Bracketed

I know it's been several days since I posted anything coherent in here. I apologise and will try to catch up.

Last weekend I was more or less eating normally again. I was avoiding anything hard or that would require too much effort to eat, but I was determined to try and regain normality in my life.

Unfortunately it seems that I over-stepped the mark with the ice cream, when I bit on what must have been a piece of still-frozen cookie dough and realized that I had done something very very wrong to my jaw. So back once again me and San went to accident and emergency, where we spent most of the night. And they eventually told me what I thought I already knew -- the fracture in my jaw that was once non-displaced was now thoroughly displaced. And at 3 am they said "come back at 9 tomorrow morning".

The next morning my jaw was still too painful to open or close, and it hurt to so much as swallow. I must have looked like a retarded person, with my mouth hanging open and a glazed look in my eyes.

The hospital had lost my x-rays from the night before (thank you, NHS) so they had to do a bunch more and again told me what I knew -- that the fracture was displaced. And that it was going to require surgery -- either the wiring shut of my jaw, or cutting my face open and putting metal plates in it. They told me to come back on Friday.

So I did, though by now it wasn't hurting any worse than it was this time last week -- my bite was just looking kind of crooked. This time they decided that maybe surgery wouldn't be necessary, and have instead put brackets onto my teeth with elastic bands effectively holding my jaw closed. As uncomfrotable as it is, this has got to beat surgery.

In other news, I told my Dad that I slipped on some ice earlier in the week and fractured my jaw. He did ask how I managed to land on my face, but seemed to buy it. I suspect however that since then he has spoken to my older brother and told him my story and my brother has said he doesn't believe it -- and given my Dad his opinion that I must have been punched in the face.

I guess that Steve has been in more than his share of fights -- and I would expect that he started more than half of them. This is ignoring his competition-level Muay Thai Kickboxing of a few years back. So he'd know how a jaw gets fractured -- just like he could tell by looking at my arms that the scars are not burns, but instead from knives. I doubt even he would suspect them to be self-inflicted, though.

Just the same, I have insisted to my Dad that I really did just slip on some ice -- and I don't regret it either, my parents are worried enough that I'm apparently this clumsy. They don't need to know the rest of it.

Note to self:

One week after you fracture your jaw is not long enough to wait before you start trying to eat normally.

Yes, kids -- I have now upgraded my fractured jaw to a displaced fracture. If I am lucky they will just wire my jaw shut. Otherwise they are going to cut me open and put metal plates in my face.

Now I just have to figure out a way to mention it to my parents. My story so far is "I slipped on some ice" and fractured my jaw, and I'm hoping they won't try and work out how that's possible.

These things happen

So it's Wednesday morning. This morning I discovered that it isn't getting up in the morning that pisses me off, it's the reason why I am getting up. My alarm goes off the same time every morning. Normally it goes off, I shout obscenities at it, and eventually get up. This morning it went off, I knew that I had to go to the hospital and not to class, and I had no problem with getting out of bed. Maybe I should do something different every day for the rest of my life...

But yeah. I had to go to the hospital so they could look at my jaw some more and compare it to my x-rays from Friday night and make sure it's straight. Which, of course, it isn't -- but it wasn't straight to begin with. My bottom teeth overlap the top, and they don't even meet in the middle. Maybe next time I have to go and have it looked at I will ask them what it would take to put it right -- but I think the answer is going to be major surgery on my face, which ain't gonna happen.

Looking in the mirror this morning and I could almost convince myself that I have just been staying awake too late and that's why I have dark rings under my eyes. But I'm not quite there yet -- you can still pretty much tell I had the crap beaten out of me.

My head still hurts more or less all over. And I hate it when the doctor asks where it hurts, I say right here, and here, and here, so she feels the need to press those places. Fuck. Yes. Yes, that is exactly where I told you it hurts. Stop doing that.

I'm still not allowed to eat anything much harder than mashed potato. I've been pushing my luck by trying other things -- like fish, and chocolate, though not together -- but gingerbread is probably just asking for trouble. Still, I expect by this time next week all the bruising and cuts will be gone. I don't know how much longer I will have to stay on mushy food, but maybe if I concentrate really hard I can will the fracture in my jaw to heal over.

I don't know how much longer it will be before I stop being so jumpy. I don't like being outside my flat, even here in the library I get uneasy every time that someone walks in. I won't begin to talk about the fear of walking home at night after class or you most likely lose all respect for me entirely.

The funny thing about it all is that I don't really feel the least bit angry about it and I don't know why. I'd far rather that it had never happened than get any sort of revenge on my attackers.

