tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4177625212141038782024-03-05T20:56:27.508+11:00Lit by a SkylightWelcome to the world of the angel Jean, Smith's little elf. Feel free to converse with the voices in my head. I thrive on conversation, communication and stories, so I'd love to hear from you!theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-1977372379526115632010-08-24T00:09:00.000+10:002010-08-24T00:09:47.638+10:00The gap between "could do" and "do"For a while, now, I've been thinking about what I should write in this blog. I have a new blog at <a href="http://adropofcrystalwater.blogspot.com/">adropofcrystalwater.blogspot.com</a>, where I record the little things I do while learning to take care of myself, mainly so that I can keep a count of how much I get to donate to <a href="http://www.charitywater.org/">charity:water</a>. It's not very much of a motivation, but it's something, and having it public keeps me accountable. But as reading material, it's rather dull.<br />
<br />
In this blog, though, I'm used to writing random musings, mainly for the purposes of putting my personality out there, I guess. I've actually been preparing a series on "what I believe" for this blog, but at the same time wondering if it was worth writing on that subject at all. Sure, I have interesting beliefs, some of them worthy, some of them silly, and some of them downright painful, and I'm good at explaining things ... But I don't want to be that person who tries to convert people to her belief system, just for the sake of having people agree with her. I'm no evangelist, and so the idea of writing down what I believe doesn't seem like something that would be entertaining to others. All it would do is let me clarify my thoughts.<br />
<br />
So, if I'm not only going to write about what I believe, what can I write about? Well, one of my strengths is brainstorming for exhaustive lists, so here goes:<br />
<br />
All about me:<br />
- what I believe<br />
- what I want<br />
- what I like<br />
- what I hate<br />
- what I love<br />
- what I've seen<br />
- what I've heard<br />
- what I've noticed<br />
- what I've thought about<br />
- how I feel <br />
- what I've been told<br />
- what I've done<br />
- what I wish for<br />
- what I avoid<br />
- what I'm afraid of<br />
- what I know<br />
- what I've learned<br />
- what I've read/been shown <br />
- what I remember<br />
<br />
The world around us:<br />
- what other people do<br />
- what other people say<br />
- how things work<br />
- what things mean<br />
- what other people might think<br />
- what might help other people<br />
- how people interact with each other <br />
- what consequences actions might have<br />
- about places<br />
- about people I know<br />
- about people I've met or noticed<br />
- about imaginary places<br />
- about imaginary people<br />
- about situations and emotions<br />
- about objects, aesthetics and functions<br />
- about concepts and relations<br />
- about things to do <br />
<br />
Of course, many of these things link together. So, for example, a discussion of something I've seen might link in with what I've thought about it, what kind of beliefs I have and why, and what I know about how things work. It's more than likely that in attempting to write on one topic, I would branch off into tangents that range through each of the others and expand n them. The problem is that I can't write down everything I'd like to, because there simply isn't enough time to collect all my thoughts and put them into words; and I'd like some universal theme. And there, I have to make a choice.<br />
<br />
Looking at the two lists above, a couple of things stick out at me. Firstly, I'm most comfortable writing about things that relate to myself. There are a few reasons for this, but mainly it's because I've recently gone through a period of spending a lot of time alone, trying to learn about myself, and also because I've always had an inclination towards analysis and reflection. Also, there's a sense of uniqueness to it, as though I'm something of an expert: hardly anybody else is going to write from my point of view.<br />
<br />
The second thing I noticed is related: In order to write about anything other than myself, I feel that I would have to go out and experience things more than I currently am doing. I tend to involve myself in what other people think and feel, rather than taking detailed observations of other aspects such as the words they say, the way things look or where things are. On the other hand, I also have an interest in technology and science, which makes me interested in how things work, and how to explain them to other people so they'll understand. But actually going out and observing these things, finding people and concepts and situations, seems to be work that would take more time than I have. <br />
<br />
The irony of this is that to look at my life at the moment, I would seem to have nothing but time. I'm currently unemployed, but in a relatively comfortable situation supported by my husband, in a middle-class society, so in theory I'm free as a bird. I have very few actual obligations, and mostly my time is my own. I have reasonable physical health, and an active mind that feels relatively flexible, so in theory I could be doing ... anything I wanted. But what I'm actually doing is ... not very much at all.<br />
<br />
It's the diversity of choice that is becoming a problem for me at the moment. The list of things I could write about is a pale reflection of the seemingly-infinite list of things I could be doing. But I cannot do everything I could do; I cannot even do everything I want to do; there isn't enough time in a lifetime, let alone enough time to fit it all in now. As always ... I have to choose.<br />
<br />
I hate choices.<br />
<br />
So, for once in my life, it's time to focus my thinking - and my writing - on the choices I make. And because I tend towards reflection and thought rather than action, to the point that I end up doing very little ... I need to turn around and focus on what I want to do. Because all this thinking and analysis can come to nothing, if I don't actually do anything as a result. <br />
<br />
I will, of course, be bringing all my thoughts and reflections to the table in making these decisions about what I want to do, and when. And when I've done something, and have something to show for it - only then will I be able to tell you about whether my beliefs and opinions are worthwhile. But until then, I'll concentrate on writing the story of how I decide what to do, and how well I can carry it out.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-90204130180540568462010-08-10T22:45:00.000+10:002010-08-10T22:45:21.048+10:00MisunderstandingThere's a woman I know ... and we just can't seem to get along with each other.<br />
<br />
Don't laugh. This is something that hardly ever happens to me. In fact, it's a point of pride with me, that I try to get along with everyone, and that I try hard to listen to everyone's point of view. And nearly all the time, it works.<br />
<br />
It took me years and a lot of hindsight to work out why she and I can never get along. And since then, I haven't got around to writing it down ... But now, I'm starting to talk with a mutual friend of ours on Facebook, and every time I post something public on her page, my comment is invisible to this person (and a couple others I have blocked). I'm starting to wonder if she's noticing our friend replying to nobody. So I figured it was time to explain why she and I never understand each other, and why I've decided it's not worth communicating with her. <br />
<br />
I guess I'll start by saying what isn't the problem. She's not a nasty person - or at least, not these days. She tries reasonably hard to be friendly, and she can be charming. It's not like she's downright unlikeable.<br />
<br />
And when I say we don't understand each other, it's not a problem with her - it's both of us. She's not ignorant, or stupid. In fact, I'd count her as rather intelligent.<br />
<br />
And it's not like she's deliberately set out to hurt me - well, not to start with, at least. She's said and written some things when she was angry and upset, but that was when she thought I'd done something to her. The problem is, I never set out to hurt her, either. And I don't know if she'd believe that. I just did what I felt was right, after making sure other people agreed with me. And those other people didn't include her.<br />
<br />
<br />
Well, down to the problem itself. Every time I say something, she thinks I mean something else. And vice versa, I'm betting. And I can't even qualify what I'm saying, I can't reassure her by adding "And I don't mean X" because her understanding of things is just so different to mine, that I wouldn't even think of seeing it her way at first, without being told. We have totally different world views.<br />
<br />
<br />
The problem is in the subtext, the things that you assume are implied without being said. When I speak to people who know me, there are certain things that I think go without saying. I don't feel the need to say "I don't want to hurt you" with every sentence. I think it's a truism that "I'm listening." I don't think everyone needs to be told that "I'm trying to understand your point of view," because that's why I'm listening to them in the first place. I assume that people will start with the premise that I mean them no ill, because I do wish them well. I may not want everything that they want, but I hope to make them happy. That's always been my mission in life. <br />
<br />
<br />
So in the early days, when we were still trying to work things out, when she had the courage to tell me what she thought of me, many things about what her view of my attitude came as a shock to me. My thought was always "Why on earth would she think I meant that?" Why would she think I was taking someone else's side? Why would she think I was trying to tell her she was doing something wrong? I wasn't! Why would she think I would punish her in some way? For what? The worst I had ever done was explain what I thought could be done differently, a couple of words here, a joke there, a question about what she thought ... and here she was talking about the most severe penalties she could think of, options that weren't even available to me. It just seemed incomprehensible to me, that she (and her friends) could be afraid of what I would do, when I felt I had never done anything to earn that kind of mistrust. And it hurt.<br />
<br />
<br />
Not only did it hurt, but it was impossible to second-guess. I don't know what kind of a life she's had, maybe she's used to people backstabbing her and treating her badly. When I think of it now, maybe she thought she could hear me saying "I'm angry with you/I'm disappointed/You're a bad person/You deserve to be punished". But I didn't know how to make it clear to her that "That's not what I meant - I would never say that - I would never do that! - that's <i>not who I am</i>" because I had no idea what she was thinking. And despite the fact that every other person I speak to eventually understands that I see them in a friendly way - and the fact that she and I were once friends - she seemed to think I was actively working against her.<br />
<br />
<br />
She once told me she felt I spoke to her as if I was "walking on eggshells"; as if I were very careful only to say only certain things, and to leave out other things, as if I was afraid for her to hear them. So it was left for her to imagine what those things were. And one thing she does have is a vivid imagination.<br />
<br />
<br />
What could I possibly have to say, that I would be afraid to tell her? The answer is, nothing. I say what I mean, and if I don't say something, that's because the thought didn't even cross my mind. I do try to be precise with my words, to say <i>exactly</i> what I mean in the hope that most people will understand it ... So I don't mince words. As a result, in a conversation I will usually say very little, and listen as much as possible. <br />
<br />
<br />
So when I spoke to her, I assumed she would understand my subtext of meaning her well, of actively trying to help her. And instead she heard something completely different, so different I couldn't understand it. Every time we tried to clarify things, it was painful ... because it struck at the heart of the way I saw myself. And I can't help wondering if the same process was happening in reverse.<br />
<br />
<br />
I do know that I pored over her words, again and again ... I looked at the things she was saying about me, and I wondered what else she meant. What was she telling her friends about me? Did they agree with her? It's possible I was also reading things into what she said, that were never there. Who knows ... Well, I certainly didn't. <br />
<br />
<br />
In the end, though, I decided it was enough. It would take too much effort, too much time spent painfully clarifying everything, too much worry and personal distress, to make things right. I didn't understand at the time why it wasn't working - I just knew that I couldn't keep working at it, or I'd end up jumping from something tall. So I left.<br />
<br />
<br />
And in the end ... it's not her fault. It's not entirely my fault, either, although I guess there are things I could have done differently. It's just that the way I see things - including myself - and the way she sees things are so different, that we go through misunderstanding with every single word. And that makes any kind of communication ... pretty much impossible.<br />
<br />
<br />
