Before I begin, quick warning: Any male readers may want to think twice before reading the following post as it contains the word 'period' more than once..
Ok fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.
I have weird dreams. I have done as long as I can remember. This is not very exciting I know, as I realise I am not alone in having bizarre dreams. People constantly bore one another by relaying their dreams the next day in technicolor and surround sound- there is rarely anything more tedious than hearing someone witter on about what nonsense was swirling around in their head from the night before. (Except for maybe viewing someone else's holiday photos.. YAWN).
Anyway, the unusual thing I've found over the years is just how bizarre my dreams become when it's my 'time of the month'. When I'm due my period my dreams become nightmarish films that even once waking follow me around all day with images that even though I've imagined them, I can't get out of my head. Most of these dreams are graphic. Either sexually graphic or incredibly gory. Nothing good comes from me snoozing at this time in my cycle.
The last few dreams I can remember consisted of the entire Eastenders cast and myself being brutally killed in an avalanche, or the night after, myself and my mum being forced to watch a small boy being garrotted whilst still awake. Charming eh?
Oh and did I mention that in ALL these dreams no one has a face? Where their face should be is replaced by a smooth mannequin style horror. The only reason I can think of for this is a (funnily enough) Bedtime Story book I was given as a child. I loved it, it had a story for every-night of the year. However, one of the stories about a wee boy who loses his face and is left with an oval dot on the end of his neck with absolutely no features. It still gives me the creeps at the ripe old age of 28.
It seems I'm not alone in my horrible
monthly dreams, the wonders of Google (and friends) show that many women have similar experiences. With most saying they are violent or sexually explicit. Who needs horror films when I have a private monthly showing of GoreFest 2011 playing in my subconscious once a month?
Sleep Tight. I'd say don't let the mannequins bite, but as they have no face they have no capacity to do so.
Sweet Dreams. X
Sunday, 18 December 2011
Thursday, 8 December 2011
Nice to see you, To see you Nice?
I was brought up and spent most of my life in a small village in Scotland. I still live nearby - only a 20minute drive in fact, and now live in a slightly bigger 'town'. However the mentality of the majority/minority (not really sure which) of the residents is still the same.
Where I grew up is one of my favourite places to be. It's tiny, has several pubs, takeaways and a supermarket and that's about it - along with the essentials; doctors, dentists, pharmacy and a primary school and high school. There is little, to nothing, to do, but it holds lots of happy memories for me. My parents still live there and most of the rest of my close family. I know all the ins and outs of it like the back of my hand. It also has the best sweet shop known to man.
So when I mention the 'mentality' of the people who live there, and beyond, I obviously don't mean everyone, as I know that is far from the truth. The issue I have, and always had, is the reluctance from people who live in a close knit community to think beyond the end of the road.
When I was a teenager I was obsessed with art, and waiting on the bus to college every morning laden with folders, tins of paint and reams of paper, i could pretty much guarantee I'd get a comment about why I was dressed the way I was (i favoured the dungaree for painting..), what was I bothering with 'doodling' for, how it wasn't a 'career' and what on earth did my parents think about all this. I always found the parents one in particular quite laughable- as if going to college to pursue something you love doing is somehow something my parents should've been disgusted with;
'Rick have you seen this? She's going to college, on time -AGAIN! I'd much rather see our daughter wile away her days in a crack den, wouldn't you agree?'
The issue with trying to defend your decisions to relative strangers is that I would normally always come across as looking like I was trying to be 'better' than I am and why should I? Whats wrong with where you live now? Eh? EH? I would be looked on as a bit snobby.
My mum once experienced this attitude to her dismay, walking along the main street. She was wearing a long winter coat and had just come from Sunday mass. A woman/man (again not quite sure which..) stopped in front of her and muttered, "Who does she think she is?" I am still to this day, raging about this. I can let go (eventually) of someone talking to me in that way, but who are YOU to talk to my mother like that? My mum is too soft and will not stick up for herself in this sort of scenario. She just came home and fumed then got upset and self conscious. This is when my blood begins to boil over and I become a mild mannered and female version of the incredible hulk. I regularly embarrass my mum if we are out and about by looking with disgust at someone who's just looked at me in a similar way, or worse, (for her), questioning what the purpose of/reason for said 'look' was in the first place. Then again is that me sticking up for myself or lowering my standards to their level? Who do I think I am?!
Ive never understood why others have to take such an interest in how someone else is dressed, what they have chosen to do with their lives or their preferred choice of cat food. For one it's completely mundane. Get on with your own life and try to remember that the world is rather a large place and there is wonder to be discovered if you make the distance three yards from your front door.
