very demanding. Anyone calling at my house runs the risk of being Ellied, which can include anything from playing Monopoly for five or six hours, to listening to Justin Bieber's 'Baby' about a gazillion times. Me, I'm mostly immune to it. I can have a conversation with my daughter with half an ear (which is just as well because until I pluck up the courage to get my ears syringed again, I'm mostly deaf anyway), but other people aren't so well prepared.

To be fair, she's a well-loved child, and nobody holds the fact that they will probably have a headache after spending longer than half an hour with her against her, but it's pretty difficult to get anybody to voluntarily look after her without me being there as a buffer.

Anyway, I'd arranged babysitters for both of my kids a couple of weeks ago. Overnight babysitters, no less. Excellent! The weather turned crazy hot at the end of last week, and I thought 'Great, this is working out brilliantly!' Saturday night, child free, sunny weather, beer garden, the works!

See. this is where I went wrong, because nothing ever works out great for me, so I should never have jinxed myself by thinking otherwise. *rolls eyes*

Anywho, Saturday did indeed dawn very bright and sunny, so I took my kids to their auntie's house (only a two minute walk from me) and spent the afternoon relaxing in the back garden while the kids tired themselves out on the trampoline and what-not. I left just after 3pm, my son staying behind as he was sleeping over until Sunday. My plan was to walk home, grab a sandwich (in order to have some carbohydrates to soak up the planned alcohol consumption of later in the day), then take my daughter to my mum's house before coming back home to shower and stuff.

Now so far, I have to admit, this is not sounding in any way like it was a bad day, but trust me, I'm getting there.

So, 4pm arrives. I grab my daughter's overnight bag and my purse and leave the house , banging the front door shut behind me. Then I bang the front door shut again. And again. Several 'agains' later, I realise that my front door is never going to shut owing to fact that the lock is completely knackered. Of course, I sort of figured this out after the third or fourth 'bang', but you know what it's like, you keep on checking just in case it will miraculously work if you give it an extra hard bang. Well, you probably don't know what it's like, but you know what I mean. It's like when you lose something and you keep checking the same drawer over and over because, dammit, you know you put it there. Like it's really going to appear when you've already checked a thousand times already. It's madness, but you keep checking.

Anyway (Lordy, I love that word), Ellie is now seriously pouting because it looks like she won't be sleeping at nanny's house after all, and I'm 'f-ing' all over the place because I'm so wound up. I mean, seriously, the lock had to break now? It couldn't happen on a day when I didn't need to go anywhere? Grr!

Now, when it comes to DIY, I'm hopeless. Honestly, I can't even wire a plug - it's pathetic how inept I am. But I wiped my brow, cursed a bit more under my breath, and dug out the screwdrivers (and phoned the hubby for back up. I mean, come on, I'll get a screwdriver out and have a go, but lets not pretend I'll manage to fix it. *snort*). I took the lock off the door, prodded it a few times, took the back off the casing, prodded a little bit more, scratched my head, put the lock back together and screwed it back onto the door, called the lock a few choice names because it (of course) still didn't work, and kicked the door for good measure.

And then the plinth on the bottom of the door fell off.

Seriously, I kid you not.

Hubby arrived and basically did exactly the same as me with regards to cursing, taking the lock off and fiddling a bit with it, and putting it back on the door again. When it still wouldn't lock, he gave his professional opinon; "I guess it's f****ed then.".

No kidding.

Then  a little light bulb went off in my head. I phoned my sister-in-law and asked her to house sit for me for the night. I mean, I have deadlocks and bolts on the door as well as the normal lock, so it's perfectly safe and lockable from the inside, but I couldn't leave the house empty unless I wanted to invite half of Ely to help themselves to my stuff (and to be honest, you don't have to invite half of Ely to take your stuff, they just do it anyway). Thankfully, my sister-in-law, being the star that she is, agreed. Disaster was avoided, yay!

I was running late by now, though, and my plans were seriously scuppered. I'd had everything worked out - drop the daughter to my mum's house, go home, blast some music, have a vodka or two, shower, change, titivate etc etc. Instead, as it was now 6pm, I had to make do with changing my top, slapping some lippy on, sticking my head upside down, and spraying half a can of hairspray onto it (CFC free, of course).

