That's how I feel. Snot, stuffy, cloggy, schloppy, flobby, blurrrgh, frrrlllyar. I don't like this tug of war with bugs. Wish I was stronger to zap them on day one. It's been THREE days of phleur.
Can't sleep because snot stuffs up my nostrils and stops me breathing through my nose, making me breathe through my mouth and drying out my tonsils, which then creak like an old door that needs oiling. Then my tonsils start to hurt. My head feels full of cotton wool, but not that nice stuff growing on plants in Oxford Botanical Gardens (amazing - didn't realise it grew ready made), more like the stuff from a cheap corner shop that scratches and feels more like greaseproof paper. It's like there is a band of thick fog in between each ear from top lip upwards to my eyebrows. Even my eyeballs feel wrong - kind of hot and too deep in my head. The rest of me is fine.
*sigh*
Guess I better go back to bed and try to inhale more Olbas Oil and Tiger Balm. Anyone with entertaining videos or links, please send them to me ASAP. I need entertaining.
the random ponderings of an ordinary person
Monday, 28 November 2011
Friday, 25 November 2011
SNOW!!!
It's snowing in Gol in Norway! Come on white Christmas, you can do it! Snow for Ninki!!! :-)
My elf
I shall be receiving a visitation from my mother today and find myself terribly excited. She's not visited our little home yet, not since I moved here over a year ago. I bought some new purple pillow cases just for her (though I dreamed last night that I had hundreds of old ones, which for some reason made me anxious) and I know I had better go out and buy some bread. She is Croatian. She needs bread.
I also notice that of late I keep writing 'my elf' instead of 'myself'. I like this. I think myself is possibly the same as my inner elf.
Excitement bubbles up and over.
I also notice that of late I keep writing 'my elf' instead of 'myself'. I like this. I think myself is possibly the same as my inner elf.
Excitement bubbles up and over.
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
The evil vegetable peeler
Not a good idea to carve a nail out along with the carrot peelings. After squeaking a bit (and being ignored by my lovely man) I went off to hunt down some nail clippers to chop off the offending bit of nail. The problem was it went too deep, so I squeaked some more in mild panic and squeamishness.
He finally came to see what the squeaking was about when I was busy gluing the nail back on with superglue. Kind man closed the lid of the glue for me. Anyway, following a nice buff with my nail buffer, my nail looks as good as new. :-)
Hurrah for lateral thinking! And boooo to the evil vegetable peeler!
He finally came to see what the squeaking was about when I was busy gluing the nail back on with superglue. Kind man closed the lid of the glue for me. Anyway, following a nice buff with my nail buffer, my nail looks as good as new. :-)
Hurrah for lateral thinking! And boooo to the evil vegetable peeler!
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
An old avocado
I found him this morning in the fridge where I'd put him to preserve his life. As I lifted him out of his cradle, my finger went through his skin and I saw that inside he had turned to pure green powder. I'd left him too long.
I felt a sense of guilt and sadness, as I always have done since I was small child, when food is left unused, mouldy before it can even be prepared. In my early years, perhaps aged seven, I used to count each mouthful of fishfinger and dedicate it to a family member before I ate it, so that it would have a greater purpose in its life than just as my lunch, though obviously that purpose of keeping me alive is great indeed.
I realise now, of course, that my sadness at a piece of fruit without purpose to its life is clearly a projection relating to the fears for my own life, the great need I have for my life to have purpose, and how sad I would feel if I died without having made a difference, and guilty too, for having wasted my talents.
The thing I have just realised as I write, however, is that we often don't know the impact we have on others. We don't always know the differences we have made to the world, however small or great, or however good or bad (though in the long run, who is to say what is good and what is bad - that's the choice we make when we respond to something). Sometimes the differences are right there before our eyes, but we don't think laterally, so we don't see. Despite my sadness at the avocado this morning, my heart is lifting as I see that he provided a space for mould to grow - he was a life-giver for mould.
I felt a sense of guilt and sadness, as I always have done since I was small child, when food is left unused, mouldy before it can even be prepared. In my early years, perhaps aged seven, I used to count each mouthful of fishfinger and dedicate it to a family member before I ate it, so that it would have a greater purpose in its life than just as my lunch, though obviously that purpose of keeping me alive is great indeed.
I realise now, of course, that my sadness at a piece of fruit without purpose to its life is clearly a projection relating to the fears for my own life, the great need I have for my life to have purpose, and how sad I would feel if I died without having made a difference, and guilty too, for having wasted my talents.
The thing I have just realised as I write, however, is that we often don't know the impact we have on others. We don't always know the differences we have made to the world, however small or great, or however good or bad (though in the long run, who is to say what is good and what is bad - that's the choice we make when we respond to something). Sometimes the differences are right there before our eyes, but we don't think laterally, so we don't see. Despite my sadness at the avocado this morning, my heart is lifting as I see that he provided a space for mould to grow - he was a life-giver for mould.
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
Six degrees
It's only 6°C, which means winter has finally arrived. Crisp, misty and clean-smelling - kind of like a sharp blue scent, with tiny swirls of white in it. How exciting! :-)
Monday, 14 November 2011
Delirium
I am deliriously excited today for the simple realisation that we have a dry cleaner's around the corner.
