I worry myself sometimes
There are some things you shouldn't do, often they require you do them before you learn not to. Like mixing your drinks, or swimming after eating, or eating ice cream after drinking beer and then going to bed. If I'd known the consequences of doing exactly that, I would have forcefully stopped myself. Which of the two I would have avoided is uncertain, but the ice cream is the mostly likely guess.
Course, neither of them may be responsible for altering my brain chemistry and produced the series of unusual dreams. They’re mostly unusual because I remembered them. I did Sunday morning anyway. The first two have slipped a little; that’s a lie. They have completely disappeared from my memory and all I can remember is that they left my feeling confused upon waking from them. It’s because I woke up from them that I remembered anything about them. The third I made a point of writing down, thus its contents are somewhat clearer. It has left me pondering my mental state; they’re thoughts that shouldn’t been left alone wandering the vast empty spaces of my brain. And they are many vast empty spaces that odd dreams could disappear into. Luckily, I seem to have managed to exorcise the deeply disturbed feeling that I experienced for most of the day due to writing this particular dream down, and emailing it to the person that mysterious got entangled within it. Something with they probably wish I hadn't.
It’s got me thinking, (a rare event!) so I’m now hunting about the net to see if what I dreamt has any deeper meaning.
There’s no mention of the kind of thing that trespassed into my brain the night before last on any of the many websites on dream interpretation. There was no falling or nudity or chasing in my dream. These are the sites that are run by “psychics” or con-artists as I prefer to call them, with a book or two to flog. I checked one in particular to see if they came up with anything to explain the urinal bit: there’s nothing. (I may get to sharing what this dream was all about, if there is sufficient interest in the matter, but considering the readership of this blog, it's unlikely.)
The angle that fitted most with the idea that I’ve had for a long time, that dreams aren’t a way of foreseeing future occurrences but a way of dealing with the mess of everyday events that our minds cache away, is the most appealing. Whether there is any deeper meaning to our personalities in dreams as Freud, Jung and others have suggested, is a matter for debate. In practically every dream I’ve actually remembered I can drag out various elements and clearly see where it came from. Something from the “real” world that I’ve dealt with in some way; something that I’ve read, watched, seen, or witnessed; people I’ve encountered; problems I’ve had to solve and fix; and because my little world is so little, themes and events tend to repeat. This dream had me having problems with the router, which I have been, (it’s still not working as before) so the now stored dream image of me trying to use the laptop and not being able to read a webpage is directly from reality. I can pick out pretty much every one of the elements in this dream and identify them from somewhere in the real world. They’ve just gotten extremely muddled and squashed together.
Just a collection of memories, rearranged for (probably) no other reason than to give me something amusing to think about, or blog. That, or I have an evil brain.
I’m now going to intensively read up of the subject just to see if I can have my opinions completed swayed in another direction leading me to contradict myself at a later stage.
“The interpretation of dreams is the royal road to a knowledge of the unconscious activities of the mind” said Freud. I’m not sure I what to delve into my dreams, certainly not that one.
Another Bulleted List
Things I learnt in 2005:
- I do like beer, ale and lager.
- And bourbon isn't that much like (so far) unpalatable whiskey.
- Southern Comfort is quite quaffable as well.
- I don’t like green olives, but black olives I can stomach.
- Goat’s cheese tastes like goats. Not actually been near enough a goat to taste one though.
- I like electronica. Depeche Mode are a bit of a revelation.
- Fruity teas may not taste especially fruity, but they’re nice all the same.
- Anything more than a teaspoon of coffee per cup, and more than 2 cups a day sends me a little loopy and buggers up my sleep pattern.
- That last jar of Co op Fair Trade coffee I bought seems unusually strong, hence the point above.
- The Co op's own brand of chocolate is well tasty.
- Badly dyed shoes, when soaked with rain with leave nasty stains on my feet, which don’t wash off with any sort of ease.
- Gravel shouldn’t be walked in heels, or bare footed – that’s a point I already knew.
- Laptops are the male canine’s dangly bits.
- Ditto (working) wifi, which I have to pronounce whiffy and the not the usual wi-fi (as in hi-fi). It’s a sad affliction I have.