The bus was, of course, late, but it eventually arrived and I dropped off my daughter. All I had to do was jump on the next bus - any bus! - and make my way to the pub (hubby was already there, smart man that he is). Of course, despite Cardiff Bus advertising 'a bus every five minutes!', I waited twenty minutes before one actually turned up. And another of course, the bus was full of people who were already tipsy after drowning their sorrows because of the disappointing results of Cardiff City's big game at Wembley. As if that wasn't bad enough, two stops after I got on (you know where this is going, right), one of Cardiff's resident nuts came aboard and decided that of the ten or so available seats, he'd pick the one next to me to sit down on.

I spent the next ten minutes getting to know the window extremely well, while Nutter 's sweaty thigh tried to get acquainted with my twitchy leg. Ugh. *shudders*

And what do you know, the guy got off at the same time as me, and I soon realised he was heading for the same place too (it wasn't that hard to figure out, because the stop I got off at only really has three options for your destination; the doctor's surgery (which was closed), the cemetery, or the pub. Okay, the Nutter's a , well, nutter, but even I knew that it was unlikely he wanted to spend Saturday night with a bunch of dead people).

Anyway, I hung back a bit a waited until the guy was a few minutes' ahead, then started walking again, and finally - finally! - I got to the Promised Land (er, the Culverhouse Cross pub). And it was only 7.30pm!

So I did manage to have my night out (which was fab, by the way), but it sure took a long time getting there (or felt like it). Oh, and to cap it all, my daughter ended up back at my house anyway. About half an hour after I left her she decided she didn't want to sleep at nanny's house after all, so Bampy brought her back home and my sister-in-law ended up babysitting as well as house sitting. So, in a funny way, I was sort of lucky that my door wouldn't shut.

It's a funny old world.

Oh, and hubby put a new lock on the door yesterday. It only took three hours too! *snort* It's not that hubby is inept, because he's not, it's just that my house is really awkward. Nothing is as it should be, from wonky walls, to strange-sized doorframes and lop-sided wall sockets. I swear it was custom built just to annoy me....*mutters*

Random Blog Thingy

I didn't get a request for today's blog. *pouts* Therefore I have no idea what I'm going to type - just so you know. It's not a disaster as such, because at least half of my blogs started off with me typing and hoping I'd get inspiration in the duration. Still, a request would have been nice.

I could tell you about the two things I did to my blog page the other day, I suppose. That will fill a paragraph or two, yes? The first thing I did was add a flag counter. It's interesting to see where my readers come from, definitely. I had a rough idea anyway, partly because I obviously know where my regular readers come from, and partly because I had another counter installed ages ago. But the flag counter is way cooler. I know, for example, that I had somebody from Belgium pop by the other day. I don't think I know anyone from Belgium, so if you come back, reader from Belgium, please say hello, it would be nice to meet you! The same goes to the reader from Italy; I'd love to interact with an Italian, mostly because I would love to emigrate there. I've not travelled far in the past, but I spent time in Italy as a schoolgirl, and I absolutely loved it there.

Most of the other flagged countries came as no surprise. Columbia, Austria, Australia, The Netherlands, Norway, America and, of course, the UK - I have buddies from all of those places, and the majority of them have posted here from time to time. It's still very interesting though, no question.

The other thing I did was change my blog template. I'm not sure that I like the new background, but the black was getting boring for me, plus a few of my friends had mentioned having trouble reading the text, so I thought a change might be nice. Whether the background will stay like this is another thing, we shall see.

Am I boring you yet? See, this is what happens when you don't give me a request. *wags finger*

Let me see, what else can I ramble about? So far there are *scans the page* four paragraphs (and an odd line). That's not nearly long enough, oh dear me, no. I shall need to at least double the length for it to be enough to satisfy me. *nods*

I could tell you about my day, I suppose. About how I only just about escaped with my life after venturing into my son's bedroom in order to clean it. How a tiny attic bedroom can take an hour and a half to clean is beyond me, but then again it is occupied by my almost-fourteen-year-old. There aren't a lot of toys any more, just two small tubs of bits and pieces, but the toys have been replaced with about a gazillion media discs, which my son seems to think prefer to be spread out all over the room rather than neatly put away in their cases.  I had a pile of discs about six inches tall, with a mixture of Wii games, PS2 games and DVDs  making up the numbers. After collecting the various discs from all over the floor/desk/under the bed/TV stand, I then put them in three piles according to disc type. So far so good, but then I had to collect all of the covers, which, as per the discs, were to be found anywhere and everywhere. By the time I finished sorting through them (finding x amount of odd socks, some pyjamas, a pair of jeans, two plastic bowls, three empty juice bottles, and an empty tube of haribos in the process), 45 minutes had passed. *mutters darkly*

