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Posts Tagged ‘about me’

Anxiety Dreams

The exam’s at ten.
I wake, alarmed, at eleven,
racing for my pen,
my pencil, my penguin…
wait.

I wake and it’s four a.m.

The exam’s at ten.
I soothe myself to sleep,
seeing clocks, and then -
it’s twelve, I’ve missed, I’ve failed!
wait.

The alarm finally goes.

I leap, stumble, trip and fall,
rushing to be ready.
Flustered, I’m in the hall,
almost an hour too soon.

- – -

Today’s prompt asks ‘what scares you?’. The only fear I routinely face is my terror of being late for appointments. Sometimes I wonder why I’m so worried, since I can’t remember a time when being late or missing something entirely brought down terrible consequences. On the other hand, that might be because I’m almost never late for anything.

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Lent

Being a cake universalist (willing to join in any religious event so long as eating cake is involved), I happily joined my house mates in making pancakes last Tuesday.

Then I thought maybe I’d also do Lent this year. I’m not a Christian, but I value self-discipline, and that’s what I understand to be (part of) the (modern) meaning of Lent. In previous years I’ve given up cheese or taken up doing Yoga every day.

This year, recognising that I’m so busy things are getting dropped or done badly, I’ve given up taking on new projects. I’ll still say yes to continuations of old projects, and let things roll along; but I’m not going to take on anything new. I’m going to say “no” if I even suspect that I won’t have enough time.

I suspect this resolution is a bit late, as I’ve already got the call-to-slow-down cold. Perhaps, though, it’ll give me a chance to enjoy the spaces I do have.

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This Week…

… I am handing in my final piece of work from last semester.

… I am getting ready to start on this semester’s real work.

… I have been busy to the point of getting slightly stressed.

… I briefly forgot which way I was going – while on a roundabout.

… I have brushed my teeth by the light of candles and a sonic screwdriver.

… I have been offered a PhD place (conditional on getting the MA first). N.B. This is a place, not funding.

… I have discovered that almost all my recent poems have dealt with God/de/ss at some level, which made it very difficult to write a poem about something else – I lean towards pantheism, after all.

… I still haven’t replaced my ink cartridge, as it seems to somehow managing to keep turning out grey sheets.

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Tally

My life is presently governed by numbers of words.

Essay 1: 5863 of 6000 (close enough)
Essay 2: 5009 of 6000 (needs 400 or so more)
Proposal 1: 3075 of 3000 (close enough)
Proposal 2: 1084 of no guideline known (needs… help!)
Powerpoint: 16 slides (seems like enough)
Abstract: 195 of 200 (close enough)

This post is 63 words long, by the way.

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It is Christmas Eve (does knowing that make me a Christian?) and there is snow on the ground in this corner of Hertfordshire despite last night’s thaw. We finished our Solstice cake last night (it’s like a Christmas cake or a birthday cake but you put as many candles as possible on it to encourage the sun to come back) – just in time for the Christmas cake we’ll have to eat tomorrow. I say that; it’s in a tin in the kitchen but hasn’t got icing or even marzipan just yet.

My bank have apparently mislaid my money – almost all the savings which I’m supposed to be living on for a year, gone, slipped into a computer or human error in the process of transferring them from one account to another. I keep ringing up and asking but I rarely get clear answers.

On the good side, my teeth remain in good health. So many of my friends seem to be in need of fillings, or keep having bits fall off, or get toothache for one reason or another, that this seems worth reporting. I’ve still only got half a wisdom tooth, but the dentist apparently doesn’t consider that a problem. Also luckily, the check-up was free thanks to my HC2 (‘you are officially poor for NHS purposes’) certificate.

My shopping is done (most of it was donations to charities anyway), and I have baked shortbread. The presents I’ll give tomorrow are wrapped.

The local Quaker Meeting has loaned my family a ‘monitor your electricity use’ gadget which gives minute-by-minute live data on the household’s power use. My brother is experimenting with it so that he can provide technical support to other members of the meeting who might want to use it. There is a certain fascination in seeing the watts roll past and trying to work out what causes each change. Some you know, of course: the tumble dryer is obvious. The pump on the boiler, on the other hand, isn’t. I’m trying to fight the tendency to see each upward rise as automatically negative – the alternatives might not use electricity, but could be as bad or worse for the environment as a whole.

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I’ve seen a number of people do this as a meme on livejournal, but it seemed to me to be more about real life than my fannish life, so I’m putting it here instead.