- What del.icio.us is all about.
- How to IRC.
- The knitting that I learnt as a kid bares absolutely no relation to the knitting that the rest of the world, er, knits. I was only ever taught how to cast on and how to do one stitch, which it seems was a strange cross between the purl and knit stitches. Hence the only project I created was a Holey, Never-ending, Multi-Coloured (in Singular Blocks of Primary Colours), Still Attached to the Knitting Needle, Amazingly Increasing and Decreasing Scarf! Hoping that the next scarf I produce will be a little more practical, it’ll be from a big knit kit, which I picked up for myself in HobbyCraft but wrapped up and labelled it from my mum for me to open on xmas day, thus keeping alive the tradition of the “giver” of presents being truly surprised that they bought it.
- Crane flies can cause sleepless nights, and although I have no scientific data to back this up, icky colds.
- What not to wear. Oh, wait. No, that wasn’t me.
- That I really shouldn’t be let near eBay, but I fear this is a lesson that will go unheeded this year.
- What that piece of music by The Penguin Café Orchestra that I’ve loved for years is called, Perpetuum Mobile, for those who are curious.
- I don't mind flying, even when the turbulence is really bad – it just felt like going over pot-holes to me. Lots of pot-holes admittedly.
- What the Mediterranean Sea looks and feels like.
- That I can’t sleep in un-air conditioned rooms in Spain whilst sharing with someone else.
(I don’t drink that much, honestly!)
Little Mistakes
I could have done without experiencing that week. Far too many little annoyances that have made me swear, scream and make some very angry faces.
Monday night there was a power cut in the local area; it was late and I was safely tucked up in bed, listening to music. I was a tad miffed at the loss of my evening audio entertainment but otherwise not bothered. It’s not the end of the world to lose power for 15-20 minutes. Unless it fucks up your internet connection in the process.
I called the isp, and received no assistance, which was a first as they’re usually very good with the helpful advice and problem solving. I was alone with my problem *sob*. I came to the conclusion late on Tuesday afternoon that perhaps the pc had been somehow corrupted in the power cut and thus the router wasn’t being recognised. So, that night I started the tedious process of reinstalling Windows, again! One day I’ll figure out that this isn’t the way to fix problems.
Wednesday brought many reboots of the pc, cable modem and router and cable jiggling which solved nowt. I however reached an important ratiocination: if there wasn’t a probably with the modem and pc bits it must, by deduction, be the router bit. More swearing followed in trying to unplug the cable out of the back of the pc that lead to the aforementioned suspected faulty equipment. It’s a tricky bugger, for some reason. It merely added to the high levels of frustration that I was already feeling.
Having struggled with more cables, and another reboot I discovered what a 10Mb download speed should feel like. The woo! moment didn’t last, despite the fabulously quick web page loading. I may have wasted a little time in doing nonessential, not-working-to-fix-the-problem type of stuff, but after the reinstall, I did have to go through the lengthy process of downloading and updating anything Windows-esque, and installing all those fabulous little programs that I like to clutter up the computer with. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to shrink my unread Bloglines list – I fear that’s now a war I shall never win, I stopped trying to fight the battle some time ago. Thankfully I had concentrated hard enough to hunt down the troubleshooting page for the router. Which was probably the best move I’d made in a few days. I realisation that I could fix everything with a tiny, hidden button delivered a bigger woo moment than seeing the BBC homepage load in the blink of an eye. Who knew there was a reset button there?! It wasn’t pictured in any diagram amongst the setup instructions, and was only mentioned in a general, passing kind of way in the manual. I’d only wasted the day doing nothing important whilst waiting on important things, it could have been worse.
Cables reinstated, reset complete, reboot done, I thought normal service could now resume. Craply, my brother’s pc wouldn’t reconnect so I had to faff around with the placement of the router and various settings which had bugger all effect on his wireless pc and this laptop. I was far too angsty, tired and generally pissed off with the lot of it, following a mostly sleepless night and more hormones than I actually like roaming freely around my system. I’ve spent all day today rebooting every time the connection disappeared into thin air, and I probably shouldn’t have tried logging on IRC at all, but I was being optimistic that the problem would sort its self out, and that I might have a conversation with someone.
