And a happy chocolate day to you all

Now before I begin, let’s put some cards on the table - When it comes to my choice of gods I currently tick the box with "Taoist" on even though it’s more of a philosophy than a religion. If pushed I would have leanings towards a wheel of the year, working in harmony with nature type affair. So I think it's probably safe to say I have "views" on the whole Easter thing.

It all fits together so nicely you see. Lets take the our favourite culprit, the Venerable Bede, who may or may not have made up a Spring Goddess being worshipped in the Germanic tribes called Eostre. Now Eostre's name comes from Eos meaning Dawn. And we also get the words Easter and East from the same root <ooh spooky> And it is likely that some if not many Germanic tribes did worship or give thanks to the dawn - The bringing of a new day. And this time of year was particularly noteworthy as the crops started growing, the animals started breeding, the days were getting longer and in fact we could all take a deep breath that we had survived the winter. Excellent. Maybe what Bede did was gather all these stories together and give them a name - Eostre. But by heck did she make some waves.

With Eostre came all that lovely symbolism of new life - Eggs and bunnies.... Or did it?

Before Easter was Easter it was Paschal - Passover. As we know the Last Supper was a Seder, the Passover meal, and guess what was a part of that meal? You'll never guess. No, not bunnies, that would be weird, but eggs. As a symbol of the sacrifices made. And as a symbol of mourning. Now why would we be mourning? Lets bring in our big hitter Jesus Christ.

Jesus was arrested and crucified after Passover and died only to be reborn some time later - Is that a story of rebirth and resurrection? Why yes it is! With a big egg shaped stone too. See, it's all fitting together!

Ok lets go back to the bunny. Neo pagans will jump up and and down and tell you that its a hare. Bunnies are a great symbol of spring, the frisky little devils and according to some, the Lutherans had a fable of a Bunny who knew if you'd been good or not and brought sweets and toys - Surprised Coca Cola hasn't nobbled him.

Many traditions included the decorating and giving of brightly coloured eggs and who hasn't stood on a stool in their kitchen with hard boiled eggs tied up and floating in boiling onion skins to give a tie dye effect? 

The chocolate egg didn't make an appearance until the 19th century with Mr Cadbury launching his in the 1870s. According to the website "The Easter egg market is one of the most exciting confectionery markets, with new ranges and presentations attracting more consumers every year."
Something to look forward to then.

Here be Karens

I think I have finally figured out how and why perfectly normal people become Karens. I think it takes one incident, not resolved that goes on and on and on….. Say, for example, plucking a subject out of the air, the bins.

 

Important info before we start

 

I pay council tax as do my neighbours

We live in a private cul de sac and therefore have to take our bins down to the junction with the next road.

This road is a thoroughfare for many many students returning home after a trip to the library that ended up with body shots.

This means a lot of bins get knocked over (hilarious), the wrong things put in them (please don’t put your wine bottle in my paper bin) and in one case, thrown up in (I don’t want to talk about it.)

All our bins are now on a two weekly cycle, emptied on Thursdays. One week Blue for paper and the next Grey, Brown and Green for general, tins & glass and garden/food respectively.

It should be noted that I determine whether bins have been approached by bin men by going round the corner and checking their bins.

 

We are now in early February. My blue bin (paper and card) has not been emptied since before Christmas, despite many emails to the council. A month ago they told me it had been collected a couple of days prior. I go down. Nope all bins still full. But believing the email, I bring my bin back (see above issues with leaving bins). 2 hours later the blue bins are emptied. I tell you I almost cried. A fortnight later, again not collected. The response “We’ll send you some blue bags to tide you over”. And here we are again with full bins (and bags) being blown about and knocked over.

 

Lets look at the brown bin. That’s your tins and glass. Not too full for me but for the rented homes with 4 people drinking a bottle of wine each per night, quite an important one. Again not emptied. I wait a day to allow for delays and then fill in the rather patronising form to investigate “Did you put it out? Are you sure? Really sure? Was it just you or did your neighbours get missed? We will check”. The response. “This investigation is closed” I reply “Please don’t close the investigation before you have actually resolved the problem” “Our records show the bin men came yesterday evening.”

 

Now I want to speak to the manager.

I am not……. A writer!

