yep, i’m back.

nope, i’m not that happy about it. (you think post-holiday ennui is bad, how do you think it feels after three months?) (not that i was on “holiday” all that time, i worked quite a bit. but it was sunny.)

now i’m exhausted, depressed and have to try and get back into my normal routine, which is so disheartening i can’t even tell you. i also have some stressful stuff to deal with that i literally can’t tell you but which i’m dreading. i want to do nothing more right now than jump straight onto another plane, but my conscience (credit card) won’t allow it.

as usual, i’m totally out of step with life. every other blogger i read is having a fantastic time, creating wonderful new opportunities, loving their life, or some other such fabulousness. i’m pleased for them all, i really am — or i will be once this crying jag wears off – but i do wish i could blog about some of the fabulous things happening for me. but unless you count my low-key excitement at being reunited with the far superior british version of itunes, i haven’t got much to contribute.

so i’m throwing myself into an office makeover project (my “office” being one corner of my bedroom, but still - i’m getting a real desk, and a filing cabinet instead of a pile of boxes!) in the hope that this will keep me busy, and bring in more work and other good things in some magic feng shui/law of attraction-type way.

for now, i feel the same as i do at the start of every new year: that i have too much to take on, that everything feels too hard, and that i’ll never feel motivated or enjoy life again. it is kind of nice to be home — apart from the weather, and the dread — it’s just adjusting to the change that i’m having some (a lot of) trouble with. (i also have raging PMT).

so, yep, i’m back.

and nope, i’m not that happy about it.

lately i’ve been fascinated by diablo cody. i love her punk/goth/rock style, the fact that she’s my age and an oscar-winning screenwriter, and that she is witty and brash and cool; cool enough to blog about how dorky she sometimes feels, which just makes me like her more.

i found her fascinating before juno won its mucho awards, or before i read her book. i’m interested in her life, in how she got where she is today, and the fact that she changed her name to the spanish for “devil”.

but i was in no hurry at all to actually watch juno. partly because everyone kept talking about how witty and edgy and brilliant it is, and it always gets my back up when everyone tells me how much i’ll love something. and partly because i felt a sense of ownership, like: ”i knew about this movie months ago! i know so much about it i don’t even need to see it!”

but mostly it was ‘cos of the whole pregnancy-plot thing. as i once blogged for the guardian, hollywood has trouble handling unwanted pregnancies.

of course, i watched it in the end.

» more…

domestic violence seems to be a hot topic again lately. and for good reason: it needs to be. according to charity women’s aid:

“At least 1 in 4 women experience domestic violence in their lifetime and between 1 in 8 and 1 in 10 women experience it annually. Less than half of all incidents are reported to the police, but they still receive one domestic violence call every minute in the UK.” [emphasis mine].

there’s very little humour to be wrought from the situation, you would think… but the daily mail, or more accurately, author wendy holden, had a go: labelling marian keyes’s new novel this charming man, which tackles domestic abuse… (wait for it) “hit lit.” (’cos it sounds a bit like “chick lit”, see?) puke.

serendipitously, my feature on domestic abuse outreach services is in this month’s copy of mental health today magazine, and it was the hardest thing i’ve ever written: gruelling, upsetting and the most serious piece i’ve pulled off so far. i hope i did the topic justice, and that the title (not mine) isn’t too flighty, as i’m sure it wasn’t intended to be.

most of all, i deeply hope wendy holden somehow comes into contact with it…

read it here and here if you’d like.

update: the new york times gets it right.

even after researching and writing about the online harassment of kathy sierra last year, i’m still totally shocked by the weekend’s news of a mcdonald’s executive’s ‘death by blog’.

i know too well the vitriol that gets directed at perfectly decent people who also happen to be bloggers. (i’ve had my taste, education and intellectual ability questioned… and i’ve only suffered the mildest of doses!) 

while commenters can’t take the blame for another person’s mental ill-health, we all have a duty to behave like human beings - whether online or off.