I also meditated, did yoga and hula hooped before breakfast; have done some editing work on my book; enquired about professional insurance and room bookings for counselling work; checked on my domain name; given some thought to a logo and requested the development of one (from an excellent graphic designer friend); and have done two loads of washing and the dishes. Lunch break, then six minor chores, before getting down to the task of more editing (accompanied by a nice cup of tea with soya milk in a cafe).
This girl is cooking on gas today!
I also meditated, did yoga and hula hooped before breakfast; have done some editing work on my book; enquired about professional insurance and room bookings for counselling work; checked on my domain name; given some thought to a logo and requested the development of one (from an excellent graphic designer friend); and have done two loads of washing and the dishes. Lunch break, then six minor chores, before getting down to the task of more editing (accompanied by a nice cup of tea with soya milk in a cafe).
This girl is cooking on gas today!
No complaining
Today's thought for the day, as sent to me by Inner Space in Covent Garden, is:
"Complaining just wrecks the mood and motivation for ourselves and others.
So, today, practice the 'No Complaining Rule'. Even if you're having a really bad day, put things into perspective. Look for the silver lining on the cloud. Live in a state of appreciation.
Appreciate at least one thing about each person you meet. Appreciate all that life has to offer, whether it's the chance to breathe in the fresh air or watch the sunset during your commute home. Appreciate all the little events you take for granted."
"Complaining just wrecks the mood and motivation for ourselves and others.
So, today, practice the 'No Complaining Rule'. Even if you're having a really bad day, put things into perspective. Look for the silver lining on the cloud. Live in a state of appreciation.
Appreciate at least one thing about each person you meet. Appreciate all that life has to offer, whether it's the chance to breathe in the fresh air or watch the sunset during your commute home. Appreciate all the little events you take for granted."
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Golden sneeze dust and fairy lights
We went cycling in Bracknell Forest yesterday and it was delightful.
It was as if a giant had sneezed gold dust randomly to his left and his right, as he'd been ambling along the tracks in the Forest. It was blindingly beautiful, the dark green, interspersed with the bright gold of the silver birch leaves. On the ground, the delicate threads of grass were decorated with the diamonds of tiny droplets of water and, here and there, our giant had sneezed again, on random clumps of grass, now turned golden, set among the green.
Nature is truly beautiful if you take the time to stop and look at it. To look for the contrasts in light and dark, the textures, the patterns and the tiny movements of woodland animals and ladybirds (of which there are a surprising number, in red, black and gold).
Today was a day plucked from Spring and the sun shone his warmth and his light so brightly all day. In our joy at such a heavenly day, we impulsively bought a Christmas tree - not a real one mind, just a teeny tiny white one complete with baubles, lights and tinsel. I shall post a picture once we've set it up, as obviously it will require great concentration and effort and is not something to be done in five minutes.
Life is good and I must remember this when I am dissolving into tears of worry at not having a 'proper' job. Everything good comes to those who wait and who keep their eyes wide open.
Happy Sunday evening to all of you. xxxx
It was as if a giant had sneezed gold dust randomly to his left and his right, as he'd been ambling along the tracks in the Forest. It was blindingly beautiful, the dark green, interspersed with the bright gold of the silver birch leaves. On the ground, the delicate threads of grass were decorated with the diamonds of tiny droplets of water and, here and there, our giant had sneezed again, on random clumps of grass, now turned golden, set among the green.
Nature is truly beautiful if you take the time to stop and look at it. To look for the contrasts in light and dark, the textures, the patterns and the tiny movements of woodland animals and ladybirds (of which there are a surprising number, in red, black and gold).
Today was a day plucked from Spring and the sun shone his warmth and his light so brightly all day. In our joy at such a heavenly day, we impulsively bought a Christmas tree - not a real one mind, just a teeny tiny white one complete with baubles, lights and tinsel. I shall post a picture once we've set it up, as obviously it will require great concentration and effort and is not something to be done in five minutes.
Life is good and I must remember this when I am dissolving into tears of worry at not having a 'proper' job. Everything good comes to those who wait and who keep their eyes wide open.
Happy Sunday evening to all of you. xxxx
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
Water
I've been sick, a minor irritation in the big scheme of world sickness, but nevertheless, I was sick. I couldn't eat food or even drink just a sip water and keep it down. Now, as I drain a full glass of clean, fresh water, I appreciate the flavour, the texture, the sensation of coolness that flows down my gullet. It is delicious and I am aware, again, of how wonderful this fluid is.
I've been sick, as you know, and not left my home in two days. A minor irritation in the big scheme of world imprisonment, but nevertheless, I've been stuck indoors. Today, when I went outside for the first time, it was dark and a gentle mist-like rain fell from above. The delicious sensation of the droplets landing on my skin and my eyelashes is indescribable in its beauty and in the delight that coursed through my veins, and again, I am aware of how lucky I am that I have a life in which water is so freely available to me.
I've been sick, as you know, and not left my home in two days. A minor irritation in the big scheme of world imprisonment, but nevertheless, I've been stuck indoors. Today, when I went outside for the first time, it was dark and a gentle mist-like rain fell from above. The delicious sensation of the droplets landing on my skin and my eyelashes is indescribable in its beauty and in the delight that coursed through my veins, and again, I am aware of how lucky I am that I have a life in which water is so freely available to me.