Mutant Enemy Days

It's been a bit of a day so far.

I woke up, rolled over to see how long I had to go until my 6 o'clock alarm, and found that it was 6:35. Either the alarm didn't go off, or I cancelled it without even noticing; either way, I was running late, so I had to rush out of the house without tea.

Grr. Argh!

I got into work, had a shower, then came to the office and found that my computer wouldn't connect to the internet. At all.

Grr. Argh!

So I switched to another computer/desk (which means all my calls are coming to the wrong place) and I still can't connect to the damned printer.

To top it all, I had a long and boring meeting full of waffle and back and forth and magical thinking ("We don't have that much money," "Yes, but let's assume we can find some more somewhere...") which ran on and on until Hanna's lunch break was over so I didn't get to talk to her on the phone. By this point it was 2 o'clock and, like the Sweeney, I hadn't had my dinner, so...

Grr. Argh!

On a lighter note, dear readers, I leave you with something I noticed on my bag of Minstrels yesterday.

This slogan is used apparently without irony.
I didn't know that was still possible.

Plumbing the Depths

It's been a bit of a week for plumbing. I've had a week's holiday from home with Hanna and Arya, which has been glorious, if incredibly exhausting, but all manner of things have gone wrong in the plumbing department (that of the house, thankfully, not my own plumbing, which would be grimmer.)

"Can I take it to the bridge!"

First, the washing machine died the death. £400 to replace it (including installation and disposal of the old one.) Hanna is waiting in today for them to come and deliver; I hope they get there early, so that she can take Arya to the playground while the weather remains good. This is a possibility now that I have finally found a playground in my home town. I've only been there a year (although in my defence a lot of the play equipment is newer than that.)

Actually, first the main sewer backed up, it's just taken longer to get that sorted. I contacted the ground landlord and have now had a look in the manholes (thanks to the father and partner of one of the other leaseholders, who came over with crowbars) and Anglian Water is allegedly on the case. The progress on this was slowed by the fact that the third leaseholder apparently doesn't communicate much*, and a fire alarm from the third floor flat has prompted the Fire Brigade to direct us to put in an integrated alarm system at no-doubt exorbitant cost (which enlivened conversation with the leaseholder no end, as the tenant and agent had never mentioned this.)

Then the washing machine, which has meant two trips to Martlesham to do laundry. Actually, the one on Thursday was for Hanna to vote, although both of our constituencies stuck predictably with the Blue Meanies. I can't say that the result of the election doesn't fill me with a sick sense of dread, but I'm trying not to let it get to me. I do feel that it's time I got more politically active, however, perhaps because I've got my daughter's future to consider now.

You may recall I said we wanted to
take her to see the diplodocus.

This morning, the shower broke, by which I mean 'made grinding noises and emitted smoke'. I don't know what this is going to set me back yet. I need to persuade a plumber to come in largely on spec to check the connections and tell me what I need to buy. It feels almost cheeky asking.

On the upside, we've been to the Natural History Museum, found that playground, spent time as a family and finally beaten Pandemic (fuck you, global viral Armageddon!)

Ultimately, I am torn between my belief that money is fundamentally unimportant to the pursuit of happiness, and the stark reality that while money can't make you happy, lack of it is pretty miserable, especially when you need to make the mortgage every month. I know in my heart that all I need to be a good father is to love my daughter and be an emotional support for her in times of trouble, but I also want to provide for her** and clothe and house her and sometimes buy her books without worrying about eating for the rest of the week.

In the long run, what matters to me is my daughter. In the short term,  however, having a livable house is no small thing.

Hey ho. I can wash at work, and at least I will have a very shiny washing machine.

* Or indeed at all, preferring to route everything through a solicitor who seems to expect us to pay her for the services for which her client is presumably already being billed.
** In collaboration with Hanna and Andy, I'm not trying to be some sort of sole breadwinner.

And on and on

These dolphins represent... I don't know, my
inner conflict or something.

