Embarrassing Technology

So this was the week I embraced technology. Following a session of NLP and having visualised where I want to be in life and what I need to do to get there, I decided that tackling technology head on, was the way ahead.

I have a habit with technology. I get the first bit and then learning anything else becomes too time intensive and too complicated, so I don't bother. As a consequence, I have mastered a spreadsheet but have no idea how to manipulate the cells. This means that I have to shorten my words to fit and I have to add everything up myself.

So I set myself three challenges: to get some training, to stop telling myself I can't do it and the final challenge, to master the art of setting the central heating boiler.

So my new phone arrives. It takes me 30 minutes to work out where the sim card goes. I resort to watching a YouTube video. Three hours later I work out that it is not me that it the problem, but the new and very duff phone. By this time I have transferred the numbers on my old phone back and forward on to various Sim's and all are full.

Two hours of trying to get through to a call centre and I realise I am calling a mobile number. The new phone has suddenly become a whole heap more expensive. The holding message should simply have said:

"We are experiencing a large volume of calls right now. Since we are charging you 13p a minute we have figured that we can make a large sum of money by making you hold for excessive periods of time. We fully intend to bleed you dry"

So I finally get through. Of course it is not their fault but the manufacturers and so I need to be transferred. They want to freeze a huge sum of money on a credit card in order to send a replacement by guaranteed delivery for Friday. It is now Saturday. No phone.

Having had the same mobile number for 16 years, I have now changed it three times in as many weeks. If divorce would be a civil affair then you might get to keep your number. Any one who fears there may be trouble afoot, take my advice - transfer your mobile to your name.

On the upside, it means that you can not bother to give your new mobile out to all those people that you probably should not have given it out to in the first place.

I digress. So I spend three days swapping Sim cards around because I am no longer certain who has what number. Then I realise that all of my contacts in the last two years were transferred to last weeks Sim. The one that I can no longer find. The one that I put in a safe place.

So my attention moves to the central heating. I try and programme it and notice the pressure is very high. I let some water out of a radiator and end up with an internal fountain. I call the gas board. Unsurprisingly, they have not got the parts and now I have no hot water. They return 2 days later and replace a part. 24 hours later I discover that the new part leaks and I have three shelves full of soaking wet clothes. The gas board return and they do not have the parts. I have no hot water again. It is all feeling a little like groundhog day.

I refuse to be beaten. I have signed up for one to one tuition. I refuse to be a one cell spreadsheet kind girl. I have been bombarded with computer systems that I need to know inside out and all I can do is stare at them blankly. When people ask me a if I need high resolution I start sweating. The last time I wanted a photograph, I went to the counter at Boots.

I shall master the phone, master the programmes, master it all.

I am steering clear of the central heating. It is going to be a very hot summer

Titanium Will

I went to visit someone at the Bath Clinic yesterday, following their hip replacement operation. Apparently, the procedure cost a total of £9k. Most of us would be cut open by the NHS and I am sure that the lack of on tap coffee and the surgeons Mercedes, must have some bearing on cost. Even so, it is a fairly pricey procedure.

So it got me thinking. As we live longer and parts degenerate, we are more likely to be filled with Titanium, Stainless Steel and Silicone than ever before. So is it worth negotiating? In a society where people are 'apparently' more conscious of environmentally aware practise it seems that we are missing a golden opportunity in reducing the cost of living longer - by offsetting it against our own ability to be a little more carbon neutral.

When you get cremated, your hip joint will not be a pile of ash. It will be a glowing red piece of tarnished Titanium. Since it will annihilate the grinder, it will be removed. Your left gait will then be no more that scrap metal.

I can see where this is going. In years to come, we will be so resource short that Britain's church yards will be full of the metal detector brigade. Almost every grave will emit a loud shrill and the middle of the night will see the return the bounty hunters. It will be a full circle to the 19th century days of grave robbing. Each and every hip and knee joint, every steel plate, will all be cash in hand for a new type of scrap metal dealer.

The new airport x-ray machines will pinpoint your titanium and your personal file will be updated. Should you keel over, someone, somewhere will know exactly what your assets are.

In the mean time, ask for a discount with a written agreement that they can have your joint back on your death. Perhaps they could even be passed on through the family.

"Dearest Daughter, I pass to you my left hip - may it give you as much pleasure and movement as it did me"

Just a thought

I have a penis and a stride.

There is nothing like a bit of 'opening the can of worms' hypnotherapy to get your friends helping with perceptions. Apparently I have a 'walk'. I should imagine that most people are not conscious of their walk. I would be no different, yet it seems to be coming up in conversation.

