Another year, another list..
I love New Year's resolutions. Weirdly for me they seem to be the best motivator possible, as they're the only ones I can't negotiate my way out of. If I have a deadline for something I'll wait til the very last minute, but I can't let myself do that because they tend take time (like how do you lose *x*kg or save €*x* all within a month?); I'm also unable to make deals with anyone - or myself for that matter - because it's written down on paper and it'll stare and mock me for all eternity if I try.
No, a New Year's resolution is the closest thing to a contract possible in my day-to-day life. However this does mean that actually making them requires more than a whim or a passing consideration. This the life changing list, life or death, the fate of the earth and all its peoples.. dramatic, moi?
So here are the ones I've decided on so far - the ones I'm willing to put onto the internet at least:
1. Lose *a certain number of*kg
2. Get a haircut every 2 months minimum (I got a grand total of 1 haircut in 2013 and that was in September, so I figure even if this is a little excessive I'll err on the side of caution this year)
3. Do my exercises every day
4. Actually make an effort with my appearance (face scrubs, brushing my hair on a daily basis, that sort of nonsense)
5. Stick to the weight loss challenge with Will.
6. Take dance lessons.
7. Stop biting my nails.
Terribly vein and self-centered I know, but that's what I use these resolutions for. I'll remember to do hang out with my friends more because I'll feel lonely; I'll remember to do a bit of charity work or whatever because I receive e-mails from Volunteer Ireland.. I won't remember to brush my hair every day because I'll tie it back and avoid mirrors - and who really cares what the flip I look like anyways? Unfortunately though this means that when it comes to an event where I want to look nice (like the EngSoc Ball in February, for example) I have to deal with ratty, split-ended hair and dry, spotty skin - not to mention the layers of flab that have slowly built up since the last time I decided to exercise. I'm lazy and it comes back to bite me. Just as well it comes back to bite me often enough that I have reason to write lists like this. I want to make an effort so I can leave the house thinking "You know what? I actually look ok today, even though I'm not wearing makeup and my jeans could do with a wash. Now I can enjoy myself and think of more important things than what people are thinking when they look at me" instead of "Keep your head down, nobody is staring at you, nobody cares what you look like.. Yes you're a mess but it doesn't matter because you're only seeing your friends and why would they bother.."
Anyways I'm feeling particularly snoozy at the moment so that's it from me for now,
Night! x
Sunday 29 December 2013
Wednesday 25 December 2013
The Princess Bride
I can't read.
It's odd, I know, and quite embarrassing as far as secrets go. But it's true. I mean obviously I know the alphabet and I can make sense of words on a page or screen, but when it comes to making sense of a full page of script or more I just can't do it.
It's not that I never learned - I did - it's just that since I got sick about five years ago I simply don't have the concentration. I can read the odd paragraph here and there or maybe a short article, but I just can't seem to make my brain follow a storyline properly. Allow me to try to explain..
You know when you're really exhausted and about to go to bed, but there's a great book you're just dying to finish? It's sitting on your bedside table and no matter how difficult it is just to keep your eyes open, you just can't resist picking it up.. just for one chapter.. maybe two? It doesn't take long for you to realise that you've spent about five minutes on one page, and worse still reading the same paragraph over and over. You then realise that you still don't know what that paragraph says. At this point you usually give up (unless you're the particularly stubborn type) and resign yourself to stay in suspense for another night. Well with ME/CFS your concentration is at that level for all but maybe 40 minutes in the day - and that's with the help of narcolepsy drugs. Others may differ, but to be honest I don't want to spend those 40 minutes reading. It's not that I don't think reading is important, it's just that I wasn't much of a reader before I got sick and there are hundreds of other things I want to do with that time.
Before now I was only comfortable with about a handful of people knowing about this. Reading is such a basic thing, and everyone I know considers it to be a huge part of life. I'm well aware that there are more people in the world who can't read and write than who can, but in South Dublin it is most certainly the other way around (and I have the terrible misfortune of being surrounded by very intelligent, very well educated and very kind friends and family who keep trying to share and discuss things with me; usually involving articles or books or such things. Bastards).
The Princess Bride has been my favourite film since I was 12, when my Godfather, Frank Wynne, bought me the DVD along with Pretty in Pink and Crossroads (the first two because he couldn't believe I hadn't seen them, the last because I apparently begged him - lies and slander by the way). It was love at first viewing. This Christmas he gave me the book.