Of course, I was left with odd discs with no covers, and odd covers with no discs. That's a given when it comes to my son (and my daughter, for that matter). It drives me nuts! It's not as though I don't tell them to put things away when they're finished with them. I swear I spend half my life yelling at them to look after their stuff. *mutters again*

Anywho, after dusting, polishing, vacuuming and changing the bedding, an hour and a half had passed, and I still had the rest of the house to do. I have small house; as well as the attic bedroom (which is small in itself), there's my bedroom, my daughter's box bedroom and the bathroom on the upper floor, and my living room and the kitchen downstairs. Barring the kitchen (which I had to leave until after the school run), I cleaned the rest of the house in less than half an hour. That's two bedrooms, the bathroom, the living room, and the hall, landing and stairs. All dusted, polished, tidied and vacuumed (according to need) in a third of the time it took to clean ONE room. Honestly, my son needs a good talking to. Again.

You should definitely be bored by now, so I guess I'll leave it there. And let that be a lesson to you! If you don't want to read about housework and changes made to blog pages, then for pity's sake give this poor blogger a subject to ramble about. Who knows what'll be typed up next unless someone comes to the rescue....

One last request?

I was only going to....

I think - and as I type this I am mentally crossing my fingers - I might actually be able to sit down long enough to type something. This is the fourth time today that I have attempted to update my blog. *rolls eyes* I've managed to get online a few times today, but each time was for about five minutes and I could do little more that 'like' a couple of friends' Facebook status messages. Okay, so I had a couple of games of Bejeweled too, but that was simply because there is a way to, ehm, tweak *coughs* the scores and I thought it might be funny to have a huge score, plus it only takes a couple of minutes. Anywho....

We have been snowed in here in the Kair of Diff. Well, mostly iced in if I am being truthful, but you know what I mean. Everyone has been panic buying milk, bread and vegetables, and there have been more than the usual amount of sirens blaring in the last couple of days owing to people slipping and sliding all over the place. Not good. Thankfully there hasn't been any major traffic accidents as far as I am aware, and I hope it stays that way.

Back to what I was saying before, this is the fourth time today that I have tried to blog. I had a 'spare' half an hour earlier (well, not exactly spare, but it was when hubby had popped out so it was a rare opportunity to nab the PC). Anywho, I thought I would blog, but I wanted to quickly check my emails and Facebook page in case anyone had left me a message (as you do). My step-daughter was online and I quickly grabbed the chance to ask her when she was calling for her Christmas presents. She has a phone, but I didn't have her new number (she changes her mobile about as often as I play Bejeweled. In other words, frequently).

Anyway (Lordy, I'm digressing today), I ended up chatting to her for a while (as you do) and we arranged for her to visit today. By the time we'd finished fixing times and lifts here and back home, hubby was home, so no blogging for me.

When she arrived she decided to pop down her nan's house as well as her bampy's house, so I thought - right! Time to blog! I decided to make a nice cup of tea to warm me up, and while I waited for the kettle to boil I started clearing up from the huge cooked breakfast that I had made earlier. I was only going to rinse the plates and stack them ready for washing up later on in the day, but once I started, I ended up cleaning the whole kitchen. By the time I poured my tea, hubby and step-daughter were back. Strike two.

I popped to the library to stock up on more books (these internet-free evenings are KILLING me), and grabbed the last quart of milk and two loaves of bread from the corner shop. Yay! I thought, no need to go out tomorrow! Of course, I almost broke my neck about five times walking up the hill back to my house (one step forward, three slips back), but I made it home safely, thank goodness. I made a well-earned cup of tea and grabbed a book to leaf through while the hubby played poker on Facebook.

Then hubby decided to go out, and I thought yes! This time I can DEFINITELY blog! Wahoo!!

