Today

Today came around. Again….

It always rains in WeeGee land on 19th September.

To be fair, I don’t know if it actually always rains, or if my memory just thinks it always rains, but it very definitely rained today and since that fits with my pre-conceived notions of what today should feel like I’m going to go with it.

It’s been fifteen years since the 19th September first meant anything to me. Fifteen years is a long time. It’s so long that I can’t properly remember the person I was back then. It’s so long ago that my friends are different, that my life is different, and that whatever it was I hoped and dreamed of at the time is long forgotten and given up on. I’m a grown up now – it’s all behind me – none of what mattered then matters now. Life moves on, people change, you stop looking for the big answers and start dealing with the little questions one by one.

Today shouldn’t mean anything to me. It’s an anniversary of something that only I remember and that has no meaningful impact on my life now. Like I said, life moves on.

Every year, the 19th September comes around. I dread it for weeks, and then it comes around and before I know it, it’s over with. I try to mark it, but I never manage to mark it well enough because…. Well, because – how do you mark a thing you want to remember but don’t want to acknowledge out loud?

As it goes, the best I can do is to withdraw into my own head for the day. All I can do is make today about today – I can let my thoughts rest on things I don’t otherwise let them rest on – I can stop for a moment and I can let everything that has happened in the last 15 years settle around me.

I’ll wake up tomorrow and today will be over with. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? Today doesn’t matter because tomorrow is on the way.

What you’ve lost is less important than what you have. Hope is important.

Love you all lots, like jelly tots,

WeeGee xxxxx

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And so I kept living

I wrote this post to mark World Suicide Prevention Day 2016, and it perhaps unsurprisingly, discusses suicide. Please scroll on past if that might put you in a difficult position. If you need help right now – pick up the phone, send an email (feel free to use my contact me form – I’m here, I won’t judge) knock on a door, head to A&E (ER). Take care of yourself xoxox

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Four years ago, I wrote this post to mark World Suicide Prevention Day 2012. So many things have changed in the years that have intervened – for me, for the people I love, and in the world – but sadly, one thing hasn’t changed much at all: the figures on suicide around the world.

According to the World Health Organisation an estimated 800,000 people worldwide lose their lives to suicide every year. It’s difficult for me to imagine the human picture behind a figure like that so I tried to break it down – it averages at around 90 people every hour; or three people every two minutes. In the time it hasn’t taken me to write this post nearly 100 people have taken their own lives. For every person who dies by suicide, another three people make an attempt on their life. So, in the time it has taken me to write this post 400 people have found themselves willing themselves out of the world. Sometimes, there are no words for how awful the human picture actually is.

Here in the UK, the picture is no less discouraging. In 2014 (the most recent year for which figures from the Samaritans are available) some 6581 people lost their lives to suicide in the UK and ROI – the highest number of men since 2005 and of women since 2011. Whichever way you look at it, the number of people who die at their own hand in the UK has increased – I don’t know whether that makes me more sad or angry, but I don’t suppose it really matters right now. I am a suicide survivor, and as hard as it is to say THAT is what matters to me right now.

As a rule, we still find it difficult to talk about suicide and that’s a huge problem because one of the best means of defence we have is talking about it.

Here’s what I know:

  • Talking about suicidal feelings gives you the space to examine them, outside of your own head.
  • Talking about suicidal feelings helps to remind you that you are never alone with them.
  • Talking about suicidal feelings gives you a distraction from the actions that are gathering ever more momentum in your mind.
  • Talking about suicidal feelings helps us to remember – above all else – that it’s okay to talk about suicide.

So – at the risk of repeating myself: I am a suicide survivor, and I am not ashamed. There have been times in my life that I wished not to have life anymore – it wasn’t ever that I wanted to be dead, more that I didn’t want to be alive anymore. The two things have always been, and remain, very different to my mind. The feelings that I had at those times don’t make a lot of sense to me right now but I remember the desperation, and hopelessness, fear and pain. I remember those things in my bones and in my heart – I carry them with me and use them to remind me that whatever happens, and however I feel: my life is worth having. And so I choose to live. I choose it every single god damn day.

Suicide is complex – nobody knows that better than I. But suicide is also, almost always, preventable. There is work to be done and we need to look to each other – to our family and friends, to our politicians, our media, our healthcare professionals – to make it happen. Most importantly of all we need to keep on finding the courage to talk about it, until all the shame is banished and until every single person who thinks they are lost is  in no doubt that we are ALL here for them, and that we are here to get them through.