in other words, if you’re ever tempted to spew hate via your asdl, step. away. from the computer… and get a life, instead of trying to ruin someone else’s.

a couple of things to make feminists (or you know, everyone) good and angry:

kay burley is a misogynist/idiot.

this is not only stupid and sexist; it doesn’t make much sense. call me clueless but i had no idea PETA was so anti-women.

finally, an antidote: random acts of feminism! (love. it.)

browsing the times website, i came across this column which made me see R.E.D.

yes, david aaronovich, let’s all pretend that prostitution is a fun and sexy lifestyle choice rather than the sad symptom of a society which reduces women to a series of body parts designed for male consumption. let’s agree that women who’ve been abused shouldn’t be encouraged to stop serving up sex on a plate, but that we should say ‘oh well, carry on then!’ instead.

that seems reasonable…

or so ANNOYING i can barely speak for spitting feathers.

one of those.

arrrgh!

*implodes*

with this article.

okay, not all of it: i do believe we shouldn’t sneer at people, even politicians, because of their age. and i know the older and the disabled get a bum deal in many ways, such as wheelchair access, which is still awful almost everywhere you go.

but america as some kind of nirvana for the elderly? i don’t buy it. i spent two weeks there in november, and the large number of over-70s i saw working really hard in the service industries (i doubt for the joy of it; most likely so they could eat) was really eye-opening, and a little bit heart-breaking, to me.

and, in other news, i have some problems with the probable end of the writers’ strike. am I the only one disappointed? the paltry DVD figure is unchanged and there’s no info about shows bought for iPods etc. the internet agreement is a step in the right direction, but worth calling an end to the strike for just that? it seems to me that the studios will still think they have won…

i asked for it.

boy, did i ask for it. over and over again, i asked for it. begged for it, even.

and now i’ve got it, and i haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate it. boy, do i hate it.

let me backtrack: when i was nineteen, i started feeling so flat and numb and unable to cope with life that i left university, went home, crawled into a double-duvet cocoon on the sofa and pretty much stayed there. i was depressed, my counsellor was a flake, anti-depressants didn’t work for me, and i couldn’t feel a thing. i prayed, begged and bargained with the universe and god (who i didn’t believe in, btw) to make it better. i didn’t even want to be happy - i just wanted to feel something, even if it was bad. anything would be better than nothing.

fast forward through eight years of mental and physical health challenges which caused me to have (major understatement coming up!) an atypical twenties experience. almost two months ago, i underwent the manifest abundance retreat, part of the journey programme which regular readers will know i’m obsessed with a big fan of.

the last part of the retreat was the time when, all shiny and cried-out and open and honest, we let our intuition tell us what god/grace/the universe (whichever you prefer) most wanted for us.

for me: healing on all levels. not only did we admit it to ourselves, we stood in the middle of a truth circle, said it out loud, and everyone in the circle focused on it. it felt physically hot in the centre of that circle, and i was spooked.

the very next day, the crap started coming. i had trouble with just about every aspect of my journey back, got home and cried for about four hours straight. it was agony. and yet i KNEW. i knew the universe was doing exactly as i asked. ever since, i’ve been getting regular challenges, some smaller than others, some embarrassing and stupid. all of them flagging up things i haven’t dealt with, releasing pent up emotions i’d rather deny i had.

but it’s all helping me to heal. you see, i know that my illness was caused in large part by my suppressing upsetting emotions since childhood in an effort to be a ‘coper’. (argh - never be a coper, people! fall apart, it’s healthier). i know now that all those emotions have to be felt - and as i can’t go back in time, now will have to do. this is what i asked, prayed, begged and cajoled for. i wanted this. who knew it would feel so bad?!

i truly believe that once i’ve finally worked through all this raw emotion, felt the pain and healed the wounds of the past, i’ll be transformed, and happy, and healed on all levels. just like i’ve always wanted. in the meantime, my emotions are like a small ship on a very rough and blustery sea.

turns out you really do have to be careful what you wish for, because how it happens is out of your hands.

and you might haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate it.

