I have some bits of news. Some very exciting, some surprising.
I have to tell some other people before I can tell you lot, so early bext week I shall reveal all. :o)
"Hang on hang on hang on," I say, running down the stairs.
It is 2pm and I am in my pyjamas. Obviously. Even worse, my pyjamas are very large and cow print.
I can hear the postman giving up and walking down the driveway. I fumble in my bag for my keys and unlock the door.
"Hallo," I say, sticking my head out of the door. He doesn't hear me, so I run down the driveway.
He turns around, and honestly, I can see the fear on his face. There is a mad woman who is ALWAYS IN chasing me DRESSED AS A COW.
"Please - give - parcel," I say, panting. It is, after all, around 6 months since I last exercised.
He hands it to me wordlessly. He is still very frightened.
"What?" I snap, since MadFather and I have a bet on
who else I can scare away.
"Nothing," he says. "This is just a - corporate gift. And you don't look very..." his eyes trail over my cow Hyde pyjamas, the headband controlling my mane of curls, my glasses on permanently wonky because it's easier to watch TV that way, "corporate."
I am immediately distracted. "A corporate gift?!" I say, presuming they have got the wrong address but accepting the parcel nonetheless.
It is, it turns out, for me. It is from FutureLawFirm - a huge Easter Egg and a box of chocolates wishing me well.
I am suspiciously aware that it is perhaps a bribe which I accept in eating the chocolates by agreeing not to drop out and stop moaning, but still, lawyers aside, I am touched.
Labels: embarrassing, illness
I used to fill the room with smokey incense whenever I read the Tarot. Now I favour lighter scents; today is almond oil, glittering in the burner next to me.
This has become a cosy Sunday night ritual since I've become ill; a kind of calm recognition of the passing of another week that keeps time from bending and stretching until I realise it is months later.
A card per month, shifting forwards as the weeks roll on.
College starts next week, and I am supposed to return on April the 1st. What a limbo this is, the 7 days before that. Not wanting to crack open a book and use some precious energy, whilst knowing that even if I do go back I may not make it to the end of the term.
As I turn over April, I am faced with my answer. VIII of Pentacles, reversed. The card stands for
impatience. The loss of a job.
And when were they wrong? Of course when I read them before my exam week and they were all swords, pointing down to the carpet, I ignored their messages of
delays, triumphing over great odds but not until later, and even, I had smiled,
legal affairs cause worry.Of course I had ignored them entirely this time last year, when the Three of Swords came up: Heartache, the painful ending of a relationship. I remember pouring the oil down the sink and deciding I could choose my own path, my dark eyes defiant in the mirror.
I turn my attention back to the cards. May and June seem positive:
victory, success is foretold although you may have to work for it. Perhaps I will get well just one month too late.
I smile as I turn the card over for August. August was to be our travelling month, before everything got turned upside down. It is The Chariot: A Major Arcana; more rigid and certain to happen than the Minor Arcana cards.
Conquest over difficult odds. Travel, even though you least expect it. Unexpected good news. Of all the cards, one says travel. And of all the months, it was that month.
The last card - in a year's time - is the Wheel of Fortune.
An end to current problems, it reads.
I breathe a sigh of relief, blow out the candles, and write.
Labels: illness, paganism
I am afternoon-napping in MindReader's bed. He has managed to become more immobile than me by having surgery (trust me: you
don't want to know) so I have journeyed over to sleep and feel crap in his house for a few days.
My eyes open as he comes into the room, the cool air brushing away the cobwebs of sleep.
"How you doing?" he says.
"Crap," I say, my eyes filling with tears, because
this is how much fun I am.
He climbs onto the bed and worldlessly folds me into his arms. I burrow my nose into his neck.
"Will you read to me?" I say, an old childhood comfort.
"Of course," he says, opening my novel and beginning to read. I feel enveloped by both his arms and his words; it is as if he is in my head.
When he is finished I am almost asleep again.
"What will I do for a whole
year?" I say.
"Write that novel you're always thinking about," he says simply.
And suddenly everything is better.
Labels: illness, MindReader
"Hey!" I say to MadFather as he turns my film off.
"This is important," he says, fiddling about with the remote controls while I huff.
"That," he says, turning Sky Sports on, "is Mario Ancic."
"Okay," I say slowly, watching the two tennis players.
"He had glandular fever and was in bed for 6 months," he says.
I stare at the screen in awe. He effortlessly runs across the court. All 6 foot 5 of him.
There is a close up suddenly of his face. His dark eyes look back into mine.
"It's funny," I say slowly, "to think he's been to some of the darkest places I've been."
"And look where he is now," MadFather says, a hand on my shoulder.
"Mario Ancic," the commentator says. "Almost back to full fitness. He's also resumed studying his law degree."
I smile.
Labels: Dad, illness
I don't usually come here when I am so sad I can't think straight, a ball of iron in my stomach, but I find myself here with the last reserves of energy I can find.