I end, as I did four years ago, with some words that mean the world to me – words that have lifted my heart and carried it for me, words that have comforted me, words that have saved my life:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

Lady Chatterley’s Lover. DH Lawrence

Keep your lights burning brightly, my friends. And remember, it’s good to talk.

Love you all lots, like a million and one jelly tots – WeeGee xoxoxo

wsp

Burning my very special little candle, in support and solidarity and hope

He is home. That is all.

Just a quick, bullet-pointy update because my brain is frazzled and my heart is too full…..

Headline

  • Gryff is HOME.
  • Hip, hip and double hurrah.

Boring cat lady summary of how the shit went down

  • Monday: Gryff goes to see the vet because he is a bit under the weather
  • Tuesday: Gryff is diagnosed with diabetes and simultaneously goes on hunger strike. This is not a good thing.
  • Wednesday: Gryff develops ketoacidosis (I’d never heard of it – but it’s SERIOUS)  and is admitted to the veterinary hospital where he is angry and growls a lot. WeeGee and Mr Awesome Thing Number Five prepare themselves for something I’d rather not mention.
  • Thursday: Gryff continues to be seriously ill and simultaneously ‘reaches the limit of his patience’ with the hospital staff because he doesn’t understand they are only trying to make him better. He does, however, agree to eat which is actually the best thing he can do
  • Friday: Gryff receives visitors, is grumpy but purrs a lot and promises to be good. Gryff is subsequently ‘quite good’ and let’s the nice hospital staff do what they need to do to make him well enough to come home. (The fact that they discovered a treat he likes may, or may not, have something to do with this change in attitude.)

gryff angry

  • Saturday: Gryff has an excellent night and manages a zero ketone and zero potassium reading in the morning. Bingo! WeeGee and Awesome Thing Mr Five return home with a cat who is very nearly back to his usual self, a shit-load of medication, and a growing sense of trepidation about the prospect of injecting a non-compliant cat on a twice daily basis. Shit.

BTW – He is very happy to be home:

Gryff home.jpg

And life is starting to get back to normal:

gryff normal

The bottom line

  • Gryff is HOME
  • Hip, hip and double hurrah

I’ll write again soon, once my head has slowed down but in the meantime – I love you all lots. Like lots and lots of Jelly Tots.

WeeGee xoxoxo

Strength you your elbow, little man

By rights, I shouldn’t be a cat person. Growing up our pets were goldfish, snails*, guinea pigs and eventually dogs – by which I mean I’m not exactly used to having cats around. More to the point, I’m allergic to them. Like REALLY allergic.

All things considered, cats don’t exactly make the most obvious choice of pet here in WeeGee Land. It’s funny the way things turn out, isn’t it?

I first met Gryff in 2005 – November the 4th 2005 to be exact. I made the 110 mile round trip from London to Milton Keynes and back again to collect him with my then boyfriend on the basis that he was a silver, black and white tabby – and silver black and white tabbies aren’t easy to come by. By the time it became apparent that he was in fact going to grow up to be a ginger, black and white tabby it didn’t matter one jot. By then, there was nothing that little dude could do to disappoint me.

The journey back from Milton Keynes wasn’t exactly smooth: we got lost and by the time we reached the M25 it was a car park. Long story short the whole thing took a lot longer than anticipated – far from ideal when you’ve got a tiny kitten with no capacity for ‘holding it in’ on board. Needless to say, the inevitable happened and we ended up with a tiny kitten who was inconsolable because he’d shat in his cat carrier on board.

It took three packets of baby wipes and a good half hour to put things back in order with Gryff getting more and more upset by the minute. In the end I picked him up, looked him square in the eye and in the gentlest voice I could manage said something along the lines of ‘It’s okay, nobody cares that you shit the bed you little fucker, just please, please, please stop crying. And he did – he looked right back at me and sized me up for a while. Eventually he blinked at me twice in that slow, trusting way that cats do and from that moment, I knew we had the measure of one another and I knew we were going to be the best of friends.

He was an awesome little kitten – mostly bossy, sometimes nervous and always good fun. His favourite pastime was scaling the bookshelves and knocking the books off, one by one, until he’d made a Gryff shaped hole to sleep in. He followed me around all the time, in the hope, I think, that I would open a drawer for him to hop into and empty of contents in seconds flat – his second favourite pastime. He was always a vocal cat and made sure to tell me all about it if ever I left him for so much as five minutes.

