Hubris.co.nz

Lots and lots of stuff is going on right now. First and most important to you is that I will be selling my stuff at Zinefest. You should come along, say hi and buy my zines and sugar scrub. And yes, in case you’re wondering, if I slept with you prior to 2007, you will be in 101 Stories but possibly only a very small part. Heh. I said “small part”.

I am so grown up. I sorted out my magazines yesterday night, along with some other form of grown-up activity. I umm ummm okay, maybe I just shivered under a duvet on the couch. BUt you know, I ate vegetables for dinner, so that’s grown up. I wish I had a camera to post a photo of all my Qs in chronological order, their red spine numbers just above the lilac boxes that they’re in, and then there are my Bitch and Busts in pink boxes, along with the sadly finito Jane, Frankie, and Yen. Then there’s a whole shelf full of Metro and some green boxes full of assorted music magazines and “culture” things. And the Next that I was in and the New Idea with Penny’s wedding in it. You do care what magazines I read, you know, because I am sitting here trying to define myself for you. And also making a note for myself in later years to remember that now is when I have decided to put a lot more effort into being a feminist. As long as you define “effort” as “reading the magazines and making sure that I never shy away from the word”. The back cover of the 10th anniversary of Bitch made me cry at the awesomeness of a reader deciding to spend $3800 on buying it to support the magazine. And then when I spent much of the last weekend in bed reading them and Q I also got all choked up hearing Athlete’s ‘Wires’ for the first time, about the singer’s premature daughter, which tapped in to the many many baby thoughts that I have been having lately. But more about that later, perhaps.

We still haven’t found a flatmate. Quite frankly, I’m fucking loving the quiet around here when there’s so much going on in my life. It’s so good and peaceful. But I really can’t afford to keep paying $254 a week in rent, no sirree. The fact that so many people have come over and not wanted it has got me down a little, like WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME? But not that down.

I went and saw my counsellor today, for the titular spring-cleaning of my head. I’d really wanted to see her a couple of weeks ago, but she was away on holiday, so I thought I’d go now before I start my new job and work miles away and all. I got the most awesome surprise though, when I told her about my new work, because it turns out that not only do they subscribe to EAP too, which means that I can get 3-5 free sessions if I need them but she’s also based at their offices every other Wednesday to do drop-in appointments. That is so fucking rad. I’m hoping I won’t actually need to see her very often, but it’s so great to know how easy it will be for me if I do. We talked about my abandonment issues, and about my sex life, and my Hard Career Decision to take up my new job instead of staying where I am, and how it’s been freaking me out to get so much praise lately, but how it’s helped me to realise that I’m actually quite good and capable. And we talked about what I need to do in order to keep my head in order (more exercise, and how excited am I about the prospect of swimming in the sea again? SO excited), and when I talked about how I feel like I’m being held hostage by my body lately, like it’s deliberately keeping my periods from me, we talked about how right now I think I will adopt children because I can’t imagine going off my meds and how I am scared shitless of postnatal depression, and she told me that there are very specific medical programmes to help people like me with that sort of issue if I change my mind at a later date. And that was nice to hear.

Tomorrow is the last day of my contract. We’re going out for dinner afterwards. I’m going to be incredibly sad to leave. I will have to treat the whole time I had there as a beautiful summer fling that was too good to last. Stupid taking care of my career and seeking out new mental challenges! Then again, my manager and I went through every single piece of paper on my desk today left over from predecessors and filed them all. My biggest filing pile was ‘R’ for ‘Recycle’. If only I could be so ruthless at home.

On Saturday after ZineFest, Miss Lisa is having her birthday party here. You should come along. The man in a bearsuit on her invitations was so good it made me embarrass myself in front of Luke Buda (yes, it was her MS Paint skills, not the wine that emboldened me). I want to write about what I got her for her birthday and what that meant I bought myself, but I will wait. Then next Saturday I’m going to Bar Camp. I don’t know what I’ll talk about yet, if anything. But seeing as how my new boss is speaking, it’s probably a good idea. And then on the 19th I’m going to another conference. I would kill for a sleep in at this stage. Sunday I plan on staying in bed all damn day. You’re all welcome to join me in my lovely black & white linen.

Right now I’m watching Watch This Space and downloading the tracks I like, which is awesome (I will buy albums if they strike me a lot). I just read a review of Fireworks Night that describes them and the Arcade Fire as “baroque-pop”. Brilliant! And yes, I’m totally going to try and use the word ‘Baroque’ in Scrabulous. But it’s time to go back to Lisa’s Outrageous Fortune DVDs and pull the duvet up, because hot damn, it’s cold. See you Saturday, yes?