I need to make changes to my life. Not big ones; well, not ones that seem big any more. Big things in my life are my family, and what I need to change is just my job. Specifically, I need something that brings in a little more money without completely eating into my time. The problem with a lot of stuff in the next band up is that they start expecting late Fridays and weekends out of you, and that's my family time which they absolutely can not have.

But yes, I need a slightly better paying job with equal flexibility if I am to continue to have a family life and a bit of leisure time, and maybe one day get back to my Dr Who CD subscriptions and upgrading to a 2 credit Audible account.

Interesting digression, having an Audible account gives you credits you can use for any single audiobook, regardless of its actual cost. I  now find myself looking at the options thinking 'yes, that's a good author and a good reader, but is it 20 hours long?' I may swing back towards heroic fantasy, if only because you get a lot of book for your buck. Sadly Jack Vance's Dying Earth is sold in bits.

I've got some big stuff coming up. We're going to the Natural History Museum to show Arya the dinosaurs this weekend, then I have a week with Arya and Hanna in which we plan to sort out the kitchen a bit. It's likely to be a testing time, as I don't doubt we'll all be pretty ragged by the end of it, but it's also a chance for me to spend a whole week with my girls. I'm aware of the pressure - almost entirely internal - to be all awesome all the time, and I'm thinking that maybe we should arrange for each of us to have some 'time off' to hit the cinema, perhaps, and recharge. Of course, it's still up in the air whether my Unlimited Card will be any good next month, and whether anything else will be in place.

“She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls. You must 

not complain, then, if she goes hunting.”

It's also about a month to our anniversary, and I'm still not very good at those. I've not had very many, all told. I want to do something special, but thrifty, which is difficult these days. I'm thinking of something involving cooking. Hanna is also very into the recent trend in grown up colouring books and has suggested some colourable postcards might be well received.

Black Dog Days

Morissette, I will take your ten thousand spoons over any
number of knives.

Oh, that hurt.

I've been looking after Arya while she has chicken pox, and the virus seems to have snuck in and tried to give me shingles. Fortunately, I had chicken pox and my immune system had words, but they were strong words delivered in the manner of one of the fight scenes in the new Daredevil series, and left me well and truly trashed. I was literally unable to face the train journey home on Sunday, so had to make my way directly from Ipswich to work this morning and I feel like I climbed a mountain.

Actually, I've climbed a mountain; I've climbed two, and I never felt this rough afterwards*.

It doesn't help that I was pretty hammered this time last weekend. I really need to get some sleep. Ah well, I guess that Wednesday night Marvel Marathon is out of the question.

On the upside, I had some super quality time with my daughter, in between the howling-at-the-injustice-of-illness moments and the exhaustion. On the downside, before I worked out that I was sick and hungry on Sunday, I was careening towards a state of black depression like I've not known in a good while; probably not since I stopped teaching. Fortunately Arya's presence helped to stabilise me, but it was pretty alarming.

I don't talk about my depression much, but it's always there, hovering in the background. It hits me like the proverbial black dog**, knocking me down and taking all the wind out of me. It makes me physically slower and makes me question my worth and my contribution. Arya helps because just being with her I know I am loved and held in the highest value, and that I have contributed to making something wonderful. I ought to be able to remember that when she isn't there, but it doesn't work that way.

Perhaps the most insidious aspect of depression is that it makes you feel blameworthy for being depressed. This is a trap, but knowing it is a trap and avoiding that trap are two different things. I spend much of my life on the brink of the pit, aware that there is solid ground to my back but unable to step away. It's not a unique feeling, and was described by another famous black dog sufferer***. Not that I have had actual suicidal thoughts for a long time now, but the vertiginous sensation is all too familiar.

I'm much better today, because I'm no longer fighting off infection along with exhaustion, and I can look back and, not laugh, but recognise the tricks the dog played on me and acknowledge them with a nod and a grim smile. He won't be there tomorrow, but he'll be around; it's just a case of taking it a day at a time, and keeping him out in the yard where he belongs.