As time went on it became clear that whilst he would mostly tolerate his usual humans (provided we fed him promptly), he really wasn’t fond of strangers. He made a habit of creeping along the back of the sofa and biting visitors on the back of the head. Hard. He once chased a very frightened plumber into the hallway and refused to let him back in to look at the boiler no matter how much I appealed to his better nature. To others he probably seems like a vicious and aggressive cat but the way I saw it, he way always just a frightened little guy who came out fighting before anybody else had the chance to throw a punch…. It makes a lot of sense to me.

By the time Gryff was five it was all change in WeeGee Land. The then boyfriend was no more and Gryff and I set out on a new adventure together. It was the two of us against the world and we made a pretty good team. On our first night in the flat in Surbiton he burrowed under the covers, nestled right up against my tummy, and slept there all night. It reminded me that I was going to need him as much as he needed me and that was how we came at things from that point on.

During those early days in Surbiton, Gryff saved my life. It sounds so dramatic but that doesn’t stop it being true. When it all fell apart, and I stopped caring, and stopped hoping, and didn’t know where to turn Gryff was the thing that got me out of bed in the morning. He was the thing that helped me put one foot in front of the other, he was the thing that kept me trying. He was constant and forgiving at a time when nothing made sense and everything was harsh. Gryff kept me in the here and now when the past hurt too much and the future seemed liked a foreign land.

In time of course, we got through it and found our way to the other side. Life started feeling like life again and the future became a possibility. That said, when Mr Awesome Thing Number Five first arrived on the scene I think it would be fair to say that Gryff and I both regarded him with an equal measure of suspicion. For my part having a whole new person around in my life was a pretty big and scary deal and to be fair, I don’t think it was too different from Gryff’s point of view.

In the early days of Mr Awesome Thing Number Five and Gryff there was a lot of patience, endless gifts (or bribes) and some not inconsiderable injuries on the part of the Mr and not much more than the occasional glimmer of something a little better than contempt from the cat. It didn’t seem possible that relations would ever enter truly friendly territory between them. I suppose what happened in the end – which was nothing short of miraculous just goes to show how far a kind heart and the patience of a saint can take you with an aggressive, frightened and over protective cat. Gryff and Mr Awesome became, and remain, the very best of friends.

Gryff is 11 years old now and I’ve spent every single one of those years loving him. I love him even more than I ever thought possible and if I’m perfectly honest, I can’t think of many humans I regard nearly as highly as I do my boy.

Gryff is very, very poorly right now in fact, he’s in the hospital fighting for his very important little life. I’m doing my best to will him on from here because if the very excellent veterinary staff can get him through the next 48 hours then we’re in with a shout. Right now, I don’t need a miracle – I just needa shout. Like I said, Gryff gave me a reason to put one foot in front of the other for such a long time and I owe him a debt of gratitude. Now, I need him to find what he needs to find to get through this, because I’d like the opportunity to pay the debt off in cuddles, and tuna, and toys. But mostly in cuddles….

Strength to your elbow little man, strength to your elbow.

*  Yes, snails.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On where I am now

Since last I wrote a whole lot of time has passed. Some of it has been happy and some of it has been sad and some of it has been other things – things I don’t have a name for yet – things that don’t quite fit into the ready made categories we’ve got set out for them.

Also – I haven’t been eating right. It’s a difficult subject to tackle, and I’ve thought long and hard about how to write about it. I don’t want to end up with some kind of ‘pro ana’ blog on my hands because even at my worst I was never about encouraging that kind of shit. Even at my worst, and most poorly all I really ever wanted to do was leave that nonsense behind.

Still. YOU ARE WHERE YOU ARE. Of all the lessons I’ve learned, that’s the most valuable and important. You can only ever deal with what’s in front of you.

Okay – so what’s in front of me? Lots of meals that I don’t want to eat for reasons that I couldn’t explain to you if I wanted to. But, by the way, I don’t want to explain myself anyway. Take it all with a pinch of salt but I mostly couldn’t give a fuck one way or the other.

Here’s the truth. I’m not as ‘thin’ as I used to be. The trouble is that ‘thin’ is the only thing I’ve ever achieved. The thinnest I was? That was the best I was. The thinnest I was – that was the person I want to be, the person I should be. The thinnest I was – that was the best I ever was.