Sunday, July 7th

My grandmother has this game that she likes to make us play when we go visit her that’s called “Putting stickers on the stuff you want”, so that by the time she moves into a resthome or dies, all of her antiques and ornaments will have already been claimed. I’ve taken a more practical approach and only labeled her fridge and her 17 inch computer monitor. When I told her those were the things I was after, she offered me a thousand dollars os I could buy myself a bigger monitor, which I managed to wrangle out of, and then told me that my fridge was a germ breeding ground and i must buy a new one and send the bill to her. Unfortunately, much as I hate our fridge, I can’t do that either. I felt much better when she was talking about how the Catholic doctor gave her a diaphram after she had Mum to use instead of condoms. It was a weird conversation. She also told me that she stopped getting migraines after she had a hystorectomy, but I don’t think I’ll be trying that one for quite a while yet, thank you very much. I do want to have children, like not just in a “oh that kid on TV is so cute, I want a baby NOW” or a “hey, if i had a kid then I wouldn’t have to worry about my future” kinda way. Having children is very definitely a part of my life plan, even if it may eventually mean using one of Anji’s eggs. But we’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, i guess.

So yeah, that’s what today was spent doing; visiting Oma with Anji. When I got home, I went to bed to avoid talking to Mum and Neil, cos they just reaaaaaaaally bug me. I HATE being in Wellington, this town is making me fucking miserable this time around. It just seems like there’s ghosts everywhere, and I dunno, it’s sucking lots. On Friday night, KateB and I had a really nice dinner at Saffron with two bottles of wine, and then we went and had cocktails at Jet Lounge (downstairs of course, although they weren’t admittign the general public). Double Fudge Martinis from there are my new favourite Mmmmmmm. But it’s such a fucking long expensive cab ride home that I was forced to call my paretns aroudn 10.30pm to get them to pick us up – that saved $25 taxi, plus however much more I would have spent on drink. I was absolutely trollied at that stage, and I tell you, there is nothing worse than being drunk in your parents’ house waiting desperately for them to fuck off to bed so you can raid their liquor cabinet – unless it’s waking up with a hangover the next day and them asking you all sorts of stupid questions. So Saturday was spent running away to lunch with Anji and Karen and hten watching videos with Anji.

Mlaaaaaaargh. At least I’m going fora long leisurely day’o shopping by myself tomorrow. I need some cool pants, and hopefully maybe a skirt, and a top. And i will gaze wistfully at the makeup in Napolean and try not to give into temptation. I’m also gonna get some new innersoles for my Birkis and have lunch with Karen. Kickass. In three more sleeps, I get to go home to Auckland YAY. Right now I’m reading ‘The Vinter’s Luck’ and I don’t really like it. Sodomising an angel just doesn’t sit right with me. Plus, yeah, I don’t like the characters, adn I don’t believe that the basic premise behind the whole thing is believeable, and the writing style seems a little off. So HA! Take that all you NZ literary snobs. Also, did I mention how I’d given up on reading ‘Posession’ cos it bored me stupid? I saw a promo for the movie of it – not suprisingly, the characters in it have miraculously become young and goodlooking. It makes em happy though, cos horrible Gwenyth is in it, so HOPEFULLY, I got it wrogn when I thought that she was going to be in “The Passion” and hopefully no one is making that into a movie, cos if they try, I will just fucking cry and cry. Posession, Passion – they’re pretty similar, right? Not that I’ve felt either for a little while. Well, passion, yes. Possession, not for years, and I think maybe I really really miss it.

Tuesday June 25th

Just before midnight, that thing in my head snapped again, and the entire left side of my head started to throb and pulsate and ache ache ache. The pain was incredible, I hadn’t felt its like except for on Saturday and Sunday nights as well. I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat up in bed and cried for about fifteen minutes wondering how badly it would scare my mother if I’d rung her at that hour. My head was really freaking me out, and I needed it to stop. It’s kinda terrifying to feel like a blood vessel has burst in your brain. Bopha was fast asleep with two exams the next day, and Clay wasn’t home, so I ended up canvassing opinions via txt, until someone agreed with me that yes, maybe I should go to the hospital since I’d been in pain for three days and it wasn’t getting any better – in fact, it was getting worse (and I know I don’t say enough good things about you sometimes, so thank you, I’m so glad to know you’re always there for me when I’m having a crisis, and you know I’m always there for you too, if you need me). I woke Bops because I had no money for a taxi, and she offered to come with me, but I said she shouldn’t, because I knew we’d end up waiting hours and hours, and because I was crying and in pain to the point where I could hardly talk, and because of her exams. I managed to scrape together $5 in coins, which was just enough.

