I can’t touch a bloody thing without it breaking at the moment. First my lap-top blue-screen-of-deathed me *sob*, then the oven went into a frenzy when I turned the grill on and blew every circuit in the house, and now, the blown fuse-box/ power surge from the oven’s demise has done something drastic to the main house hard-drive (why yes, we back up. H is a computer type. We totally have an external hard-drive) and this is messing with the brains of H’s computer (which he is kindly letting me use until I can sort the effing, blinding lap-top out). I am now absolutely convinced I am carrying a dark static cloud of electronic death about with me. I’m nervous even writing this in case something else goes kablooey. Perhaps I’ll delete the entire internet when I press ‘post’. That’ll be fun.
I’m very close to my extended-due-to-life-being-shit deadline on my first creative writing assignment and I am doing very badly. I was writing a jolly little short story about swimming lessons. Eh. H asked me yesterday how it was all going.
‘I wrote a poem,’ I said.
‘Excellent!’ he said, ‘That’s really encouraging! What’s it about?’
For some reason, this struck us both as hilarious and we laughed like owls for minutes on end.
Anyway, the jolly short story is rubbish, and I know it rubbish, and I shall have to submit it anyway, and I have never felt so like covering each page in footnotes and footnotes of excuses before in my life.
For I do have my footnotes, pace Pain Olympian Gold Medallists. They’re only footnotes. I’m not trying to claim them as the main thesis of my existance. Anyway, I’ll share them with you. Chiefly because they are going round and round and round in my head and this is interfering with the creative writing. And slightly because I may only be a bronze medallist, but hey! Bronze is shiny too!
You see, whenever I am trying to, in the old-fashioned phrase, ‘improve myself’ educationally or careerishly (lost cause, that last one), something always goes spectacularly shit-tastic in my personal/family life. To whit:
- Just before my GCSE’s (exams of national importance taken at 16, for non-British and puzzled readers), I broke my arm, and had to take half my exams with a cast on.
- During my A-levels (extremely important exams that university attendance is decided on, taken at 18), I started fainting on a regular, weekly basis. I was also in agony a lot of the time, and rather under-weight. It was all blamed on my periods, which were going to be just fine after I’d had a kid or two (such a sensible thing to say to a 17-year-old). I actually had a) glandular fever (infectious mononucleosis/ Epstein-Barr), b) a nicely developing eating disorder (in that, I didn’t) and c) a gigantic teratoma that eventually ripped my left ovary in half. I collapsed and was rushed to hospital for emergency surgery. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I always talk about my ovaries and fallopian tubes in the singular.
- During the third year of my BA, my sister Trouble had a turn at being extremely ill. So ill that at one point she weighed less than 6 stone (80 lbs). Eventually she was diagnosed and got surgery and is now a skinny but reasonable 8 stone, so all was well, but at the time, we were all scared to death.
- At the end of my MA, when H and I were living together for the first time, H lost his job, because of some rather disgusting office politics, and we were both forced to go and live with my mother until we could find new jobs. Yes, my MA suffered (I went from Golden Girl guaranteed a distinction to Slight Embarrassment lucky to pass at all).
- During my PhD (which, thanks to the MA erk, my tutors were now a bit iffy about), my mother developed breast cancer. I took a year off to nurse her. My mother (thank God) recovered. My PhD didn’t.
- During my second MA, I lost my first pregnancy. Did quite well in my dissertation. On reflection, would have preferred it the other way round.
- Now I am doing a creative writing course. Jesus Christ, Universe, I was only doing it for fun.
There. I whinged. And now I shall stop whinging and go find some blessings to count.
If you are reading this, then I did not kill the Internet. Hurray!