Earlier this year I had a message relayed by another mutual friend, that "I know you probably hate me". It brought up all the old pain, but by then I knew what was happening between us, because I was seeing it happeng between two of my other friends. Constant misunderstanding. I can't hate her, I can't even blame her - but I can't blame myself either. It just is the way it is.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-48230388179213671492009-11-16T13:25:00.002+11:002009-11-16T13:35:20.179+11:00Worm compostI don't have a green thumb.<br />
<br />
Mostly this is because I'm not good at routines and habits. So I forget to water and tend my plants ... or let's say I choose not to remember. As a result, my balcony garden looks like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/SwC3qu1ah3I/AAAAAAAAACQ/xDUGvy9VIt0/s1600/194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/SwC3qu1ah3I/AAAAAAAAACQ/xDUGvy9VIt0/s320/194.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><br />
Gardening tools: trowel and gloves (which may contain spiders, I don't know). One planter which formerly contained bok choy and lemon thyme, which the caterpillars promptly ate. The red ice cream tub contains the little pots that the bok choy and lemon thyme came in. The two other pots are the remains of tomato seedlings I bought a few weeks ago in a flutter of enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
Okay, I do have an excuse for not putting the tomato plants in the planter, and for not watering my planter. Here is the reason:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/SwC3zk3e1WI/AAAAAAAAACY/li91SGHxqZE/s1600/195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/SwC3zk3e1WI/AAAAAAAAACY/li91SGHxqZE/s320/195.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><br />
It is supposedly a 'self-watering' planter. In theory, water drains from the soil into a separate compartment at the bottom and can sustain the planter for a few days. Excess water can be tipped out through the letterbox-shaped hole in the picture.<br />
<br />
In practice, mosquitoes get into the water compartment through the hole, and breed there :( After that, I avoided opening the balcony door at all until the plants were dead.<br />
<br />
I did buy some mesh to put over the hole, before I bought the tomato plants. However I never got around to taping it on. Or watering the tomato plants more than once, come to that.<br />
<br />
Okay, so I can't sustain green life. Hmm. What can I do for practice? Compost maybe? After looking a little while at composting information, I decided that my planter would make a perfect worm compost farm. All it needed was a lid with airholes, and mesh over the water compartment. The water compartment would drain the compost so it didn't get too wet, and the lid with airholes would stop little flies from getting in the top and laying maggots.<br />
<br />
<br />
Went off to my nearby hardware/nursery store (looking for <a href="http://litbyaskylight.blogspot.com/2009/11/little-sharp-things.html">lightbulbs</a>, as it happened) and asked the DIY man how I could get a lid for my planter. He suggested that someone could just cut a piece of plywood into shape, put a handle on it, and off I go. He even offered to do it himself, when I said I didn't know anyone who had materials to do it for me. He refused my offer to pay for materials, too. I better bake him a cake or something.<br />
<br />
He measured a planter that was in the shop, to make the lid. Because he'd measured that one, I bought it to be sure the lid would fit. So here's my future worm farm:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/SwC36whiUiI/AAAAAAAAACg/seuu88b_g10/s1600/196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/SwC36whiUiI/AAAAAAAAACg/seuu88b_g10/s320/196.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><br />
The shredded paper is for bedding for the worms. I used duct tape to put a couple of layers of narrow flyscreen mesh over the hole. Hopefully that will keep the mosquitoes out. I'm also going to put in a couple of trowels of soil and some of the random brown stuff from my balcony, to give it more organic material. And I'll soak it all before the worms go in.<br />
<br />
I don't have the lid yet, he said I could probably pick it up tomorrow. And I rang up the nursery, who said I could buy worms any day of the week :)<br />
<br />
Meanwhile I've been collecting my kitchen waste in an icecream tub. Not optimal, because it's rotting a bit, but oh well. The worms can eat it later on.<br />
<br />
Will post further on how it all goes!theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-74606439815130862322009-11-13T21:02:00.000+11:002009-11-13T21:02:38.368+11:00Little sharp things...Smith and I, changing lightbulbs. Specifically, I bought them, he got up on a chair and put them in place, I reminded him to do so before the sun went down.<br />
<br />
Then Smith says 'I think there might be something in my finger.'<br />
<br />
Looked at his right index finger under the bright lights we'd just installed, and it was obvious there was something there, but it was tiny. Tried to grasp it with my fingernails - definitely something hard there so not skin, but I couldn't grasp it. Grabbed a pair of tweezers - still feeling the hard object, but no luck grasping it.<br />
<br />
Now what? Dig it out? Me, who'd never dug anything out of skin before? With no local anaesthetic? Okay, well, I had pulled a 2cm "splinter" out of a man's foot before. But that wasn't exactly hard. This ... well.<br />
<br />
The alternative? No medical centres open. Take him to the ED? .... Err ... no.<br />
<br />
No local anaesthetic in the house. No sterile needles in the house - well, not your normal hollow ones anyway. But I did have a sterile suture with a needle on the end of it, and it wasn't expired yet. I was supposed to use it to practise suturing at some point (on a pork chop or something). That, however, was years ago, and since then it was just clutter. Might as well break it open. There was supposedly a needle holder to go with it, but given the amount of clutter in my room, it was not to be found.<br />
<br />
Slippery little J-curve needle had to be held one plane with my tweezers and supported in the plane with fingers. The rest was no-touch technique and a little bit of scraping.<br />
<br />
Smith, at one point, said 'That needle has some sharpness to it." I took that to mean it hurt. It turned out to mean that he actually didn't feel a thing.<br />
<br />
End result:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/Sv0t4V1KNbI/AAAAAAAAACA/u2IfwYBzXtM/s1600-h/shardsmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/Sv0t4V1KNbI/AAAAAAAAACA/u2IfwYBzXtM/s320/shardsmall.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That's it next to my fingernail.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>A closer view:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/Sv0uPORZU6I/AAAAAAAAACI/9T4MxXwY9Hs/s1600-h/shardcropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HdSbCb7BM04/Sv0uPORZU6I/AAAAAAAAACI/9T4MxXwY9Hs/s320/shardcropped.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The clear part was embedded right in the middle of the pad of his index finger. The pink part is where the skin subsequently leaked a tiny bit of blood around it, I guess.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Will we wear gloves when changing light bulbs in future?<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">... Nah.<br />
</div>theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-68852262109409871142009-08-14T16:52:00.000+10:002009-11-10T17:42:55.520+11:00Letting go...For a few months, I have been stewing over a hatchet job written about me, by someone I once (long ago, now) respected.<br /><br />It is <a href="http://raivyn.livejournal.com/594925.html#cutid1">here</a>. Yes, it laments the loss of a lot of things and the disappointment of many expectations. But she blames me.<br /><br />She is not a stupid person. She is not without influence, either. As much as it was all old territory we'd been over many times before, I had food for thought.<br /><br />Not that I responded, of course. But I considered it, a lot.<br /><br /><br />At 2am this morning I woke up to speak to a friend I had thought long lost. And I asked for, and was given, reassurance that yes ... the author of the above is completely delusional. The people who I still valued, the people who really mattered, have always been able to see what I truly meant and what I intended, and what effect it really had.<br /><br />I still don't know how soon I will be able to get over it, though. My darned obsessional personality.<br /><br /><br />It seems this is a year for re-evaluating who I really am, from the outside in.<br /><br />I am not just a precocious learner, I am not just the angel Jean, I am not just an Australian, I am not just a nerd, I am not just a doctor, I am not just a woman with a mental illness ...<br /><br />And at the same time as discovering that I am more than the labels I have attached to myself, there are so many things I would like to be, that I may or may not become. Scientist, writer, lacemaker, musician, philanthropist, teacher, mother, champion ...<br /><br />We will see. For now, I am just me.<br /><br />Even I don't know who that is.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-81591620986514576902009-07-28T10:52:00.000+10:002009-11-10T17:42:55.547+11:00Small pleasures, small disappointments...A single flower and some early buds in a plum tree...<br /><br />A large magpie eyeing me warily as I walk by in a large green coat...<br /><br />A crowd of people waiting at a train station, as the estimated time is blank...<br /><br />Two trees full of large deep-red magnolias, half-open...<br /><br />Wisps of steam from the building cooling tower...<br /><br />The sun on my neck and the wind in my face as I walk between buildings...<br /><br />Cement powder leaking from a pallet on a forklift rolling along, then piling up as he stops...<br /><br />A friend's new hair colour which I would love to imitate, but would never dare...<br /><br />... all reminding me that I'm still alive, as I take one day at a time.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-19130634862833324612009-06-23T02:37:00.000+10:002009-11-10T17:42:55.557+11:00In reply to: Denial...Gah, I just wrote a long reply to my friend's blog post <a href="http://creamycam.blogspot.com/2009/06/denial.html">here</a>, and then realised I'd written more than the original post... Time to copy paste.<br /><br /><a href="http://creamycam.blogspot.com/">Cam's</a> original post deals with <a href="http://creamycam.blogspot.com/2009/06/denial.html">a workmate who had an affair with a married woman, and tries to justify it.</a><br /><br />My reply:<br /><br />Oh dear. Yes, I agree completely on both counts. Denial of the truth occurs on so many levels, ... although it is usually the complexity of the situation which allows denial, justification and moral dilemmas in the first place.<br /><br />Although I would add a qualifier to your first statement: Denial seems to be a way for the guilty to remain sane <i>without learning anything from the experience</i>. Don't worry, Cam, once we give up the false shield of denial, we "guilty" don't necessarily go insane all the time! (Although hey, some of us already have.) I hold out hope that a person can learn something from each time they do something they know is wrong ... even if they only thing they learn is "I'll never do that again." And admitting and atoning for the wrongdoing? Well, that takes it a couple of steps further, although whether it helps is debatable.<br /><br />As for marriage ... by goodness, people are so complicated and wrapped in their own little world of desires and attitudes. It <i>should</i> be established fact that trust and mutual support are the basis of a good marriage, but hey, nobody's done the randomised controlled trials. People like that man and woman obviously choose to believe otherwise, or at least act like it. And I guess there are other people who go along with society's norms without really thinking about it, so plenty of marriages hold.<br /><br />But it takes a certain degree of empathy to think about a situation like this <i>before</i> it is actually upon you. To say to yourself that no, you wouldn't like it if you were in the husband's shoes. And it takes a bigger leap of empathy to decide that the husband deserves to have what you would want - unbroken trust in his wife. I have a feeling that that particular level of mutual 'thinking about each other' is the basis of most happy marriages.<br /><br />That first step, of making people think about these situations? Hey, that's why we tell each other stories like this. That's why I keep reading this blog.<br /><br />Hang in there, Cam.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-26767626982909149812009-05-06T00:35:00.000+10:002009-11-10T17:42:55.578+11:00The rest of my day...Speaking of theory and practice, my attempts at writing concisely have obviously just failed me and it's past midnight. So here's a quick summary of what else happened today, without baggage:<br /><br />I got my midterm assessment, and realised that I've been leaving my angel side with the patients and not with my colleagues;<br /><br />I let myself get ambushed by tasks too many times, and missed out on a clinic and a lecture I would have loved to attend;<br /><br />Smith and I went to dinner with some good friends, and met a friend's new girlfriend, who seems friendly and interesting and mature (and young, at the same time);<br /><br />We all saw <a href="http://www.maryandmax.com/">Mary and Max</a> (Margaret and David review <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/atthemovies/txt/s2527141.htm">here</a>), which has to be one of the best films I've ever seen, and claymation to boot.