I did the final reset & reboot about an hour ago and, crucially, ensured all the settings were more or less how they were before the mild inconvenience at the start of the week. Thus I write this from reasonable comfort, although not bed, which is where I really should be. The fool that I am.
26th Monday:
Whilst everyone in the house was busying themselves getting ready for the planned overnight stay down in deepest, darkest Somerset, I was intensely debating with myself as to whether or not join them at all. The shower didn’t exactly help me make a decision but the moment I stepped into the throng of activity did: I wasn’t going, I was staying home alone. It turned out to be the best decision I’d made that day.
They disappeared and I set about getting myself into the loft. The primary reason was put away a bridesmaid dress that’s being knocked about since the beginning of September, but it also meant I had the opportunity to be very noisy and have a peek inside the two mysterious chests that my parents somehow shoved up there many, many moons ago, however many there have been in the last 27 years.
I discovered thick blankets which could have been useful during these recent cold snaps; ancient (ok, seventies) clothing; a couple of newspapers (the Express & Daily Mail) dated the 18th of December 1978; something which I presume was my mum’s wedding dress (I didn’t get it out and look properly), presumably spotlessly clean, folded carefully and fully wrapped in plastic, a fate which hasn’t befallen the previously mentioned bridesmaid frock; some old sleeping bags which I’ve never clocked before; and a badly torn, A4-sized photograph of a woman wearing a nurses uniform. I’ve not seen any pictures of my maternal grandmother, as I’m not aware of any existing, but I instantly guessed this was my mum’s mum. The size and shape of nose kinda gave it away.
With my curiosity fully satisfied, I clambered back down the ladder, shut up the attic, unplugged the lone light and set about making myself lunch: baked beans on toast, followed by a generous slice of day-old Christmas pudding and cream. Realising that not a single drop of alcohol had touch my lips yet I proceeded to make myself an afternoon’s supply of mulled wine. I slumped in front of the goggle-box and channel surfed whilst sipping slightly warm, sweet and spicy wine – hmmmm, could do with some more of that now. I soon realised that there was bugger all to watch and got very bored, if it hadn’t been for the regular refilling of my glass there could have been trouble. I even tried watched The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy on Filmflex, but it was far too annoying to stick with it. I was comparing it to the book too much to enjoy it as an individual piece of entertainment.
I fixed myself some tea, supped a little more wine, and generally enjoyed the peace and quiet. It would have been considerably quieter if the next door neighbours hadn’t returned and the kids, quite possibly fully of fat and sugar and who knows what else, ran around the house screaming their heads off. By early evening, I’d stopped caring that I was polluting my brain with crap tv and joyfully slugged away on bottles of Grolsch. This had a lot to do with the brief phone call that I answered, informing me that they where on their way home, mum’s had enough. Great! There goes all the interesting things I had planned for the evening’s entertainment. Instead I got squiffy and retired to bed rather late.
ZZZZzzzzzzzzzZZZZ!
Huh?! What?? Oh, sorry. I must've dropped off there for a minute or two.
Updating with now resume:
25th Sunday: I got up late. Not so amazingly late that I missed dinner, but greatly more so than I would have once upon a-time (about 20 years ago).
There was indeed tea before sherry, but the sherry followed the present opening ceremony, which is a little unusual for us. I tried several times to send a sms to my sister, all to no avail so I tried ringing her. I left a message on the answering service and haven’t heard anything since. It didn’t help that each attempt to send a text was met with a message of Wrong Number. Terrific, I thought. Other texts were successfully sent and I presume received. If I should have sent one your way, I’m very sorry, I’m really crap at that sort of thing.
A quiet day on the whole, an overcooked goose, some nice wine, crap tv but no arguments. Why can't it be like all the time? Omitting the overcooked anything aspect.
Saturday 24th:
Another fairly early start, for me anyway. And another trip into town, but this time around proved a lot less fruitful and more annoying. I don’t think I actually bought any presents, mostly because I’d left the thinking part of my brain back in bed. But everything cheered up, except for the weather, when I met up with the other friend.