2000: I took two out of three of my Year 9 SATS (the third one was the day of my grandfather’s funeral), and began 10 GCSEs. At October half term, my brother and I both had flu; he recovered fully, and I did not. After a raft of tests, I was diagnosed – quite speedily, as it goes for the condition – with Post Viral Fatigue Syndrome, also known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and M.E.. I remember very little of the remainder of 2000.

2001: For most of the year, I was ill. I was never bed-bound – my parents were determined not to let me be – but at times I was house-bound to all intents and purposes. I had home tuition, with varying degrees of success, in some of the things I was meant to be studying for GCSE. We managed to carry on with English and Maths, but dropped German after a brief attempt, and delayed science. It must have been about this time that I first went to Woodbrooke Quaker Study Centre.

2002: I took three GCSEs that summer – double English (A*A*) and Maths (A). We bought a desktop computer with an internet connection so that I could study with an online tutoring system from another two GCSEs. Essentially unlimited internet access also gave me a chance to enter community and what I later learnt to call fandom. I also tried to begin an A-level in English Literature. I was ill again that winter and didn’t complete it, but the seed was sown that I could attend school for just a few classes, supported by kind members of the local Quaker Meeting who were able to save me bus trips or taxi rides by offering lifts to and fro.

2003: I took two more GCSEs – double Science (AA). In the autumn (I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t have arranged this by academic years, since they give my life shape), I began two A-levels, English Language and Literature, and Religious Studies. I literally chose the latter because it was downstairs; I think I would have preferred history, since I still harboured an ambition to be an archaeologist, but they taught it in upstairs classrooms. Science and maths were right out because they were on the other side of the school site. I studied hard at school, made a very few friends in my new year (having effectively dropped back), and began a distance learning A-level in Classical Civilisations. Around this time, my local Meeting privately published a volume of poetry, in which they included some of my work.

2004: I took two AS levels, beginning to settle into the January and June assessment which rules student life these days. My results were acceptable but not what I had hoped – an A and a B. I resolved to work harder. I was told that I needed three A-levels to go to Oxford. I resolved to finish the full A-level in Classical Civilisations rather than taking it as an AS as originally planned. I investigated the financial effects of going to university, realising for example that I could take a gap year and still be under the old rules (i.e. cheaper) if I applied quickly. I missed the Oxbridge entry deadline due to a PVFS relapse, but applied to Durham, Bristol, Nottingham, Cardiff, Bangor, and Lampeter. Only Durham rejected me.

2005: I took three A-levels, only a year behind. The scores were good (AAB; the B is the distance learning one) and accepted Nottingham’s offer. (I’d have loved to go to Lampeter, but without a car, the place in a trifle inaccessible, and everyone was still concerned that I might not be strong enough to study full-time.) I tried to decide what to do with my gap year. In the first instance, I spent several months on JobSeeker’s Allowance, and then a month in the run-up to Christmas working on the tills in an M&S food store. I decided to live on my savings for a while. Oh, and I changed my name – by use rather than deed poll at this stage. Confusion abounded!

2006: I spent the first part of the year doing voluntary work – I spent a week at a Buddhist monastery near York, and seven weeks with an ecumenical Christian community in Scotland, for example. I visited all of England’s 42 Anglican cathedrals. (The Church of England technically has 43 – the extra one is Peel.) I attended a course on Quakerism and Buddhism with Jim Pym and Andrew Burns which has lent both vocabulary and form to my spiritual life ever since (for example: stilling frog, metta meditation). I gained a lot of independence and a lot of experience with public transport. I also got a warrant to work with Brownie Guides and a Senior Section Camp Permit. In the autumn (that’s when everything starts!), I began a degree in Philosophy and Theology at the University of Nottingham. I enjoyed studying; I wrote ecstatic poetry about being on campus and in the library; I hated almost everyone else in my hall with a passion. (Drunken 18-year-olds do not mix well with people who need 8 hours’ sleep a night.) I went to sci-fi soc and made all the friends I needed: short-lived crush, long-term hug-buddy, and three future house-mates. My first week, I decided to continue my gap year spirit of exploration, and went with the Christian Union to an evangelical church. I spent the sermon wondering whether they could be any more wrong, and the lunch trying to work out how to come out as a non-believer. The next week, I went to the local, tiny, Quaker Meeting. “Have fun!” said the CU leader when he heard I was trying a different church; against my expectations, I did.

(I gave ministry, and was gently rebuking afterwards for not adding a footnote about the various possible interpretations of the word ‘God’. My kind of people.)