On dating the serial dater, the walk was raised. Too be honest, I thought it was a charm offensive. Yet on discussion over coffee last week, a friend decided to answer my query on how people could possibly see me as intimidating. The answer, apparently, lay in the walk.

I stride. Apparently.

Unbeknown to me, I stride wherever I go. Striding and holding your head high and your back straight equates to intimidating. Add large sunglasses and a large leather handbag and the deal is sealed. People are scared.

So out for a friendly drink with my ex blind date, I asked for his opinion. I stride and maybe a slight hip sway. The barmaid confirmed it. I walk with a stride and people notice. I am not entirely sure how I should be walking now. I am becoming more aware of the walk but it is entirely normal for me. I became so conscious of it on Friday that I tripped over a pavement. At that point, it became more of a stagger than swagger.

Stagger would be a more appropriate description for Chronic Fatigue. It really is like climbing a ladder and slipping a few rungs. Thursday and Friday were good. Saturday was bad. I attempted to get up 8 times. Each time lasted for anywhere between 20mins and 2 hours. You get up, you are wiped out, you have to sleep. You sleep, you get up and you feel as exhausted as before you went to sleep. Frankly I have had enough of it all.

According to my chum in the States, I need drugs. I am not convinced. Whilst on the theme of analysing my analysation, she pointed out that I undoubtedly had a penis on my body somewhere, I just hadn't found it.

She may be right. In a bid to prevent people knowing they have hurt me, I have a quite unique ability to look like I couldn't give a stuff. This is of course, complete and utter self protection but my responses are so controlled that I could be a 'bloke'.

If you are looking for a female, emotional response, then I would be your last port of call. If you want the 'whatever, it's cool' type of line normally gained from the bearer of testosterone - then you have come to the right place. There are obviously a hand full of people that have seen me be very emotional and female but they are few and far between. They also know better than to ever bring it in conversation or remind me of such times.

So what I have is a walk, a penis and hypocrisy. In getting upset at some people for appearing to not care when I think they do, it finally dawns that this is exactly what I do. Perhaps people can't be honest about how they feel because they fear not getting the response they need. Perhaps, in my fear of not getting the response I need, I can't be honest about I feel.

I feel like a Spirograph - we are all going round in self fulfilling circles

I am not entirely sure what the answer is.

If it's not broken, ask a child

Having children is very similar to having a ghost. Mysterious things happen, things move, disappear or break. There is no plausible explanation for these mysterious happenings and the only thing you can guarantee, is that no one knows who did it.

Today, the glass in my antique kitchen cupboard gained a 12 inch crack. Clearly it was the fault of the kettle being allowed to boil directly under it. But no one boiled the kettle, since no one was in. The Sofa bed, which in fairness was broken as a result of three large teenage boys sleeping on one single mattress - is now a pile of very nicely painted firewood. No one used that room. Ever.

It gets worse. The ghost has a bladder. Yet the ghost died before toilet seats were invented and as a consequence wees either directly on the seat or 5 inches to the left. I think it is worthy of investigation: a presence that can not be seen but leaves clear evidence. Unusual. Having a house full of male ghosts is the best bladder control method available. Far too many times I have sat on a toilet seat in the dark, only to wish that I had sat anywhere but the toilet seat. Nowadays I would rather be fitted with a catheter than venture into a dark bathroom.

The ghost is getting pretty cocky. Tonight he cut his hair all over the bath, sink and floor. It is suspiciously similar in colouring to one of my offspring. The fact that two of them are away tonight should narrow the options but apparently not. The cropped fibre in the bath is not a genetic match.

So today something equally common and rare happened. A teenager broke the shower. This was a mere 30 minutes after I discovered the cracked glass. What made it rare was that he came and told me.

It was not my teenager, but one of the regulars I find sleeping somewhere. I could have kissed him for his refreshing honesty.

Yet I still have the ghosts

I have three children in my bed. Two of them are there due to love and insecurity. The one lying across the place where my feet should be, is blaming it on a mouse.

It seems puberty is no match for fear. This got me thinking again. Sometimes our fears are out of all proportion to reality. This predisposition to fear seems, for many of us, to get bigger as we get older.

The mouse will do no harm other than to the house. His irrational fear is that he will somehow be attacked by a two inch furry animal called Minnie. Nothing I say or do will convince this hormone ridden being, that the mouse will go nowhere near him. My sanctimonious comments regarding food in bedrooms make no difference either. He has an irrational phobia that the mouse will do something to him that no mouse has ever done to a human. As a result, I can not sleep with my legs straight.