I felt so fucking stupid, telling hte guy at the counter that I had “a headache” because it sounds so goddam prissy and lame, but he was very nice and told me that three days was an extreme length of time, and he called me sweetheart in a really nice way. He took me to a room in the ER and left me there for ages, which I understand cos I know they have to prioritize. I held my head in my hands and felt nauseous, and listened to the staff calling for diazaphan for the guy in the room next to me who was having fits. That made me feel kind of like a fraud, but there is only so much pain and misery a girl can take. It was a fucking hard call to make though, having to take enough responsibility for myself to seek treatment. Meh. Eventually a nice nurse called Jayne came along and took me to another room, and gave me a wristband with my name and phone number on it, and told me to get undressed and put on one of those funny hospital gowns. I’d be expecting them to just shine a light in my eyes and tell me I was pathetic and wasting their time, so I was like “umm, you have the right piece of paper right? I’m here with a headache?” and she laughed at me. Once I’d changed, she told me to lie down on a half propped up bed, took my blood pressure and pulse, turned out the lights and said the doctor would be in to see me soon. I think it must have taken about an hour for him to get to me, in which time I just cried like the big sooky girl I am, because it hurt, and because I was lonely and because I just wanted my mum. I really wished that there was someone who I could have called to go with me, that I wouldn’t have felt bad about asking, and so I decided that I need to have kids as soon as possible cos I figure by the time they’re 15, they can drive me and also, they’ll be completely obligated to me and everything, so I won’t need to feel guilty, and they’ll be matyred to me. And yeah, I know that when my darling friends read this, they’ll all be like “you could have called me” but how do you call someone at 12am and say “hi, I have a headache, can you please get up and come to the hospital and wait a couple of hours with me?” It just doesn’t work like that. Still, Auckland Hospital is a scary horrible place to be alone in. It was miserable and I considered putting my clothes back on and running away, except that it wouldn’t have been running, it would have been a very slow, very painful crawl, and I would still be worried about what exactly was going on inside my skull.

Eventually the doctor came and examined me and asked me all the same questions that the nurse had asked me. He said that everything seemed fine, but that I had done the right thing to come in, and he told me that I didn’t have meningitis, which hadn’t even crossed my mind. He said that although I had no history of them, it might just be a particularly violent migraine, and said he would work through levels of pain relief with me, from basics, to heavier, to hooking me up to a drip and keeping me in overnight if need be. This meant sending in a nurse with panadol and voltarin and a glass of milk which she ordered me to drink to counteract the nasty stomach munchingness of voltarin, and leaving me for half an hour “to get some sleep”. Righto. I started tripping out, and could feel the pain in my head breaking free and floating loose, and then working its way into a little knot by my eye. What the fuck is it with hospitals and their fucking panadol? It’s like the time when I got hit by a car and they gave me panadol, only this time i wasn’t drunk and abusive, and I wasn’t inflicting hours of waiting torture on James and Maree. Anyways, finally my doctor came back to re-evaluate me. He said he was happy to keep me in overnight, but he thought that I’d probably sleep better at home and that was what would probably do the best for me, as long as he gave me some more pain relief before I went. Knowing that I had an exam in six and a half hours time, I agreed with him, so he dosed me up on straight codeine, wrote me out a script for some more, ordered me to see my GP as soon as possible for follow-up and gave me a piece’o paper detailing my tragic story.

Of course, I’d used up all my coins on the taxi to get to the hospital, and in my zonked state, I decided that it would be a good idea to walk home. When I left the hospital I thought the moon was half full – by the time I got over the Grafton Bridge, it was full, and I was by the graveyard and I kept seeing things and I couldn’t feel my legs anymore because of the 60mg of codeine. Things were a little odd, to say the least. The sky was really clear, and all the branches were ghostly, and I was doped off my tits, and yeah, fun times. At least my headache had subsided to a dull roar though. It was 3am by that stage, and then I woke up at 4am when the drugs wore off and my head was screaming again and my chest cavity felt like my ribs were all imploding. Odd.

So of course, there was extreme lack of sleep, and residual dopiness from the codeine, and the headache was back as soon as I got up this morning, so I had to take more nurofen plus. I would have been bouncing off the walls if I wasn’t reduced to sliding along the floor. In my exam, it took me fifteen minutes to be able to focus enough to copy down the question to the top of my page, and that really really fucked me off. I did an appalling job, and I’m really upset, because I could have done so much better. I know my LTSA topic inside out, and I’d done well on going through the other stuff too, ducking in between major migraineness, but I was so vague and blurry and doped just to try and get rid of the fucking pain. I went to fill out compassionate consideration forms straight after, but they’ll only allow me a “pass” which I think I might just get anyways, not an actual indication of the good mark that I could have got if it wasn’t for all this bullshit.

After the exam, I went to pick up my prescription – more codeine and voltarin, lovely. Everyone from my Persuasive Class was meeting at The Playhouse for lunch and drinking so I went along, spaced out and only able to drink coke. But the girl I dislike more than anyone kept screeching in my ear, and I was fading fast after the quick pickup of pills, so I went home, told Clay that I couldn’t talk because I wasn’t coherant, and slept for four hours. When I got up, there were concerned phonecalls from Maz and a bigass gorgeous lovely bunch of flowers from KateH, stark contrast to being alone and miserable in a hospital bed. They also came over really briefly, and Kate told me she’d deliberatly asked for Serene, Calming flowers. Awww. I’m looking forward to my party on Saturday, especially since I’ve had to forsake alcohol today and BradC and Clay are currently drinking Soju in honour of Korea/Germany. I’m also foresaking hte soccer as well, because I just can’t handle. I’m so fragile and fucked, and if I move my head, it hurts. Arrgh. At least I get to go home to my mum next Wednesday.