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and feathered crayons everywhere

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This week:
Job hunt

In two months:
Get a job that's 16+ hours a week
Get off benefits

In three months:
Pay my fair share of the rent

In four months:
Take driving lessons

In eight months:
Finish the first draft of my novel

In one year:
Lose one stone in weight

In one year and six months:
Pass my driving test

In two years:
Pay off my RBS overdraft
Start saving money

In three years:
Get a car

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Good news everyone!  I took my kitty to the vet this morning (I think that place is becoming like a second home) and was actually really pleased with how the appointment went.  I went in armed with facts, and all the research I had done in to hyperthyoidism pointed to three possible managements:
  •  the pill Femimazole
  •  a sugical thyroidectomy
  • radioactive iodine therapy

I got a really great vet this time who listened to me and my countless questions.  He also mentioned a fourth option: A new low-iodine diet called the 'y/d diet' pioneered in America but never before used in our vet.  (Further info here after a quick google if you're interested: http://www.2ndchance.info/lowIodine.htm )  He said she would likely react to Femimazole as she did to Vidalta so that's out.  Now, a surgical throidectomy is between £100-£200 and has it's fair share of risks, along with the possibility of further complications down the road.  Radioactive Iodine Therapy was, he said, basically a cure.  They only downside being there's a long quarentine period where the cat has to be kept in the practise for two-five weeks until the radiation has dissapated (it would be dangerous for her to come in to contact with others, but the radiation doesn't harm her at all, just the infected tissue it's injected in to).  The R.I.T. is an eye watering £1000-£1500.  I'm not in a position to pay for even the surgery right now, and I have to admit my parents have always covered the costs for my cats medical bills and medication.  They bought me her when I was ten, and wether she should really be my financial responsibility or not by now, I'm not in a position to pay for anything other than catfood and the occasional flea drops for her.

I tried ringing my dad but got no answer from the house phone, and his mobile went to voicemail after a few rings.  I want the R.I.T but feel...yeeuchy about asking for it, even with promises of paying back half and this being this years birthday + Christmas presents.  I don't like asking for money, even like spotting a £20 makes me feel uncomfortable.  This is big, because it's for Lucy, not me.  I'd be thrilled with the surgery, but it also scares me so much.  I love that the R.I.T is a practically risk-free cure, but of course its price reflects that.  I wish my dad had picked up so I didn't have to be antsy until I can ask them.  It's such a huge amount of money.  Eugh.  I feel like they won't want to spend it on the cat anyway, even if they have it to spare.   Argh.  I'm going to stop thinking about it until I can ask and be put out my misery.  Mostly I'm just absoloutely thrilled that I had a positive vet visit and some answers and progress about action we can take for Lucy's condition.  My little lady's going in for blood work on Monday and the vet wants the answer by then, so he can know what road we're planning to take.  I'm just hopeful and happy in general.  This is good, and it could potentially be awesome.
Current Mood:
hopeful
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Phew!  I've just finished pouring over some cat health sites to try and come to a decision about what to do for my poor kitty.  She's been on medication for hyperthyroidism for months; pills called vidalta.  But last week she was throwing up after every pill.  I took her to the vet but my normal, lovely, lady vet had been replaced by the bone-headed horse vet who was rough with her, unhelpful and didn't listen to what I was saying.  He said she might have a hairball and tried to sell me a £40 laxitive.  I've been looking for other vets in the area but it seems like this is the only one I wouldn't have to get a bus to.  So I guess I'll keep going, although I've now found her medication (the vidalta and something else she's taking for a bad leg - metacam) online for much cheaper.

