volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- psychoactive soup etc So... It's been ages, hasn't it? I do apologise, if you've been desperate for your regular fix of volcanicism [removes tongue from cheek at this point], but seriously, I've been busy, and then not-so-busy, and then getting into writing with a pen and paper, which is a bit of a novelty. The latter's the fault of this book, which I amazon'd last week in an attempt to cure myself of the lack of inspiration and movement and direction that had crept up on me. I guess it's working. And whilst I do think that books, like music, are very personal and subjective, it's pretty good as books about writing readable stuff go. End of plug. I'm not quite sure when exactly the cloud lifted. Actually, I'm not 100% sure when the cloud descended. It was already hovering in the distance round about Thursday last week, which is how come I didn't make my pseudo-rendezvous with Warren Ellis (which, I realise as I type, I only actually told one of you about. Hello you). So no, lots of things fell by the wayside then, and it all felt very lonely and grim and horrid. By Saturday, it had hit me in a physical way, and I was near-narcoleptic at work, and had to avoid sitting for periods of more than a minute or two, lest I started snoring. Unfortunately, my legs were coming out in sympathy, and ached like crazy, and elevating them provided the only relief from the pain. Talk about vicious circle. Needless to say, I don't think I cured any of those poor mad people that day. By Sunday the pain had lessened, and by virtue of going to bed at about 9.30 I managed to get to work feeling reasonable live and human. Monday was a nice day spent with my ungodly daughter (aka my best friend's baby girl) and we had a riot together. It did leave me thinking that my time would be better spent at home bringing up babies and making pies rather than slogging my guts out in the asylum, though. I think the non-diaryland-related writing is helping enormously, though. I'm not sure it's much different to the mixed-up gubbins that you get dished up on here, but I do try and focus myself a little more, and I also don't re-edit as I go along, intending instead to achieve some kind of Zen-like state where it all just flows. Or something. You can tell I'm suffering from outside influence, can't you? Whatever, I'm enjoying having a bit of structure to follow. And I have to have the new silver notebook filled up by the end of the month. I'll keep you posted. Y'know, I'm looking pretty hot right now. Hotter than I probably ever have before. I'm not being vain here, because as anyone who's been fool enough to hang around here on a regular basis will testify, I have a pretty ambiguous relationship with my body image. Right now, it all feels quite healthy. As do I. I've been wanting to adjust my diet for ages. I was aware that I ate far too many sandwiches, and that bread tends to bloat me. I've also been doing some research into insulin levels, and how they can affect mood and weight and gynae stuff in women, and I started thinking that maybe all those starchy carbs weren't doing me any favours. So I made the decision to avoid wheat and potatoes. I won't lie, and make out I did it religiously, because I'm only human, and there were lapses. But, for the best part of a month, I tried to make sure that my meals were based around protein (usually quorn or tofu) and plenty of vegetables (lots of broccoli and curly kale, because my neighbour's plot's full of it, and she said "help yourself"). I did lose some weight, but more amazingly, I felt a lot more energetic and motivated. I didn't really take this seriously until last week, when I binged out on pie and bread and cakes. I felt appalling for a good few days afterwards, and worst of all, my mood plummeted. Hormonally, I'm not at a point in my cycle where that would have been expected. Anyway, lo and behold- I've been sensible for a few days and I feel good again. What is interesting is the psycho-active soup I made today. Nothing but lots of fresh Mediterranean veg, bit of garlic and tomato juice- it must be brimming with goodness. Anyway, I had a bowlful for my tea, and my god, about twenty minutes later, I had a massive headrush. It was like nothing so much as a petite (rather than party-sized) line of coke kicking in. Very strange, but rather nice when I got used to it. And it only lasted about ten minutes. I think I need to investigate the wild world of psycho-active food. Tips, recipes and warnings in the usual place, please... And it's not just the food thing: my hair's growing and it's so stupidly thick and shiny. People keep telling me what lovely hair I've got, which amuses me no end. My nails are nice and long, and I can't begin to describe how proud I am of myself for breaking the nibbling habit. They look lovely. I painted one of them with Chanel Rouge Noir today (I didn't bother doing the lot of 'em because it's work again tomorrow, and it'd be a waste) and have been admiring it in the empty moments of the day. My skin's glowing, and a gorgeous honey brown thanks to the secret and thoroughly dreadful methods I'm using to make it that way. Wooh. Aren't I the gorgeous one? I'm a bit stunned that I just wrote all that down. It seems incredibly vain and self-indulgent. As always, I think I'd be prime date material right now. I'm sending requests out into the multiverse to the usual deities, and a few unusual ones as well, and smiling at an awful lot of strangers, which is probably making me look mad, rather than desirable, but what the hell, eh? You have to make opportunities to take opportunities. (My goodness. I really should be writing motivational literature, judging by that last corking sentence). So yes, if you're listening out there, Universe (and if my memory serves me correctly, you have been known to drop by now and again), I'd like a hot date for Saturday night, please. I want him to be at least 6'2", well-educated, politically aware (and NOT in a right wing kind of way), clean, employed, sensitive, generous, devoid of personality disorder (diagnosed or otherwise), older than me, child-friendly, witty, charming, polite, creative and most importantly, good fun. (That's not setting my sights too high, now, is it. Is it?) If you come up with the goods, the deal is (and I realise now, that there has to be a deal) that however badly I may want to, I won't even kiss him on the first date. Nor the second, and only on the third if I think I'm going to want to keep doing it in the future. I'm not even allowed to think about sleeping with him until I know he respects me, and values me and has my best interests at heart. Does that sound like a good deal? I think so. We'll see, eh? 8:58 a.m. - 05.03.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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