Dumb.

“I’m sorry. I can’t translate it into dumb.”  KM told me as I complained that the redraft he had written of my supporting statement sounded too much like him and not enough like me.  It hurt me to hear him say that even though I know he was only joking. I’m over sensitive to these things particularly at the moment given how much STRESS I feel to get this statement perfect. After trying to explain why I was so upset he compounded the problem by telling me I aught to grow a sense of humor. I have a sense of humor – I just didn’t find it funny.

Is this just me?  Possibly. I know now that as a consequence of my past I have real trouble with people poking at me. I can laugh at myself, sure. The problem comes when you attack my intellect, my ability to understand something or my sense of self worth.  The simple way of explaining it is I don’t have to much confidence or self esteem left,  so I don’t appreciate anyone trying to take some of  what I have  from me even if they are joking.  But the real explanation is I can’t register sarcasm when you’re insulting me. I simply can’t tell if you’re joking and my default setting is to assume you mean what you say.  The nasty stuff is easier to believe – especially when those a young person trusts are reinforcing their judgment by yelling it in your face, driving it home with their fists or worse. If I’m not sure what you think of me, I’ll assume you think the worst.  It’s just the way I’ve been wired.

I’m not dumb. Just because I want MY statement to sound different than how you would write it does not mean I’m stupid.

It’s not that he doesn’t support me. He’s not some evil guy. He’d helped me redraft this darn thing three times already. Overall he’s nothing but encouraging of me at college. Potentially, he’s agreed to move anywhere in the country that will let me in to study midwifery next year. That’s a big deal.

Practically he’s doing everything I could ask and more.

It still doesn’t change that this one throw away remark really bothered me….

Ali xX

Inspire me ….

“Failure is instructive. The person who really thinks learns quite as much from his failures as from his successes.”

~ John Dewey

Fail.

Failed as expected. Damn, but I am not as cut-up about it as I thought I would be. I think it has something to do with the fact that most other people also failed. If less than 10% of a year group actually passes the exam I’m thinking something isn’t right and apparently college agrees with me, I will not have to take a killer resit YAY. Instead I will have to submit a work sheet covering the areas I messed up on the exam paper to prove that I have learned from my mistakes. A work sheet – I can handle.

The time has come to be decisive. I’m drawing a line in the sand and deciding that my application form HAS to be submitted, so I’ve completed my final draft of my supporting statement this afternoon. I’m happy with it. I won’t be getting feedback from my tutor but instead I’m taking it to student service for the college careers people to look over. I’ve sent it to a couple of current student midwives and they’ve approved so hopefully my gamble will pay off. I neeeeeeeed to get this form sent its causing me so much stress. Fingers crossed, I can get an appointment tomorrow and it will be done… sent… out of my hands.

Moving on to the next step: I had totally forgotten that I’m going to visit my mum this weekend. I mean totally-need-to-rush-out-and-buy-my-travel-ticket-in-the-morning forgot. We’re going to visit one of my university choices on Saturday.  This place could be my first choice and I’m excited to see it even if spending time alone with mum makes me nervous. I don’t need to feel small around her now, right?  I have direction and commitment and some things to be proud of… at least there’s a time limit on the trip. I have to be back for an interview and college Monday. 4 days.  I can handle 4 days. Uggh wish me luck.

Ali xX

Spaceman.

What do you think of when you’re lying in bed at night trying to sleep? Counting sheep is the cliché but it’s just not my style. Instead I take a trip around the world. I have Wander Lust… it really troubles me how little travel I’ve been able to accomplish in the past few years. I grew up as an expat – a Brit living abroad – and oddly I actually feel more comfortable in that position than I do living back at “home” in the UK. The opportunities I had to be immersed in other cultures, even languages, is something I am so grateful to have expirenced in my childhood, but it has resulted in an endless curiosity about foreign places and people who think and live there lives differently than myself. I want to experience everything, to see and try to understand the world. I guess the downside is I find it hard to settle and stay someplace and nowhere really feels like my “home”.  I’d almost snatch your arm off if you were offering me a plane ticket. So, at night, I try to figure out the places I would refuse to go to if you offered me the chance right now. There’s not many of them.  I think of all the places on my travel wish list and what I would love to do when I got there.