<br /><br />More on each later, I guess. On that note, goodnight!theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-76390936216912357212009-05-05T23:04:00.000+10:002009-11-10T17:42:55.569+11:00Theory and PracticeAt 11am I was close to having an argument with a patient's granddaughter. At that point my registrar deflected the conversation, and I realised just how far I have to go in my communication skills.<br /><br />Since I started university, for some reason I have considered myself to be an excellent face-to-face communicator. I knew I wasn't as good at writing, or at confrontation, but when it came to day-to-day interactions, it seemed to go more smoothly for me than for others. Now, I'm no charmer. I will never say anything just because it's what someone wants to hear. But by that token, people get to know that when I say something, I mean it. When I was young, I read a book about conflict resolution and active listening*, and so I try really hard to listen and understand people in return. And combined with the fact that I have a nice smile and (I thought) a good attentive manner, and my eagerness to say things in a way people will understand ...<br /><br />... well, it seems to work. People like me. People smile at me when I smile at them. I have gone up to people and made bald-faced unusual requests, and had them granted out of the goodness of their hearts (in a good cause). And patients and their families love me.<br /><br />Actually one of the positive thinking slogans I made for myself when I was down, was related to this: "The world smiles at me when I get things done and go out!" I really do have all the luck sometimes. I used that as my screensaver, so that when I got paralysed in front of a computer I might think about moving.<br /><br />Being a doctor ... well, I certainly had a lot of skills to learn when I started - case presentation, handover, ward rounding, informed consent, explaining things to patients and their families. But it's been two years now, and these days I feel pretty confident, especially with the last one: explanations. I really put some thought into finding a simple way to explain what's happening and why we need to do certain things. But maybe I'm over-confident. It's come to the point where I do interrupt my registrar and at times even my consultant, in order to clarify things for the listener. Maybe I'm backing them up, or maybe I'm getting in the way and being inappropriate. I don't know how to tell.<br /><br />Anyway, today ... we got a call to say the patient's granddaughter was upset and wanted to speak to us. Now, we hadn't met her before, but we were already having problems dealing with the patient's medical issues - mainly pain and agitation - and her son's distress. So on the way in we caught up with the nurse, who said the granddaughter's main concern was that the family hadn't been informed when the patient was moved into a windowless single room overnight. (Ahh, treatment rooms. Another story for another time.) And that the reason for this was that the patient had been agitated overnight, but now she was quite settled in the new room.<br /><br />Now, we hadn't been informed either. Actually, we'd come in that morning and gone "where's the patient?" "Oh, she's on [a ward on another floor]". So I was all set up to go in and sympathise - after all, we would have preferred her not to be removed from her familiar environment either. But boy, did that conversation take a turn in the opposite direction.<br /><br />She started by expressing her severe disappointment with the system, and her wish to speak to someone senior. Fair enough. We talked about the bed move, and the fact that yesterday she had specifically asked that the family be informed about any changes in treatment. Obviously that message and its scope (including 2am phone calls about bed moves) hadn't got through to us. Anyway, she thought her grandmother would have been further agitated by the move, and the language barrier wouldn't have helped, as her grandmother now didn't know where she was. I tried to explain that people had tried to speak to her in two of her native languages last night with no success - because she had been confused. She didn't agree.<br /><br />But then she took a completely unexpected direction. She was concerned that her grandmother was drowsy, and expressed her opinion that she was on too much medication. At this point, I'm not sure, but I think I did no more than frown, I don't think I said anything. The response: "Don't question me." (I was standing facing her with my registrar between us half-facing her, so he couldn't see my face.) So I said nothing further, and she continued along her line - her grandmother was drowsy and not herself. Obviously this was true even if I didn't agree with her over the cause, and my facial expression at that point was (or should have been) of "concern". Suddenly her tone changed, and she looked like she was going to get angry with me. My registrar sensed it too, and quickly changed the subject slightly.<br /><br />(As I later did manage to explain to her, we had cut her medications by two-thirds the day before, and she had had hardly any that night.)<br /><br />Later in the conversation there was another flashpoint, where she had questioned the prescription of a medication a couple of nights before - the nurse had needed to tell the doctor a medication he was about to write had already been given. I tried to point out that the doctor was on the evening shift and wouldn't have known the full situation. She didn't respond well to that - she told me not to defend something that was wrong. (Later we pointed out that he had already asked for advice from a senior doctor before making that decision.) Anyway, I guess I scored myself another aggravation point with that one.<br /><br />My registrar is a very experienced doctor, who worked in Palliative Care last term, and it's to his credit that he was able to defuse the whole situation. He acted swiftly to protect me from becoming a focus for her anger. Later, he explained that he could see her misinterpreting what I was saying, and he was afraid that she and I would get into a proper argument. Overall, his competence with the situation made me feel I should just keep my mouth shut and learn from the way he dealt with it. He did give me a few tips afterwards - on what parts of a conversation I should actively let go, and how to emphasize just the necessary facts.<br /><br />It's funny, I always thought I was good with families. Now I realise that there are two categories I've learned to deal with. Anxious and worried people, I'm good at - I can give them enough information, and reassure them that I believe in what I'm doing. People who are just upset for no good reason and don't listen - I learned long ago that they're a lost cause. But there's at least one type that I don't respond to adequately - the angry argumentative person who listens to what I'm saying in the wrong way, and throws it back in my face. I get defensive, just like I tried to defend the intern from the other night. Those sorts of things, I need to learn to actively listen to, acknowledge, and then let go, and wait for the right time to provide correct information. And despite my reading, I've never practiced active listening and it's not in my skillset. More practice needed.<br /><br />And there are probably myriad other situations I haven't yet come across or learned to deal with ...<br /><br />Oh, and we did manage to explain everything to her in the end, and she agreed with the plan, and we encouraged her to take some of her concerns to a higher level. Later that afternoon, though, we were told she was planning legal action against the hospital.<br /><br />*bibliography: I'm almost sure the book I read was <a href="http://nonviolentcommunication.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=40"><span style="font-style: italic;">We Can Work It Out</span></a>, but it's way too recently printed... I've been trying to find which book I actually read. Any suggestions?theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-82247738294158715032009-05-05T22:55:00.000+10:002009-11-10T17:42:55.587+11:00To begin with....Way too much happened today.<br /><br />So, in the interests of getting to bed before midnight, I'm going to change my posting style tonight. Instead of getting the whole train of thought, you get random passengers showing you their luggage. Then they get to go their separate ways, like they normally would.<br /><br />Why? Well, I wonder sometimes about whether my essay style has too much of a wall-of-text effect. It's the only writing style I've ever trained myself to follow. In English class I started out being really poor at filling out each paragraph, but left to my own devices and topics it starts turning into lists, which can get really long. These days all I want to do is tell a story anyway. <br /><br />Motley crew coming right up... possibly in chronological order...theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-50813015950539240642009-04-18T03:01:00.001+10:002010-06-15T01:40:46.291+10:00The Mentality of the CulicidaeIt's 3am, and I'm awake. Again.<br />
<br />
I used to be the type of person who would lie awake at night thinking about things. I have this goal of "understanding", so puzzling things out is a natural instinct. And hey, I used to have things to think about. The MUD, for instance. Why on earth did this player say that? Was that what he thought of me? Why would he think that, did they really think I was so selfish? How could I make them all see the person I really was? Et cetera. Or when I had a crush on a boy when I was fourteen, now, that really gave me something to think about. But that was long ago, and it's not why I'm awake tonight. <br />
<br />
No, tonight there's a mosquito in my bedroom. Again.<br />
<br />
Now, I like to think of myself as a nature-lover. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of visiting the Botanical Gardens with my family, being taught about the different trees and flowers, feeding the ducks. When I was lonely in primary school, there was a patch of buttercups far across the field from where everyone played, and I would retreat there when the age difference got too intrusive for me, and keep the bees company. And I like cute and cuddly animals as much as the next girl.<br />
<br />
Actually, I've probably quite a bit more tolerance for the wildlife than your average person; too much David Attenborough as a teenager, I suppose. (No, you can never watch too much David Attenborough.) So, in accordance with his enthusiastic attitude, I find it all interesting, curious and worth preserving (although I haven't gone vegetarian). This means that I don't mind large spiders, because the big ones we get here are harmless; in a safe environment, I wouldn''t mind handling a snake. To me, ants' nests are a marvel of nature<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>, as you can see in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0e-q5MHwNQ">this video</a>, although obviously they're best left alone. I like earthworms, in theory, although I've never bothered digging them up to go look at them. By a weird extension, I like colorectal surgery. (Seeing the patient's innards spread out on view... Pink and wriggly? Happy guts. Ooh, that bit looks sick, poor thing. Let's cut it out. The rest of them still happy? Happy guts.)<br />
<br />
But well, mosquitoes are the lone exception. They spread malaria, causing a worldwide disease burden. Not to mention myriad other diseases. They don't support any ecosystem, as far as I know, because they're a pest feeding on humans and animals. They seek me and my mother and sister out preferentially, and we get huge welts that last for days and sting at night. I don't believe in "evil" in the malignant, people-hating sense, but ... mosquitoes are<span style="font-style: italic;"> the enemy and must die. </span><br />
<br />
Which brings us to The Hunt.<br />
<br />
The door is closed. The lights are on. All wooden surfaces get checked. Then Smith gets covered in blankets up to his face, and my arms and head are free to act as bait ... and to smack them out of the air. I used to be reasonably good at it. When I was on rotation on the North Coast, in a house with broken fly-screens, I'd sit for an hour before bed and get about six or seven of them each night. Then I could sleep knowing that with the door shut, no more would come in.<br />
<br />
These days, though ... I don't know what it is. Maybe I'm older and slower. Maybe I'm tired more often. Maybe the mosquitoes are faster, where we live now. But many hours over many nights have been fruitless, and I usually end up just putting a blindfold on and going to sleep with the lights on. I don't think I've caught a mosquito this year, and there have been plenty.<br />
<br />
So I've had plenty of time to think about the intelligence of the mosquito. Obviously it's not on a par with the human mind. I must be some kind of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animism">animist</a>, because I usually like to think of things as having a personality - trees, germs, guts (as above), supermarket trolleys, you name it. But well, I don't even like to dignify a mosquito by giving it its proper gender (only the female ones bite). No, this is not your average gravid female looking for nourishment for her eggs, and this is not a bitch-slap fest. It is an IT. <span style="font-style: italic;">Kill it.</span><br />