* Full disclosure, they were smallish mountains in the Britannic mould, and I suspect that the invigorating fresh air helped a lot.
** "The black dog I hope always to resist, and in time to drive, though I am deprived of almost all those that used to help me…When I rise my breakfast is solitary, the black dog waits to share it, from breakfast to dinner he continues barking, except that Dr Brocklesby for a little keeps him at a distance…Night comes at last, and some hours of restlessness and confusion bring me again to a day of solitude. What shall exclude the black dog from a habitation like this?" - Samuel Johnson
*** "I don’t like standing near the edge of a platform when an express train is passing through. I like to stand back and, if possible, get a pillar between me and the train. I don’t like to stand by the side of a ship and look down into the water. A second’s action would end everything. A few drops of desperation." - Winston Churchill

Weariness, books and old friends

It's all up with my spoons at the moment. I am super tired, thanks to Arya kicking me out of bed at a critical time.

I can tell I'm especially tired because a) having retreated to Arya's bedroom after being kicked out of my own, I woke up panicking that she was gone and b) I misheard the interests of one of the contestants on Swashbuckle as 'carnage' instead of 'colouring'. I also really wanted to know who was going to win in Kerwhizz*, which can not be a good sign.

Still, we actually managed to get some time to ourselves this weekend, so Hanna and I finished off The Musketeers and watched a bunch of The 100 which has been sitting on our Sky box for ever so. The fact that we stayed up to get to the end of the finale of The Musketeers may not have helped with our spondular deficit.

We also had a visit from my old friend Jon, whom I've not seen in person in ages. On the up side, we have some tentative board gaming plans for the near future.

Also went to the dentist; all seems to be good. Yay!

I am a coherent blogger, damnit!

* Which describes itself as 'the quiz with added whiz,' although I maintain that it is actually the quiz with added er.

Life is Over and Under and Up and Down

This weekend has been a super-challenging one, as I was Arya's sole on-the-scene carer for all of the long Empire weekend. Hanna and Andrew seem to have had fun, and so did I; Arya is harder to judge, but for the most part I think it went well. We baked and I managed not to be too obsessive about keeping mess to a limit.

As a result, however, I don't have a lot to write about that isn't covered in my baby blog, because damn that was hard work. Single parents, I don't know how you do it. (Well, apart from the ones who live in filth, send their kids to school at five with no language comprehension, and spend the child benefits on booze and ciggies; I know how they do it. I mean the ones who do it right.)

George Vernon Hudson must die!

Film pitch: An inventor creates a time machine. His exhausted assistant, completely frazzled after the loss of an hour's sleep, travels back in time to kill George Vernon Hudson before he can propose the idea of changing the clocks twice a year.

It could be called Saving Daylight.

Domestic bliss.

On Friday I went to Martlesham on emergency leave to look after Arya. She had a bit of a fever from an ear infection and Hanna and Andrew have blown most of their leave already. It was also a chance of some extra time with Arya, which is not to be passed up.

The big stories of the weekend are the nursery/Arya's bedroom, which has had a dramatic overhaul, and the switch to BST, which turns out to be way more disorienting with a child involved.We spent much of Sunday in a collective fog and it was perpetually an hour later than we thought. It didn't help that Saturday night was hit and miss for sleep, although on Friday night Hanna and I got to cuddle up together and have the bed to ourselves all night for the first time in... I don't know how long.

Eschewing the many TV shows we have to catch up on, Hanna and I watched Transformers: Age of Extinction (thank you, LoveFilm) and Edge of Tomorrow on DVD/BluRay. One of these films is very good.

There is probably more to say, but I'm still a bit discombobulated. I love my family; that bears repeating.

So do you!

In 1940, the idea that 'alien' meant anything
except 'foreign' was apparently... well,
alien. Also, get the fuck out of Harwich, yo!

This weekend I traveled over to Ipswich to spend time there, as Hanna was working Friday and Saturday. This was a pretty demanding run, but since Hanna was working until 8.30 both nights, I can't really complain. We went to the Ipswich Museum, which has a bomb shelter exhibit featuring a police notice regarding the Aliens (Protected Areas) Order, which basically says no aliens are allowed in Harwich (and defines what they mean by Harwich.)

