Category Archives: daily

Still Working on the in Depth Post

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But I thought I’d come over and ramble for a bit while I am still working on that one.

So, as previously mentioned, yesterday was our board meetings at work.  We had 3 boards and 1 committee meeting.  9:15am until about 4:15pm.

What went wrong:

Caterers forgot about the meeting, so we had no lunch.  Had to order from a local sandwich place.  Which ran 30 minutes late.  Which pissed off the Chairman, who more or less yelled at me.

Discovered that my numbering went wacky in one set of papers so we jumped from agenda item 5.9 to agenda item 5.3.  I hate hate hate Word’s numbering feature.  It totally sucks.  Also, once again proving, if you read something enough you miss things.  CEO probably would have caught it in his final read through, but he was in Spain when we were doing the papers.

One person is a member of only one of the boards, so came in about 2:30 to join the last meeting.  So we get to the end of the Agenda and he says “I have an AOB (any other business)” and proceeds to lead a discussion, which was important, for about 20 minutes.  The rest of us were like COME ON!! We’ve been in here all friggin’ day!

For the first time I took minutes on a laptop…so.much.easier.

Now I have to write the actual minutes.  Takes about a day for each board meeting.  So 4 more days and we can wrap these meetings up for another  month.

There Will be a Slight Delay in Posts

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I am trying to write one that is very hard for me, about a book that I am reading where the lead character has a mental illness similar to mine.  Its not something I would normally read, but I really like the author so I am giving it a try.

I will write more about this in a few days.  After tomorrow.  Which is Board Meeting Day.  I’ll be taking minutes from 9:15am to around 5pm.  With two short breaks.

Kill me now.

Looking to the Future

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First of all, no one tried to guess my mom’s age yesterday, but if you want to know highlight here: 68 to see.

I think about the future a lot. Not so much what it will bring, but what will future generations think of us? If Simon and I have kids, what will their kids and their kids kids know about Gran Robyn and Gramps Simon?

Will they be in the US and look at the inside of my wedding ring and think we were married on April 9th rather than 4th September? Or will they still be in the UK and understand perfectly?

Will they hear the story of how Simon and I met, a family fable including a trip across the Atlantic? Not really so different from the story of my great-grandmother and her story from Romania to Boston, except with diamonds sewn in the hem of her skirt. If you ever meet my sister-in-law, ask to see her engagement ring. The diamond in it was one of the ones in my great-grandmothers hem.

I also think about the future of the children I know. My niece, who will be 8 in April, is, according to her mother, very very grown up. She asked if she could wear make up the other day and was given permission to do so. Apparently she put it on herself so well that her dad didn’t even notice until her mom pointed it out to him. And then he was impressed.

I wonder what she’ll be when she grows up. And her sister. And all my other nieces and nephews, who range in age from 3 to 19. Who will they be? Will they be happy? Rich? Straight? Gay? Married? Sad?

The future…what will it bring?

On Sunday Shopping in a Christian Country

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First of all, stores aren’t allowed, by law, to sell anything until after 1pm. I do not know if this is a UK thing or an NI thing, but I actually like it. It means you can hang out at home on Sunday morning either doing nothing or doing whatever and not feel like you have to be out and doing. Yes, I realize it is this way so people can go to church. I must remind my readers here that I am Jewish. Even if I went to a religious institution on the weekends, it wouldn’t be on Sunday mornings.

However, the shopping tends to suck, as there are no deliveries on Sunday mornings. Why they don’t just get double deliveries on Saturday, I don’t know. But could you imagine half empty shelves in a store in the US? Never gonna happen, not even in the Deep South. Here it is a regular Sunday occurrence.

This, to me, is, once again, bad customer service.  Even people who go to church might go shopping after.  And what do they find? Very little on the shelves.

Northern Ireland really needs to come into the 21st C.  And soon.

A Look at the Past

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So this morning, while looking for scratch paper to write the grocery list, I found an old journal of mine. It only covered about 3 months, but it included my trip across the US from Iowa to California and a few months after that. It was painful to read.

Every page of that journal screams “chronic depression, anxiety disorder, agoraphobia” and yet my diagnosis didn’t occur until 2 years after that journal was written.

All of my old journals read that way, from the earliest one I can find, from when I was 16 and visiting London with my grandmother and cousin. And I certainly was seeing therapists at all of those points in my life.

So why did none of them *ever* say “Hey, there is something more going on here. Something other than a kid having a hard time growing up and being a total brat about it. Maybe its chemical. Maybe her brain is wired wrong.” But not one did until a GP when I was 28 or 29 who gave me prozac and told me to find a psychologist who could refer me to a psychiatrist.

It wasn’t too long after that that I had my first real mental breakdown. I ran away. I got in my car, with my cat, Kali, and started to drive back to Iowa, because I had never felt like that in Iowa. Yeah, right. I called my boss and quit my job (thank god he didn’t accept that), left a message for my brother so he wouldn’t worry if he couldn’t get me and started driving. I made it just past the Nevada border when I called my brother again, hysterical, having no idea what I was doing. He convinced me to come back to California and call my doctors. I was off work about 3 months that time.

The final break came about a year later, when I stopped going to work altogether. Hmm, mighty similar to when I quit going to school my junior year of High School. And no one thought to put me on meds then.

I asked my mother about that once. She said even if they had suggested it back then, she probably wouldn’t have let them medicate me. But no one suggested it.