I feel a fool to think I could go back to college and maybe the actual act of vocalising that has set me back weeks. Or maybe it was sitting in the hair dressers. I don't know, and I will go crazy if I continue to try and find out what made my body slam its brakes on with such force.
I am being horrible to those around me, because I don't know where this virus is to shout at it. I wish this didn't mean I shout at the ones I love but it doesn't seem to be something I can control.
People refer to getting over illnesses as "fighting" them. I wish it was. I feel it is attacking me and my body is rolling over in defeat. If I knew how to fight it I would. I want to do nothing more than defend my body, its newly painted nails and dyed hair and burning soul ready to rejoin life. Lying on the sofa for the 5th month in a row does not feel like fighting. It feels like giving up.
I want to disappear into the wings of life for a few months and return like the old Billygean that people knew. The one who could go jogging, collapsing with laughter at how unfit she was, or stay out all night, swatting away mosquitos and drinking wine and snogging MindReader. Whose only frustrations were not being able to pirouette perfectly and not being able to remember the precise provisions of the Civil Procedure Rules. This feels like decades ago, something I remember fondly. Imagine: remembering
life fondly. For feeling rain tangle in my hair, cut grass spike sharply in my back, even for overhearing things said about me in the dimness of a pub, for having ex-boyfriends stare at me accusingly across a room. That implies I do not have a life now which is closer to the truth than I ever imagined it would be. Because these things did not happen to me, you see.
A family friend on Sunday night said I needed some fresh air and why didn't I go on a walk. I gripped the duvet so hard I almost drew blood from my own palm. If you know me at all you know that I would not go down without a fight. I would not walk out of exam rooms. And I would try fresh air before I tried lying down for months on end.
I want to tell the virus it has won. To leave me alone. I am tired of charting my progress only to see it fall away like torn pieces of paper. I am tired of crying tears over this thing. What is making me depressed, though, is not the virus. I think it is the hope that I will one day get over it.
Labels: illness
"And the V&A was closed, so I had a whole 9 hours to kill in London,"
OldestFriend says.
"God," I say, sipping my take out Starbucks that she brought me. "What did you do?"
"Sat in Costa for an hour and rang my Mum," she says. "Who rambled about their farm."
"Mothers," I say, smiling. "They can be so irrelevant."
"Yep. She told me about how they had to tie elastic bands around all of the lambs' testicles."
"Oh," I say, taken aback. "What? Why?"
"Who knows?" OldestFriend shrugs. "To stop them mating?"
"WHAT?"
"With the girl lambs?"
"Oh!" I say. "I thought you said
lamps."
"The world hasn't changed THAT much while you've been in bed, Billygean."
Labels: blonde moments
"Now," Hairdresser says. "What do you think?"
"I love it," I say, and for the first time at this moment at the hairdresser's I am being completely honest. "I needed a change after lying in bed for months."
"I bet," she says. "You need to use this once a week," she says, pushing a pot into my hands. "It's formulated to keep your hair conditioned."
She pauses.
"It's especially for blondes," she says.
I smile.
I climb out of bed and stagger over to my computer. It's noon, and, although I no longer feel like death, every muscle aches either as the results of being able to sit up all day yesterday or because of more impending glandular fever attacks. We will see.
I was well enough to finally sit and have a think about my options last night. Since I walked out of my first exam I have been in a getting well phase, not thinking past each day. So last night whilst I sipped a cup of tea I sat at my desk and had a think.
I realised that I haven't been so worried about the prospect of a year out because I'm worried about a few more things that I was letting on. I'm worried about being a lawyer; about being negligent. I'm worried about the hours, for I don't think I will want to test my body on 3 hours' sleep for a long time coming. I'm worried about the culture: the work hard/play hard, the drinking, the pressure. Not being able to blog.
I'm also, however, worried about what would happen if I dropped out. I think the bottom would fall out of my world. I would have no aim until August when I resit February's exams, and then no aim until March 2009 when I would re-enter the course. I would have no money. I probably wouldn't be able to work full time in Birmingham because I don't think my body would be ready to get up at 7am 5 days a week for a long time to come. I recognised that, although a lot of my friends have been angels and come out to visit me, this might dry up. I would be convalescing for the best part of a year, and I wouldn't have a social life.
Therefore I decided if I am possibly well enough, I need to go back to college. It's only two days a week, and I'd be surrounded by friends. I will have to ignore my workaholic tendencies, sack off work when I'm feeling shitty, go in unprepared from time to time, and probably accept scraping the year with 51%, but I think it's the best alternative from a bad situation; a kind of damage limitation. I will have to sleep 12 hours a night and nap every lunchtime, and if I don't appear to be doing this, and I start going to London and Newcastle and Paris at the weekends again, you my readers will have to remind me before my glands do.
So that's my new aim.
So I finally stopped ignoring my emails and opened them. My tutors for my three electives (employment law, commercial law, clinical negligence) have emailed me the work from this week that I missed.
And, for all my new perspective, the following email did make me catch my breath a bit.