I'm so confused because some I found a cat forum criticising vidalta, but then other sites talk about how serious untreated hyperthyroidism is, and how it can affect her other organs which is really scary.  I had asked the vet what to do when I saw him but he was just so useless.  I was almost in tears when I got back home, telling my sister about it.  I think tomorrow I'm going to try and reintroduce a vidalta pill in these 'lick-e-lick' paté treats she loves, and see if she throws up.  If she does, I'll just have to swallow my pride and arrange another vet appointment and stick to my guns this time.  I'm thinking of asking my sister to come along for moral support to help back me up.  I've also read there's an alternative medication for HT called Felimazole.  I didn't know an alternative existed, even though i asked my vet if there was one a couple of months ago because i was having such trouble getting her to take the vidalta twice a day.  This is a good site that lists some basic info about both: http://www.chestnutvets.co.uk/pdfs/Hyperthyroidism-advice-sheet.pdf



Hopefully she'll eat and keep down the vidalta tomorrow, and last week was a fluke.  I might as well try readministering it, as I don't know what else to do.  My family are telling me to cut out the vidalta as it's not agreeing with her, but doing this research has scared me - imagine if she got sicker because I wasn't giving her prescribed medicine.  If I really trusted that my vet knew what they were doing, this wouldn't be so distressing. 

Anyway, I have a little good news.  I wrote for an hour today.  I set up my PC and began a script.  It's fun and difficult and rewarding.  I want to do more.  I had a brilliant couple of days, as my parents visited from Edinburgh for the weekend.  Last night we had dinner together with gran (chicken, bacon and mozzerella with a BBQ sauce, yum!) then the three of us went to see Avengers:Assemble which was breath-taking.  I wish I could write to Joss Whedon and tell him how much he's inspired me, but I can only find a fan mail address online of the sort you send photos with a SAE too, and get it back, signed, three months later.  He doesn't even have a twitter!  Although I am famously bad at writing letters to people I admire, and meeting them.  I get all gushy and insipid.  It's probably best I admire his work from afar.
Current Mood:
pensive
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My cat has a bad habit of sitting on my lap whenever I'm anywhere close to a sitting position, and I feel so bad moving her that it often results in me staying sitting and letting her rest a tiny adorable head while I should be doing other things.  Like filling out important forms.  Like today.  As a result I was rushing at the last minute trying to leave the house (after watching the new Americas Next Top Model episode ofc - priorities, I got 'em.)  It was a dry-shampoo-five-minute-shower kind of a day.   Since I've been away so long, here's a reminder of what I look like, on a day where I was looking slightly better groomed than I am today.



In the end I made it to the form place, handed in my forms, went to the bank, got a phonecall from the lady at the form place asking me come back for another form, got that form, got the bus home, got a text from my sister saying 'I'm coming in town to meet you, my phone's dying!', sent her one back saying 'I'm on my way home, this is my last 10p of credit!'  Doi!  Serendipitously she didn't have the right change for the bus and had to go home to grab some, which meant she was late enough that I bumped in to her on the way back home.

After that the day took an upswing, and we had a fun time window shopping and then bought some filled rolls to take to Gran's house.  I also had a bag of violet creams I'd bought from work to give Gran.  She told me 'No more!  And you shouldn't be eating them either.'  She did say she was worried about my health, rather than my size, which made me a little more receptive to what she was saying.  We were treated to some brilliant stories about psychics and ghosts and tattie-picking (potatoes) in the good ol' days.  I really love my gran.  I asked her if I could use some of her stories in my writing.  Just talking about it again, instead of doing, but I am really thinking seriously about ideas for episodes now.  I just have to get them down on paper!  Or...screen.  Maybe writing more regularly in LJ will warm up my writing muscles.  I really enjoy having a proper read of everyones entries again, too.  You all lead such interesting lives!
Current Mood:
hopeful
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Hey guys.

I am now living with my sister and cat in a lovely flat beside the sea.  We make french toast and soup with veggies from the local green grocer.  She works coffee mornings the pub and they love her there.  I just got a job working in an old fashioned sweet shop, with big jars behind the counter and everything.



We're so happy.  We're trying to be better about cleaning up after ourselves and just keeping self improvement in mind in general.  We're falling in love with minimalistic ideals and are slowly going through our belongings, whittling them down.  My room is the last bastion of clutter, and it's practically unnavigatable. 