<br />
There used to be a catchy television advertisement for insect spray, that featured an anthropomorphic, singing housefly. <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm Louie the fly, Louie the fly, straight from rubbish tip to you! Spreading disease, with the greatest of ease ... </span>But when you're in a room with a mosquito ... well, it's not exactly a planning genius.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">"Right, we go around the bedpost here and between the slats, and they'll be straight ahead. Ignore the golden-haired one, the Asian one has a better blood group, taste that carbon dioxide on her breath ... So we're going to zoom over the face, we don't want her to wake up, focus on the hands, arms, anything but the head, you got me? And do not, I repeat, DO NOT land on the hair - it's a trap. They're not called hair triggers for nothing. Okay, you ready?</span>"<br />
<br />
No, I like to think of a mosquito more as a machine. In its nervous system and what counts for a brain, it has, what, ten thousand neurones? A hundred thousand? I don't really have a clue, although I bet it's not in the billions. And there are probably only a few basic impulses - eat, mate, hide. Each one would have excitatory and inhibitory factors, and you can kind of predict what they are.<br />
<br />
Anyone who's done neuroscience probably knows what I mean by that, but here's an analogy. Mating aside, let's say that 'hide' and 'feed' are at opposite ends of a dial. What the mosquito does depends on where the dial is at a particular time, and that depends on the environment. The time of day is one factor pushing the dial towards one end or another - feeding at dawn or dusk, and hiding the rest of the day. The presence of food pushes it towards feeding - I've just looked it up, and apparently carbon dioxide and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1-Octen-3-ol">oct-1-en-3-ol</a> in breath and sweat are strong attractants. I used to watch them come up to me, mesmerised, tracking along the trail of my breath - conveniently, right in front of my face so I could smack them between my hands.<br />
<br />
Obviously being swatted at is a fast swing towards the "life-preservation" end of the dial, but also, the presence of a good place to hide will attract it. I've learned that mosquitoes like to hide on dark wood-grain surfaces, and I used to be able to go hunt them down on my bedroom door or the bookshelf. (Now my bed is wooden and there's an underneath for them to hide. Grr.) And, to my despair, having the light on (so I can see it!) seems to be a strong push towards the 'go hide' end. Maybe having a 35 watt fluorescent for sewing and reading as the top light (100W incandescent equivalent) wasn't such a good idea. <br />
<br />
Other than that, I'm guessing. I suspect that while light is a fast swing to the hiding end, darkness is only a slow push in the other direction. I wonder if the strength of the light is a factor in the speed. Sometimes I wonder if they're tempted to hide on my hair, being a dark, grainy surface. I haven't yet gone as far as digging out my tiny stash of acupuncture pins and opening a vein to attract it despite the light, but tonight I'm tempted. It did come out when I had a nosebleed earlier tonight, after all.<br />
<br />
That only accounts for about fifty neurones in total, so obviously a mosquito is more complicated than that. But I've got a hundred billion ... I win, right? Well, that's what I'm hoping...<br />
<br />
neeed ... sleeeep.....theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-25699015957212521702009-01-13T19:11:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.609+11:00People will forget what you said<br />People will forget what you did<br />But people will never forget how you made them feel.<br /><br />Maya Angelou<br /><br />Of course, this is true even when people have completely misunderstood what you said and don't know what you did.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-17374593815196152782008-03-03T16:15:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.654+11:00Ordering a LifeWhat do you do when life leaves you with nothing to do, and all the time in the world to do it in?<br /><br />For some people, this is called a holiday. It may be a welcome break from the constant demands of working life. But for others, it can become a lifestyle. And it gradually becomes a hole that is very difficult to get out of.<br /><br /><br />In August last year, I took extended sick leave from my job. I found that the pressures of being a first-year doctor required a lot more energy than I had. Don't get me wrong, I <span style="font-style: italic;">loved</span> my job. But after five months of working, my energy levels were low to the point that I would take at least a day off every fortnight because I couldn't get out of bed, and at work every afternoon around lunchtime I started feeling exhausted and by 3 I would need a nap. Hardly compatible with full-time work. So, despite the fact that I got an excellent report from the last team I worked with, it was decided that I would take leave until I felt better. (I think the excellent report was something to do with the fact that when I was there, I was doing my job as well as replacing other people who were supposed to be there but weren't. :P)<br /><br />We'd already planned to take a holiday in early September - went off skiing. But after that, and after Smith went back to his job, there was nothing much for me to do. As far as I knew, my job was to get better so I could go back to work. But what would that involve? I didn't know.<br /><br />Medical investigations had been organised to work out if there was any medical reason for my exhaustion. All I had to do was wait for them and then wait for the results. (In the end, there was no convincing medical reason.) In the meanwhile ... I slept. Seemed like the right thing to do, when I was so tired.<br /><br />September, October, November ... I think I lost three months of my life.<br /><br />I certainly can't remember doing anything worthwhile. I wasn't particularly enjoying myself, either. A lot of the time I would sleep until midday, or 1pm. I'd get up, mooch about on the computer a bit, maybe go back to bed. Computer time was spent reading webcomics, playing Insaniquarium or LOTRO, and doing puzzles. In the afternoon I'd nap again, wake up when Smith made dinner, and then sleep; or stay up late playing LOTRO. To tell the truth, I don't remember much about that period. It wasn't much of a life.<br /><br />Nice work if you can get it, you might say. A life of leisure, with a job to go back to when I was ready (but how would I know I was ready?). Loving husband. Every need met. Capable of doing anything I wanted to do. No time pressures. No financial pressures, thanks to my husband's job. No obligations.<br /><br />From another perspective, I was a bum. A highly privileged one, to be sure, but still a bum, leeching off my husband.<br /><br />Of course, I'm not what you'd think of as your typical bum. You know the kind: the guy who lives in his mother's basement, on the computer all day (or all night, doesn't matter which) but doing nothing productive, doesn't cook, clean, wash or take care of himself, baulks at the idea of getting a job or even studying. In the 50s he'd be hanging out on street corners, 'bumming' cigarettes off his friends, in the 80s he'd be at the garage talking about all the cars he'd love to do up. But your privileged bum of the 21st century ... well, I sure acted like it. A female version, at least. You couldn't even call me a housewife, I wouldn't have met that standard by any stretch.<br /><br />Naturally, I didn't recognise it at the time. There aren't many bums in medical circles :P And of course, nobody thinks of themselves as a bum, because the concept that comes to mind when you think of a bum is of how unfair it is on the people around him, that he isn't pulling his weight. Nobody likes to think of themselves that way. Even my husband was kind enough to think of it as me being ill, and that one day I'd get better; he'd support me until then. He knew I was capable of much more, and he figured I'd get back to it one day.<br /><br />And the way it looks from the inside ... of course there's that nagging feeling that you're not being a productive member of society, and you're not even really enjoying yourself. For some people, I imagine that feeling is easily overruled by the simple ego-feeding thrills of whatever it was they're spending time on - World of Warcraft, or an addiction like gambling at the poker machines. For others, it is strong, the sense that you're a dead weight on the people around you, and that you really could be doing more with your life ... if only you knew how, or what. But it also feels like there are insurmountable obstacles in your path. For me, I knew there was more to life, but I didn't feel I had the energy, or the motivation, to do anything. It was all just too hard. This inner struggle in itself weighed down on me, the feeling that I couldn't do anything I wanted to do, I didn't know what would become of my career ... a cloud constantly in the background dampening my mood, blunting my emotions.<br /><br />---------<br /><br />If you recognise this as a picture of yourself ... well, I'm writing a series of posts for you. I've gradually, very slowly, pulled myself out of that hole, using nothing but willpower I didn't know I needed, didn't know I had, borrowing strength from the people around me. I think it's time to detail how I did it, because when it comes to a hole like this, only you can pull yourself out, no matter how many hands are reaching in to help you. But know this: There is a way out. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />There is a way out.</span><br /><br />Don't expect any startling revelations from me, though. Everything I am going to say has been said many times before. I'm not advertising any miracle product or ten-week program (You too can be shiny and successful!) No, it is all common sense that you have heard from your parents and from society ... you might even be sick of hearing it by now. The big surprise is: it works.<br /><br />You don't need money. You don't need any special powers of the intellect. You don't need any special circumstances (although, come to think of it, this would be kind of difficult if you didn't have a place to live, even temporarily). Your tools are a watch, maybe a pen and paper, and the wherewithal to get out there and take care of yourself, and then others. And while it won't be easy - I plan on detailing as many pitfalls as I can think of - it can be done.<br /><br />The key word, of course, is 'done'. This is a process that you must do, you cannot simply 'become' (although popular culture would love to tell us you can!) No, you must act.<br /><br />Currently these are the steps I have taken:<br /><br />1: Realise that you could be doing something worthwhile. (This step took the longest.)<br />2: Take steps to obtain the energy you would need for doing it. In other words, take good care of yourself.<br />3: Seek support, and recognise support when it is being offered.<br />4: Actually write down things you could be doing.<br />5: Try to do some of the things you want to do.<br />6: Recognise the barriers in your way, and find out which ones are within yourself.<br />7: Realise that everything takes time, but only a certain amount of time.<br />8: Plan your time concretely, and realistically.<br />9: Endure your first big relapse into old habits, and come out of it realising why it happened and how to limit or avoid it next time.<br /><br />Of course, this isn't a complete list; I'm not yet where I want to be. In fact, I've just come through my first big relapse into amotivation and fatigue. (I didn't go back to LOTRO, but there was a lot of Insaniquarium. I did do something every day, though.) But eventually - on March 31, to be exact - I will be going back to work. And by then, I plan to be ready. I'll keep you posted on how I go.<br /><br />In the meantime, though, I will be going into each of the above steps in more detail. I hope that, one day, someone finds this useful (although I don't have that many readers just yet). Just remember:<br /><br />It can be done.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-59410361453823533142008-02-27T22:22:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.670+11:00The Seven Basic Plots, by Christopher BookerHave you ever thought of yourself as an 'avid reader'? Are you addicted to stories and narrative? And are you interested in structure and analysis? If so, you <span style="font-style: italic;">must</span> read the book I am (still) reading, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Seven Basic Plots - Why we tell stories</span>, by Christopher Booker.<br /><br />I grew up on stories. As soon as I could read, I read everything I could get my hands on, especially fiction, and I kept that habit all the way through school. Even during my Uni years it wasn't uncommon for me to become completely engrossed in a series of books (to the detriment of my study, unfortunately.)<br /><br />This has meant I have become quite a narrative-driven person. Everything is a story, in that it has characters, events, consequences. Even my study of medicine has been story-driven. Why does this happen in the body? What is it used for? Every part of the body has a function, so that the relevant molecules flow from food to flesh to waste. Every microorganism has its own story of survival, invasion or elimination. The textbooks I relate to most easily are the ones that tell me the best stories, so that I can just sit down and read them. (I've never been able to study anatomy, unfortunately. Or spend any amount of time on a reference book.) And I <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> case presentations.