Just tonight, Gadget Guy forced me through his sheer enthusiasm when recounting the history of the space program to add “space” on my list of possible travel destinations. Something I had never really done before…

Isn’t it cool listening to someone talk about something they really care about – the thing they have a real passion for – that place where they feel comfortable… where they realize that they know what they are talking about  and they know they have things to teach you  if you would only listen. Being in their element makes people come alive somehow. Perhaps it’s just confidence that has this effect. Space does this to my friend. He’s the one who had me reading from the Adult Space Camp website at stoopid o’clock in the morning… and actually wanting to go… you can wear heels with a flight suit right? LMAO.  He’s rolling his eyes at that comment for sure

Ali xX

How are we talking of Christmans already !???

Overdosing on stress and frustration. No, really… it’s making me a horrible person.  That, and my frame of mind is taking a dive. I slept for 10 hours last night. 10. Usually I would be happy that I got such a large amount of continuous sleep but it wasn’t the first time this week and it’s starting to become a worrying pattern. You see, previously, this inability to get out of bed and achieve anything constructive has been the first indication of the onset of depression. I do not want to slide back there again. It scares me half to death that I might fall back to that place I can’t pull myself out of on my own. So, any sign I’m sliding back in that direction is NOT Good.

College is pretty much the root of my woes. Our first assessment did not go well at all. I’m counting on a fail grade landing on my desk when we get our results back tomorrow and trying to gear myself up for a make or break resit (We only get 1 resit – its pass or go home).  Out of the 20 people in the other class who took this paper the week before us a grand total of 4 passed. 4.  Youch. I’ll admit that my revision regime was less than perfect being away from home and staying with a two year old who wants to help you color in your special book or read you a story from the dictionary. lol Bless.  Time with Pinkie’s daughter N is good for my soul. She makes me giggle and smile everyday without fail but she does not help me to study.  I will do better…

University application. OMG NIGHTMARE. I’ve done everything I can so far. I’m waiting on my tutor to feed back about my personal statement so I can redraft it. E-mailed it a couple of weeks ago and asked about it last week… and I’m still waiting. Waiting is hard. It’s difficult because this form is so important; so much is depending on it. I want to get it right. I need help, advice… guidance. I’m worried about it only because I care about it more than I did last time.  I’m honest enough to admit that at 18 I applied because it was the next step everyone at school was applying. But this time I’m not doing it because it’s the done thing. I’m doing it because I WANT it. Oh so bad. Right now, it feels like that form won’t even get sent, never mind actually persuade admissions to give me an interview.  Waiting is hard. It’s sooo much harder, given the sheer number of applicants for this course.. Added to that is the form is due at universities… that are already making decisions… sending out dates for interviews… and my form is effectively still on my desk. Waiting is hard… it’s driving me insane.  Oh how I long to press that send button… BUT I know then the waiting to hear back will drive me just as crazy. Why did I decide to do this a second time again? *Breathes* Because I believe I would make a good midwife, that’s why… because I am chasing my dream, that’s why…  because in the end it could make me happier than I’ve been in years… because I believe nobody should feel unsupported on their journey to parenthood however long and complicated that path may be… but most of all because I am praying that someone will see the passion that I have, make the choice to give me the chance to make a difference to women’s experience of pregnancy and birth. Hoping for progress soon and trying to learn to be patient at the same time.

Why am I a horrible person? KM is getting excited about Christmas already. It’s the middle of November people. Anyways, this year my mother invited BOTH of us for Christmas. I was surprised. She’s making an effort and I appreciate that. We’re also broke and I have to admit planning anything for the festivities wasn’t even on my radar. It seemed easier just to go to mums and let her take care of it. Annnyway… KM wants Christmas at home… like REALLY wants Christmas for us. He promised to make it a good one and EVEN wants to visit mum at New Year as a compromise. I just couldn’t/can’t think past getting this form sent of and my possible resit passed. Let’s just say I was rather short with him yesterday.

Today I woke up to find he’s prepared our Christmas menu. Complete with a list of all the shopping we would need and a budget for how we are going to afford it. With an added note:  the jist of which was … I know the last 6 months have been hard I promise to give you a nice Christmas. Please let me……… oh my god … I’m a  B.I.T.C.H. !

Patience is a virtue and listening is a skill. I clearly need to practice both.