Last week we went to the cinema and saw Cabin in the Woods.  I have the biggest artistic husband's bulge for Joss Whedon, having just finished watching Dollhouse for the first time.  I keep talking about writing for TV and the BBC's writers room is accepting scripts just now, but i'm just speaking about it instead of doing it.  Time for some goal setting.
Current Mood:
peaceful
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I had the most wonderful dream. I was sort of in a film/sort of in Skyrim/sort of in real life, and I was waiting at the side of a lake, watching this silhouetted character move every so often. He would go from sitting, staring out over the water, to lying back on his elbows, to hugging his knees and facing inwards. He was mysterious and I was attracted to him, but because I couldn't see him clearly I was worried he might be a ghost, or a violent nord drager. I gently paddled over in a driftwood canoe, ever so slowly. I could now see he was human. I quickly paddled past and strained my neck to steal a glance - he was an old, old man, but I could tell he was under an enchantment. Beside him sat a woman of about fifty in a beauty tunic with fried pink hair and cat-eye glasses. I paddled in to the library next door to collect my thoughts, but no sooner had I dropped my huge plastic box of books and toys on to one of the square shelves, than the pink haired lady and detectives busted through the door! Clearly, the film was in its penultimate scene and It was time to solve the mystery. I was lead through to my enchanted love, now a beautiful young man of about eighteen, but a 1940s/James Dean-kind of eighteen. We grabbed hands and splashed through the water filled tunnels away from the investigation. We were speedily returned, but not before stealing some of the most perfect kisses I've ever experienced - our bodies were made to be held against each others. As the fast-talking detective bamboozled us all in to expelling secrets we didn't know we were keeping, my hair grew and turned firey red as I became the female lead. My voice was soft and I would say cute, indignant things in reply to the two bantering lovable rouges as the credits rolled over footage of the town shot from a moving carriage. And then I woke up.
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Last night I listened to the brass stylings of Mr. Acker Bilk while ordering clothes from plus size stores onlineCollapse )
Photobucket


To make the most of this new style, I want to keep myself better groomed. I often just resort to a boring old ponytail and let my hair get way too greasy inbetween washes out of laziness. I think if I map out the days I plan to wash my hair on my calendar, it'll help me keep track. I've also been watching hair styling turotials by http://www.youtube.com/user/lilithedarkmoon and http://www.youtube.com/user/LisaFreemontStreet so I can have some pretty retro buns up my sleeve. Or on my head.

That's all for now. Going to go look out my lint rollers and sewing kit.
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It's 2am here in Scotland right now. I'm sitting in bed watching trololol covers on my sister's netbook, quite content when I happen to take my headphones off. There is a tap-tap-tapping on my window. The curtains are drawn, but they're not quite hanging down at one end and so someone would be able to see that my lamp is on. My sister and I live on the ground floor - it could be a friend tapping on the window but it is so quiet and persistant, it doesn't even sound like someone trying to get my attention - just freak me out! My heart's beating like a fucked clock, but I feel a little outraged. I decide to whip my curtains open and shock the culprit with my angry face, but when I pull them apart all I can see is my own angry reflection, it's pitch black outside! I grab my torch and open the window - this is it, I'm going to get 'em...when I realise it's raining. And some drops are falling in to an old basin that a neighbour's left outside my window in the garden. And drops are falling in it tap-tap-tap.
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Been a long time since I updated the ol' white box. I'm now staying with my sister, and having a much better time of it. I have my first WWOOF placement this September and the closer - and therefore realer - it gets, the better I feel about it. I've heard back from some other farms I applied to, and should get back to them to set up placements and then book my travel, but I've been putting it off. I do think it is the right thing for me to be doing about now. Sometimes I feel like I'll manage and just take on and work with whatever problems crop up, and other times it all seems impossibly scary and I worry about not having home comforts and being out of my depth. I can feel what the right thing to do is though, and as Maria said in The Sound of Music; 'I have confidence in me'.