<br /><br />As soon as I saw the book <span style="font-style: italic;">The Seven Basic Plots</span> and flicked idly through it, I had to have it. A detailed analysis of the structure of stories? (The use of the word 'plots' here is a little arguable.) I was in heaven. I'm now on page 630-ish of 730-odd. And, as is immediately apparent even from a brief flick-through, the book is all it set out to be, and much, much more.<br /><br />Yes, plots have been recycled, reinvented and reused throughout the history of literature. The author has looked deeper, though, and found seven basic ways in which a story can be structured. They are, in the order that he examines them, "Overcoming the Monster", "Rags to Riches", "The Quest", "Voyage and Return", "Comedy", "Tragedy" and "Rebirth". (Yes, there are exceptions, and he deals with those too in this book, a highly-structured thesis.) These, of course, have been combined and recombined countless times, and he gives many examples to support his ideas. There are 350-odd individual stories referenced in the book, from the oldest known (the <span style="font-style: italic;">Epic of Gilgamesh</span>) to the ultra-modern (<span style="font-style: italic;">Harry Potter and the Philospher's Stone</span>), with references to the literature and storytelling culture of every era between then and now. And it's not only the written word that he examines - oral culture, theatre, propaganda, movies and television also fall into the scope of the book.<br /><br />What he has done, further, is to look at the stories in terms of the archetypal figures who appear in them, and how the plot is shaped around the relation of the hero/heroine to each of these figures. I guess it's not too surprising that he has based these around the Jungian archetypes - the Mother, the Father, the Teacher, the Alter-Ego, the Anima/Animus, the Tempter/Temptress, the Child, the Ego, the Self, the 'masculine' qualities, the 'feminine' qualities. These are supposed to be the figures of our subconscious appearing in our dreams, and it would be natural for them to appear in stories, an outwardly-projected extension of our subconscious. I wasn't that familiar with Jungian psychology myself - all I really knew was that he was a student of Freud, and that Freud was that psychoanalyst preoccupied with sex :P But as these archetypes are explained in this book - as an explanation of the figures who appear and reappear in stories throughout the ages - the author's arguments make a lot of sense.<br /><br />Now, all of this analysis takes some time. 350-odd pages of quite small print on a largish page. At the same time, it is surprisingly easy to read. Of course, this is in part because he stops so often to tell us the plot of yet another story, before weaving it in to his overall theme. This plethora of stories had me completely engrossed. But it cannot be denied that he is a highly-skilled writer. I was not surprised, when I looked up his biography an hour ago, to find that he has been a lifelong journalist. And, despite his age (more on that later), he writes in very contemporary language - as you'd expect from anyone wanting a book published in 2003.<br /><br /><br />And then ... And then, at the halfway point of the book, having completed an analysis of all these plots, he embarks on two even greater endeavours. The first is a study of the <span style="font-style: italic;">progress</span> of literature in the past two hundred years, as these plots have gradually changed, been overtaken by fashions, stereotypes, sentimentalism, sex and violence. For me, this was a very difficult section of the book to read, and I believe that many people will instinctively find it so.<br /><br />Now, this is not to say that I was offended by the content. The stories themselves ranged from the shocking to the bleak and the pointless, and having read the analysis I am actually inspired to read (or in some cases see) the originals; many of the ones he includes have been lauded as great, groundbreaking works of literature, theatre and film. And the author presents all of these items in a very objective, analytical, impartial manner. He examines our reactions to each, and combines them into his analysis and his theme: the disintegration of our relationship with stories. But his main point rang true with every page - that these stories no longer resonate with our sense of the struggle to become one's own Self, and so each story, in its own way, feels somehow wrong and unresolved.<br /><br />Finally, after a brief interlude in which he tells how stories relate to the 'real world' and history, he presents a gargantuan chapter on what I think is his final topic: the stories of religion. Here, I will not give away his thesis; although his theory is uncontroversial, I know that religion is quite a sensitive topic with many people. Being an atheist myself, I was very much impressed at his absolutely impartial treatment of a near-comprehensive list of religions and cultures. But it will probably be slightly uncomfortable for any person who adheres to a particular religion to see the roots of their own culture analysed so objectively, especially those which the author shows to be varying from his theme.<br /><br />All the same, I feel this is the most important part of the book; it is the one which finally prompted me to write all this. The level of understanding of the human psyche he demonstrates is awe-inspiring. You would not tell from his tone of writing that he is in his seventies, but his insight in finding these themes, these values, these relationships, shows the true wisdom obtained only by experience. My idols and role-models have always been those who show such insight, and while they have previously been the Galileos, the scientists of the world, or more recently Terry Pratchett ... this is one man I would really want to meet and shake by the hand. (And then he'd wonder who this shy little girl was, who couldn't express herself properly.)<br /><br />Yes, in my ideal world everyone would read this book and learn something about themselves, their culture, the history of literature. But of course, the book itself is not accessible to everyone. People may be discouraged by its small print and large size (although many who look inside may find it to be surprisingly readable, as I did). There is extensive use of three- and four-syllable words (sample from one paragraph: incognito, disarray, overshadowed, arrogance, dissipation, infesting, miserably, majesty, massacre, reunited, triumphantly) which may unfortunately rule out a proportion of the population, and then of course there are those who simply are not interested in stories, literature or analysis. I even saw a writer's review complaining about typographical errors and excessive use of the word 'little'. But for the rest of us, I implore you to read this book.<br /><br />Even if you do not start off sympathetic to the points of view he later proposes, you will find his arguments compelling. Even if you read critically with an eye to his omissions, his elisions and biases, his thesis will still be interesting. Because, readable though it may be, this is a finely-constructed essay building on point after point after point, example after example, theory after theory, to a stunning understanding of the way we tell ourselves who we are.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-19892062814447950312008-02-18T19:35:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.682+11:00I've been busy...getting my life organised. It's taken some effort, but I'm really getting there :) Unfortunately, writing this blog seems to have fallen by the wayside. Probably because I keep procrastinating about what I wanted to write about.<br /><br />Ahh well. Time to write about something else instead!<br /><br />This evening I went for a walk around the neighbourhood, and came across a little Japanese supermarket. I wished I'd brought my purse with me (I'd deliberately decided not to) because they sell little tubs of green tea and sesame ice cream! I love Japanese ice-cream flavours.<br /><br />They're an interesting east-west fusion - while green tea, black sesame, red bean, taro (a kind of purple very starchy turnip), lotus seed and lychee are traditional Asian flavours, dairy is not. Soy milk mixes are a tiny bit more common, but usually you see these flavours on their own - red bean paste or lotus seed paste in buns, red bean sweet soup, black sesame soup dumplings, taro cakes (often more taro, less cake, and no egg), lotus seed cake (ditto), lychee and green tea ice drinks, green tea jelly. But the Japanese have made them into traditional milk-and-egg-base icecreams, and they work really well. Black sesame is the hardest on western palates, but green tea and red bean work really well, and I assume taro would too.<br /><br />----<br /><br />Oh, and in an odd turn of events, I found out that the thing I was so angry about the other week ... I'd attributed to the wrong person. <span style="font-style: italic;">She</span> had nothing to do with it. In fact, it was a guy, who doesn't know me that well at all. I know for a fact he resents me for something I refused once long ago, and I don't particularly care. So I don' t need to pay any attention! So much for the positive effects of anger. Someone mentioned that it gives you tunnel vision ... here, it seems it did.<br /><br />Well, actually, maybe there have been positive effects after all. I have done a lot of stuff directly sparked by the thoughts I had that night, and none of them have been negative. I certainly haven't done anything to hurt anyone, or anything that I regret. I didn't go speak to her, or him. I have, on the other hand, started some projects which I'm sure, later on, I'll be really proud of. All because I was forced to get creative.<br /><br />Okay, enough for now! Time to go have dinner.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-14285700873087315522008-02-10T02:46:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.707+11:00Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet StreetA couple of weeks ago I begged Smith to take me to go see Sweeney Todd at the movies. We enjoyed it thoroughly. And tonight I bought a recording of the musical, done in 2005 by a Broadway Revival cast, over iTunes. Listened to that and also enjoyed it.<br /><br />I saw the movie first without knowing much about the plot. Now, I love musicals, but I hate suspense and gore. I'm a scaredy-cat type who, if there is any indication that 'somebody might get hurt!', will hide under the seat with my ears blocked, or leave the area. As a result, I don't watch much TV :P Or at least not the kind of stuff that Smith watches - he likes supernatural themes. I like documentaries and comedian revues.<br /><br />Anyway, I normally wouldn't see a movie with so much violence and death. But this was a musical, and highly recommended by my type of people (xkcd readers). So I steeled myself, I even read spoilers. (I like to read plot synopses if I have to watch something with suspense, but this time I didn't, so I didn't really know the plot.) However, I knew it was about a barber who kills people, so I was fully prepared for everybody who went anywhere near Johnny Depp to die. This served me well - the couple of people who didn't die were a pleasant surprise :P And for anyone who hasn't seen it and wants to, firstly DO SEE IT ... and secondly, be prepared for blood. Lots and lots of blood. Lots and lots and LOTS of blood. Mostly fake-looking, but hey, that's part of the fun.<br /><br />And the music was wonderful. The musical itself is by Stephen Sondheim, who also wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">Into The Woods</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum</span>, and the lyrics in <span style="font-style: italic;">West Side Story</span>. The lyrics to Sweeney Todd are fantastically witty, lots of laughs, suitably cutting and cynical in places, and overall the best bit of the movie, even if you can't catch them all. Johnny Depp sang quite well, Helena Bonham Carter did a great job, Sacha Baron Cohen was hilarious and Ed Sanders (the child who played Tobias) just shone. Overall I found the movie to be tremendous fun.<br /><br />So of course I had to listen to the original. I bought it over iTunes tonight, the 2005 Broadway Revival Cast recording, and it was well worth it. But quite different to the movie.<br /><br />Of course, the musical came first, and so I'll be comparing the movie to the original, as it were. Firstly, in the movie they transposed a lot of the key parts to fit the voices of the actors. For instance, in the musical Mrs Lovett is probably an alto, and Patti Lupone on my recording has a reasonably deep voice. Helena Bonham Carter, on the other hand, is a mezzo-soprano at least. Likewise, the role of Tobias is sung by a light tenor in the musical, while they used a boy soprano in the movie. I can see why an adult tenor would be more practical for the musical, as the Toby role is rather large and I can't see an 11-14 year-old boy playing it night after night for however long a Broadway run lasts. (Although hey, they do it for <span style="font-style: italic;">Annie</span>.)