Ali xX

Special Delivery. (birth annoucement )

Remember back in June , when I was so thrilled that my friend had asked me to be there for the birth of her baby girl. Yeah, that’s where I’ve been. Unfortunately babies don’t read birth plans and apparently this one had other plans. I came home when the child was over a week late – over a week late. Of course I was disappointed that I didn’t get to meet the new arrival but I had to come home for an exam at college (an exam I’m 99% sure I failed too   ) needless to say my  mate – we’ll call her Pinkie – was pretty darn uncomfortable and fed up. Although she has 2 older children, she was induced earlier with both so she has never carried a baby this long before and she was just worn out. I’m am thrilled to say that K.A. was born on the 11th of 11  at 22:22 she weighed in at 8 pounds and 8 ounces and she’s going to have a great future as a mathematician with numbers like that. Just kidding. Pinkie gave birth sans pain relief as K decided to make her entrance just as the midwife was explaining to mum how an epidural works. No pain relief makes her a superstar in my book. I’m just saying. Here’s to a future filled with happiness for Mum, Dad, Baby, her big brother and her Big Sister…. you’ll find me wetting the baby’s head and wiping a tear from my eye.

And that’s all I have to say about that right now

Ali xX

Lest we forget…

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them. -Laurence Binyon

11th of the 11th at 11 o’clock. We pause to remember.  2 minutes of silence to honor so much sacrifice. Marking the aniversary of the end of the First World War is particularly poignant this year given the passing of the last living veteran of that terrible waste of human life.  That generation sadly no longer to be around to remind us of the sacrifice they made …  We must not forget.

I will always remember my history teacher driving this point home one Remembrance Day in the school chapel service, 400-some students and teachers crammed in, all of course wearing the little paper poppy which has become the symbol of respect and remembrance over here thanks to the British Legion’s Poppy Appeal. Dr Mundill’s approach was a simple one: he took a glass mixing bowl, placed it on the ground at the altar steps and informed us that he would now read from the schools book of remembrance the names of the former pupils who had lost their lives in that bloody war. For each name he requested that one of the current boys would remove his poppy, place it in this bowl and leave the service. (Girls were excluded as 1) the school was not co-educational in those days and 2) there were no women allowed to fight at the front in World War 1) .

That list went on… and on… and on… all lost… all so young… by the time he finished his tribute there were the girls and a handful of male students staring at the empty pews… and an overflowing bowl of little red paper flowers that seemed to show so much. We left in silence. … I will never forget.

I saw two older members of the British Legion working their little stand this year in a super market while I was away from home. I was busy trying to find some cardboard boxes for a house move. I watched as people passed by: very few these days stopping to give up a precious pound for the cause. You have to admire the voluntary work these veterans do trying to ensure that we remember, honoring fallen comrades with their service still to this day.  I had to stop, apologizing as I could only find a measly 20p coin in my pocket and uttering an embarrassing thank you. I was greeted with two bright smiles as one gentlemen tried to pin a paper poppy to my chest despite my under payment. In the younger eyes of those I was with I may have looked a fool for doing it. It certainly would have been easier to just walk by and carry on with my day but I couldn’t… heroes shouldn’t go ignored.

Today:

I am remembering … all those fallen through history and sadly also  in recent times. Lives cut short so that we might have the freedoms they gave up.

I am remembering all the families waiting patiently yet never get to joyfully welcome their loved ones home.

I am remembering the waste of life, the loss of potential

I pay tribute also to all those currently serving:  the men and women who show courage and determination often beyond their years.

To anyone separated from their serving loved ones by war

Thank you hardly seems enough … but leaving it unsaid would be an insult so:

THANK YOU

Ali xX

Inspire me …

“Only those who will risk going to far can possibly find out how far one can go”

~T.S. Eliot

A&E

Sometimes you just reach breaking point. Often you get there without even realizing. That’s what happened to me when I ripped a complete stranger a new one, totally out of the blue today. I am ashamed. The stranger in question was an A&E (that’s ER to you American guys) doctor and as a result I have been told I need to relax and rest because I’m exhausted. Exhausted and in pain. About a week ago while I was away I was helping a friend move a wardrobe up the stairs. I got about 5 steps up into this journey before I realized that this was a bad idea. In case you haven’t noticed, a wardrobe is pretty darnn heavy. Anyhow, we were half way up the stairs with this thing, so kind of committed to going forward. Next thing I know I slipped falling backwards down said stairs and hitting my head on the wall at the bottom. Ouch. Of course the wardrobe had to come and investigate the situation and followed me quickly down the stairs leaving me crumpled  on the floor screaming blue murder with a wardrobe on top of me… did I mention OUCH! I got some impressive bruises on my hands and feet a nice bump on my head and jarred everything on my right side: neck, shoulder, elbow, and wrist.