We wandered a little before taking up residence in my favourite pub. Sampling of ales commenced, and a little food; drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t a wise move, one that I should have learnt by now. Many interesting things were discussed including, but not limited to: whether fivesomes are better than threesomes (they are, it was decided – not that either of us know about those sorts of things!); my grand plan to become the world’s most annoying aunty/godparent, when those things happen; her homemade, and very precious gift to me, a Christmas soap – not to be used on sensitive areas like nipples due the high quantity of bits within the soap.
We moved on to other pub after a wee while, if only to stretch our legs. The streets were far less hazardous to negotiate by this time, we soon realised why upon entering The Fountain Inn, it seemed as though everyone was in here instead. A swift half each and we were out and on the move again. There then followed a dash to the next place as bladders were screaming that their needs hadn’t been looked after terribly well this afternoon.
I’d like to name the next pub we went to, as it’s a nice quietish place. (I like quietish public houses, restaurants, etc, not just because I’m rapidly turning into an old git, but because I’m deaf once the ambient noise of the place reaches a certain level. It’s quite a low level, sadly, which means I can’t join in with the conversation of my companions so I sit there not joining in, tempting being described as an unsociable old git.)
It’s about the only pub in Gloucester that has a pool table, which we didn’t get to use this time around. It’s also very old and historic (some connection to Oliver Cromwell, or something) and a proper freehouse Samuel Smith establishment. I’d gladly pass on the name of it, if I knew it. I’m not saying I’ve forgotten it in the drunken stupor that has been the last few days, as it’s not possible to forget something you never knew in the first place.
But, thank gawd for clear, sensible thinking and t’internet: I’ve found it! The Old Crown Inn. There’s no slightly interesting page to link to.
This Christmas Eve, it later transpired, was the best Christmas Eve I had in a long while, and somewhat better than the following day.
Thank fuck that’s over
All done and dusted for another 12 months. I’m almost tempted to cheer.
I shall make the next few posts updates on the plans that had been made as stated in the previous post, due to the version I’ve typed in Word being too long for one article, particularly with this template, of which I intend to fiddle with. It’s also a desperate attempt to make up for the lack of anything recently.
Friday 23rd: The day didn’t get off to a great start as the geezer holding on to the old man’s wages hadn’t turned up at time he’d promised. By all accounts this ‘G’ is an almighty git; not a builder I’d want to employ, nor work for. Not that my father’s chosen course of action achieved much: sitting around, muttering to ones self has never really changed things or made people pay up.
After spending much of the day dashing around from one shop to another, my feet were about ready to drop off, or go on strike. They probably really hated me come the evening time, for I squeezed them into a pair of tippy-tappy heeled boots.
There was a cunning plan in where we were going to eat – drive around, popping in and asking if they had a spare table for 3 and then stopping there. This was potentially going to be a very interesting evening spent getting hungrier and hungrier, if it wasn’t for the fact that the friend wanted to test the new Italian in town, which turned out to a far better experience than the last Italian restaurant I stepped into, which I can’t name, not yet anyway.
Something near to authentic Italianate grub was served and enthusiastically consumed. There was nothing stronger than lemonade supped, but I’ve more than made up for that lack of alcohol that night since, sadly for my liver, brain and other slightly vital bits of me.
The truly exciting bit was the present unwrapping, which is nearly always the best bit. This time was possibly the most surprising gift I’ve ever received, and it also clarified a very puzzling and short phone conversation back in September:-
Her: “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Me: “No. It’s a load of tosh!”
Her: “But would you be willing to explore the possibility?”
Me: “Oh yeah, as a laugh at least.”
Thus I’ve been given the chance to do just that. A Ghost Hunting Experience, so it says on that Activity Superstore voucher. It’ll happen sometime before September 2006, as that’s when the voucher expires, so you have that to look forward to! Where it’ll take place is unknown to me yet, but there will be a psychic workshop, a ghost hunting kit demo, and ghost/history walk, vigils à la Most Haunted, and a post investigation discussion. There’ll also be a fair amount of hysterics – screams from others and (hopefully) nowt more than laughter from me. At least it’ll give me something to blog about.