<br /><br />Given that they could cast more freely for the movie, though, I think they did superbly. Having a young boy with an unbroken voice as assistant to Pirelli just makes the role much more likeable and poignant in the right places. The young actors who play Johanna and Antony have adolescent-like singing voices, consistent with their characters (my original recording has an adult soprano as Johanna, which doesn't grate as much on the ear, when really it should. She's supposed to be 15.) And Helena Bonham Carter ... well.<br /><br />I'm still tossing up as to whether Helena Bonham Carter or Patti LuPone (Mrs Lovett in the Broadway recording) is the better voice-actor. And that's quite a compliment to Ms Carter, given how much I love Patti LuPone. Of course, I was more than halfway through the recording before I realised where I recognised the voice - she also sang Fantine in the London Cast recording of <span style="font-style: italic;">Les Miserables.</span> And Ms Carter does a different, but equally good job. And she does a great down-to-earth accent, I'm not sure what to call it, although it's definitely a British one. Ms LuPone had an American accent in the recording, and that made me cringe in places.<br /><br />They also seem to have sped up some of the songs for the movie. Either that or the professional singers have that much better diction, that everything not only comes out clearer, but seems slower. But I could swear that most of Mrs Lovett's songs in the movie are a touch faster than on the stage version, especially the patter in "The Worst Pies in London." (See, with song titles like that, you've <span style="font-style: italic;">got</span> to see it.) And it works well, even if Smith had much trouble making out the words.<br /><br />And the choice of what songs to put in the movie and what to leave out ... I think they did well. They did leave out a key 'narration' song, "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd", which it seems some musical-goers missed. Me, I wasn't that enamoured of the song itself, although maybe it needs a visual impact to go along with it. The flashback technique they used in the movie in the other songs served as a good background, so that song would have been redundant. And the rest of the songs ... well, they flattened some of the characters out severely (Judge Turpin, Johanna and the Beggar Woman) by leaving out key songs that displayed depth of character, but I don't think it detracted from the story.<br /><br />Overall, I think the movie is a great rendition of the musical. Hey, apparently even <a href="http://www.lemonwade.com/2007/10/04/its-true-about-sweeney-todd-sondheim-really-really-likes-it/">Stephen Sondheim likes it</a>. But if the musical ever comes to town, or we ever make it to London's West End, I'll be seeing that too. :)theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-59447439046601116692008-02-06T22:32:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.731+11:00Our anniversaryWell, I was going to write something interesting today. But I'm too tired! I woke up at 3am and started doing stuff rather than going back to sleep. And I've had two naps today, but it hasn't helped enough.<br /><br />So here's something I prepared earlier.<br /><br />It was Smith and my anniversary of the first time we went out, on January 24th. I wrote him a card.<br /><br />[<span style="font-style: italic;">front of card</span>]<br /><div style="text-align: right;">24th January, 2008<br /></div>"Dear Smith,<br /><br />Well.<br /><br />It had to happen sometime. After eight years, your brainwashing has finally worn off [<span style="font-style: italic;">in-joke</span>]. Finally, I see things as they really are. I'm kicking myself now, I really am. How could I have thought I loved you?<br /><br />[<span style="font-style: italic;">inside card, left-hand side</span>]<br /><br />I mean, all you ever did for me was<br />share my interest in Physics,<br />share my love of Terry Pratchett [<span style="font-style: italic;">author of the </span>Discworld<span style="font-style: italic;"> series</span>],<br />make interesting conversation with me,<br /><br />[<span style="font-style: italic;">continued on a pasted-in loooonnnng strip of paper, folded</span>]<br />share in-jokes with me, make me laugh, bounce ideas off me, invent new words for me, look at me every day, tell me you loved me in a wonderfully cryptic and creative way, decide to live where you wanted to, send me novel-length emails, tell me your innermost secrets, hopes and dreams, share most of my values and tolerate the rest, feel protective of me, consider my comfort, introduce me to online life, be nice to my family, kiss me silly, cuddle me happy, ask me to marry you, consent when I wanted to wait, give me unwrapped books, lend me your library, share bus trips home with me, be nice to my friends, fit in with my social life, accommodate my study and my timeline, provide me with a safe haven, give me your old computer, download games for me, share your home with me, accept the ring I bought, share your family with me, hold me when I needed you, wait up for me in the lab, miss me when I was away, talk about my family with me, support me through my first job, distract me from my studies, decide what you really wanted to do, move out with me, buy household goods with me, buy furniture with me, make a life for me, enjoy my cooking, buy me a ring, marry me on the MUD [<span style="font-style: italic;">imaginary</span>], wear my ring, support me financially, endure my clinical placements, cook when I was too tired, cuddle me when I was sad, watch TV with me, kill a zillion cockroaches, pay my HECS [<span style="font-style: italic;">Uni fees</span>], take me out to dinner, visit my family with me, tell me about your job, make me smile, take me to concerts, find a job you like, indulge my MUD addiction, sleep by my side, visit me on rural terms, help me take my medicine, support me through my exams, talk about life with me, pick a beautiful new apartment, wash up when I need to cook, buy fun jigsaw puzzles, hold me on the train, help me get out of bed, dress me for class, make sure I eat, change your work hours for me, remind me to take my medicine, take me to the doctor's, hold me when I cried, kiss me til I smiled, make sure I did paperwork, analyse my chances of getting the job I wanted, let me live away when I had to, look good in a suit, imitate HEX [<span style="font-style: italic;">from</span> Discworld] for me, teach me to code, marry me on a beautiful day, plan a wonderful honeymoon, drive us all around New Zealand, take me bird-watching, slide down a glacier with me, surprise me with puzzles, go ballooning with me, fly on a wire, endure my horrible hours, go dancing with me, take me to the theatre, visit me at work, talk me down out of the building, make new friends and old with me, cuddle me when I made mistakes, feed me dinner when I couldn't move, cook dinner when I could, clean the house, take me skiing, push me to move when I was home alone, talk me through things on the phone, stroke my hair when I was sleepy, make me get out of the house, watch my mood for me, help my tidy my room, vacuum the house, let me have friends over, endure my bad habits,<br />let me know when you were irritated, guilt-trip me into good behaviour, let me buy anything I wanted, share fantastic and whimsical ideas with me, talk with me at nights, walk with me in the mornings, never show a hint of jealousy, while at the same time being perfectly possessive,<br /><br />[<span style="font-style: italic;">on the card again, still left-hand side</span>]<br />love me with all your heart, inspire me to be a better person, and generally make me the happiest woman in the world.<br /><br />[<span style="font-style: italic;">inside card, right-hand side</span>]<br />I mean, DUH! I should have realised that a man who couldn't bend the universe to my every wish [<span style="font-style: italic;">Another in-joke</span>] would try and make up for it in other ways. And now, it's been eight years, when all along I could have been out there, looking for the man who could...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Oh, what? I actually got myself married to you?<br />Uh oh... <br />this complicates things. <br />let me think now... <br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Well, before I go on my way, I guess that to be fair, I should try and repay all that ... So I think I'll stick around for a while longer.<br /><br />And you're good company, I'll give you that.<br /><br />And besides, if anyone's going to bend the universe to my every wish, isn't it going to be you?<br /><br />And maybe...<br /><br />[<span style="font-style: italic;">back of card</span>]<br />maybe I really am a little bit in love with you after all.<br /><br />[Illustration: small hearts drift into big hearts forming a thundercloud, raining into a blue puddle washing away to one side.]<br /><br /><br />*brain slowly melts, and washes clean*<br /><br />I see the truth ...<br />I love you with every subatomic particle of my being...<br />and I always will.<br /><br />Jean"<br /></div></div>theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-58593062459821215622008-02-04T14:34:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.720+11:00Very late last night, I read something that made me very angry.<br /><br />Anger is an emotion I'm very unfamiliar with, actually. It doesn't come easily and I tend to repress it, or rationalise around it. I have a very high tolerance for misunderstanding; I have a very high tolerance for 'lack of progress' when things aren't urgent; I have a reasonably high tolerance for most aspects of standard human behaviour. So a lot of things that get people irritable or angry don't affect me.<br /><br />I used to get angry, of course, when I was a young child; I remember several decent rolling-around-on-the-floor temper tantrums, none of which had any good cause. They probably lasted until I was about nine; by then I was starting to realise what I was losing, and to take more care of my dignity. Then, too, anger started turning to sadness and retreat - and eventually I started skipping even that step in favour of analysing the situation and, well, doing something about it. Or learning from it.<br /><br />Part of it, I guess, is that I have a reasonable self-esteem in a lot of areas, these days. So it takes quite a lot to threaten me. It's not often that I encounter any cause for fear, real or imagined; I have a good life. You can't hurt me by saying I'm ugly, or fat, or stupid, or selfish, or a whiner, or silly, or nerdy, or any manner of other things, because I know what I am. (To wit: I look like your average Chinese, I have a poor appetite, people call me unusually intelligent, I do things predominantly for others, and I complain very little. And I'm silly and nerdy and geeky and indecisive and overly serious. So what?) I'm comfortable in my own skin. I'm even popular in certain circles, and loved by others.<br /><br />I do place a high value on understanding. But I also appreciate that it's sometimes not easily obtained. If someone has misunderstood something, I know that that doesn't necessarily mean they think ill of me; such things can be resolved. Who knows, I might be mistaken, or I might not have made myself clear. I give people the benefit of the doubt in these situations too; I tend to assume they have good intentions, that they don't set out to malign me, and that nobody has perfect delivery. Some times understanding takes more effort than others.<br /><br />I'm also used to having patience with and tolerance for people. If the lady at the bank has to sort out paperwork the previous customer left, before she can call me up, so be it. The person who stepped on the back of my shoe didn't actually do it deliberately. The patient who makes unreasonable demands is sick and needs comfort. The people in the queue in front of me have their own agendas and stresses. I don't need to get worked up about it.<br /><br />When I see people's anger in these situations, I've always seen it as getting in the way of resolution - people alienate each other, make each other nervous, and stop communicating. I'm a communication junkie; I love to know that somebody understood what I meant, or how I feel, and to think that I can empathise with them in some way, and see what they are trying to tell me. Anger, as I see it, is often a barrier. And quite often a waste of time.<br /><br />Which is not to say that I ignore injustice. I don't know, I must lead a charmed life, injustice seldom happens to me, or at least not in any serious way. And I don't have the sense of self-entitlement that leads some people to imagine injustice, whenever they don't get everything they want. When it does happen to others, I do what I can. I try to help those who need it. There are always options, ways around a situation, ways to cope and things to work on. I'm not motivated by revenge, but fairness appeals to me. And I have an exceedingly strong - overriding, even - sense of doing what is fair. Or trying to.<br /><br /><br />But anyway, last night, I was angry. Very much so. I even considered getting her back, showing her up by making it clear what I really was.<br /><br />Of course, that idea quickly dissolved. What angered me was that realistically, there was no way to make things right and still be true to who I am and lead my life. There were options - there always are - I had considered and rejected them many times before- but they involve a lot more time and effort than I have available, or ever will. I am going to have a full-time job to go back to, after all.