My feet are hot

Very, very tired.

I'm going to Canberra on Monday for the week so I need to get everything done or postponed before I go.

Feel rather adrift too, the lloing changes don't seem to diminish in importance no matter how much I try to ignore them.

I should also note that Peta's Granfather died this morning so there's nothing wrong with my prioritising or perspective then.

Insomnia

I remember reading a self help article about sleeplessness and recall that one shouldn't look at the time. Or maybe that's my tip. Yup, don't look at the time...stresses you out.

 

A fact of which I'm more certain is that you shouldn't lie in bed tossing and turning and stressing. You should get up and do something.

 

So here I am.

 

Doing something.

 

I'm pretty sure the article didn't say drink all the whisky in the house (admittedly not much) before starting on the rum but it probably didn't say not to look at your watch either so I'm doing all three under my own cognisance.

 

Hopefully writing about my stress will make it go away.

 

I'm leaving this island at the end of this year and today made the first steps towards planning whatever it is I'm going to do when I'm back in the UK. That sounds on paper (?) like a good reason for diminishing my stress levels but I feel that maybe it's causing me to bring the stressful elements of the plan into starker view, Namely that I don't have a clue what I'm going to do and can't help but feel that I'm walking into a disaster of my own making.

 

I could stay here of course but my partner has already handed in her notice and I've pretty much done the same thing so this course of action is  out of the question. A more important factor is that we don't do anything here except work and watch TV and while I enjoy the community in which I live and work and watch TV I can't help but feel that there may be more to life and we're missing out on it.

 

I miss my friends and the social life that accompanies them. I need to get a career going and as a career's adviser (or Pathway Planner as I'm officially known) I'm pretty sure that watching TV and working is not going to get me where I want to be.

 

Of course there are other factors, most prominently our efforts to conceive a child and the ticking time bomb that this represents at the age of 40, secondly, my partners ability to find work and a lifestyle that she enjoys and lastly our ability to cope when cut adrift form the community which now envelopes us.

 

I was thinking of phoning somebody to discuss this with but as you may be able to glean from my hopefully cathartic writing I was unable to think of anyone to whom I could spill my guts at this ungodly hour of the morning in Australia or anyone who would be available in the UK at whatever hour my dual-time but dilligently ignored watch says it is.

 

I must say that I'm not really feeling expunged by this writing and while my head is now buzzing from the cocktail of drugs I've now managed to consume while I've been writing this I can still feel the pressure on my chest and am not truly sure whether the buzzing head contains anything more than the same thoughts which were previously troubling me only in a rather more jumbled and chaotic fashion.

 

 

But I've paused now. And exhaled. And wonder whether I shouldn't try for bed again for the third time today.

 

Maybe I do feel better.

GTP Time again

It's that time of year again.

Time to sit in front of a overbright screen and plead my case to countless schools. Actually it's hardly countless as thus far I've only managed to apply to two schools but at least I've made a start a little earlier this time. The scheme doesn't start for more than a year but they won't catch me out with their pesky deadlines this time.

I started yesterday and felt sick pretty much as soon as the familar websites, the list of 286 schools and the overly elaborate application forms came into view. Still, I've calmed down now and am pretty optimistic which is not traditionally my default position. Mind you, I seem to recall being pretty optimistic for several of my previous interviews and attempts and look what came of them.?

Arse-ache that's what.

The Wind That Shakes The Barley

What a fantastic film.

I've been lamenting the lack of good films recently and decided that I either wanted to see a film featuring a story told differently or a story told well. I can't remember all the dross that made me feel let down but to give you a taster, Blood Diamond and The Last King Of Scotland were two that spring to mind.

Anyway, the Barley film was most certainly a story told well. I managed to overcome my guilt for being English and loved both the characters and the manner in which the narrative made their actions plausible and sympathetic.

The parallels with the Iraqi insurgents were too many to mention, I hope we don't have to wait so long for a similarly sympathetic portrait of their plight.

GTP again

Had quite a pleasant day today. Went down to Shannons for breakfast, always a pleasure. Then walked down to the Cultural Centre to see an exhibition by Richard Skinner who's been here for a coupld of months. He makes art out of rubbish. Some if it isn't really art I suppose but it's made out of rubbish regardless.

Walked back and then made the rash decision to come to te school to start my annual search for a place on a GTP course.

I felt quite sick actually and sought refuge in The Guardian and other suitably distracting websites.

I really need to get on with this in order to have some idea about where we'll be living this time next year (actually where we'll be living in 16 weeks when we leave her is a question I wouldn't mind having an answer to).

I think I'll give up for today, try to bring my heart rate down by watching crap TV for six hours and then start afresh tomorrow.

Friday Night

Three in one day?

Having a laugh.

Just waiting to see if FRiday night os going to kick off with a trip to the butchers and the coffee shop as has tended to be the patter over the last couple of weeks. The butchers doesn't open over the weekend so it's a fabulous opportunity to stock up on meat for the coming week. Which is how I like to spend my Friday evenings.

The coffee is just a bonus but the caffeine rush on top of the retail therapy...

Lordy. lordy, the time has arrived. Beef and coffee. My lift is outside. Let the weekend begin. God give me strength!

Beautiful Lies

That was it.

Having read The Road last week I dived straight into Beautiful Lies by Lisa Unger.

For some reason I'd written the name in my diary which is something I've started doing as I can only visit shops a couple of times a year and therefore tend to forget all the good reviews.

However, this one is a bit of a mystery as I can't believe it had any good reviews. Clearly it had at least one as someone from Australian Women's Weekly said the usual, "If you only read one thriller this year....etc". Someone else said that she rivalled Harlan Coben. Not that I rate Harlan much but he knows how to spin a yarn and generate excitement, create plausible, likeable characters and sitautions. Which Lisa, bless her, hasn't got the faintest idea about.

I'm sorry of you're reading this Lees, no offence but it was dreadful. You repeated yourself time and again, the, "action", sequences were so anticlimactic that I don't know why you bothered and if I had a penny for evertyime Ridley referred toher lovers body as being like granite...

Torpid

Don't pay too much heed to the title of this I'm not even sure what it means. Just wanted something snappy which would get the kids flocking and boost my sadly flagging stats. I don't think I actually get stats anymore as my blog looks completely different to last time.

Where is the clock and the book list and the favourite films stuff?

Speaking of books. I read a beauty last week by Cormac McCarthy, The Road. I think it's nominated for the Pulitzer or something so I can't really claim to have discovered it but I've not read a book for a long time that so quickly transported me to another, infinitley bleaker place. (And without sounding too glib, if you live where I live that's saying something).

I've tried to describe it to friends but it's hard to do so without making it sound like a dull exercise in writing, which it isn't. So I'll not say too much, sit back and watch it climb to the top of the bestsellers list on my word alone.

You're quite right. I've not written for a long time but I was complimented on my writing last Sunday (by someone who can read) and felt such a surge of pride that I feel compelled to revisit my Cheesy and Beefy pals. I work with young kids in school for the first couple of hourse of every day so you'd think I'd understand the importance of praise but it never ceases to amaze me how wonderful it feels to have someone you respect say something nice about you.

There's so much to tell I hardly know where to start.

So I'll finish.