don't look down cos it's far to fall

This morning I received a letter, and one of the things on the list of 'Things to not quite get around to during my holiday' suddenly shot to the 'Emergency! Deal with now or lose loads of sleep!' section. I hate it when that happens.

Remortgage. Heavens; how grown-up. I prefer cake and bike rides. However as my mortgage provider wants me to furnish them with an extra hundred plus quid a month and charge me an eye-watering 7.39% on my loan, it seemed like a good time to read the thirty-page document on remortgaging which I've had kicking around the dining table for a couple of weeks; and to learn acronyms such as SVR (standard variable rate) and BoEBR (Bank of England base rate: are you asleep yet?).

So I've rung my lender and asked for a redemption statement (sadly little to do with my sinful life), and I've called a mellifluously-voiced broker named Damian who promised to ring me back at 4ish and tell me how I can keep my hard-earned for necklaces and meals out. He hasn't rung, of course. They never do. I'll hassle him tomorrow.

Then I rang the plasterer for good measure, and got up a ladder to steam scraps of wallpaper from my ceiling. It's all go here. Nothing would get done around here were it not for my talent with the diversionary tactic.

I reckon I've earned the right to go to the Ukulele shop though, eh? While I can still afford it, like.

pfft

Most of the people that I know go to their jobs and then come home again. Whether or not they enjoy their employment they do not in the main spend much of their spare time worrying that they ought to be practising artists. The teachers amongst them have holidays, which I imagine to be filled mainly with daytime TV, shopping and reading. I could be wrong about this, but I am reasonably sure that the majority of teachers do not spend their holidays stressing that they are wasting their time and ought to be working. Really. Do they?

Today I went to see an open access printmaking studio. I will confess that I was intimidated by this studio, as one is by new places and new people, and the thought of going back to something that one used to be reasonably good at. The journey home involved crawling through the Blackwall Tunnel for an hour or so, during which time I managed to convince myself that the whole thing was an entirely terrible idea.

It also occurred to me (before the traffic incident of horror) that If I'd just got on and done all the things I have thought about doing but disregarded because I decided they were entirely terrible ideas, then I'd be able to consider myself a practising artist.

Bother.

good intentions

1. I'll go for a lunchtime walk around the park. God knows I need the exercise and the fresh air is good for me too. Only I have stinking period pain and it was cold and I was on duty this morning so maybe tomorrow. Though it might snow; so maybe next week.

2. I'll eat fruit when I get in from work instead of toast. The toast thing must stop. Then after the fruit I will eat bread and marmite. Oops.

3. I will do at least one drawing a day. Or a week. Or something. Goddammit, I'll draw. Maybe I'll just check my email reply to some comments write some comments have a bath do the washing up cook some dinner write a daft post and there's something on TV I want to watch.

There's always tomorrow.

service interruption

I've had a couple of emails from people saying that they can't comment on my blog at the moment. As a major comments-whore whose day can be lifted or crushed according to how many comments I've had (oops); obviously I consider this a Major Nuisance, and am trying very hard to find out what's wrong.

Sadly this mainly involves me thinking 'Hmm, I wonder what's wrong', but I'm hopeful that the Haloscan forum will come through in the near future with something more useful than my idle head-cocking.

P.S. if everybody else could comment twice as much in order to prop up my fragile ego I'd be very grateful :D

you can count on me

'So....in 459 there are 9 units. That's the same as nine ones. How much is nine ones altogether?'

Long and considered silence.

'.....ten?'

Long intake of patient (ha: who am I kidding?) breath.

'No, Not ten. Look again...nine ones....'

Personalised learning. That's what we need. Please be aware that engaging me in conversation about this may result in screaming and the renting of hair. Yours, probably.

My staff meeting was cancelled tonight. I was on the playground playing 'it' with seven year olds in a rainless moment this afternoon. It almost killed me, but I still managed to leap into the air with happiness when I heard.

I come home and spend some quality time with my bed. A day's relentless cheerfulness has worn me out but half an hour heading down towards sleep helps. At the point where I would fall asleep were it late I wake up, then spend a groggy 30 minutes resurfacing.

I force myself to draw, because I have this strange idea that I might go back to the print studio and begin to work again, at last, and I want to. I really, really want to. I have had long, sensible, optimistic conversations with several people about how I will have to 'bibble about' (Jones) and 'produce shit' (P) for a while until I am back in the habit of being an artist. It all makes perfect sense. I completely agree. I might have even introduced the idea. The only problem is, the work is utterly horrible and it makes me want to cry and throw things. It's not unreasonable to expect that I should be brilliant all of the time, is it? Don't answer that.