<br /><br />So I did the first obvious thing: I vented to a friend. I didn't even have to tell her much, just point out what had happened and let her see the obvious injustice. She sympathised - that was all I needed - and I felt better immediately. After a rambling discussion on health, what she was cooking for dinner and what I had in the fridge, I thought I was ready for bed. It was 4am my time.<br /><br />What I didn't fully appreciate was the energy that comes with anger. My mind was abuzz for the next two hours. I'm not one to think negatively of people, or to go over perceived misdeeds round and round again; I had already accepted that the injustice was there, and permanent; my previous efforts had come to nought. Where I was mistaken was in thinking that acceptance was the same as resolution. Instead, my mind got creative, and started presenting me with an infinite number of avenues. I could do this and this, and limit the damage... I could help others learn from my situation... I could be true to myself and what I really wanted to do by starting this or that project, and everyone would see. And maybe, yes, there was an easier way of showing her up; it wouldn't even have to be permanent ... no, here were some even better things to do with my time ... on and on.<br /><br />I know now why they say never to go to bed on a dispute. Bedtime is the worst time to be angry, because you know you need sleep, and yet you can't. And you know that no matter what you think of, it will be best done in the morning; you'll be out of whack if you don't sleep; and yet you can't. The energy is there, whichever way you channel it, constructive or destructive ... it quickens your breathing and your pulse, raises your blood pressure, whooshes through your mind and your limbs. And you need your sleep! Darn it.<br /><br />It got to six o'clock, normal time for our morning walk, although I knew Smith wouldn't be walking because he'd been up late trying to make something work. I got out of bed for a drink of water, and seriously considered doing the walk anyway, in the rain, by myself, just so I could sleep. I'd already tried progressive relaxation (and found my jaw was tense), and attempts at meditation, trying to block everything out with my mantra, but of course I was too tired for that to really work. Concentration was not available.<br /><br />And then I dismissed the idea of the walk (I probably would have collapsed) and went back to bed, and Smith turned over and put his arms right around me ... held my head to his chest while he slept... and I was safe.<br /><br />Only then could I let go, tell my creative mind to take a rest; only then could I slowly, visualising each colour in turn, bring my thoughts back to a normal level (I dunno, it works); and then, focused, take myself back to the reality of warm, soft bed, half-light, bird call outside ... cradled by my husband, I relaxed. Even then it took a while ... but I eventually slept.<br /><br />And of course the options were all there in the morning, and some of them were more realistic than others. Morning is the best time to be creative, because you have the whole day ahead of you to do what you think best!<br /><br />*sigh*<br /><br />I haven't been that angry in a long, long while.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-57583776056979233022008-02-01T22:24:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.750+11:00Tea flavouring and random topicsWell, I'd been putting off posting here for a while. The reason is that there is a topic I really want to write about - have for a couple of weeks - but I don't quite know what I want to say. So every time I come here, I think 'I really should write about that conversation' but I don't know what to write, and I go away.<br /><br />But I also want to practise my writing skills. I'm determined to post three times a week now - Monday/Wednesday/Friday if I can manage it. And I've just realised - it's okay to just come and write something else! If I can't think of anything, I'll look up a random concept from the dictionary and write about that. If nothing else I'll have learnt something. :P<br /><br />But today I wanted to write about tea flavouring. My sister April brought me a bottle of Lychee Tea from a Chinese supermarket. It's really nice - tea mixed with lychee juice, and refrigerated. I love lychees, sweet and lovely to bite into, in a mini-explosion of juice. I haven't previously been an iced tea fan, but I could get used to this stuff. Probably not especially good for my water balance, but even if I have to drink extra water to make up for it, I think I can live with that.<br /><br />Anyway, on the bottle it says 'Real brewed from tea leaves'. And that made me wonder ... why on earth would they need to put that?<br /><br />I think they're trying to distinguish it from 'tea flavouring'. But who would bother with tea flavouring? Tea leaves have got to be one of the cheapest commodities around, I would have thought. (Maybe I'm wrong.) Wouldn't 'tea flavouring' be much more expensive? Lychee flavouring, that I can understand. The fact that this drink has real lychee juice in it does count as a selling point. But 'real brewed from tea leaves' ... not so much.<br /><br />When I first thought about it, I wondered if you were only allowed to put 'real tea' if you had actual tea leaves in the drink and didn't take them out. That's not so cheap. But now that I look on the bottle, in the ingredients it says 'freshly brewed black tea'. That, and the original 'brewed from tea leaves' wording, tells me they took the tea leaves out. <br /><br />So they're advertising the fact that tea leaves were involved. In a bottle of iced tea. Is that special?<br /><br />Maybe I take things too much for granted.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-27114838959841084482008-01-31T22:14:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.759+11:00While I was out today, standing around waiting for my dad to come out of a bank, a girl I don't know made eye contact, and came over to talk to me. I wasn't sure what she was after. She didn't look like a homeless person, at least, she had a watch on, clean clothes, and a mobile phone in her hand. I gave her some of the bread I was eating, though, on the off-chance she might need it. We made really stupid small-talk for no good reason.<br /><br />I think she wanted to steal my handbag, but she had no chance anyway, because my dad came out of the bank then. That was my dad's worry too, and when I think about it, she was standing on my handbag side, and my bag was open. I don't know how she would have done it, though, considering my bag strap was over my opposite shoulder. If she'd got out a knife she could have threatened me or cut the strap, but cutting the strap would have taken some work, and it was out in the open with plenty of people around. When I thought over it, I figured I'd done what was right in chatting to her and giving her some of my bread. But probably foolhardy. I also turned away from her to point, at one point, and she could have pickpocketed something then, I guess. But she didn't.<br /><br />However, she probably feels rotten. Even if she wasn't out to steal anything, she'd accepted food from a stranger, despite not being a beggar. That worried me a little, that she might find that painful. She wasn't there when we came out of the supermarket.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-70349702301830195182008-01-25T13:42:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.768+11:00Internet anonymityI got my sister to pick an internet pseudonym the other day. My real sister, that is, not <a href="http://theangeljean.blogspot.com/search/label/my%20sister%20Tie">Tie</a>. After I explained why it was important to me, she chose April. She doesn't have much of an internet presence at the moment, but I do, and I guess I'm doing it to protect her as well as me.<br /><br />It's gradually become quite important to me to keep this identity separate from my name. I put a lot of myself into the angel Jean, and I've started really thinking about how to control the links between this and my real life.<br /><br />Ideally, I want the flow to be one-way. I want my real name, address, place of work etc to be private, while this blog and my internet identity are completely public. And I'm happy for friends of mine to come here knowing who I am.<br /><br />But I realise that you can't keep factual information secret, and so my personal information is probably out there on the Internet somewhere. There is probably a list or a web-page that links my name to my occupation and place of work. My address is on the Australian electoral roll. If you know my name, you could probably look up my phone number in the Yellow Pages. All of this information is available to people who don't know a thing about who I am. (I know this because I get telemarketers asking for me by name. :P)<br /><br />What I really want to avoid is people going from my internet presence to my real life, without my control. I know for a fact that they can; a dear friend of ours that Smith and I know through the MUD once sent flowers to Smith's place of work - and as far as I know he hadn't told her where that was. Now, with her, I don't mind at all, but still ... it can be done. And all because she knows his full name and some facts about him.<br /><br />And, as I've become aware over the years, if you put enough of your personality out there, you will engender dislike. I like to think of myself as inoffensiveness personified, but of course it's not true. You may also encounter envy, obsequiousness and stalker behaviour (I have). All of which make it a good idea to limit access to my personal details.<br /><br />Part of this is because yes, I do, and always will put my personality out there. As the angel Jean, I talk to people I would never otherwise meet. While some people come from similar social backgrounds to mine, I have also talked to former street kids who are stealing internet access from their neighbours, working mothers both struggling and settled, members of military organisations, and people established in middle- and upper management of large corporations. I'm a story junkie, so I listen to everyone. When it comes to message board forums, I happily chat to strangers and express my views. And I link this blog. But I don't want all these people to know how to find me, and so, I take very good care not to use my name or my picture.<br /><br />I also protect the identity of my friends, as well as those who might comment here. I can't really insist on pseudonyms, I guess, all I can do is encourage them, but I do try very hard not to use people's names. There's an extended rationale behind this, but it's somewhat questionable in itself and full of hypotheticals, so I'll just say for now that that's what I do.<br /><br />Anyway, please be mindful of this concept at least, if you decide to post here, and maybe as you travel the internet. And I recommend the Internet itself - there are lots of stories to be had there!<br /><br />the angel JeantheangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-62684335056918421262008-01-24T13:37:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.777+11:00You know your husband's a geek when...Shamelessly copy-pasted from my post in the xkcd forums.<br /><br />*watching TV, and at a random pause (dinner was ready)*<br />*Smith looks at the paused screenshot, which happens to be itself a screenshot, of one of a character's many computer monitors*<br />Smith: Ahh, source code!<br />*Smith inspects the screen carefully*<br />Smith: This could be the GDK libraries.<br />Jean: Ahh, at least it's, umm...<br />Smith: Open source?<br />*Jean nods*<br />*Smith considers some more*<br />Smith: No actually, this is the OpenGL libraries.<br />*Jean giggles, and runs off to post in the xkcd forums.*<br /><br />I love my husband.<br /><br />For reference: <span style="font-style: italic;">Moonlight</span> Season 1 episode 12, about 5 or so minutes in.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-53892121615375843802008-01-21T11:22:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.855+11:00I've been cleaning!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfNEPC9gMUuwJdwW4xFi_odErG9lWLmavLTug6gGPf__ofjrSjUeIzWoNy8ZbcJyNMzHuydixxQgQTk_1UwuxOoCux95be-tx85pXTau41Jky2BgKcgcuTvoKWrSqw4qP5W5N0QK3a4Q/s1600-h/021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfNEPC9gMUuwJdwW4xFi_odErG9lWLmavLTug6gGPf__ofjrSjUeIzWoNy8ZbcJyNMzHuydixxQgQTk_1UwuxOoCux95be-tx85pXTau41Jky2BgKcgcuTvoKWrSqw4qP5W5N0QK3a4Q/s320/021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157719350329070338" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgvNo4K-XXk7a8I05C3ODvHWhgGmqq-aj65sFEwDqrjW24ve_d91fgCEMXaNbXEdoKPUmkwBKgTXvSasdqXSnLUUZQUweJjZAV5_mgDXYaoVUHdgLwZfJ-7QXTDnhIpUDGy7SVNfy-4U/s1600-h/022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgvNo4K-XXk7a8I05C3ODvHWhgGmqq-aj65sFEwDqrjW24ve_d91fgCEMXaNbXEdoKPUmkwBKgTXvSasdqXSnLUUZQUweJjZAV5_mgDXYaoVUHdgLwZfJ-7QXTDnhIpUDGy7SVNfy-4U/s320/022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157720827797820178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOJTMAg7L0Wii7rSF11Qqff7w8HTSdkb601lS5h8PHKb1A6TYWH55_QvDnq1d7Kzq3Dj8eCwbv_YalGubiQTQfy_odI6vqfEAu8GeSXX_rAZ3pq05EXTJ_o0N3MqLbBfl8-VfdVaVqnUg/s1600-h/023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOJTMAg7L0Wii7rSF11Qqff7w8HTSdkb601lS5h8PHKb1A6TYWH55_QvDnq1d7Kzq3Dj8eCwbv_YalGubiQTQfy_odI6vqfEAu8GeSXX_rAZ3pq05EXTJ_o0N3MqLbBfl8-VfdVaVqnUg/s320/023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157720832092787490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuAVNABCuNiHMjmRmFo-zdotrTs9zID_vGZMvWZeH115HbVU36iYvlckOOjlQWRTKkllymTS4fX2otT5aRxZoZodxGxa7j_cg_6u9qFYQYM68W1OEfYrPwLHLL8sywFz27xLK0M3vfsk/s1600-h/024.