(read part one here)

wednesday

got up and ready for our daytime bus tour, which thankfully left from just round the corner from our hotel. we first got off at central park for a little wander, and pointed out ideal spots for discovering dead bodies like on law and order. saw lots of cute dogs, a drunk/crazy/obscene shouty man, strawberry fields and john lennon’s old apartment block (yes, where he was shot.) getting back on the bus, we had the best guide of the trip - a fabby new york native who was very entertaining, funny and informative. with her, we went on a long ride uptown, and saw the sights of harlem, including bill clinton’s offices, all of which i snapped with a disposable camera. my mum was downstairs by this point (she gave in to the freezing cold), and i was upstairs on my own, but happy with the nice guide, crappy camera and some junior mints (YUM!)

my mum really wanted to go the metropolitan museum, so when that stop came up, we got off the bus. the met is indescribably huge and so beautiful. it was chaos outside, with army cadets, teenagers, hot dog sellers and lots and lot of groups of people milling around the front steps. we went inside and headed for the gift shop for a few souvenirs. we had a great browse but then had a ‘discussion’ about whether it’s a waste of time to spend a large chunk of a holiday looking at paintings, what the restaurant would be like and whether it’s OK to pay less than the ‘recommended’ price for admission (new yorkers like our guide say YES, my mum says it’s too rude). so we ended up not seeing anything and just got back on the bus. “isn’t the met wonderful?” our new guide asked us.

“oh, yes.”

we’d agreed to stay on the bus for a while now, and we did, right until we got to the upper east side and the plaza hotel, where the stop for bloomingdales and serendipity was announced. we decided to make an unscheduled stop. i’ve read, heard and watched so much about the world-famous serendipity 3 (you might have seen the film?) that i had to take the chance to drag my mum there. even if it was a seven or eight block walk.

my feet died but i went to chocolate heaven when i was served with the signature dish: a goldfish bowl-sized drink of frrrozen hot chocolate which is officially the most delicious thing in the whole entire world, EVER.

we also had a foot long hot dog each and were so full we practically had to be rolled to bloomie’s. we stopped on the way at dylan’s candy store, ralph lauren’s daughter’s pet project. then to bloomingdales, where a juicy couture lady gave me a sample of their new perfume… for dogs. 

we looked at some super-expensive jewellery and make-up and then went to the lovely xmas department, where i bought a tree decoration in the shape of the famous bloomingdale’s little brown bag (with a snowglobe inside, of course). i wanted to go to barneys, bergdorf goodman and the fao schwartz where tom hanks danced on the giant keyboard in big, but we were too exhausted. so we got back on the bus and headed to our new favourite shop, drugstore duane reade (they have everything!) for drinks and painkillers and then got couple of subway subs ‘to go’. i got meatball marinara, totally just so i could be like joey tribbiani.

we collapsed in front of the TV with our subs, vowing to set off earlier and get back earlier the next day.

which didn’t quite happen…

thursday

“i’m sorry but that light looks like a boob,” was the first thing my mum said to me on waking (after a thankfully nightmare-free sleep).

as i watched the news while my mum showered, i discovered that pupils across america were being given detention for daring to - gasp - HUG their friends. also, that a dessert in one posh new york restaurant was going for the bargain price of 25,000 dollars. i never did work out what it contained, exactly… we got back on the tour bus where our first guide was a bette davis-esque scary lady. her motto: “if you’re talking, you’re spoiling it for yourself. if you’re talking so other can hear you, you’re spoiling it for other people.” her other motto: ”i will tell stories, you should listen and not try to guess or point or speak. just wait for the punchline and you’ll enjoy it all much more.”