Today I found the following text in the source code of a junk email that ended up in my inbox. It's very strange:



Or maybe not. People are talking behind my back. We have certain immutable properties. We all have to make some kind of plans for ourselves.

I see your point. Then again:

Just one moment longer. Let me collect my thoughts.

This can't end happily. This isn't really sustainable, but it's better than the alternative. I don't want to be predictable. Maybe this will help us all in the long run.

Look: Help me ! I'm trapped in an e-mail factory! Like they say: Are you making up for something? Probably.

It's all just a big joke.I had fun when we talked on Tuesday.

I won't try to get in the way. This will end well. I am a boson. It's always up in the air.

I am not the wavy carpet. I am the happy kind. I don't believe in telepathy. Or astrology.

Maybe this will help us all in the long run. This is what happens: I see your point. But that's OK--lots of people feel that way. And I respect that.

This isn't much worse than an infomercial. This isn't really sustainable, but it's better than the alternative.

This can't end happily. Hey - Thing will tend to fall apart. You are precisely on the money.

Can't we just be friends? This isn't much worse than an infomercial. It's all just a big joke. Or maybe not.

Kick me when I'm down

I have a fractured jaw.

This is along with all the lumps and cuts and bruises all over my head, and general bruising all over.

This is all thanks to three kids who were looking for trouble on a Friday night and they found me. I have learned that if people are walking towards you blocking the pavement, walk around them. Don't try and walk through them or shoulder barge them like I did.

Becuase if you do they will beat the living shit out of you, and then keep kicking you when you are on the floor. And then the kicking stops and they disappear and you lie there until you think they've gone.

but you only get a little way down the road before you are risking your life, running across four lanes of traffic just to get away, and they catch you anyway, beat you some more and give you a further kicking until they are scared away by some passers by.

it's 3am. I just got back to San's from the hospital. I'm too scared to go back to my own flat -- though this fear probably only extends to it at night. so I'm going to be something more of a shut in. a shut in that can't eat solid food, and will probably have to get taxis to take me home after class if it is dark at the time.

the police were very nice to me though, and it's to their credit they stayed at the hospital with me to get the paperwork done, and didn't just say "we'll do it another day".

So where does this leave us? I was depressed to begin with, questioning my choice of career and hating my course. Now I am depressed, hating my course, questioning my choice of career, afraid to go out alone after dark, in a lot of pain and unable to eat solid foods.

I don't think I want to play this game any more.

I've been down so long it looks like up to me

I'm actually seriously considering a revamp of this diary into a Richard Fariña themed journal, borrowing the title of his only novel "Been down so long it looks like up to me". I believe the title of his novel (along with the anthology of his work that was published after his untimely death "Been a long time coming and a long time gone") was taken from an old blues song, though I haven't found the original song anywhere I believe I did find one by Lee Hazelwood of the same title. But I'm digressing. I'm going to toy with ideas for such a layout, but the chances of anything but the title changing are slim -- since I have none of the necessary skills. I'm still trying to work out a way to have the comments box appear as a small, seperate window.

The point of all this is not that I want a new layout -- that idea only just occurred to me. The point is that I am once again in another of my moods. Did I say at the beginning of the week that working for Leicester News Service had restored my faith in journalism? I think it was just the novelty of doing something else for a change. On Monday classes start again, and we are back to the issue that I hate my course, and am being trained for a career that I'm really not sure I want.

But I don't know what I do want.

I figured that, once again, trying to deal with my moods just wasn't working out too well for me and so I should see a psychiatric counsellor. But the health center tell me I can only see one if I am referred by a doctor. I really didn't want to do that, I hate seeing doctors. I hate them looking at my medical records and every time questioning me about a suicide attempt. I hate even more having to explain it was not a sucide attempt, I spent that night in hospital because I just wasn't to be trusted with sharp objects. I made clear to them at the time I had no interest in killing myself, but it seems they ignored that in my records. I so do not want to have to see some disinterested and over-worked GP whose only interest is writing you a prescription and getting you out the door for the next patient.

I feel as if I am alone all of the time -- because even with people around, I just can't seem to relate to others. I feel cold and frustrated, and although I want someone to hold me and tell me it's all going to be okay, I can't seem to warm up enough to respond.

Sometimes I think what I need is a rest, to be someplace where I don't have to worry -- I don't need to think about essays and grades and exams, or about getting up for work, and if I'm earning enough and where my life is going. I can't go back home because it won't be like that. Sure, they'd say it will be -- and for a day or two, maybe it would, but before the end of a week they'd soon be bugging me to do something. And I don't think I could stand being around my Dad all day now he's retired. I certainly can't do it here, because there's bills and rent to pay and food to be bought.