So first a little scene setting. I recently found myself a without official employment, and I decided to finally try and write the book I swore was inside me. I have spent too long swanning about going “Oh if I had the time / money I’d write.” So I thought now would be the perfect time to put my money where my mouth is.

I set up my study to write, bought software and extra kit so I could hang out in coffee shops and write, maybe start smoking Gauloise and sporting a beret, even attending open mic nights to read “the latest chapter from my oeuvre”. I may have slightly romanticised the lifestyle. I admit nothing. 

Pretty soon the study became a room of doom. I would find any task to do to avoid writing. I packed up clothes to send to charity, trip trapped up to the supermarket daily for food, attended multiple health appointments. Procrastination wasn’t just my friend, it was my bosom chum. The study was becoming a no go zone and I couldn’t have that. Time to look inwards and all that jazz and figure out why.

*Navel gazing break*

Well it turns out writing is hard. Really hard. If I manage 200 words I consider it a good day. And I don’t even enjoy it any more. It’s no fun. I have given it 4 weeks and what I think is this. I am not a good author. I like writing pithy humorous extracts about mental health, singledom and stuff that happens to me. And I love that a few people read and enjoy it. In the interest of transparency, I also enjoy writing fan fiction, and we will leave that sentence there. I do not enjoy trying to put a book together. My writing is succinct and often has bullet points, a fact that my university lecturers  despaired of. And it is a hobby. One I found fun. 

Here’s the killer blow. The minute I said to myself. “I am not a writer.” I felt a weight lift from me. My study was welcoming once more and I could smile and laugh.

The downside of this is I have to start seeking gainful employment, but even that is better than staring at a blank page. And anyone who has had a competency based interview lately will know what that means.

Note this little blog is over 300 words and wasn’t painful at all. 

No longer a lone wolf

I was going to publish a blog all about introversion, mental health and changes brought about from lockdown. It was nearly ready but will be put on hold as something happened today and I wanna talk about it. It made me realise we’re all going through something having spent close to two years indoors.

Allow me to set the scene....

There is a Vegetarian cafe bar near me. It serves a delicious mezze and a hot apple drink with cinnamon. It was never dog friendly. Recently I saw a review saying that it was now indeed dog friendly. I checked and the review was correct. So not only did I decide to go, I told colleagues that's what i was doing this weekend. Why? To make me do it of course!

So there I was , feeling more awkward than happy, with too many clothes and too many bags in a crowded place full of young hip bods. Saga promptly curled up on her blanket and I immediately realised I didn't have my glasses. Now what was I going to do? No phone action, that was for certain. I peered at the menu before ordering and sitting back down trying to take up as little room as possible. Then the headphones went back on and I tried to listen to The News Quiz, struggling to hear it over the cafe’s ambience.. 

Whilst waiting for my food, I managed to choke on my coke, causing a cough that I was certain resulted in a widening circle of patrons. I also managed to drop various bits of my clothing: hat, scarf etc etc.

Food arrived and was very good. I ate it  as quickly as possible, before getting up to leave. On my way home I decided to see how long I'd been there. 25 minutes. I had managed to arrive, order and drink one pint of coke and eat an entire mezze in 25 minutes.  

As soon as I got home, I washed the make up off, took my bra off and got comfy. And that's when it hit me. If I didn't want to go, why did I? Why would I put myself through that?

Because I don’t want to turn into some feral creature who can’t be seen in society, that’s why! I want to be independent, able to enjoy food, drink and entertainment on my own. So I shall do it again. With glasses. And less bags, coats etc. and I shall have the sweet potato wedges. Because I can. Preferably without choking on a fizzy pop. You may see me in and around dog friendly Manchester, looking uncomfortable and perturbed, with a snoozly pup causing everyone to repeatedly awwww. Come and say hi. 

All by myself… I’m happier. All by myself

So I’ve been cruising the dating apps for a while with no success whatsoever. That’s not to say people aren’t swiping. They are. I’m just not into it. Meanwhile Saga and I have been hanging out with chums, going out for coffee and even taking a short break. Just me and her. And it has been fabulous 

Then last week I had an epiphany. A man approached me in the park. Around my age. Not bad looking. Socks and sandals but not a deal breaker. Started chatting about films, food etc and asking questions and I responded.  And then he asked about lockdown. I waxed lyrical about how we had loved it. Bring at home and not seeing people. And then he said it.