she told us not to get off at the first stop, but her brusque manner convinced us as never before that we needed to see macy’s in all its largest store in the world glory, so off we hopped. ah, bliss. macy’s is wonderful. more affordable than bloomies, more touristy, yes, but more FUN. i discovered i could get an 11% discount card just by flashing my passport, and made great use of this in the jewellery department, where i piled my arms a little too high, but who could blame me with the great exchange rate and so many pretty pretty accessories?

after a great spree, we sat on the mezzanine-level starbucks and drank and people-watched. we were too early for the famous xmas window displays (not to mention the famous thanksgiving parade) but we enjoyed the christmas decorations and music in the store all the same. we then went by bus downtown to the site of the world trade centre, which was a real change of pace. it makes me cry just to think about it. it’s such an unprepossessing and yet emotionally charged place. i wish i’d been like the clever folks there who wore sunglasses but i wore my normal glasses and fogged them right up.

we didn’t stay long before using the loos at the century 21 across the way where i kept setting off the security beepers for some reason. back on the bus, we went one stop and then walked to the staten island ferry, where there was a big queue to get on and no room to stand outside. unfortunately, once on the ferry we were on the wrong side for the statue of liberty, so apart from a bridge (manhattan? brooklyn? williamsburg? no idea) it was a bit of an uninspiring view. “you can just stay on the ferry and come straight back” my dad had told me… but they’d changed the rules. we had to get off, walk (in my case, limp) for miles, and then get back on the next ferry after a 10 or 15-minute wait. my feet wanted to die (i know i’m moaning, but i have plantar fasciitis or as laypeople call it, AGONY of the feet) but the journey back was lovely. sailing into new york we stood on the outside deck as seagulls swooped around us, dusk drew in and the statue of liberty and that fabulous skyline came into view.

unfortunately, the bus back took ages, and there weren’t that many interesting things to look at on the way, and it was as cold as i’d ever been. but having tried and failed to get a taxi it was our only hope. later than we wanted, we dashed back to our hotel (where a woman in the lift said “ladies, you’re bundled up - it’s not that cold!” and it took all my self restraint not to DECK her) we got changed, i got snappy about the fact that i hadn’t eaten yet and then we went to see the lion king. our first broadway show. it was great, but as brilliant as the show was, i was even more excited to EAT. we went to one of those diners that serves huge portions fast and without fanfare, which my mum hated but i kind of liked.

friday

up early… okay, that was a lie - up not at all early, we walked, or in my case hobbled, to port authority (the bus station) where we just made it in time for the 11.30 bus to woodbury common shopping outlet. it was raining, dark, and very cold but not to worry: shopping malls are all inside, aren’t they?

er, no. brrr.

strangely, we had one of the nicest meals of our holiday at woodbury common - sesame chicken with rice and vegetables which was lovely and almost as importantly, WARMING. we came out of the food court and straight away saw our respective meccas: for my mum, the clarks outlet store. for me, le sportsac’s outlet store was emitting its siren song: cheap bags! cheap bags!

money was spent. 

i also got two watches (one of which is just GORGEOUS but i still have no idea how to tell time with it) for £60 and some lurvely betsey johnson jewellery to add to my macy’s cache. my mum got some bargainous shoes from the clarks shop and some cheapie crabtree and evelyn stuff (which was no doubt imported from england, yet half the price. odd). by 5.30, we’d only seen about a sixth of the mall but our feet (especially mine) were sore and we’d been rained on just about enough, so we set off for the 5.45 bus. turns out about 300 people had the same idea, for when we got to the bus stop, there was the biggest queue i’d ever seen in my life.

enough to fill three or four buses, at least. it was now pouring with rain. i was wearing a thin jacket, my mum had no hat and we didn’t have an umbrella between us. it was dark, bleak, and freezing cold, and we had dinner reservation for 9.30. we went to the visitor centre to see what was going on. a rather flustered-slash-clueless employee told us that the bus company were sending three more buses (but as new york is at least an hour away, this was obviously going to take a while). what about a taxi, we asked? she informed us that the torrential rain meant dispatchers wouldn’t consider sending drivers out of the city. great.

TO BE CONTINUED.