In so many ways I know that everything I’ve said is nonsense. It’s nonsense and bullshit and airy-fairy rubbish. At the same time I AM WHERE I AM.

And I don’t know where to go from here.

Love you lots like jelly tots xoxox

This’ll do. For now….

Things have changed since last I wrote because after a brief mental interlude we’re pretty much back in business here in WeeGee Land. By back in business I mean I don’t much feel like sitting on the floor with my knees gathered up to my chin, staring at the wall for hours on end any more. Sometimes that’s what progress feels like and I’ve learned that progress is one of those things that you just have to take wherever, and however you find it.

Most of the time I still hate myself from wherever it is I start right down to the bottom of my fingernails – I feel hopeless and wretched and desperate BUT, above all else I know that this will end, that life will intervene and that I’ll find a way back to myself. Again. Somehow.

Like I said – we’re back in business. I’m busy putting one foot in front of the other, and pretending like I’m some kind of normal person with some kind of normal life. I’m busy doing the necessary because I know that even though I’m not where I want to be I’m on my way there, by hook or by crook. You’re never going to get there unless you’re on your way there, right?

I’m trying to handle myself more gently and I’m doing my best to be kind to myself. I’ve realised that, when it comes to myself, I always come at it sharp side first and I’m trying to figure out what that’s all about, because I don’t really show my sharp side to anyone else. I’m trying to give myself the same breaks I think everyone ought to have. I suppose I’m trying to get bigger and better, because I’m trying to forgive myself – it takes the biggest and the best people of all to nail that kind of shit.

I suppose I’ve accepted that sometimes, I’m going to get lost. I’m going to be sad, and hopeless, and frightened. All the evidence suggests that I’m going to get lost time after time and after time again despite by best efforts. The reality is that every time I think I’ve got myself on an even keel, the sky will fall in all over again and you know what – I’m tired of raging against the natural order of things. I’m tired of heaping failure on myself for a self that I didn’t choose and which is way beyond anything I can choose.

Sometimes I get sad. Sometimes I get lost. Sometimes the sky falls in. Sometimes I hate myself down to the very bottom of my fingernails. And them’s just the breaks. Sure – there’s stuff I can do. I can take care of myself and I can find a softer place to fall and I can try and try and try. But sometimes I’m STILL going to be sad and my brain is going to misfire and I’m going to wish I didn’t have to live with myself anymore. Some brains are better than others, and some people know how to deal with this shit. My brain isn’t one of the better ones and, I don’t really know how to deal with this shit but I’m learning, and I’m holding on tight and, more than anything, I’m still on my way to that place I’m trying to get to – wherever that is.

I suppose the point I’m trying to make – if I’m trying to make one at all – is that it’s okay. It’s okay that I get sad, and it’s okay that I rage against the world, and it’s even okay that I hate myself down to the bottom of my fingernails. It’s okay because I only feel that way for some of the time, and because I ALWAYS find my way out of the mire, and because fuck it – nobody said it was going to be easy anyway.

Anyhow. I’m pretty much back on my feet and squaring up to the world again. Things aren’t all perfect and sunshiny but then again I never was going to morph into the kind of person who leaps out of bed cartwheeling around singing about the wonderful morning I’ve woken up into (it’s that thing about sharp edges) Still, I’m as up and at ‘em as I know how, and the mornings keep on coming around, and that’ll do. For now.

Love you all lots, like jelly tots,

WeeGee xoxoxoxo

It isn’t easy being a WeeGee

It isn’t always easy being a WeeGee. Sometimes, my brain gets mixed up and I feel sad in my heart, even though I have no good reason to feel sad in my heart. And it’s hard to go about being an ordinary little WeeGee when your brain is all mixed up and your heart is all sad and none of the sense you have been counting on makes sense anymore.

No sense

The past couple of months have been tough. I’ve been hurting, and I’ve been angry, and I’ve been perpetually awake. I’ve been confused, and unsure, and at times a little frightened. I’m not really any of those things anymore. Mostly I’m just tired. I feel washed up, like a shipwreck: scattered and broken – made up of pieces that used to fit together and amount to something.

Right now, I don’t feel like I add up to much mostly, I think, because I don’t care. I’m empty. I’m not doing the things I do, or thinking the things I think, or being the person I am and I can’t really bring myself to care. I keep thinking about who I used to be and how unattainable that person seems to me now: just another ship that sailed….