It's nice to be nice and you never know, making someone smile rather than making them want to stick a knife in your back may even make you smile too. X
Where I grew up is one of my favourite places to be. It's tiny, has several pubs, takeaways and a supermarket and that's about it - along with the essentials; doctors, dentists, pharmacy and a primary school and high school. There is little, to nothing, to do, but it holds lots of happy memories for me. My parents still live there and most of the rest of my close family. I know all the ins and outs of it like the back of my hand. It also has the best sweet shop known to man.
So when I mention the 'mentality' of the people who live there, and beyond, I obviously don't mean everyone, as I know that is far from the truth. The issue I have, and always had, is the reluctance from people who live in a close knit community to think beyond the end of the road.
When I was a teenager I was obsessed with art, and waiting on the bus to college every morning laden with folders, tins of paint and reams of paper, i could pretty much guarantee I'd get a comment about why I was dressed the way I was (i favoured the dungaree for painting..), what was I bothering with 'doodling' for, how it wasn't a 'career' and what on earth did my parents think about all this. I always found the parents one in particular quite laughable- as if going to college to pursue something you love doing is somehow something my parents should've been disgusted with;
'Rick have you seen this? She's going to college, on time -AGAIN! I'd much rather see our daughter wile away her days in a crack den, wouldn't you agree?'
The issue with trying to defend your decisions to relative strangers is that I would normally always come across as looking like I was trying to be 'better' than I am and why should I? Whats wrong with where you live now? Eh? EH? I would be looked on as a bit snobby.
My mum once experienced this attitude to her dismay, walking along the main street. She was wearing a long winter coat and had just come from Sunday mass. A woman/man (again not quite sure which..) stopped in front of her and muttered, "Who does she think she is?" I am still to this day, raging about this. I can let go (eventually) of someone talking to me in that way, but who are YOU to talk to my mother like that? My mum is too soft and will not stick up for herself in this sort of scenario. She just came home and fumed then got upset and self conscious. This is when my blood begins to boil over and I become a mild mannered and female version of the incredible hulk. I regularly embarrass my mum if we are out and about by looking with disgust at someone who's just looked at me in a similar way, or worse, (for her), questioning what the purpose of/reason for said 'look' was in the first place. Then again is that me sticking up for myself or lowering my standards to their level? Who do I think I am?!
Ive never understood why others have to take such an interest in how someone else is dressed, what they have chosen to do with their lives or their preferred choice of cat food. For one it's completely mundane. Get on with your own life and try to remember that the world is rather a large place and there is wonder to be discovered if you make the distance three yards from your front door.
It's nice to be nice and you never know, making someone smile rather than making them want to stick a knife in your back may even make you smile too. X
Monday, 5 December 2011
Simply having a terrible Christmas time
I thought as I'm starting this blog in December my first post should be a festive one.
As I write this there is a big box on the living room floor which holds our second-hand Christmas tree. My friend Kate gave it to us last year as we'd just moved into a new house a couple of months prior and were poorer than poor. Another friend, Jen (and her mum and dad) also donated lots of decorations to the quickly established charity The House Of Kath & James.
We bought fairy lights and put up our first tree. In our first home. On our first Christmas together in it. Very exciting. Tree sat all cosy in the corner of the room spreading festive cheer almost instantly.
At this point too we were in the midst of a treacherous winter - snow outside our door was up to our knees and although my beloved shovelled it daily, by the next morning it was knee-height again. Now don't get me wrong, I bloody LOVE the snow. As I'm constantly told though I'm not really allowed to have an opinion on the White stuff as I'm "not a driver".
Ah I see, as I don't drive I couldn't possible appreciate what its like to travel in the snow - I don't for example freeze my arse off ON A DAILY BASIS waiting for a rust bucket of a bus that's NEVER on time, to then sit for an hour there and back to work on an uncomfortable seat in a bus that usually doesn't have a heater? No of course not. I don't walk long, LONG distances in the vein hope of finding another bus that will take me to my destination after the first 5 have been late/cancelled/not turned up/driven off cliffs.
Yes, fair enough I don't have to go through the dreaded procedure of scraping the frost off the car in the morning, or waiting for the heater to warm up. But I do have to wait upwards of an hour with icicles forming on my nose and eyelashes (not a few of my favourite things) and sit on a freezing bus dressed like an Inuit.
This is one of my gripes about the festive season in general. The country goes into uproar at the slightest hint of a snowflake, people stock up as though preparing for the oncoming end of the world, and start to complain about EVERYTHING. A few examples;
'Where the f**k are the gritters?!' (followed by angry calls to the council)
Where the f**k is the bus?!'