I sage-smudged the flat Kim and I are staying in. I had been intending to for a while and we were both becoming increasingly afraid of ghosts and paranoid at night. I only did it yesterday but I do feel more calm and rational since. I also hung a little protection bag over the front door, hoovered and swept and lined the threshold with salt. I certainly feel more secure and confident. I have a sense of being more in control than usual. In general when my anxities start to surface I take a moment to forgive and assert myself, and say I'm doing the best I can, I have a right to be here in this moment and act however I want as long as I'm hurting no one. I also take the time to simply say 'thank you' when I'm feeling especially grateful. Things seem to work out, and fall in to a recognisable pattern for me recently. Just today I was searching Kims desks for envelopes when I saw a packet of perfect ones on the floor. Or I'll decide to make a pie and my gran will tell me she has a bunch of apples I can have. Little things like that.

Lastly, I think the presence of fat-postive sites and communities, fatshionista in particular, have done a lot to help me check my attitude toward myself in any anxious moments I have. And it seems to have spread out to other aspects of my life, and just given me a little more assurance and confidence. Feelin' good.
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*crawls out of a crusty hole in the ground* Hi everyone! I bought Sims Generations a few days ago and have now developed the beginnings of a blister where my mouse hand rubs against the table. I shit you not. I would be playing it constantly but I have to stop to take inconvienient naps and pour bowls of sugar puffs. I remember when I first got Sims3 and would play it before work, count down the hours during my shift and run up the last flight of stairs to get home faster and turn my computer on again. I think this addiction returns with force when my real life isn't so hot, and so the virtual lives of my sims become so much more appealing and managable.

I have a wooof placement booked for September on the Isle of Mann but I'm so worried they're going to send me home after a fortnight for being so out of shape. I want to be moulded in to a real person with work ethic and physical staminia but I can't see that happening until once I'm there, and what if once I'm there I don't last long enough to be moulded? *worry*

I made my sister a unicorn cake for her birthday (pics to follow) and she showed a picture of it to a work colleuge who commissioned a lego man cake for her son's eigth birthday! It's to be ready by the 13th and I'm still missing a few things. I'm going to head to the Cake Guru tomorrow to pick them up so I can get started.

For a while I went through a phase of wishing I had doting servents who could, say, bring my my juice if I sat down to my meal and had forgotten to fetch it. Then I realised I wouldn't feel comfortable ordering them about to do these kinds of tasks, and would fret over if they wanted to be there and what they thought of me. So today I came to the conclusion that I'd much sooner have a house elf. Most house elves are thrilled to serve their masters and they take great pleasure in it, Dobby being an exception (R.I.P) So I had a lil' elf I could say "plug in my massage chair, I don't want to get up to do it." or "put on a delicates wash so I have pants for tomorrow" and "here's 50p, run to the garage and get me a pack of McCoys salt and vinigar". It would be awesome.

What is not awesome is that my dad's started drinking again, even through the doctor's warned him he has to get his cholestrol down. In fact, he may be drinking partly because he's so worried about that. I want to tell him there's no point in going for jogs and switching to half-fat milk is he's going to binge drink three times a week. I don't know, I've googled what to do so many times but British families run on never saying what you're really feeling, especially if it's important. I can't imagine us all sitting down to an intervention and then shipping him off to rehab. Realistically, how guilty does it make me if I just don't intervene and his health keeps deterorating? I called him on it once, when it was just the two of us in the house and he kept going back and forth to the garage for top ups and he told me 'I'll try', which he does, but then inevitably fails. He was T-total for years at one point until I noticed he drank champagne on my eighteenth birthday. I remember taking yucky-tasting sips from his beer can when I was little.

The end! It's 2.45. I always want to stay up late until like 5am when I think 'I'll just close my eyes for ten minutes' and then wake up at 2pm like 'DAMMIT!'
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