A return of sorts

Dear Blog,
I know I've been ignoring you, and I'm sorry. Oops. Whatever the fuck is wrong with me still hasn't gone away - or even got a name - and through it all I've been trying to do coursework and sit exams and be a normal person and do normal things without ending up in hospital or falling asleep halfway through lectures or forgetting how to spell my own bloody name. The exams and coursework seem to have gone ok, the rest I've failed miserably.

On the upside though, the lovely gang of Femis have started our very own blog, Feminazery , which is steadily getting started, and I have been posting there. I've also finished G's hoodie, and a few other bits and pieces of crochet - while the ever-lovely Metalouise taught me to knit a little. I have needles and wool now - needles thanks to MsKitton - and am planning on doing some more practice now exams are over.

And now, it's photo time. Because you all need to see the cuteness that is the foal Indigo tried to befriend last week - poor wee thing was a bit scared at first, but was getting more confident - enough to sniff Indigo, which freaked him out, so he ran away.
And some more Indigo pictures:

the dog...

in his new bed.

it's half-empty!

The mothership and I went to ikea today, after dropping off BoyWonder's cricket and hockey bags at one of those storage companies. I love ikea, but hate it too. It's full of the most wonderful, useless stuff - ok, some of it is dreadfully useful, but that's the stuff I don't need. The useless stuff is what I want. I ended up buying another dog bed for Indigo - this wonderful soft donut shape, covered in fun fur with legs and a tail - because I'm trying to persuade him to sleep more on the floor.

But, pleasantly - and surprisingly enough - the store was quiet. There were blissfully few people, few screaming babies (except for a few delightful preschoolers who needed putting on a lead). I know ikea is a family friendly shop - they're proud of it. And I do like kids (well, most of the time... except for the screamy ones, and preferably if I know them) but sometimes it's just so lovely to not have to dodge prams and toddlers.


Other thoughts... I've become addicted to wardrobe_remix on flickr. I love looking at the pictures; they're far more inspiring than the skeletal identikit models in the magazines, and show a gorgeous range of styles and ideas than you see just walking along the street. It's driving me to be more creative about what I wear, but also reminding me why I don't read women's magazines regularly.

For Indigo

It seems strange that we lie here together, wrapped in blankets and sound,
me reading, you dozing,
watching me with those patient brown eyes half-sleepy half-adoring.
Your head is resting on my hip,
your paws jutting into my legs as you insist on taking up two-thirds of the sofa,
lying along side me.
You have inspected the book I'm reading,
decided that it's not worth chewing, as you prefer textbooks or schoolbooks or secondhand romance novels.
Either that, or you approve of Neil Gaiman (but don't like a-level drama texts).
As I type, you've rested your head on my legs, causing pins and needles to invade my feet,
but move when prodded, groaning and sighing as though I've asked you to perform some impossible feat.
It seems strange that we've been together for nearly nine months now,
at once the time has gone quickly, but I can't imagine not having you at my side, underfoot, stealing my clothes or waking me in the middle of the night by kicking me in the face as you did last night.
You're my good dog.

Rambings

I've just gotten back from taking Indigo for his late-night walk. Or rather, he's taken me - we march down to the grass, have a cursory sniff of the first few trees, and that's that, thank you very much, quick-time back to the house. The final training attempt of the night is undertaken; "Sit."
Just give me the biscuit.
"Sit."
fine, I'll go stand on my bed. Stuff biscuits.
"Sit."
What do you want? Why are you pushing at me like that, give me the freaking biscuit already.
"Sit."
No.
"Oh, alright, have the sodding biscuit."

I'm in a peculiar sort of limbo, not sure whether I'm starting next week or not, whether I'm supposed to be attending meetings or getting myself a job. I walk the dog, make earrings, talk to the bunny, walk the dog... all to the background of radio four and the rumble of the tube. I shop, returning to find Indigo lying where I left him standing nearly an hour before. I feel cruel for leaving him but I know he's not the sort of dog who will lie quietly outside sainsburys. I buy food for him, forgetting my own groceries in an attempt to tempt a palate that I suspect is only fussy because he's seeing how far I'll go to see that he eats. Oxo is rejected in favour of bisto, biscuits over weetabix despite the assurances of the rescue that most greyhounds like cereal for breakfast. Babybel are taken and delicately dropped on the floor, biscuits are taken and then crunched in his bed, leaving a trail of crumbs over the floor of my bedroom. The hoover is eyed with suspicion. Mozarella is consumed with gusto, cheddar is preferred, and carrots are really only acceptable after a few hours soaking in lukewarm gravy.

I wonder what I'll do this time next week - how early will I have to get up to ensure he gets a good walk before I leave for lectures? I have to buy a bike pump so I can cycle to camden instead of squeezing myself onto an already over-full and under-ventilated bendy bus for a tedious journey spent clasping a clammy yellow pole and trying not to hit anyone with my bag while desperately avoiding everyone else's eyes in the peculiar manner of the english on public transport. I will cycle through the park instead, even though I haven't cycled in years, don't own a bag suitable for carrying on a bike - I will have to get a rucksack or something - and I'm not even sure of the way.

I can't believe it's this close. Part of me doesn't want to go back, wants to live a life of not doing very much at all, but part of me is bored, needing something to stimulate the dusty spaces of my brain with the tedium of pH balance and protein synthesis. Even though I know what's coming, have the notes and fool myself into thinking I actually already know most of it. I'm not longer sure I do, though. I'm not sure I ever did.

Part of me wants to pick up and leave - take my dog and my bunny and pack my clothes into a suitcase and just go. Except I don't know where. I don't even know why; I've spent the last year longing for somewhere permanent-feeling, four walls I can call my own and yet the moment I'm withing them I want something more. Perhaps it isn't the need to leave, more the longing for an unidentifiable something - someone - that might complete this space. Until someone enters my four walls, and I am reminded how much I value this sancuary from the world.

To the people who are scared of dogs...

Ok, my dog. I know it's not thier fault - they have a phobia. I know he's not exactly a little fluffy toy, he is big, he does like to walk around with his mouth hanging open, but he is fucking terrified by 99.9% of people. There is a goddamned reason why he's walking against the wall and against me, because he's fucking stronger than I am and he freaked out yesterday and almost pushed me in front of a car because of some kid in a pram shouting at him. And he is scared of people so I don't make him walk next to them. Your kid screaming and hiding behind you and you stopping dead in the middle of the pavement is not helping you, her, me, or my dog. Especially when there are three men walking directly behind you who won't fucking get out of the way for some girl and her odd-looking dog. Forcing me and him to walk in the middle of the pavement next to your idiot daughter while she screams at him is not a good fucking idea, if you'd kept walking where you had been he would never have jumped like that and I would have been between him and her.