“But haven’t you missed cuddling up to netflix?” And my whole body froze. I almost physically recoiled. 

“No. No. Definitely not. No.” I stammered. 

Later that night I was pondering my reaction when it hit me. I don’t want anyone hanging around in my life, sitting on my sofa, eating my crisps. I work hard and I’m happy with my situation. I certainly don’t want to “settle” with someone on Tinder.  I’m not ready to snuggle up to anyone right now. It’s hot and I wouldn’t like it. 

As soon as I said this, it felt like a weight had lifted. I promptly cancelled all my subs and ended up laughing in my living room because I was so happy. 

That’s not to say I will avoid all company. If the right one drops in for a night or a year I will welcome them, I’m just not gonna go looking for them. 

Should anyone turn up, they will need to pass the ultimate test. Saga sleeps with me. You wanna also sleep with me, you sleep with her. She kicks. 

But I don’t wanna go

Right now I seem to be riddled with ailments. On top of the usual bipolar, anxiety, bile salt malabsorption shenanigans, I can also detect tiredness, the shakes and migraines. It’s the migraines that are the most debilitating, though and even with medication, they knock me out proper. I don’t know the root cause here, could be stress, or tiredness…. Whatever.

The upshot of this is that I am even more rubbish at the going out lark than usual. I mean I’m often in bed by 8:30 which doesn’t align to a night on the town so I’m not great at the old drinking/after work. As a colleague used to say “Kat is fun and exciting all day. You can’t expect evenings as well.” I am very much a daylight belle!

Lockdown was a dream come true for me. I could take Saga out for walks in empty parks and spend my evenings curled up on the sofa with occasional Zoom sessions. Not only did I not have to interact, it was applauded. For once I was ahead of the game. But all too soon it was over. And people wanted to get together. In public. In the evening. 

Now on a good day, it can take me a bit of a run up to get to a night out. However, even things I do want to attend have been going by the wayside lately due to the aforementioned exhaustion and headaches. 

l probably have the reputation of being a bit of a flake with people not in the mental health / invisible illness club and if I’m honest more than likely with my fellow club members too. With really good friends, I could probably be honest and say “unlikely, but thanks for the invite.” But I feel so stupid and guilty, so I usually say yes and then inevitably cancel at the last minute. It doesn’t help that a lot of my ailments are stress related and going out out is very stress inducing.

My best friend is like me and will often send me messages like “Hey let’s cancel plans sometime soon.” It’s nice to know you’re not alone and you are loved, even if you are not a party animal. I saw a TikTok which had a man saying “I want to be invited, but I’m not going” and never has a teeny weeny video hit home so well. 

It’s all we want. Just to be invited and for you not to get angry or upset if we don’t show.

Addendum: I’ve just declined autumn drinking session with chums. No reason given. I’ll let you know how it pans out.

Saga Puppywulff gets territorial

Most of the time Saga is a dream to take out. She curls up on a chair or her blanket or my lap and just snoozes. So you do get a little complacent. Same when we’re off for a stroll.  Mostly Saga isn’t interested in other dogs. She just wants to find a really good stick and maybe catch a squirrel  or two. 

I had popped into a well known tax avoiding coffee chain, purchased my Italian sized, non coffee, non fat milky drink and settled down in a chair. Saga was snuggled on my lap and we were very relaxed. 

Out of the blue I felt her body tense. She was straining on the lead and growling loudly. In her eye line was a large squat pug. Who was just standing and staring. Like pugs do. I like to think the conversation went a little something like this

Saga: You there! Yes you! You! Doggy! Go Away! Don't you come near my mummy! I don't think I like you! No, I don’t like you. I don't like you at all

Me: Shush <holds mouth>

Pug: _____

Saga: Yeah? Yeah? Come over here and say that! Well don't cos I don't want you near my mummy. She's my mummy you hear? In your face you... you... dog! Go away! <Note: This should be stronger but I am loathe to make my baby a potty mouth>

Me: Saga, he’s not doing anything just ignore him

Pug: _____

People at next table: Aw bless. Look at that dog. They are really cross. That's so funny <giggle>

Saga: You bet I’m cross. I hate you I hate you I hate you

<Pug and owner leave>

Saga: That’s right you’d better go. I can still smell you you little rat fink

Me: For gods sake Saga, he’s gone

Saga: Yeah well <grumble grumble>