I would like to advice him on irrational fears but I am not really in a position to. When the irrational fear takes over a part of your mind, people telling you what you should and shouldn't be scared of will make no difference. If I have a phobia of being truly open (which I may just have) people telling me I should be more open does not make me open. It makes me argue that I am open, even though I know I am not.

You can only ever see what you want to see, deal with what you want to deal with. If something is an issue the brain has a staggering ability to shut the door on it. What you refuse to see, is not there and if it's not there, you don't need to deal with it.

I was talking to my very cherished long standing male friend. I was telling him about the hypnotherapy thing. "It appears I may have an issue with allowing myself to appear vulnerable" I say.

Clearly having only acknowledged this recently, I expected trumpets and fanfares of some kind. At the very least I was hoping for some affirmation that I did not have an issue at all.

What I got was "Brilliant, finally you get it. You could have simply rung me up and I could have told you that'

It would seem that the only people that do not see what is going on, is the people that don't want to. He also told me that my issue with not telling people what I want will almost certainly not get me what I want. I am not convinced. Saying what you want is almost demanding it. IF you get your way by demanding it, then perhaps you shouldn't have it in the first place.

There was a debate in the car this afternoon. I sat waiting in the car park for a space whilst the children tapped toes impatiently.

"Can't you just drive up the road and find somewhere else to park?" asked the most impatient one

"Patience" said I "You need to learn that everything comes to those who wait"

This guaranteed that no one moved there car for a further 20 minutes. Even I was beginning to think I may be wrong. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I wanted to park and was bored of waiting. Moving meant that I had just taught them that nothing comes to those that wait. So we waited - with me smiling assuredly and like a lunatic. Thankfully someone moved, we got our place and I retained my short shelf life as a knowledgeable and wise Mother.

I so hope I am right. I hope that everything comes to those that wait. Sometimes my patience for the things I really want wears a little thin.

It was Mothers day today. I got a large jug of tea. This was quite exciting as I have never before been presented with tea in a jug. Middle child is apparently fed up of having to make 2nd cups of tea and thought today a good time to preempt the inevitable request. I also got three gingerbread love heart biscuits and only two requests to eat them for me. True love is getting gingerbread biscuits. True love is having to overlook the annihilation in the kitchen.

I was on strict instruction to lie in bed, sip tea, nibble biscuits and look at shoes on the Internet. It was very nice. Then I discovered what I truly wanted in life. A pair of the most stunningly beautiful 4inch Prada shoes. They were also stunningly expensive.

I have an irrational phobia that my life will never be truly complete

No sex please

I had a conversation today, with a friend who always makes me laugh with no intent on her part.

We were talking about sex. Clearly, I have little to say on the subject at the current time. Much to think, but little to say. She was positively delighted that she was still within a window of once every three months. Delighted, since this had been an improvement from the 6 month window.

Apparently men think about sex every few seconds. That may be so but thinking and doing are not necessarily bed partners. Once, in a moment of boredom I answered to a post on 'How often do you have sex?' The options were: once a day, once a week or once a month. I emailed in stating that I was unable to complete it since the option of once a year was not available.

I digress. Friend of the funny comments then went on to say that she had asked her other half if he might be gay. Apparently he is not like most men. He is not into football, or indeed any sport. Not bothered by meeting mates or drinking beer. He is not gay. I would have laughed more if it hadn't been for the fact that I had once asked the same question. I hadn't really meant it either but there are times when exasperation outweighs appropriate wording.

So it got me thinking. What happens when you live with someone that does not have the same attitude or appetite for and to sex as you do? Certainly you get used to it, you get frustrated and you think about it a lot. BUt it does more than that. sexual incompatibility will lead to one or bot having some form of self esteem damage. Perhaps there are benefits to higher testosterone men than I had given any thought to. Perhaps, when thinking towards the future I should place more emphasis on gaging sexual compatibility.

So as a visual comparative in a very scientific test: You google professions, look at the pictures and decide which career is more likely to have a higher sex drive.... Go onto google images and type in accountant, lawyer and rugby player. End of. Absolutely no comparison.

Perhaps the accountant has a higher sex drive, I doubt it. The fact that the rugby player has a body like that has to have a bearing. Interestingly, the Lawyer page come up with fancy dress outfits. I say interestingly because if I think of lawyers, I automatically think of diapers and madams. Clearly I am not alone.

There is certainly more to life and relationships than simply sex but as an indicator for closeness of openness and of compatibility - perhaps it is a more accurate guide than that off the fact that you both like pasta.

