28 January, 2010

Procrastination Station.

If you know me at all, you'll know that in the past I've been a terrible procrastinator. I come by it honestly, just ask my mother, but it's not exactly a desirable trait. When I was young, it was homework that got left to the last minute (sometimes literally, cut to Little Gabs scrawling the final sentences on a paper as it's getting passed forward for collection) and now it's housework or Grown-up Crap like getting my motorcycle collected for repairs.

Yup, you heard me, best friend who for the purposes of this blog we'll title BFG (that's Big Friendly Geek to those of you not in the know). I just called to get the bike collected. The bike that broke down about a month ago, and I've been talking about having it fixed at least three times a week ever since. That bike. The roadside assistance guy is on his way now, and I will finally be back on two wheels instead of riding the Big Red Things (buses, as the BFG refuses to call them in his utter abhorrence of all things public transport).

I love my motorcycle. Don't get me wrong, it's a piece of junk grey import and will eventually cost me more in repairs than it cost to buy it in the first place, but I love the freedom of getting places without relying on the tubes to run as scheduled. I love weaving in and out of traffic and seeing the frustrated faces of four-wheeled commuters as I make it to my final destination before they're even out of their neighbourhoods. I love the look on little girls' faces when they realise it's not a boy riding the sporty little red bike with the loud motor.

I think my New Year's resolution will be to procrastinate less, and to just get things done when they crop up instead of waiting until they're driving Himself crazy. Like putting away the clean laundry before the piles threaten to topple and bury us both, only to be found when the smell bothers the neighbours. I'm sure I'll get around to making those resolutions sooner or later. Right now, it's bike time.

27 January, 2010

Dreams and other nocturnal habits.

I've always been a dreamer, in the literal sense. From a very young age I've been able to remember my dreams, and once I started a dream one night and finished it the next. This sounds great, and I've had some seriously fabulous nocturnal journeys through time and space, but on the flip side, not all dreams are good ones. I've had some proper toe-curling nightmares, and some of the worst ones have been in my adult years.

The reason this is on my mind particularly right now is that I had a pretty gnarly one night before last, and during yesterday's aforementioned pestering phone call to my sister I told her about it. She told me that her boyfriend had been doing a little reading about dreams in general, and had researched (and actually put into practice) a tactic of dreaming deliberately. The research he found described the way to consciously go to sleep with a certain event or setting in mind, which basically ensures where your dreams will go. Apparently this also entails being able to discern while you're mid-dream that what you're seeing/feeling is not actually happening in real life, which sounds like a pretty desirable talent given my nightmare history.

The one I had the other night saw me in Texas, driving to my stepmother's house, but I got hungry on the way and stopped for fast food. For some reason, in the parking lot of the restaurant I got out of the pickup. As I went to get back in the driver's seat, I saw one of the dog creatures from Avatar (the ones that look melted, and yes, I can hear you sniggering already...) running toward me. I leapt back into the truck and in my head was screaming at myself to shut the door before it got too close, but in typical dream fashion my arms wouldn't move fast enough and it got in the door. I was choking it with my forearms when I woke up in a cold sweat at half six in the morning. Himself told me later that day that I woke him up around three, shouting in my sleep.

Speaking of Himself, he's never remembered a single dream. In his life, he's never woken up and known he'd dreamt anything. There have been a couple of instances in our four years together that he's had a nightmare, kicking the duvet and shouting in the middle of the night, sometimes even intelligible words that told me what he was dreaming about, and he's still completely bemused when I recount his actions to him the next morning. Even with the nightmares, I wouldn't trade our nocturnal consciousnesses for the world. When I was young, I used to dream three or four times a week that I could fly. I still remember with a clarity that usually only accompanies real life memories the feeling of running down the street where I grew up, beginning to swim in the air (using breast stroke, for some reason) and taking off. I would fly all over my home town, occasionally landing in trees or on roofs and taking off again... those were marvellous dreams, and I miss them.

I'm told that all dreams have meanings, and flying dreams are meant to indicate a sense of general freedom in your conscious life. Guess I'm too grown up to feel so free now... *lol* Speaking of grown up, I need to get something to feed Himself tonight, so enough waffling about dreams. Here's hoping all of you in Texas are having sweet ones right now. x

26 January, 2010

Clean feelings.

There's something extremely therapeutic about really cleaning something. I don't mean the tidying away, hiding things in boxes or drawers, making piles kind of cleaning. I mean moving everything and bleaching all the surfaces cleaning. I've just cleaned our bathroom, which so desperately needed it I should be ashamed to talk about it at all. Good thing I'm shameless.

Now when you open the door (because it has to be kept shut to keep the cats from playing in the drips from the taps and leaving a thin coat of fur on every surface) the lovely clean scent wafts out, and between that and the sparkling surfaces and shiny, streak-free mirror, I have a warm sense of accomplishment.

You might ask why I have time to clean our bathroom in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. My last job was as a nanny with a family in Notting Hill, and they were awful. AWFUL. Three kids, all unused to behaving like humans, and two parents, both unused to behaving like professional employers. I was promised a contract, and given that the female of the duo is an attorney it should have been a fairly straightforward affair. Turns out it wasn't, and despite asking for it/reminding them I needed it multiple times, the contract never materialised. Add this to constant comments from the kids about how they might move to France for six months or might up sticks back to Australia permanently, and you have not a happy Gabs.

I stuck it out for four months, found another position, and gave notice. That lasted four days. *grin* It was obviously uncomfortable for them to have me in the house, as having declared my wish to be leave their 'appy 'ome I was a potential embarrassment in their circle of friends (I might tell someone they're not perfect, and we can't have that now can we?!) and they didn't want to risk it. Not having that contract meant that I had no recourse but to accept their decision and move on without the rest of my notice being paid, and here I am now. Blogging at half three in the afternoon having just scoured our now sparkling bathroom. : ) At least it's not permanent, the new job starts in less than a month.

So, I'm going to take a break and get a cup of coffee, maybe call one of the sisters in Texas and pester them for a bit. I'm sure I'll have more to waffle on about sooner rather than later, so stay posted for the next thrilling installment of "How Gabs fills the time without legitimate work."


So, I've been thinking about starting a blog for a while. I finally decided to stop thinking and just see where it goes.

The blog title is a lyric from Dave Matthews Band, and it pretty much sums up how my life has been for the last ten years or so. One year of university, six months of US Army, four years as an illegal alien in Britain, two years on a spousal visa that looked at any moment as though it might not last, and now finally a fully established resident of the UK on an indefinite leave visa. I've been a nanny, a PA, a nanny again, and a general dogsbody for the majority of my adult life. I'm a die hard Pratchett reader, a music in almost any form addict, and having finally decided at the age of 30 what I want to be when I grow up, a horticulture student.

I'm not entirely sure what form this blog will take, except that I have so many interests that it will most likely end up being a repository for random recipes and pictures of our cats doing stupid things (their favourite activity) alongside ramblings about work and Himself (the husband who shall remain unnamed for his own protection). And away we go...