volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- oh blimey, oh blimey See, I know that I'm getting stressed about all these changes because I have no nails left: no nails at all. I've bitten them down so low that I have to press the ends of my digits really hard against my teeth to get any kind of purchase on the remaining flakes. And they hurt, those gnawed stubs of mine. I've overdone the nailbiting in quite an extreme way, I think. I have a plan that tomorrow (and it's always mañana, inevitably) I'll give myself a nice little manicure, tidy them up a bit, slap on some nourishing handcream and let them grow back to their former glory. This plan feels about as flaky and impossible as all my other plans right now. Don't get me wrong- I'm not depressed or miserable or chickening out over here. I just can't work out what to do next. On a practical level, I have a grant application form and an application for relief nursing work, and I will do them tomorrow, and when I say "tomorrow" I mean when I get up in the morning, rather than "mañana". But other than that, I'm a bit stymied. (What exactly does "stymied" mean? I've read it enough books to suspect I know its meaning, but I guess I could be wrong, couldn't I? For all I know it might not be a slightly naff word for "flummoxed" and instead could mean "unaware of large piece of toilet paper sticking out of waistband" or something equally embarrassing. Whatever, I'm too lazy to check the dictionary right now...) I think it's the finishings -off that are freaking me out as much as the startings-up. Telling people I'm moving, telling Fatboy he's not going on the residential visit in September with his current classmates, all that kind of stuff. My family are doing their damnedest (in the sweetest and most caring ways) to make sure I don't move anywhere. My mum suggested that Fatboy goes to live with them and that I come home at weekends, and my dad thinks I should commute. Neither of these are, to be fair, essentially bad ideas, but they go against my whole modus operandi for the project, which is to have a big life change and a fresh start in fresh surroundings. Bah- I don't know... [What I DO know, though, is that I've got stinking hayfever today. It's in my head and my sinusses and one of my eyes, and my palate feels like its been scrubbed with carbolic and wire wool. I wonder if this is how fire-eaters feel when it all backfires a little?] We had a good daytrip yesterday, though. It was sunny at the seaside and we ate chips with curry sauce overlooking the sea. I got sort of chatted up by a nice man who's in the process of opening a combined cybercafé and pancake house, which sounds like a jolly venture to me. Well, I don't think he really was chatting me up, but he did give me a menu, and made me promise that I'd call in when I went back there. Turned out I know his hometown quite well, and we had a nostalgic giggle about a bad Goth club there. In fact, I seemed to be in friendly mode all day, having random chats with all sorts of shopkeepers and passers-by. All that was fine, until I realised I was probably coming across like one of the victims on Would Like to Meet, that dating-tips-for-the-congenitally-hopeless TV show I was talking about the other day. If you were one of the poor unsuspecting people who was accosted by a madwoman with sprouty bunches and a rather fetching pink Billabong bowling bag yesterday, I apologise: I was just being friendly. Honest... 9:46 a.m. - 16.06.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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