I had a theory when I was about 10 that we were all cabbages. It didn't matter how green, how large, small, bitter or sweet you were, you were just a cabbage. At the end of your cabbage life we would all get eaten by slugs. It was my party piece. Whenever there was a lull in conversation, my parents would get me to relay my cabbage theory (the full version was considerably longer). I fear it was in a bid to confirm to all, that their daughter was as odd as they believed.

My theories on things are invariably half baked. I have the intellect to think things but I do not have the readings to back them up or the experience to validate them. In truth they are nothing more than bizarre nonsensical ramblings.

I have spent the last few days mulling over the statement 'Spiritual but not religious' and wondering if tis is no more than extreme narcissism. As a natural magnet to the narcissist I felt that I had some authority in the rambling. I have no issue with the description, I simply wonder if when people use it to describe themselves they are further removed from enlightenment than they could ever suspect.

Personally I have always had an issue with religion. I take affront at people using it as an excuse for bad behaviour. Being judgemental towards others appears easier when you can hang your hat on the title of religion and in doing so, absolve yourself of responsibility for narrow mindedness and unkind thought. This is not to say that all religious people are unkind, just that it is not okay to go and blow up a load of people and tell everyone that your god dictates your actions. No more so than saying that homosexuality is abhorrent on the basis that your God says so.

Being aware and taking responsibility for your own actions has to be where true spirituality begins. Awareness of self and your connection to everything around you must surely be the essence of understanding we are all part of a bigger picture. It has to be a form of synergy. Yet when we label ourselves as 'Spiritual but not religious' are we not giving ourselves a title we feel that we want to be, rather than what we are?

In my head true spirituality would be an awareness of our self that would be detected by others. The minute you state that you are spiritual then perhaps you are really talking about ego.' This is what I want to be seen as and so I shall name it, just in case you had not detected it yourself' (and the fact that you had to be told, probably means you didn't detect it).

Being obsessed with how you 'appear' to others, making sure that you really are seen to do the right thing, say the right thing is not spirituality. Ego is in the thought process of actions, spirituality must be in the non thought. When you call yourself spiritual and you actions fail to meet the label, the ego will take over and deep down, you will feel like crap. This has to be when 'Spiritual but not religious' becomes no more than extreme narcissism.

If you are truly spiritual it would be in the minds of others and not yourself. Perhaps the true judge of spirituality is in the unsaid and the feeling of those around you. Perhaps it is your true enlightenment becomes apparent.

I concede that non of this makes sense. There was no thought in the construction, just mere mental rambling

Out of the mouths

I had hypnotherapy today. At the end of it, I was warned that it would not be an easy process. I fear that may be quite accurate. It would appear that a lot of our basis of perception is rooted firmly in subconscious memories we have from way back when.

The things that make us what we are today are from messages we pick up too young to have been aware. Equally, the things that prevent us being what we could or should be are so fundamental to out subconscious that we are not even aware of their existence. What I perceive as being open is actually a front for being open. A sort of double bluff. Large concrete and seemingly invisible blocks.

I suggested to an older offspring that it may be prudent for me to pay for him to have counselling now.

"If there is one thing I can guarantee" say I,

"Is that somewhere along the line I will have inflicted monumental and inadvertent psychological damage. Perhaps getting it dealt with now will preempt 20 years of self defeating behaviour"

Clearly I wasn't being serious. Whilst I am certain that I will have screwed him up somewhere, only time will tell how much and how much blame will be attached. I anticipate it and will take it on the chin accordingly.

"I am quite aware of my issues and quite comfortable with them" he replied.

Out of the mouths of babes. I fear though, that anyone who is quite comfortable with issues may have bigger issues further down the line. The word issue should be key.

I was also informed that the fact that I was not like other mothers and did not think like most people, was in fact a good thing. I am not entirely sure how to respond to this. I figure it has to be better than the acute embarrassment I felt as a child, upon the realisation that my mother was not entirely like others. Since I never claimed to think like anyone else - I shall take it as a compliment for the short period that it will be meant as one.

I was sent a large book today. Two inches worth of being mindful. I have been instructed to meditate. Apparently it is based on an 8 week course. I feel it would have been less intimidating if it had been in 8 small books rather than one I could use as a draught excluder. The book is so big that it raises anxiety by merely looking at it.

So far I have read 43 pages. The person that sent it is so deeply into meditation that I will feel a dismal failure if I haven't followed instruction. He is currently on a retreat in Mexico and will have expected some roads into this book by his return.

So far, I have achieved three minutes of mindfulness and understood an experiment of eating raisins one by one and very slowly. There is stuff I already know. Having spent hours pouring over my health and psychology bible, I fully understand the impact of stress on health. I understand the issues with tension, fatigue and nausea.