I got to spend plenty of time with Arya, although I am missing time with Hanna. On the upside, this week was a bit of a one-off to claw back some of the hours lost in transferring (and from the nightmare commute to Greenwich) and she's unlikely to be as tired and as busy in general. We've got a lazy weekend together planned for the next.

I've had a bad week for eating and I need to get a handle on that. I want to be sure I cook properly this week. I also want to get to the cinema, both to use my card and because there's stuff I want to see - Chappie, probably Seventh Son, even though I am sure it's going to suck, and what the hell, Insurgent - and I've already missed Paddington and Big Hero 6. Cinderella I'm going to take Hanna and Arya to see, even if we don't make it past the Frozen short*.

So, yeah; I feel lumpy and a bit short on spoons at the moment, but hopefully a week of living right - and keeping my diet - will help get me on the mend.

I'm also getting alternately psyched and terrified about spending the whole weekend solo with Arya over Easter.

* Ah, Frozen Shorts; that takes me way back. Also, I am now bummed out to learn that Gary Rosen died. Stupid nostalgia.

Forgive me if it goes astray

I have an evil persona. Well, not really evil; he's more of a whiny, passive-aggressive dick. He comes out when I'm tired or stressed or especially hungry, and while I mostly have him in hand these days, I still have moments where I become the whiny, passive-aggressive me and I hurt the people I care about.

In place of a picture of me acting like a dick,
here is a gorilla painted like Iron Man.

Please note the careful use of pronouns there. While I consider this side of my personality to be 'not me', I'm not writing off responsibility for my actions. Whiny, passive-aggressive dick me is still me.

On the upside, I deal with this better than I used to. I manifested this side of myself on Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, and snapped at Hanna. It was utterly uncalled for, horribly unfair and frankly ungrateful. I immediately regretted it, but you can't take these things back. I'm just glad that Hanna didn't drive off into the night with Arya swearing never to speak to me again. It might have been an overreaction, but not by very much.

Anyway, as was my response to this would have been to justify myself, but I've grown as a person. When Hanna sent me to bed with a flea in my ear I lay awake for a while, running through the various justifications in my head. This gave me the chance to assess just how much of a moaning tosser I would have sounded like and realise that when you do something for which you can expect no forgiveness, the only thing you can do is ask and hope.

And Hanna is an amazing person. I'm not saying I won't pay for this later, but she certainly didn't make a thing of it when we were both still exhausted, which shows far more wisdom than I did.

Anyway, onwards and upwards, for it is better to seek to do better than to crave indulgence for past failures. This weekend I shall not see Hanna and Arya at all, and that will sting, but the reason is that I am attending my first field LRP. I'll be crewing at No Rest for the Wicked, at Castle Fansh near Haltwhistle. I have... some kit options in hand.

I have also resolved that for financial reasons I am going to try to mod my own Nerf guns.

This does mean that I will miss Hanna's birthday, but I am instead letting her use my flat for a girly sleepover, which thus means this week's evenings will largely be given over to some manner of tidying and laying in of luxury hot chocolate components. We then have a plan to take Arya to the zoo next weekend, have a birthday tea with my parents and then a family mother's day.

Tell me why, actor man?

Hanna suggested that I photograph the label as I didn't
have a pen on me.

The last few days I have been awfully ill. In fairness, it could have been worse. Hanna was able o give me fair warning of how bad the affliction in question might get, so I've been on antibiotics since the infection began to show on Friday morning. All things considered, taking Arya into Ely on Saturday may have been a bit much. I was ludicrously pleased when Hanna got back from her game at around dinner time instead of in the small hours of the morning.

Other than being ill since Thursday, and sleeping on the sofa so that Hanna and I didn't keep each other awake with our coughing, it was a good weekend though. Arya continues to push boundaries, but I got to spend a load of time with her and with Hanna. We were both ill, so it was mostly cuddles and TV, but it was good to have something to ourselves.