*shifty*

I dutifully made the kids their tea at 5.45pm, only if you look at the time on this post (if you are in Britain, that is) you will notice that 5.45pm was well over two hours ago. I only went out the kitchen to prepare tea, but seeing as I had already cooked stuff earlier on, it was only a question of re-heating it and serving it up. I ended up changing bedding and putting the nth load of washing on, changing the chip pan oil (and all the cleaning that this job entails), bringing the hoard of Christmas goodies from my bedroom and finding homes for them in my already well-stocked kitchen cupboards, and just generally sorting things out.  I only went to get the kids their tea for crying out loud!! It wasn't as if I WANTED to do these things, I just became this robot that kept finding things to do. *scratches head in robot fashion*

Anywho, these are the perils of a procrastinator. Every day I have a 'I was only going to...' moment, and I swear they are never intentional, they just happen. What's makes it odd is that these moments are often linked to jobs that I absolutely HATE doing (*glares at chip pan*).

So that was my day, and I bet tomorrow will be just the same. I'm hoping to get online tomorrow evening, but if I don't, I'd like to wish everyone a fantastic Christmas, and I'd also like to say a great big THANK YOU to those of you have visited my crazy blog and been kind enough to read and comment on it.

Ellie-Belly's Birthday

Yes, I've already blogged today, but seeing as I am already ten blogs short this month, an extra ramble makes me feel a little better about neglecting my blogging duties.

You all probably know (I've mentioned it almost as much as my daughter lately *snort*) that my little girl was a birthday girl today. I look at her and I can't believe she is already eight years old. It truly is scary watching your kids grow up.

I've just finished clearing up after a pizza and movie extravaganza. *dies* Ellie only invited three friends (all girls), but with my house being as small as it is, and with the amount of screeching that was going on, it felt like I had at least twenty kids here.

My son, being wise, went to his friend's house. Unfortunately, this resulted in a police visit because he managed to get himself beaten up INSIDE his friend's house.  A couple of kids barged into the house when the sister opened the door and attacked both my son and his friend. Honestly, I just can't believe his luck (I will have to blog about my run-ins with the police over the last year sometime soon, now that I think about it). Thankfully, my son wasn't injured, which was a relief, obviously. He's pretty shaken up though.

Anyway, this is supposed to be a birthday blog, so....

As well as the son escaping the screeching girls, the hubby also managed to avoid a headache. First he took advantage of my son's empty bedroom and played poker for a while, then he went to the pub. *rolls eyes* Honestly, men just can't cope with kids' parties at all. Okay, I can't cope much better, but seeing as I was supervising, I couldn't exactly pop to the pub. Bah humbug.

Pizza was dutifully ordered and demolished in about ten minutes accordingly (though I craftily stashed a pizza in the kitchen so that me and the hubby can have a munch later on *winks*). Sweetie things were brought out and devoured in as little time as the pizza, and birthday cake was presented (along with my burned thumb *shifty*).

Among the presents were two pairs of ugg boots (ooooh, wicked, mum!), a recorder with a how-to-play CD and book to match (must remember to strangle auntie Julia when I next see her), sparkly bracelets, a posh handbag and purse, and the complete series of Charmed (which caused screeching of a window-breaking nature).

The girls watched the Hannah Montana movie on the big TV, and when I say watched, I actually mean they ran around my tiny living room, stomped along to the stomping song (don't know what it's called), used my sofas as trampolines, and frightened the cat to within an inch of her ninth life.

Thankfully I have a quiet house now. My boy is safely home and having a munch in his bedroom, and my girl is watching the first episode of Charmed. They will both be in bed shortly, and I plan on eating my share of pizza and putting my feet up. *sighs blissfully*

Oh, and did I mention that it snowed today too? Quite apart from everything else, I am truly thankful that I didn't break my neck walking up and down my street today. I live on a hill, you see, and a twisty one at that. We're due more snow overnight so I could well be housebound tomorrow. Still, at least it will be a quiet day, unlike the one I had today....


Happy birthday Ellie-Belly!!

When I grow up, I want to be....

After a sticky weekend so far (daughter had nasty stomach bug, so when I say 'sticky', I mean it literally), it was nice to get up this morning to a child that was happy and smiley (and also hopping with excitement due to her birthday tomorrow, not to mention Christmas). My almost-but-not-quite eight year old was babbling ten to the dozen about this, that, and everything in between.