I draw the line at any form of spots. I have a spot. As a result of the spot I am embracing mindfulness. Not only shall I read the book, understand it and practise it, I shall never have another spot again. Ever.

I was telling a family member that I was going to have some hypnotherapy. They were not overly enthused. I was given a clear warning that this can lead to unearthing things that are best left unearthed. The proverbial can of worms.

I figure this: if you feel that some places in your head are places best left alone, then they are probably things that need to be dealt with. You can throw the ironing in the cupboard but you still know it is there. Hiding mess doesn't make it go away, it keeps coming back and niggling away until it is dealt with.

I learnt this today - dealing with the thing you do not want to is not going to be easy. Things that are not easy do not go away unless they are faced.

If you have hypnotherapy, make sure you are wearing waterproof mascara. To not do so will scare everybody.

I have a migraine. Someone told me that you get migraines because you fight them and I should go with it. I think that is what they said.

I am going with it which means it can be safely assumed that within the next hour, I shall be facing the U bend.

I have just had a thirty minute conversation with middle child on how many duff, duffs there are in the EastEnders theme tune. Apparently there are several and the end credits always start with two duff duffs. Having had a child introduce the modern delights of BBC iplayer (Middle name clearly luddite) we treated ourselves to one round of soap. Hence the conversation on duff duffs.

I fear my children are deficient in musical bones. Still, descriptive verbal tenacity is surely not lacking. I miss being a child. It all seems so simple.

I truly met my nemesis today. Myself

I made a call and admitted I needed help. Those that know me well know that this is not something I do, since my entire persona hinges on not needing help. Ever

So now I do.

For the last few days I have been having mild panic attacks. Not the lie on the floor clutching a bag to your face panic attack, but the sudden surge of adrenalin 'I am about to be mugged' type of attack. It has not been pleasant.

Panic is not a sensation that I relate to. What I relate to is the cause. For me it seems that a semi panic attack is not caused by not coping, but the fear of not coping. A sort of no mans land between being absolutely fine and fine. It is the bit in the middle where you think you will be fine but your brain is shouting "But what if you are not going to be fine" For an emotional control freak this is dangerous and uncomfortable territory.

So I made a call and before I knew it I was spilling everything to a hypnotherapist and NLP guru. The stuff that came out was fairly toe curling uncomfortable. It seems that not only am I a woman with Prada but a woman with issues. I knew this deep down, but knowing something and addressing it are two different things. Addressing issues is notoriously uncomfortable and most of us, myself included - spend the best part of our lives avoiding them. Until we start feeling like we are about to be mugged.

It would appear that in my 'deny the reality' world, I have been denying the reality that I have a pathological aversion to being emotionally vulnerable. The fear of being vulnerable makes me numb to real feelings. This is completely logical. If I do not recognise or acknowledge my own emotional need, I cannot get hurt. If I choose people to love that have huge emotional needs, I can throw myself into meeting theirs in a bid to avoid mine. Complicated but simple. I have an issue with trusting people with my emotions. It may be irrational but believe me, it's not without good cause.

The irony - I only realised this as a result of a very short period when I thought it was safe to be vulnerable. It would seem it was not a safe place, but I didn't know that. I do not need anyone, I stopped needing anyone a very long time ago. It is not hard to learn that if you need someone and you get nothing emotionally, you get very hurt. So you switch of the need and you become in charge of your own emotions. Tis much harder to hurt yourself. Or so you think.

What I realise today is that I am right in the fact that I do not need anyone but having exposed myself to it briefly, I got a glimpse of what feeling safe felt like. It was an alien and truly fantastic feeling. It does however suck, that it was such a brief period until I realised the person I had felt safe with, was in fact emotion control freak dobble ganger. Having allowed myself to feel safe, I now feel extremely unsafe and very emotionally exposed. Stuck in the headlights, I cannot go back to feeling numb but feeling vulnerable is about as comfortable as a mohair G string

It also made me understand why chemistry is so important to me. Chemistry takes over logic and rationale. Since both of these are apparently screwed, chemistry is the only time I can truly let my guard down and feel genuine, spontaneous emotions.

So I need to do things. I need to change it. I will not spend the rest of my life with men that leave me feeling too scared to have emotional needs and I do not want to be in a place where I am too scared to recognise and express them. I do not need to be in a place where I am so scared of being judged for unkindness that I have to continue trying to understand people that are simply unkind.

Sometimes in a bid to protect ourselves from reality and responsibility, the only real person we hurt, is ourselves.