Ship has sailed

People change, and things move on, and nothing can stay the same. I know that but I wonder how other people manage it. How do you leave yourself behind, when yourself if the only thing you’ve been cultivating for your entire life? How do you go about getting older when you’re already an awful lot older than you intended to be by now? How does anyone make sense of this – day after day, month after month, year after year? How do you keep on doing it, when your brain is mixed up, and you feel sad in your heart, and nothing makes sense, and you are not who you used to be, or who you want to be, and you just keeping get older even though you need time to stop so you can think before everything changes again?

Stop the worlf

I’m doing the best I can. I’m waking up in the morning and I’m just going with it. I’m taking the days as they present themselves to me. I’m investing myself when I get the tiniest little spark that suggests I might actually give a fuck. I’m putting one foot in front of the other until I find my way to bedtime and I fall asleep hoping that tomorrow will be better because I know that if I can hope for tomorrow, I can hold on until it comes.

Hope is the most important thing of all. Hope is the thing that carries your heart when it’s too heavy for you to bear; hope is tomorrow and every tomorrow after that; hope is why things change, and hope is why things get better.

Hope is where you get to when you have nowhere else to go and hope is the best thing to cling to on your way there. At least that’s what I hope, and that’s what I’m clinging to….

there-is-always-hope

Love you all like lots and lots of Jelly Tots,

 

WeeGee xxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only tomorrow knows

There is nothing remarkable about my story.

I can tell it so that it’s funny, or sad, or boring, or hopeful, or desperate, or happy, or tragic. I can tell it like it’s all of those things at the same time, or I can tell it like it’s none of them at all. I can start my story anywhere – at the beginning, in the middle, or at any of the endings so far. I can tell it backwards, or forwards, or in no particular order at all. I can have one big story or lots of little stories. I can tell it differently depending on how I feel or who I’m telling it to.

There is nothing remarkable about my story and, in that regard, my story is no different from anyone else’s story. My story, like every single one of the millions of other stories is really nothing but a changing and changeable narrative that frames a life lived and forces it to make sense. That is what my blog has been about: a space for me to tell the story of myself to myself – a search for sense and meaning hiding in the madness I must live.

When I stopped blogging my story didn’t stop and I certainly didn’t stop longing for sense. And so I found different ways to tell my story and I found meaning in places I hadn’t looked before. Blogging gave me one kind of narrative; not blogging gave me another narrative entirely.

It would seem, that for today at least, my story is happening here even though it hasn’t happened here for the longest time. Today, this space feels like the right space – the only place I want to be. Tomorrow may feel different or it may feel the same. Only tomorrow can tell how tomorrow will feel. I have learned to wait for tomorrow patiently, and with hope in my heart. I have learned that tomorrow always comes to move the story on, although not always to the place I expected to end up.

It may be obvious to you, I don’t know. But today I am whimsical, and thoughtful, and maybe not terribly focused on what I’m trying to say or trying to do. As far as comeback posts go, this is may be a little confusing to those living outside my head. But this is my space, I carved it out of nothing at my lowest ebb and I wanted to come back today – to make it mine again and have a different voice and a different story to tell. I wanted to come here. I wanted to speak.

Maybe I’m just nostalgic – missing WordPress and missing the blogging buddies that I didn’t take out into the real world with me. Or maybe this is something new: a new chapter, or a sequel to the last story, or maybe even it will turn out to be the beginning of a new story altogether. Only tomorrow will tell….

I leave you with a song, much love, and lots and lots of jelly tots xoxoxo

It’s been a wee while

My goodness, it’s been a while – so long in fact that I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve gone and forgotten all about me. I’ve been absent for months and months, for lots and lots of different reasons. In the end though, if I had to sum it up, my silence has really come about because I realised that some things in life deserve your absolute and undivided attention……

The last time we spoke I’d just moved to my new flat and, I think, I was getting ready to start my new job. Neither of those things seems very new any more. Such is the nature of time I guess but I’ve been surprised by how quickly I’ve settled in to things. I used to have one life and now I’ve got another. In many ways, it really has been as easy as that: things change, life moves on, WeeGee does her little thing. Yadder, yadder, yadder.