2007: At the end of my first year, a senior member of the Theology and Religious Studies department asked me where I thought I’d do my postgraduate work. He is to be commended on his foresight, although I think my marks were a clue. In the summer, I spent two weeks volunteering for a Quaker cafe during the Festivals – I did serious plays and religious talks the first week, heard Rabbi Lionel Blue as a turning point, and the second week went to stand-up and other comedy shows with a couple of friends from Nottingham. Back at university, I studied hard, coped with long-term hug-buddy moving to Leeds, joined the Nottingham Quaker Quest organisation team, had a brief fling with someone I met on a dating website, and got tendonitis in my right arm from typing too much. Oh, and they made me Chair of the TRS Staff-Student Feedback Committee.

2008: I went to the physiotherapist and went on the Pill; much complex medical nonsense resulted. I still managed to do pretty well in my exams, though. I’m sure I did something this summer, but other than getting involved with City of Sanctuary, I can’t remember what. By the time term started again, I was beginning to be frustrated with the lack of attention paid to a theme which was becoming more and more important to me: gender. I went to a Women’s Network meeting and managed to made contact with a PhD student. We founded a Feminist Reading Group which ran for the rest of the year and nurtured me a lot. Nottinghamshire and Derby Area Meeting welcomed me into membership.

2009: I finished my first degree – two dissertations, 100% attendance at seminars and lectures, three years of service to the Staff-Student Committee, and a First. I was quite pleased, though not so happy when they made me take my hat off to actually walk across the stage and graduate. I paid for a silly hat! I wear a hat all the time! Why do I have to have a ‘religious reason’ to wear it? What counts as a religious reason anyway? Answers to these questions were not forthcoming. They did at least get my name right. I spent a week volunteering with Oxford MENCAP, and as usual quite a lot of time at Brownie Pack Holiday and Guide Camp. I also attended Yearly Meeting Gathering at York, quite an amazing experience in many ways. Once again, the new has begun in the autumn: I started an MA in Gender, Sexuality, and Queer Theory with the University of Leeds; I changed my name by deed poll; I got a provisional driving license and starting learning to drive; I began to try and decide in earnest what my PhD should be about. (Suggestions which involve Wilde as well as feminism and Quakerism and theology welcomed!)

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For some weeks now, maybe months, I have been building up draft posts behind the scenes here. Why do I never finish and post them, I wondered. Then I was writing a plan for my next major piece of writing (more major than a research proposal, longer than an essay… the much-anticipated dissertation). I realised that I’d need to set deadlines for each chapter, each section of writing.

If I don’t have deadlines for the blog, I’ll never post. I’d like to post, therefore I need some deadlines. I’m going to aim to post every week for the next year. This, being the week of my birthday, is a good start; this is Sunday, First Day by Quaker reckoning. I might post more often than once a week, but if I don’t post in that long, I’ll have to… think of some blog-related forfeit to undertake. What is the online equivalent of eating one’s hat?

I will post once this week (i.e. before next Sunday), not counting this post, and every week thereafter for at least a year.

Wish me luck and let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to write about.

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When I was, I suppose, about eight, I very briefly had a bike. It was kept in my grandparent’s garage (there was no room for it at home, and not really anywhere to ride it), and I tried to ride it a maximum of twice, always with my grandparents hovering nearby. I never spent very long trying, because when a small girl falls off and cries her grandmother is wont to take her back indoors to play with craft materials.

To this day, I cannot ride a bicycle (I haven’t found a way to try again since I was eight). This fact is used to support other claims about me: my balance is not very good, my coordination is poor, and so forth.

In the last week, I have made two, very brief, attempts at joining in when other people are playing Rock Band. Rock Band does not belong to me, and I am unfamiliar with most of the mechanisms involved in making the game work (for example, I cannot off hand name the console on which it is played, though I am aware that there are two and Guitar Hero is for The Other One). In the course of those attempts, I have tried singing four songs (very variable; it depends a lot on how well I know the song, in turn affected by the failure of Rock Band Marketplace to reflect my actual musical tastes), and playing guitar on one. My fingers seemed like jelly; I could not hit the notes at the right time; obviously, I failed, and failed hard.

Something similar happens when I try and play most other video games. I usually abandon all attempts quickly, as looking stupid in front of people isn’t my favourite activity. (The occasional stand-up comic aside, does anyone enjoy it?)

My failures in this area are frequently taken to be evidence that I have a poor coordination, that my spacial awareness is bad, that my reactions are slow, etc.