(followed by irate calls to the bus company)
'Why the f**k an I being charged so much for heating?!'
(followed by, you guessed it, furious calls to the gas company).
All of this drains my festive cheer. I love Christmas and therefore love snow, and decorations and being with family and giving gifts to those I love. I hate to see what's meant to be such a happy time turned into yet another excuse to moan, or take time off, or put yourself into debt. The adverts all lead us to believe it's a happy time, we are festooned with images of ex-x-factor contestants driving home for Christmas, excited to see their families faces and devour Iceland prawn balls. (Do prawns even have balls? I genuinely don't know).
Even shopping for presents is a farce, everyone milling around without a clue of what they are there to buy, getting in MY way. Stopping for no apparent reason in the middle of a jam-packed shopping centre to gaze at the sky like a man who's just had his memory wiped. 'What are you doing?' I howl (in my head) 'For the love of God, MOVE!!' Then I'm the one who looks like the nutcase because I'm walking quickly and silently seething behind old ladies (yes I know I'm not helping my case) - if you can't handle the pace get OUT OF MY (the) SHOPPING CENTRE.
Left devastated by my experiences this year I've resolved to do it all online in 2012. Least that way my blood pressure will stay at an acceptable level, and there's less chance I'll become known as The Shopping Centre Killer.
Now I'm going to put my Inuit costume on and go out and make a snow angel then fire up the Christmas tree. Where the f**k did I put those lights..?
As I write this there is a big box on the living room floor which holds our second-hand Christmas tree. My friend Kate gave it to us last year as we'd just moved into a new house a couple of months prior and were poorer than poor. Another friend, Jen (and her mum and dad) also donated lots of decorations to the quickly established charity The House Of Kath & James.
We bought fairy lights and put up our first tree. In our first home. On our first Christmas together in it. Very exciting. Tree sat all cosy in the corner of the room spreading festive cheer almost instantly.
At this point too we were in the midst of a treacherous winter - snow outside our door was up to our knees and although my beloved shovelled it daily, by the next morning it was knee-height again. Now don't get me wrong, I bloody LOVE the snow. As I'm constantly told though I'm not really allowed to have an opinion on the White stuff as I'm "not a driver".
Ah I see, as I don't drive I couldn't possible appreciate what its like to travel in the snow - I don't for example freeze my arse off ON A DAILY BASIS waiting for a rust bucket of a bus that's NEVER on time, to then sit for an hour there and back to work on an uncomfortable seat in a bus that usually doesn't have a heater? No of course not. I don't walk long, LONG distances in the vein hope of finding another bus that will take me to my destination after the first 5 have been late/cancelled/not turned up/driven off cliffs.
Yes, fair enough I don't have to go through the dreaded procedure of scraping the frost off the car in the morning, or waiting for the heater to warm up. But I do have to wait upwards of an hour with icicles forming on my nose and eyelashes (not a few of my favourite things) and sit on a freezing bus dressed like an Inuit.
This is one of my gripes about the festive season in general. The country goes into uproar at the slightest hint of a snowflake, people stock up as though preparing for the oncoming end of the world, and start to complain about EVERYTHING. A few examples;
'Where the f**k are the gritters?!' (followed by angry calls to the council)
Where the f**k is the bus?!'
(followed by irate calls to the bus company)
'Why the f**k an I being charged so much for heating?!'
(followed by, you guessed it, furious calls to the gas company).
All of this drains my festive cheer. I love Christmas and therefore love snow, and decorations and being with family and giving gifts to those I love. I hate to see what's meant to be such a happy time turned into yet another excuse to moan, or take time off, or put yourself into debt. The adverts all lead us to believe it's a happy time, we are festooned with images of ex-x-factor contestants driving home for Christmas, excited to see their families faces and devour Iceland prawn balls. (Do prawns even have balls? I genuinely don't know).
Even shopping for presents is a farce, everyone milling around without a clue of what they are there to buy, getting in MY way. Stopping for no apparent reason in the middle of a jam-packed shopping centre to gaze at the sky like a man who's just had his memory wiped. 'What are you doing?' I howl (in my head) 'For the love of God, MOVE!!' Then I'm the one who looks like the nutcase because I'm walking quickly and silently seething behind old ladies (yes I know I'm not helping my case) - if you can't handle the pace get OUT OF MY (the) SHOPPING CENTRE.
Left devastated by my experiences this year I've resolved to do it all online in 2012. Least that way my blood pressure will stay at an acceptable level, and there's less chance I'll become known as The Shopping Centre Killer.
Now I'm going to put my Inuit costume on and go out and make a snow angel then fire up the Christmas tree. Where the f**k did I put those lights..?
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