Of course, WeeGee doing her little thing is never REALLY easy. You know me of old and you know that I ALWAYS have to do things the long way round. I think I’ve learned that I’m a master of ‘keeping up appearances’, of being okay when I’m really not, of holding it together when everything starts to unravel. I suppose what it’s really all about is contradictions. I can be absolutely fine at the same time as being absolutely not. Increasingly I think that I’m the only one who knows the difference even though I’m the last person you’d trust to be in charge of stuff like that.

Anyway….

Let’s cut a long story short – if haven’t already cut it too long. The thing that needed my absolute and undivided attention was little old ME. I needed to take time to work out how it all felt, and what it all meant, and how on earth it was ever going to come together. Maybe you remember that I spent a long time figuring out what being ‘me’ was all about when I moved to Surbiton. I guess this past few months has been about me doing the same thing for the next chapter.

I shouldn’t hide it – there have been some pretty grim moments of late, because that’s just how the difficulties I have manifest themselves. My alien brain has been in over drive and it feels like a small miracle that I haven’t jumped out of any windows. Then again, I’ve learned to take my miracles wherever I find them.

There have been new meds. I tell you something, when it comes to the doomy gloomies they’ve been an absolute chuffing miracle – mainly because for the first couple of weeks I felt so UTTERLY NAUSEAUS that I couldn’t even think about the doomy gloomies and ever since then the raging heart burn has been pretty effective in keeping my thoughts focused on other things. Maybe it’s worth mentioning the couple of days when everything was AWESOME. Because that was AWESOME…..

I feel like I’ve checked in to say ‘Hey! Everything is just as wibbly wobbly as it was before’ but I haven’t really. I think maybe I’ve checked in to say that it’s been just as wibbly wobbly as its been before but that all the things I’ve learned up to now made it significantly less awful than it once would have been.

I think perhaps that you have you have to learn to live with yourself, and I think perhaps, that despite the mishaps, that’s still what I’m managing to do. Is it perfect? Well no, its mostly mental. But day by day I’m learning that there is a way to content yourself with that.

Meanwhile in other news it’s going to take me at least three million years to catch up on all the blogs I know and love and another squillion to discover all the new ones. Bear with me….

Love you all lots like Jelly Tots,

WeeGee xoxoxoxo

IRL Update

 

I can’t believe how much time has passed since my last post. I’m not entirely sure what I’ve mostly been being in the time that’s intervened apart from maybe busy and very definitely not blogging….

One thing’s for sure – it’s been all go here in WeeGee land, which seems to be the norm all of a sudden. In the few short years since I started blogging I seem to have transformed from a small, quiet, insignificant person who just wanted to hide in her bed into a small, quiet significant person who occasionally wishes that she actually had any time to hide in her bed. Maybe that’s the only difference between me when I’m well and me when I’m not well. I don’t know, I guess I’m still trying to figure that one out.

The move seems like a dim and distant memory – we’ve been here almost two months now but if you told me we’d been here FOREVER it wouldn’t seem like an outlandish claim. Fleet became home without me even realising it, and living with Mr Awesome Thing Number Five hasn’t really been the challenge I was expecting. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had our moments, but for the most part we’re just rubbing along together the way we always did. I can’t imagine a time that’ll ever change but I can’t help being on my guard against things suddenly changing. On the one hand that could be a bad thing, but on the other hand all it really means is that I’m aware and that I’m willing to put the work in. I think he is too. So that’s all right then, isn’t it?

Of course there’s the new job to mention. What can I say? Starting a new job is one of the oddest things you can do because for the first few days EVERYTHING is odd. The people are odd, the technology is odd, the office is odd, even the tea making facilities are odd. Of course it’s only odd because it’s different from the old place and in no time at all it’s the old place that seems odd. Such is the nature of change I guess. I’ve only been in the job for a couple of weeks and it still feels new and it still feels odd but I also feel like it’s going to be AWESOME and not just because they use SharePoint properly and have some excellent records management software for me to play with….

Anyway – as far as the IRL update goes, that pretty much covers the headlines. I’m aware that I should think about doing an ‘in WeeGee’s head’ update at some point soon but I don’t think I’m quite ready yet. For the most part everything is absolutely fine, mostly because of the IRL stuff. But there’s this other part, it’s only a teeny tiny little part – the broken part, I guess. Recently, I’ve been thinking that it never goes away. There’s a hole at the heart of me, and it’s always there, no matter how small…..

Meanwhile in other news there is nothing else to report today save that I love you all lots like Jelly Tots.

WeeGee xoxoxo