New Hat News and University Blues

I have a new hat.  It is excellent and I think I look rather good.  Of course this is probably not true but at the moment I don’t care.  I may even post a pick of my new hatness.  The new hat inspired the thought that I am now a ‘proper’ witch since, according to Pratchett, every witch needs a hat even if it’s invisible or, like my hat, not even slightly pointy.

On the other hand I am not feeling very witchy at the moment as I am feeling very indisive.  My trip to the Centre for Life Long Learing at the University yesterday cheered me up but left me with a dilema.  I could do a degree peicmeal by picking up degree credits from courses done through the centre.  I could also do Access courses that would guarantee acceptance into the MA course of my choice.

I have no idea which I prefer.  I’m not sure which degree I’d like to do and I have to get the forms in by the 20th of August.

Yet another pointless bloody crisis.

You know what the trouble with me is…

I’ve been thinking hard about why the rejection from the University hurt so much and what that means for me and it occurs to me that I am particularly sensitive to rejection.

Now anyone who knows me knows that I get rejected a lot.  You’d think that I’d be used to it by now and that I wouldn’t care but I clearly do.  In fact the more I think about it the more sure I am that I care a lot.  I’ve been assuming that my problem is a fear of failure combined with chronic laziness but I now realize that I’m not lazy at all and I’m scared of something else.

Look at my record at NaNoWriMo.  If I was scared of failure then why did I ever try?  Why did I keep going when it got tough?  If I’m lazy then why pick something that’s such hard work?  Why do I relish the work?  Why did I seek out the extra challenge of becoming Municipal Liaison?  NaNoWriMo is like an exam.  You either pass or fail.  You either hit 50,000 words in time or you don’t and it’s entirely up to you.  Success or failure is not subjective, you can’t be judged by other people and they can’t take it away from you.

I like exams and tests and puzzles.  Maybe I like them because they can’t reject me.  Either I’m right or I’m wrong.  Either pass or fail.  I succeed or fail because of my ability.  It doesn’t matter what I look like or how I dress or who I know or my social ineptitude or my past failures or successes.

But writing isn’t a test.  The quality of writing is almost entirely subjective.  I love the work of William Gibson but my husband, who has very similar tastes, can’t stand him and that’s the problem.  Even the best writers get rejected.  They get rejected a lot before they find the right agent/publisher.  And you don’t find an agent/publisher unless you put your work out there ready for rejection.

I think this is the real reason I’ve never finished any of my novels to my own satisfaction.  It they were finished I’d have to send them off for someone to reject.  And reject.  And then reject some more.  And because rejection is so common I wouldn’t even be able to throw the towel in and say “That’s it.  I’m a terrible writer.”

So how do I deal with this fear?  How can I truly be a writer when I can’t bare to send my work out to face rejection?

Yet another kick in the teeth

What I really want right now is not to be thinking about food.

I can’t eat.  I’ve eaten enough today and every time I try to eat more I fill up almost immediately and then feel sick.  And I want food now because am so very disappointed and tired and not even about anything that’s important.

I made an old mistake today.  I allowed my Aunt and my Mother to persuade me to apply for a degree course at the University.  The terse and barely polite refusal was waiting for me in my e-mail in-box by the time I got home.  And I really shouldn’t care.

I didn’t want to apply.  I didn’t think I’d get accepted.  And I was sure that something would cock it up anyway.  So it shouldn’t really matter.

But it does matter and I do care.  I suppose it’s partly because of the speed.  It’s like they waited till I was out of sight, had a quick giggle at my 4 measly Highers from 20 years ago, then sent off an e-mail saying thanks but no thanks and good luck with your doubtless pointless and empty future.

And it’s the depth of the rejection.  They didn’t just reject me as I am now.  That doesn’t matter – I’m old enough to be used to that rejection.  They also rejected the me I was 20 years ago.  Back when it still looked like I had promise and possibilities and I might actually have a life.  That’s the rejection that hurts.  That and because I know it’s not just 20 years ago and right now but it’s lurking in the future waiting for my children.

It’s like I have some horrible social disease that I passed on to my children when they were blameless infants in the womb.  This terrible tiring awkwardness and impossibility that I’ve been wading through my whole life is out there waiting to pounce on my two beautiful, wonderful children.  It that really is no-one’s fault but my own.

New Article

Not much to tell just a picture I took and some words about it. Don’t feel you have to follow this link but if you haven’t already you should check out some of my other articles because some of them are actually quite good.

Aberdeen Interlude

Word Festival

Back home after spending time at the Word Festival at Aberdeen University.

It’s a great little festival and the second largest book festival in Scotland. But it seems to be largely unknown in most of the city.

There’s a fascinating selection of talks and events but for me the best thing is the Word Cafe.

More later. Tired now.

I’m home

I got back home on Saturday.  Still pretty sore but I’m stepping down the dose of the painkillers.  I am drinking a lot of cup-a-soup and boveril but I’m not hungry.  At all.  So I suppose that’s working.

Anyway, typing is doing my back in so that’s enough for that now.

Brief hospital update.

Purely for your information.

I will be going into hospiatal on Monday morning.  I will be in Ward 33 of ARI.  I will be having gastric bypass surgery on Tuseday morning.  I will be in hospital for 5 to 7 days, probably.  I will be bored to tears for most of it.

Some actual news for once.

Well I have my date for surgery.  I go into hospital on the 27th (that’s Monday).  If all goes well I’ll be going into surgery on Tuseday morning.

I should be rejoicing but actually there’s a part of me that’s convinced that I’m going to die.  Not that this means anything.  I’m like this every time I have to fly and both times I was pregnant.

I suppose what I’m really scared of is the certainty of change.  Which sounds odd since the only certainty in life is change.  But there are some changes that are more than superficial.  To some extent I did die in labour.  The me that existed before I had children no longer exists.  I am a new version of myself.  After the surgery I will again be a different person.  I’m not sure that anyone else will notice the difference but I will.

Part of me fears this change so much that I’ve been looking for excuses not to go ahead with the surgery.  And that is madness.  There isn’t really any other choice.  Well there is but they’re no sort of choices at all.  If I want to get my children back or my fibromyalgia to get better or do anything truly useful with my life then I need to have the surgery.  And if I die on the table then some might say my children will have a lucky escape.  I might even agree with them.

But of course the chances of me actually dying are very low.  The team opperating are all specialists and in the last year I’ve been loosing weight and I’ve been sticking to the pre-op diet.  Also I have no heart problems and strong lungs.  Now why doesn’t any of that sound convincing to me.

The suckage continues…

…but gets no worse.

My daughter is back from a holiday with her other grandparents and my son has chickenpox. Niether of them are home with me yet but we now know that they are definitely not going into foster care because the City Council can’t afford it.

That sort of thing does not give me confidence in our fearless leaders. This city is deeply screwed and there seems to be disconnect between the people who make the decisions and the people who have to carry them out. Decisions are made which cost money with no thought about where the money is going to come from and the entire system seems to rely on the good will of the people at the bottom of the heap.

So the children of the real nasties get no help because there’s no one willing to co-operate and the social workers pick on the people who they know will co-operate so they can show that they’re making progress with someone.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Well today I had to go see my daughter off at the airport.  She’s off to stay with her other Granparents for a week and a half.  I miss her more already even though she was staying with my Mum.

On a more positive note I may have discovered a talent for 7 card stud.  But it’s too early to tell.

Not much more to say at the moment.  I’m feeling rather flat.