I have scrolled through several Dxs. Bi-Polar Disorder. Chronic Depression. And, now, as I’ve said before, Anxiety Disorder and Borderline Agoraphobia. The last one seems to be right, although I do still suffer from depression at times. Mostly I am just incredibly anxious. All the time. Well, 80% of the time. The other 20% I’m asleep! (that’s a joke. There are long periods when I am not anxious at all.)

The attitude about medication in the UK is very different than it is in the US. In the US they put you on and you stay on. Probably forever. In the UK they do their damnedest to get you off meds. So I’ve had some very good treatment here in the UK. And I was off all meds for about a year until last November when I had a small bout of anxiety and was back on them for a month. I see my psychiatrist in two weeks and we’ll see if I’ll go back on them.

I fought very hard to go off of them, actually. You see, Simon and I are trying to have a baby. And most of the Mad Meds (TM Trepenny Peck) I was on make bad babies. But, since they can’t exactly get women preganant and feed them Mad Meds, there is really no way to know how bad those babies might be, if bad at all.

So in two weeks we’ll see what my old psych says. And if he thinks I need to go back on meds, back on them I go. And if he says I can’t have a baby while on them? Well, we’ll see. I don’t think I know a single completely sane pregnant woman anyway.

On Being Agoraphobic and Stuck in a Crowd

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So tonight after work I had to go to Tesco at City Centre because a.) I forgot to order the seafood for tonights paella in the grocery order for this past Monday and b.) Simon and I still haven’t gotten our heads around having a real sized refrigerator and only order food to last through Thursday, so we needed something for dinner tomorrow night (I’m making chicken nachos, if anyone would like to stop by for a bite. Although I am making them from scratch without a recipe, so they may suck. You have been warned.).

The worst times to be at City Centre, crowdwise, are after 11:30am on a Saturday (hence my almost never getting to see Saturday Kitchen, with James Martin, my cooking boyfriend, because we are already out of the house and shopping by 10am on Saturdays) and after work on Thursday nights. Thursday night is, traditionally, Late Night Shopping at City Centre. Now a lot of the stores stay open later most nights, but it used to be that the entire of City Centre was shut down by about 5:30, so being open to 9:00 on Thursdays was a really big deal (yeah, not doing 24 hour time today. Deal with it.). And it gets waaaay crowded. And I am agoraphobic. I hate, despise, loathe crowds. I only spent about an hour at Disney World last summer because of the crowds. And the fact that my sunglasses were giving me a migraine. But that’s another story.

So there I am, at City Centre, after waiting in the queue for the World’s Slowest Cashier (TM) at Tesco, surrounded by crowds. And panicking, just a little. And when I panic? I get rude. Really rude. All my ‘excuse mes’ and ‘sorry, can I get bys?’ go right out the window when I am in a crowd. I push, I shove, I glare and I mutter. “Dammit, did you have to stop *right* in the middle of the fucking side walk?” “Hey, old man, get the hell out of my way!!” Yeah, polite, I ain’t.

Obviously, I cope. Cuz here I am back in my flat, safe and sound. But it was touch and go for a bit. I nearly cried. Literally.

I fucking hate crowds. Can I move to a desert island? Please? Just me, Simon and all of our DVDs, CDs, games and game consoles? And the internet? K?

This Happens Worldwide…

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Simon found out yesterday that his job will not be renewing his contract at the end of July.  So he’s out of a job as of then.

They will try to redeploy him somewhere else in the University.  If they don’t he’ll get a redundancy payment.

So things are pretty depressing and stressful around here right now.

At least he has a few months to find something new.

Time Goes By…

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The street where I wait for the bus to work is where a lot of school children walk to get to school. I don’t know what school they go to, but at least 15 – 20 of them walk by every day.

There is one group of boys I have been seeing for the past 3 years. I’ve actually watched them grow.

3 years ago they were small children. Horsing around as they went to school, calling each other names. Now the shortest of them is taller than me. In only 3 years. And they look so darn serious, like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. In only 3 years.

I want to ask them what happened. What happened to them razzing on each other. What happened to the fireworks they used to throw around Bonfire Night (almost got me with one, once. I was less than pleased). When did they become ‘adults’? And why?

Why do we have to lose that? That playfulness as we walk to school? The feeling that all things are possible and all things are fun, even walking to school. Maybe the destination holds hard work, but getting there should be a joy, yes?

Now they walk to school, still in the same group, but they barely talk to each other. They walk like they are going to their doom.

I miss those playful little boys. They were a joy to watch. Now they are just another group, trudging through life, and it makes me sad.

The ‘Joy’ of the NHS

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So I went to the Diabetes Clinic today. I don’t think I mentioned before about my having Type II diabetes. But I do.

I control it with diet and *cough* exercise. In other words, I watch what I eat and think about doing exercise.

Wasn’t too bad today, although they were running an hour behind. The Doc seemed pleased with my current levels. Last A1C was 6.3, which is very good. Under 7 is very good. Under 6 would be excellent.

So, what’s the ‘joy’? The fact that I never seem to get my most recent test results until I go back, 6 months later. That’s even with a rush put on the A1C results, as I am suppose to have those numbers the same day. But I never do.

And the waiting. I wait to be weighed. I wait to have bloods taken. I wait to see the doctor. Waiting waiting waiting.

I always go prepared, book in hand (and I bought a magazine today). But it is still aggravating. And they always run out of chairs.

On a good note, however, when I went to check in, I told the receptionist that my address had changed. She asked whether I was in University, because if my address changed regularly she’d be happy to send my letters and such to my mum’s address. I thanked her for thinking I was young enough to still be in University. She then noticed my age on her computer and laughed at herself. But I was very thankful!