I haven’t explained this yet, but I went to visit a friend of mine who was due to have a baby while I was away. At this point she was a couple of days overdue. It was late and the money we had left was reserved for her taxi fare in case baby decided to put in an appearance. I was already feeling pretty stoopid after the fall. Something that was made worse by the fact that this woman who was NINE months pregnant and a few days,  succeeded in moving this massive piece of  furniture the rest of the way up the stairs with her partner.  She’s hardcore and maybe a little crazy. But I felt awful sitting in their living room while all this was going on. There was just no way I was going to drag her / her partner and possibly their two year old  out to the hospital on top of everything, so despite a couple of people (Aherm read KM and Gadget Guy ) nagging me to go and get checked out, I refused. I’m queen of stubborn at times. Sleeping on a couch with rib pain. More ouch ouch ouch ouch.

By the time I got home,  I was still having trouble with my arm and my ribs still hurt like hell so I agreed to go with KM to A&E and this is how we spent Saturday.  After waiting most of the afternoon and getting xrays into the bargain. I am now pleased to report I’m fine. Well, I STILL have a bruised tender spot on top of my head. I have a sprained wrist and a very bruised ribcage on my right side. It still hurts, but nothing serious and nothing broken. YAY!

I’m not sure what it was that pushed me over the edge, though I suspect it had a lot to do with sleep deprivation and the pain I’d been in for over a week. Or the fact that I’d been hanging around for most of a day just to find out there’s nothing anyone can do and I just have to suck it up. Or something to do with the fact that A&E staff do not have time for the tea and sympathy approach. While I was there I kept getting the distinct impression that I wasn’t being believed or listened to. I HATE that. But for some totally irrational reason I took exception to the doctor’s tone with me. I got into a mood and just wanted to leave. He must have noticed my change because he kept asking me if I was ok. I just wanted to get out of there but he carried on questioning me.  Is anyone else like me when you’re going to cry you just want whoever to let you get away so you can cry in private?  And as he made one last what I perceived to be smug comment.. I snapped. Yelled at him that No I wasn’t happy with the way I’d been treated… blah blah blah blah… it was awful I tell you awful and totally unjustified. This poor guy just stood there leaning against the wall watching me, listening… letting me rant and then, when I was done, he calmly asked me what would you like me to have done?  I had NO answer for him. You would think that would be the end of my emotional outburst, but no… this was going to be a train wreck as I reply  “I don’t knooow ” and promptly burst into tears… floods of them that I couldn’t get control of.  I left still sniveling and apologizing to this guy over and over. I am so embarrassed. I don’t make a habit of yelling my stoopid mouth off at complete strangers.

I have to rest… oh and apparently doctor says no more moving wardrobes.

Ali xX

Remeber , remeber …

” Remeber , remeber the 5 th  of November,

gunpowder,treason and plot.

I see no reason why gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes,
’twas his intent
to blow up the King and the Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow:
By God’s providence he was catch’d
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
A penny loaf to feed the Pope.
A farthing o’ cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we’ll say ol’ Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah! “

Guy Fawkes Night is here!!! Yaaaay!  This is the one night I would really really miss if I ever succeeded in my dream of moving to the USA. How can you not love the smoky smell of gunpowder in the air? That and fireworks actually turn me on lol.  Basically, 200 years or so ago some conspirators tried to blow up the state opening of parliament and kill the king.  This poor Guy Fawkes dude was caught in the cellar guarding a bunch of barrels of gunpowder (HA! busted!!).  While I know certain people who would argue that these are the only people who ever got into the houses of parliament with good intentions, us Britons commemorate the event to this day every 5th of November with bonfires, fireworks,  toffee apples, hot dogs and sparklers…  Flames and pyro on a cold winter’s night. What’s not to love!

Of course it’s also the busiest night of the year for the fire brigade coping with bonfire disasters and firework accidents. It’s one of the few times in the year that you can actually buy fireworks in stores over here, so folk go a little nuts.

Sadly these days the bonfires are kind of disappearing and along with them the scarecrow like models of Guy Fawkes that kids would make to be burned on top of the fire,  and the holiday is becoming more and more all about the fireworks. Still, going to the local display is one of our things… so KM was a little grumpy when I missed it this year. Next year for sure.