Now usually, Ellie and babbling equals plenty of nods and 'yes, dears' and not much else, but this morning we had a fairly serious discussion which, for once, didn't include hairstyles, heeled boots and lip gloss (in case you were unsure, the hairstyles, heeled boots and lip gloss are my daughter's favorite topics of conversation, not mine). Anywho, while we were talking about birthday and Christmas stuff in general, my girl suddenly came out with the following:


"When I grow up, I want to be either a teacher, a spy, or a fashion designer."

Now, that might make a few people go 'aw, bless' or some such thing, but I was actually quite impressed that she has apparently progressed from the 'when I grow up I want to be a princess or a pop star' ambitions. The likelihood of my daughter marrying into royalty is zero, and while she loves to sing, her enthusiasm is only surpassed by her lack of tone, so pop stardom is out too (though, having said that, most pop stars lip sync nowadays don't they, so maybe that should be listed as a possibility).

A teacher? Now, that can only be a good thing. She's intelligent, way ahead of her peers, loves telling people what to do, and enjoys marking her brother's homework, She could definitely become a teacher. A spy is maybe not so easily achievable, but still possible. She's definitely got the whole sneaky side of things covered at any rate. Okay, a spy may be a dubious dream, but it is definitely far more realistic than a princess.

Of course, the favoured choice of career is the fashion designer. I don't know whether it's a generation thing (which makes me feel really old, by the way), but when I was eight I had absolutely no idea what was fashionable and what wasn't (I probably still don't, actually). But Ellie is very firm when it comes to what she likes and doesn't like. Thankfully she has to wear school uniform, or heaven knows how much money I'd have to spend on clothes. Her outfits are perfectly colour-co-ordinated, and she point-blank refuses to wear certain things if they make her look 'silly'. Honestly, if she could have seen what I wore when I was her age, she would have disowned me.

My son, on the other hand, is both very vague on what he wants to do, but also specific. He definitely wants to work on films, but that could be anything from being an actor, a stunt man, or even a director. He's always been a film nut, and he zeroed in on all of the film and media courses that are available for him to study next year for his G.C.S.E.'s. I'm just thankful that his fabulous new school has the facilities to offer these kinds of courses, with the added bonus that several of them are assessed by coursework and practical exams.  I'm pretty sure he'll sail through most of the courses, especially because he'll get to make a short film in one of them, and study disaster movies in another. Honestly, these courses could not be more perfect for him, and I'm really pleased that he can study something that is both fun and catered to help him achieve his dream of working in the film business.

And me? When I was seriously picking my career options, I wanted to be a nursery teacher first, and work in the advertising world second. I've always loved making up slogans and just basically messing around with words, and little kids have always been a weakness with me too. Of course, I dropped out of school during the first term of the sixth form (year 12 as it is now), and have only ever worked as a sales assistant, but do you know what, I'm almost glad that I did drop out. Working with the public on and off for 15 years has meant that I have probably interacted with every type of person on the planet. It's these different personalities that help me when it comes to writing. I may not remember people's names, or even base a character on a particular person, but from observing lots of weird and wonderful people over the years, I have received an education that isn't provided in any school in the world. I'm not educated in the true sense of the word, but I'm world-wise, and when it comes to writing novels, that can only be a good thing.

So, what about you? When you were young and innocent, what did YOU want to be?

The Best Laid Plans....

Psst! Don't faint from shock, but it looks like there might be a blog today! *gasps* I'm not holding my breath though, because every time I've tried to write my blog this week, something has cropped up. I'm not dancing 'till I get to the end of this post. *nods firmly*


I seriously cannot believe that it is the 19th of December. This whole year has flown by, but December itself seems to have all gotten blurred together. One minute it was December the 1st, and now we are well over half way through the month. I've done nothing but scrub, polish, sweep, mop, vacuum, wrap presents, write cards out, sooth excited kids, shop and just generally run around like a crazy chicken for the last two weeks. And this year was supposed to be calmer because I am actually fairly organized!

Anywho, I am going to try and blog about an actual subject today, and hopefully I can get it done before the kids wake up (they are both still sleeping, even though it is just past 9am - yay!).

Ugh! I typed the above almost an hour ago! As soon as I typed 'yay', my daughter came into the room and I've been Ellied for the last 45 minutes. I shouldn't moan though, as the fact that I was Ellied so badly is because she's not very well, poor thing. She's got that awful stomach bug that's flying around, and she's most upset that she is ill because it is interfering with the Birthday Excitement (two more sleeps!).  Actually, I had planned to blog last night because the hubby was out, but because Ellie was ill my plans were scuppered.