I've read 87 pages in 3 hours. This may not be impressive to most, but given the long ramble above about how I haven't read in properly in five years I'm fairly chuffed. Before now my favourite book was The Stars My Destination, but I'm afraid now it may have to be moved to second place. I just love it. To anyone who hasn't read it (whether you have seen/enjoyed the film or not) you really really need to. And for me, this is the book that allowed me to read again. I don't think I could be more happy about this. Knowing the storyline so well means that being unable to properly follow the text isn't a problem, but yet there's still so much more that it holds my interest and compels me to read on.
I've been wanting to start a blog for such a long time - I've even given it a stab a couple of times before - but I always come to the conclusion that if I can't even read, what business have I writing? Maybe it's because it's Christmas day, maybe it's because I'm in the middle of one of my favourite stories of all time, but I figure that today is the day to begin boring you all with opinions and ravings that you never asked to hear in the first place. If you have any complaints you can direct them to Frank, it's all his fault. Also you should check out is writings and translations, particularly his own book I Was Vermeer.
For now though, I shall pop off and continue my readings.
Merry Christmas everyone!
It's odd, I know, and quite embarrassing as far as secrets go. But it's true. I mean obviously I know the alphabet and I can make sense of words on a page or screen, but when it comes to making sense of a full page of script or more I just can't do it.
It's not that I never learned - I did - it's just that since I got sick about five years ago I simply don't have the concentration. I can read the odd paragraph here and there or maybe a short article, but I just can't seem to make my brain follow a storyline properly. Allow me to try to explain..
You know when you're really exhausted and about to go to bed, but there's a great book you're just dying to finish? It's sitting on your bedside table and no matter how difficult it is just to keep your eyes open, you just can't resist picking it up.. just for one chapter.. maybe two? It doesn't take long for you to realise that you've spent about five minutes on one page, and worse still reading the same paragraph over and over. You then realise that you still don't know what that paragraph says. At this point you usually give up (unless you're the particularly stubborn type) and resign yourself to stay in suspense for another night. Well with ME/CFS your concentration is at that level for all but maybe 40 minutes in the day - and that's with the help of narcolepsy drugs. Others may differ, but to be honest I don't want to spend those 40 minutes reading. It's not that I don't think reading is important, it's just that I wasn't much of a reader before I got sick and there are hundreds of other things I want to do with that time.
Before now I was only comfortable with about a handful of people knowing about this. Reading is such a basic thing, and everyone I know considers it to be a huge part of life. I'm well aware that there are more people in the world who can't read and write than who can, but in South Dublin it is most certainly the other way around (and I have the terrible misfortune of being surrounded by very intelligent, very well educated and very kind friends and family who keep trying to share and discuss things with me; usually involving articles or books or such things. Bastards).
The Princess Bride has been my favourite film since I was 12, when my Godfather, Frank Wynne, bought me the DVD along with Pretty in Pink and Crossroads (the first two because he couldn't believe I hadn't seen them, the last because I apparently begged him - lies and slander by the way). It was love at first viewing. This Christmas he gave me the book.
I've read 87 pages in 3 hours. This may not be impressive to most, but given the long ramble above about how I haven't read in properly in five years I'm fairly chuffed. Before now my favourite book was The Stars My Destination, but I'm afraid now it may have to be moved to second place. I just love it. To anyone who hasn't read it (whether you have seen/enjoyed the film or not) you really really need to. And for me, this is the book that allowed me to read again. I don't think I could be more happy about this. Knowing the storyline so well means that being unable to properly follow the text isn't a problem, but yet there's still so much more that it holds my interest and compels me to read on.
I've been wanting to start a blog for such a long time - I've even given it a stab a couple of times before - but I always come to the conclusion that if I can't even read, what business have I writing? Maybe it's because it's Christmas day, maybe it's because I'm in the middle of one of my favourite stories of all time, but I figure that today is the day to begin boring you all with opinions and ravings that you never asked to hear in the first place. If you have any complaints you can direct them to Frank, it's all his fault. Also you should check out is writings and translations, particularly his own book I Was Vermeer.
For now though, I shall pop off and continue my readings.
Merry Christmas everyone!
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