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuAVNABCuNiHMjmRmFo-zdotrTs9zID_vGZMvWZeH115HbVU36iYvlckOOjlQWRTKkllymTS4fX2otT5aRxZoZodxGxa7j_cg_6u9qFYQYM68W1OEfYrPwLHLL8sywFz27xLK0M3vfsk/s320/024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157720836387754802" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br />*does a happy dance* I'm so proud of myself!<br /><br />Okay, as you can see by the washing corner in the bottom picture, I'm not a clean freak. And from the previous posts you can see that I do an average of one chore per day. This is despite being at home with nothing to do.<br /><br />Yes, I have lots of things I could be doing, and no particular duties. What I end up doing: playing Insaniquarium and reading the Internets.<br /><br />In fact, Smith is the tidy one in this household. He hardly puts things down out of place (except that his end-of-the-day clothes pile is next to his computer chair. I can cope with that.) If anyone does chores in this house, it's usually because Smith noticed they needed doing, and it's usually Smith that ends up doing them. Or he'll set aside a weekend and we'll do them together. Sometimes he'll say 'Can you do the washing today?' before he goes to work and that'll be what I do that day. But today...<br /><br />Today, I set myself more than one chore to do. The dishwasher needed doing again as there were no clean bowls, and Smith mentioned that he'd like the washing done. I know that the floor needs vacuuming, but I hate it, so I said to him (apropos of nothing) 'I don't want to vacuum.' He agreed to do it (sometime) and I said I'd tidy the floor so he could (sometime). Also, as Smith was sorting through the clean clothes pile looking for socks, I said to him on a whim, 'Today I'm going to tidy up that pile.' (It was in front of the wardrobe in the third picture, and took up nearly all the floor space you can see there.)<br /><br />Well, I didn't really have a timeframe for that, other than 'today' for the washing, dishwashing and the clean clothes pile. And I didn't start out in a housework mood, either. We went for our walk, which was lovely. I told Smith one of last night's dreams along the way, and he talked about Dark Angel. After our shower, I just felt like going back to bed. So Smith helped me towel my hair, and I hopped back into bed.<br /><br />I lay there for a little while, before thinking 'Now that I've exercised and not eaten, if I sleep now it'll be tough to get out of bed later.' So I hopped back over and got a peach, and a book (I've been looking for a particular quote. Still haven't found it) and snuggled back into bed. <br /><br />After I'd finished the peach, I started reading for a little while, looking for that quote. Then Smith left for work at about 8.30, and I figured, okay, I'd eaten, had my goodbye kiss, I could sleep now.<br /><br />Lay there a little while longer, and then thought, hmm. I'll just put the washing on, and then I can sleep. Got out of bed to put the washing in the machine. <br /><br />And as I was sorting the washing pile, I thought to myself, this wasn't so hard. And I realised that my body wasn't actually tired. My mind was, though. Perfect time to do something mindless, like housework!<br /><br />And then ... while sorting the washing ... I saw a mosquito. In my bedroom. I hate mosquitoes with a passion, they are one of the few living things I can't tolerate. I get a huge (2-3cm) reaction to a mosquito bite within five minutes, although it will gradually die down if I put cold water/soap on it. And they always bite me, not Smith. (Either that, or he just doesn't notice.) So if I see a mosquito in my room, I will hunt it down and kill it.<br /><br />This one went and hid in my bookshelf. (They like to hide on wooden surfaces, sometimes in plain sight if forced to land.) When I moved the books it flew out, just within reach. I smacked at it inexpertly, and hit it with one of my hands (the other didn't connect in the right place). I think it fell down somewhere, stunned. But I don't know where! I moved some things about on the floor (there was a little bit of visible floor) but it wasn't enough, I didn't find it. That was when I decided that today, I would tidy the whole room. I opened the window, let the natural light in, and after I'd put the washing machine on, I set to work on the clean clothes pile. <br /><br />I think it was while I was doing that, that I noticed how dusty the plastic horizontal blinds were. (Or maybe I noticed it while I was in bed reading, before I closed the curtains to sleep. Anyway.) Now, normally I don't dust. It would, in fact, be more accurate to say that I 'grime' - that is, I only remove dust with a wet cloth, when it is in quantities that would count as 'grime'. But ... I'm allergic to the house dust mite. Having a blocked nose used to wake me up 16 times an hour at night (or something. I don't know what the number actually means.) We now have hypo-allergenic pillows, pillow protectors, a new vacuum cleaner and two nose sprays, and I sleep much better. <br /><br />Anyway, while I was picking up dusty clothes with the window open, and sneezing, I was thinking, 'The breeze is nice, but the dust from the blinds is blowing all over my bed.' And when I went and looked ... it was grime. It's amazing how much dust two humans can generate, and that window doesn't even get street pollution grime because it's mostly closed. <br /><br />Luckily, I had a set of bed-sheets that needed washing, so I slung them under the window to protect the bed and the floor, and set to work with my wet sponge. Note to self: sheets, ready to be washed, make good dust-protectors when cleaning. After a little while I had to make a face-mask out of a tea towel to protect my nose, too, but I got the job done. Boy, were they yucky. There was now less dust in my bedroom!<br /><br />Of course, I still had to clean the floor, so I'd done it in exactly the wrong order, even if you're supposed to clean top-to-bottom. But, as you can see in my photos, I succeeded! I didn't even have to hide stuff in other rooms - most of it stayed in the bedroom. There was one set of clean sheets that went out into our storage cupboard, but apart from some other little bits of rubbish, that was about it. <br /><br />Eventually it became a game of 'what can I clean up so that I can take a photo to show Smith'. (I'm going to teach my kids that game.) And now the bedroom floor is clean, and ready for vacuuming! All in all, it took less than two hours. I was done by 10.30; since then I've hunted for the camera, taken photos, worked out how to transfer them to the computer, put the dishwasher on and written this blog. 12.30 and I've achieved all I wanted to, today. No, it's not a lot. It's a lot more than this time last week, though. <br /><br />My mind also gradually woke up as I was doing the mindless stuff, but now that I've written all this hopefully I'll be able to take a rest. Off to find something for lunch, and then sleep, I think.<br /><br />I never did find that silly mosquito, though.theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-63798915252475141282008-01-18T10:08:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.841+11:00Meditation sessionTie and Smith's mum and Tie's dressmaker friend are coming down today to buy fabric for Tie's wedding dress! They should be here in about an hour. I'm pretty much ready, I've got the towels in the wash and they'll be ready to hang out before they get here, so I can write about stuff until then.<br /><br />I didn't end up sleeping well last night, after all. Probably something to do with the fact that I took a nap in the afternoon, plus reading all those forums. I was going over and over the arguments in my head (yes, xkcd forums are my new addiction). Finally after a while, I decided it was as good a time as any to try and meditate.<br /><br />I haven't actually managed it in years. Last time I tried, a few days ago, I ended up falling asleep. But since I wasn't tired last night, I made a good effort, and ended up doing okay.<br /><br />My session is based on a tape that an English tutor gave me, long ago. It involves progressive relaxation, descending into a meditative state, and focussed visualisation. I dunno whether it works in achieving all that it's supposed to, but at least it's good at making my mind calm.<br /><br />The first part is the progressive relaxation. I've always been pretty good at this bit. A knowledge of anatomy does help a little :P Anyway, the way I do it is to slowly relax each part of the body in sequence, then to become aware of which parts are still tense, and relax them more. And breathe slowly the whole time. After that, if I've done it right and I'm not asleep, I'm usually happy not to move for the next hour. (Sleepiness tends to interfere with this step, because I start moving around involuntarily trying to get into a comfortable sleeping position rather than my meditation position.)<br /><br />It does take some concentration when your mind's racing, though. For these occasions, I have an unspoken mantra. I don't expect it to do anything except push all my other thoughts out of the way, so I chose something I'm happy with: 'Love Smith' (except I use his real name). First word on the in-breath and second word on the out-breath. If I can focus on that for long enough, my mind gradually becomes emptier.<br /><br />The next step is supposed to clear your mind even further. It involves slow visualisation of the colours of the rainbow (I don't know, I took it off the tape). It goes something like this: 'Now visualise the colour red. Red the colour of (something, I forget). Now visualise the colour orange. Orange, the colour of (something else).' I lost the tape years ago, so last night I just tried naming the quality of my thoughts as I went through each colour. It ended up like this:<br /><br />Red, the colour of concentration. (It took me a very long time before I was content with the quality of my red last night, and I took a while over each colour before moving on.)<br />Orange, the colour of worry. (There were worrying thoughts about.)<br />Yellow, the colour of analysis. (I was analysing my own thoughts.)<br />Green, the colour of nature.<br />Blue, the colour of eternity. (I dunno. Eternity is blue, for me. It just is.)<br />Indigo, the colour of concern.<br />Violet, the colour of calm.<br /><br />I didn't entirely succeed last night. When I've done it properly in the past, I can hardly feel my body at all, and my senses are muted. Last night sensations intruded quite often, sounds and my body telling me it still existed, and the knowledge that Smith was lying beside me asleep. But my mind was pretty calm.<br /><br />The next visualisation step is to make your mind comfortable. The tape just kind of says 'Okay, visualise a garden ... make it as detailed as you like' and gives you a couple of minutes. I think last night I took 20 minutes to get it right, and even then I didn't feel like I was really there. I tried everything: the feel of damp grass under my back, the shape and textures and scents of the various trees and bushes I put there, the personalities and habits of the animals there, the layout of the garden and direction of each item in relation to me lying there on the ground. In the end, I could get up and move around there a bit, but it was still difficult to 'see'. I was pretty happy with my surroundings, though. <br /><br />The last part is to imagine going into a room and using it to sort out your thoughts, visualising each one. I dunno whether it works, but I tried it out. The choice of room was easy:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> The sunlight streaming into this room wraps itself around you like floating gossamer. It does not seem inclined to touch your skin, content to simply warm and welcome you. Several wicker baskets, each overflowing with orchard fruits, lie gently bathed in the glow. Nearby, a few fluffy clouds of carefully gathered radiance drift around a mahogany desk. Its centrepiece is the figurine of an elf leaning forward in a cushioned chair. One hand is draped over the shoulders of a much smaller elf who sits at his feet, her head resting comfortably against his knee. He gestures with the other hand towards the middle distance, both elves smiling at his unseen observations.</span><br /><br />I just kind of experimented with putting notes into various drawers, and turning concepts into various shapes, including glowing auras. One I wrapped around me, and I turned the concept of 'energy' into green balls of light that I handed out to various friends. I don't know if it works in organising my mind, but it was worth a try.<br /><br />Then I reversed the process - going back out into the garden, then visualising the colours in reverse order, and finally feeling out my body and what it wanted to do. In the end I was calm and ready to sleep.<br /><br />I guess I've got to practise a lot more to get in the habit again. I'm pretty happy that it worked, though.<br /><br />That's all for now,<br /><br />the angel Jean<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span>theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-417762521214103878.post-22571371886364414952008-01-17T22:33:00.000+11:002009-11-10T17:42:55.889+11:00Dreams...I wrote about last night's dreams in the xkcd forums in the 'What were your dreams last night?' thread.<br /><br /><a href="http://forums.xkcd.com/viewtopic.php?p=485897#p485897">http://forums.xkcd.com/viewtopic.php?p=485897#p485897</a><br /><br />Off to have more dreams!theangelJeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01810328354620654615noreply@blogger.com0