Anyway, daughter is now snuggled up in my bed watching the Disney Channel, and son is eating his breakfast (yes, he has now joined the waking world also), so I shall endeavor to continue today's blog. Now, where was I? Oh yes, a subject.

*thinks*

*thinks some more*

*brain begins to hurt*

Aha! I know! (Actually I don't know, but I'm hoping that by typing 'I know!' I may prod my brain into thinking of something).

Since typing the above, the phone has rung (you see what I mean by things getting in the way all the time?). Another bloody sales call. *glares at phone* Still, as annoying as they are, I am thankful that the phone interrupted my blog, because I definitely have a subject to ramble about now. Issallgood like, innit?

Bloody sales calls. I get them about six times a day. And it's not restricted to the phone either, I get people knocking my door too. And every time I go shopping, I get pestered by people trying to get me to join the RAC or the AA (I don't have a car, and I can't drive, for duck's sake!!). 

Door Knockers.

When I say 'Door Knockers', I am not referring to actual knockers (or even knockers, which is a slang term for boobs), but to those people that knock your door armed with clipboards and an anorak.  Nine times out of ten, they are trying to sell me double glazing. *rolls eyes* Honestly, if I had the money to replace my decrepit windows, don't you think I would have done it by now? And seriously, do you expect me to have a spare few grand in December? I think not. I don't have a spare tenner half the time, never mind anything else.

Then there are the Jehovah's Witnesses. Now, I have to be careful here because I don't want to give offence, but honestly, I really hate it when Jehovah's Witnesses knock my door and give me one of their leaflets. I am not, nor ever have been, a religious person. I'm not actively against religion, and think that everyone is entitled to believe in whatever they choose, but I hate it when people try to ram it down my throat. Jehovah's Witnesses are the worst culprits. You don't see any other religious community sending out their followers on door-to-door converting missions, do you? You don't get people knocking your door and asking you to praise Allah or some such thing. But Jehovah's Witnesses are scarily frequent in their attempts to convert the masses. And do you know what the most annoying thing is? They're always so nice about it. They knock your door and smile warmly when you open it, then they gently place a leaflet in your hands and invite you to their next meeting. Even when you say that you really don't think that you'll be converting any time soon, they still smile warmly, and you feel like a heel for dismissing them.

Phone Calls.

Like I said, I get about six a day. The hottest subject at the moment is free holidays. Apparently, my phone number has been randomly selected and is now in the running for an all expenses paid trip to somewhere very exotic. The most extraordinary thing about this is the fact that my phone number has been 'randomly selected' about three times a week for the last month. Bloody hell, how lucky am I? *snorts*

The next hottest subject is insurance. *rolls eyes* Life insurance, home insurance, buildings and contents insurance, car insurance, pet insurance, accidental injury insurance.... you name it, and I've had somebody try to sell it to me. Bugger off, insurance sales people! I. Am. Not. Interested.

Level with the insurance people are the utility sales people. Don't knock my door and don't phone me any more, please, I'm begging you. Yes, your sales pitch is very good, and yes, you are currently the cheapest on the market for your gas and electricity supplies, but I still don't want to know. You may be cheapest at the moment, but by the time the supply gets switched over and I have re-arranged my Direct Debits, six to eight weeks will have passed, your prices will be on the higher end of the market, and my original supplier will be phoning me and asking me to come back because THEY are now the cheapest on the market.

(*snorts profusely* I just had another sales call while I was typing that. Talk about speak of the devil....)

I think I'll end it there. Honestly, I've been trying to do the blog for almost two hours now, and all I've had are interruptions (I just got Ellied again, apparently 'funny things are happening to me mum, like my eyes going dizzy and my leg vibrating' [don't ask]). 

I was going to mention that I should be able to blog tomorrow, even though it's a dreaded Sunday, but although I am still mentioning it, I am not promising. My plans have gone awry (*winks at Tami*) all week, so it's best not to bank on anything going smoothly....

Ooh, almost forgot! I have written a blog - finally! - so I have to dance, don't I?

There, never let it be said that I don't dance when I've said I would.