Dear Billygean,
Thank you for your e-mail.I attach the WS tasks.Task 1 relates to trade mark infringement and,in particular,s.10 of the TMA,1994.It invites you to consider whether you are dealing with identical marks and identical goods(s.10(1))or similar/identical marks and similar goods-please refer to s.10(2) and (3).Task 2 is based on the case of United Biscuits v Asda.I would urge you to read the case.It is useful on the issue of establishing goodwill.The tasks also require you to consider passing off and to consider remedies available to a claimant.I would also draw your attention to D.Jacobson&Co.Ltd. v Globe UK Ltd.That case demonstrates that,in certain circumstances,a court will take into account survey evidence in determining whether there has been confusion.I hope this is of some assistance.
I drummed my fingers on the table, a tide of insecurities washing over me, reminding me of the constant pressure.
And then I treated it how the old Billygean would. I rolled my eyes, muttered "lawyers," and wrote in my blog.
Labels: illness, law
"Can I help?" I say, opening Doctor Sister's door. I am cat sitting for her (lying on on a DIFFERENT couch for three days, with added cat cuddling), and already a bit lonely.
"Hi," the man says. "I'm here to collect DoctorSister'sHusband's rental car."
"Ok-aaay," I say. I have no idea what he is talking about.
"Great," I say. "I'm actually babysitting these cats - stop it Pippin, you're not allowed out that door!"
"Oh, I see," he says, looking amused. "Are you on holiday then?"
"Um, sort of convalescing," I say.
"Oh," he says, and I'm getting a bit scared he may ask me out. I am, after all, wearing food-stained pyjamas and have cat spit in my hair.
"Anyway the car's a bit scratched so I need you to sign something to say it was like that when we found it."
My lawyer-feelers come out. "I'm not signing that, that exposes DS'sHusband to liability." I say automatically.
"Er we can't take the car unless you sign."
"I'll sign so long as the signature only represents that someone scratched it and we don't know who."
"Okay," he says, scribbling something down. "God. Are you a lawyer?"
I smile, in my pyjamas. "Yes," I say, rueful. "No matter what happens."
Labels: law
"Bladder all empty now?" Uninteresting Ultrasound Man says to me.
"Yep," I say, wondering what else he expected when he asked me to go pee.
He lifts my top up, and I have to say, I will NEVER be comfortable with this, no matter how boring and expressionless he is.
"You've wiped all the gel off," he says, spreading more on me.
"Er, sorry," I say, but what did he expect? It was so sticky and IN MY BELLY BUTTON.
"Ooh are those my kidneys?" I say, hoping to spark some conversation instead of lying there in silence feeling pregnant.
"Yes."
I lapse into silence.
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with you," he says a moment later.
"I know."
I gather up my things and wince as my t shirt sticks to the gel on my back.
"There's nothing wrong with me," I say loudly to MindReader. Several people in the waiting room look up and stare.
"Shh!" he says, an arm encircling my waist.
"Is this yours?" he says, holding up an orange flavoured sweet.
"Er, yes," I say.
"It fell out of your trousers on your way in," he says, a faint smirk across his features.
"Ah yes," I say. "I was keeping it there the last time I wore these jeans."
Several people in the waiting room are staring.
"I love you," MindReader says, grabbing my hand. "You big nutjob."
Labels: embarrassing, illness, MindReader
"Hello you," MindReader says into the phone.
"Hello," I say, pulling the duvet further up my body.
"I just realised I packed your pants and brought them home with me," MindReader says laughing. "This is in no way intentional."
I laugh. "That's kind of creepy. Which ones?"
"The yellow silky ones," he says.
"Oh well," I say. "How was football?"
"It was called off actually but we still had a kick about. I'm knackered though so just had a really nice long shower."
"Ooh what did you use?" I say, because I am all about the bathing products.
"Um, Lavender," he says, with enough decency to sound embarrassed.
He pauses.
"I'll just put on your underwear now."
"My size 6 pants would not fit your ass," I say, smirking.
"How do you know, I might have worn them to football."
"Was that why the game was called off?"
Labels: MindReader
Hi.
I am still here, sorry.
Well, my birthday was quite bleak, in that me and my double chin made entirely of glands could not even lift our head off the sofa. So, I did do some crying on MindReader, who did lots of rubbing my back and making me laugh.
The days since that have been much better. I have even been able to sit up some days. I know this is RIDICULOUS and sometimes I can't quite believe what I now class as achievements but if I can achieve at something I bloody well will!
College starts in 7 days but luckily there's only a week and then two weeks off for Easter. I hope that in four weeks I'll be well enough to resume my life but you never can rely on this knowing my body.
MindReader is coming over tomorrow, for one night, and later in the week I have my rescheduled (*blushes*) ultrasound, and then next week if I am well enough to get in a car I am going to babysit my sister's cats and have some time alone to generally ruminate and hopefully use all her bath stuff.
Normal posting resumes now.
Labels: illness