On Sunday we went to see The Book of Life, an animated film by Guillermo del Toro which I originally saw part of with Arya. She had a go at walking out again and I missed the very end of the movie watching my daughter circle in the lobby of the cineworld Huntingdon. After that, we went to a Living History Fair in Godmanchester, where I mostly window shopped for LARP kit and Hanna recnnected with friends from Maelstrom/Empire or people her parents knew.

We had pancakes at dinner, which was nice.

Dippy and Deprivation

Dippy the Diplodocus (c. Drow Male, Creative Commons)

So, they're moving the diplodocus from the Great Hall of the Natural History Museum in London. It's not been there forever, but it's certainly been there since I were a lad, so Hanna and I are quite keen to take Arya to see the Museum before they replace it with a blue whale. I'm not, for the record, angry about this or anything; I entirely get that Dippy isn't even a real skeleton, but is composed entirely of casts of bones, but standing and gazing up at the diplodocus is otherwise an experience I won't get to share with my daughter.

Why does this seem of great importance? Well, quite possibly because I am seriously tired, due to Arya's ill-health at the weekend. It changes your priorities does exhaustion, although I did get to sleep last night, so I'm not as bad as I was yesterday.

Of greater actual moment is the awareness that I need to start looking for a change of job. I'm reluctant, because where I am now is really pretty good to me. If it was only a little more money I would never leave.

Measuring Spoons

So, you all know how spoons work, right?

Most alcoholics have fewer than average spoons. The
absinthe drinker has plenty, but they all have holes in.

For any who don't, spoons are the hypothetical measure of the level of cope required to undertake everyday tasks. The point of the model is that your workaday 'normal' human being has a near-infinite number of spoons, but that any level of disability rapidly reduces one to a strictly limited spondular* budget.

Now, as these things go, I am not exactly short on spoons, but neither am I the happy-go-lucky man of a thousand spoons that I used to be (in my head at least,) and my spondular commitments are many. In particular at the moment, there is caring for Arya at the weekends and helping Hanna to make up her spondular deficit, which is profound. Hanna has fewer** spoons than most to begin with, and of late has been splitting them between a daughter, a husband, a boyfriend and a demanding course of study requiring a four hour a day commute. The news that her transfer from Greenwich to Suffolk had been approved was a wonder of wonders.

This weekend, we had a clear plan and I budgeted my spoons - already depleted by post-Christmas lurgy - accordingly. By 11 o'clock on Sunday I had spent the day with my daughter (which included scraping her off the kitchen floor when she went into complete meltdown) and taken her swimming (driven by mummy) and was pretty much done for the day. Hanna and I went to see Into the Woods while Arya's other daddy took her for a stroll and a nap. I had perhaps one spoon left with which to tidy up when I got home and the others took off for Martlesham. I had planned to have a few more, but a bad night's sleep on Friday punctuated by weird dreams, the last of which involved me trying to prevent social services from taking Arya away before Hanna could get home, put paid to that.

For the benefit of younger readers, Uri Geller is a celebrity
psychic who made a fortune persuading people that even if he
could bend a spoon with his brain, that would mean something.

Unfortunately, part of Hanna's deficit derives from the fact that her ME and CFS not only cap her spoon levels, they also make it near-impossible for her to accurately estimate her remaining spondic reserve. She brought Arya to me, went to an Empire player event, came back, took us swimming and came to the cinema with me, and only on the drive back to Littleport did it really come home to her that she was not merely down to her last spoons, but had suffered an unexpected visit from Uri Geller.

I mention this not to complain, but to note that Andrew - whose birthday it is today - was a star, covering the washing up and Arya's bathtime so that I could eek out my last spoon to cook dinner and get Arya to bed. I don't know how families with only two parents cope, let alone one.

Until next time, may all your spoons be runcible.

* Spondular (adj.) - Of or referring to spoons. Also, of the back or of medical complaints of the back. I only made one of these definitions up.
** But not slotty