Added to my history of failure on the bicycle, this is usually taken to conclude that I will find it difficult, or impossible, to learn to drive, something I have recently decided to attempt. (Any Green readers who are crying because this will prevent me from reducing my carbon emissions 10% in 2010, you are quite right, but consider these points: a) experience of previous attempts to get a job and consideration of the kinds of jobs I might want, and might get, have lead me to conclude that a driving license is a worthwhile investment; and b) that I live in Leeds and am repeatedly invited to visit Cornwall. By refusing to go, thereby avoiding the flights from Leeds/Bradford to Newquay and back, I have probably cut my potential carbon emissions by at least 10% – it all depends how you calculate it. Back to my main point.)

However, I suspect some selection bias in the evidence presented here. OK, so I can’t ride a bike. I can walk and swim perfectly well, though, and when I had the chance, I could ride a horse without physical difficulty (the problems came when teachers pushed me too far, too fast, with anger but without rewards). Similarly, I can’t pick up a computer game and play well at first attempt; on the other hand, I can sew, plait, make lace, and have in the last year learnt to knit. (If you’re sensing a gendering of activities, in the latter list in particular, I do not think you are wrong.) These things demand a high level of coordination and muscle-memory, and don’t present me any problems.

Therefore, I’m turning my attention to my learning style and the situations of my learning, and trying to draw out some things to remember when choosing how, where, and with whom to learn to drive.

Not conductive to learning:
- not being able to see when I’m doing (source: Rock Band; occasional people trying to teach me to type ‘correctly’)
- being rushed into situations in which I am not confident (source: learning to swim; learning horse riding)
- being told that a method which suits me and achieves the desired effect is ‘wrong’ for arcane reasons (source: my methods of typing and making lace patterns)
- not having any motive to learn
- public humiliation following a mistake

Conducive to learning:
- being in control of the pace of my learning
- being extremely clear about the aims and expected outcomes of an exercise
- having a motive to learn
- being supported in trying again rather than punished for failure (where ‘punishment’ includes the disappointment of others and claims that it would be easy if I’d just try)

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I don’t usually publish poetry in this blog – or, indeed, online, or anywhere – but this response to the second part of this week’s Read Write Prompt seemed relevant to my themes here, dealing as it does with the effects (on this middle-class white woman) of an incident of street harassment.

* * *

Being Heckled

Curled up, shadows drawn in
and the window shut:
he’s back, in full sun,
yelling, “What a skirt!”
His mate whistles agreement.

I climb a tree.

From above me, ravens
fairy-dark and raging
drive into his mind.

Thought and Memory depart.

* * *

Notes:

The prompt was “Select a memory from “what you want to forget,” [a previous part of the exercise] and write in this scenario: You are in the future, in bed, dreaming. The forgotten memory appears, haunting you, perhaps. A magical animal also crosses your path. In your narrative, incorporate images invoked by photo #1, the light through trees.”

You might also like to look up Huginn and Muninn.

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Some snapshot images I want to remember.

-

Five white women on sofas reading bell hooks, sipping Fair Trade tea, and trying to get to grips with the message.

-

A group hear directly from sanctuary-seekers, including a woman from Zimbabwe who has started an African Women’s Empowerment Forum. The microphone is far from the table so I offer to click her powerpoint slides.

-

Nothing actually comes in totally opposing pairs: left and right have forward and back, peace and war have careful friendship and non-physical conflict, male and female have intersexed. The ability of some to move from one end of a spectrum to another does not automatically make the spectrum into a binary.

-

My shoes, my watch, my deodorant: things which belong to feminine me, and yet were sold as “men’s”.

-

Rejecting treatment is hard to do, when you’ve been told all your life that hospitals cure things. Sometimes, though, the treatment is worse than the disease, and it’s better to stop stressing and to take the medical professionals out of what should be your private life. Having turned down two courses of possible but not certain long-term treatment for a condition which only bothers me occasionally and has an acceptable cure-for-symptom which doesn’t involve anything invasive or causing myself pain every day, I feel like some of my agency has been restored.

-

A conversation with a friend about being annoyed with one’s body when it goes wrong reminds me that I let go of that a long time ago, when I have PVFS if not before. I don’t have energy for it.

-

Standing in the university corridor – polished wood-block floor, cream painted walls covered in boards covered in pinned-up papers, the slight hum of desktops behind closed office doors – and reading one of those papers. At the very top of the list (my name is early in the alphabet) the pass-list announces that I have a First Class degree.

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