I guess this all anyone ever wants -- and you have to work forty years of your life to get anything close to it, unless you're born into luxury.

Return to the land of the rain

I've been back in Leicester for a few days and it doesn't feel like I left at all. Christmas feels like a dream, and the few times that I saw my friends could just be memories from any other time I was around.

I got back Thursday, and I saw San on Thursday night as she was still unpacking. I'd missed her in the time that had passed since I saw her at New Year, even though her flat is cold (because the university to have heating that stays on if you want it on -- or even adjustable thermostats) it was good just to sleep beside her. Friday I had arranged to go to Derby to see my old Goth friend Owen, since I wanted to interview him about Urban Exploration for a feature I have to write. We also planned to explore a secret basement where he worked, and hoped to find a way into the city's catacombs.

It didn't work out exactly like that. Owen is working two jobs, and as luck would have it he ended up working both on Friday. I got some time to talk to him, and then called [Matt] to hang out with while Owen worked that night. Owen found us in a bar when he finished work early, but I should have remembered how Owen seems to dislike social settings like that (which is probably a major reason why he doesnt seem to carry his wallet half the time, that and he's just cheap) and he was antsy to go exploring.

And because we went exploring after several pints of beer is why I have a cut on my head, and on my hands, and feel bruises all over my chest and back. We thought we found an entrance to the catacombs, it's hard to explain why and where it was -- but basically it was a tunnel that had been bricked up. Fortunately, Owen spotted a hole and proceeded to climb inside of it. He convinced me to try and after I insisted I couldn't get in and he enlarged the hole, he did get me to climb -- head first, into complete darkness -- into the hole. He said he would catch me, which to his credit, he did. He didn't, however, give any thought to a safe place to stand -- so he fell over, and dropped me on my head.

The tunnel wasn't a way into the catacombs at all, but instead seemed to be an abandoned garage unit -- or else, a dumping ground for old cars and car parts. It was very dull. And the other end was sealed with a sheet of corrugated metal, which was only half closed, which meant we could just walk out.

I ended up sleeping on Matt's couch because Owen claimed his girlfriend was waiting up for him and she was going to be mad at him for going out. Owen has always made her out to be -- in his words from Friday -- a sociopath and a misanthropist. She has apparently an irrational hatred of him spending time with anyone else or going out, but always has seemed friendly and normal to anyone who meets her. Most likely they both have their issues, and we aready knew that Owen is a compulsive liar. I think he just didn't want me to sleep on his couch, so it's just as well that Matt had no problem with it after I woke him up at 3 am. He even cooked us breakfast.

The rest of the weekend was quiet. San and I have decided that even though we have been together for ages we will start doing date-like things, for the fun of it. So I ask her out, and she accepts, and I pick her up and take her out somewhere. So that was Saturday night. Sunday I cooked breakfast, we watched tv, then went shopping because I needed more smart clothes for this week.

And that brings us right up to date, because this week I am working for Leicester News Service -- a news agency, basically. After one day it has restored my faith in journalism. I may hate my course, but I could handle a job in journalism -- and possibly in particular a job for a news agency.

And no, it had nothing to do with the hottie who graduated off my course last year and works there.

4-5-6-7, grab your umbrella

This morning I dreamed that I was getting married to San. The church was full of relatives, and I remember seeing their expressions as I walked down the aisle (why was I walking down the aisle?) -- they didn't seem happy, more nervous or worried. This seems to have escaped me in the dream.

However, when I get to the front of the church instead of getting married, I am strapped into a chair that resembled an electric chair -- with the leather straps and all the rest -- and forced to take a test. What the test was in, I couldn't tell you.

San told me it was ok really, because what she hadn't told me before was that she was already married to her friend, Jill.



I told San about this dream and she laughed, but said that it had disturbing undercurrents. Like what? I asked her. Like that Jill is an obstacle between us.

Ahh... Jill.

As far as San is concerned, the only issue with Jill would be that I am or was resentful of her trying to convince San to leave me for her. I will take to my grave the secret that I have a little bit of a crush on Jill.

Most of the time I have got to thinking I imagined it all, or that I have control over my feelings, but then I meet her again and something goes "phrreeeeee-owww".

On New Year's Eve we went to an indie club in London -- we as in me, San, Jill, Jill's boyfriend and some friends of theirs. The night was uneventful as nights out go. The club was badly organised as there was only one bar open in the place, which meant epic length queues for a drink. San and I were stood in a queue at the bar when the clock struck midnight. I tried to be enthusiastic, and I think San wanted to be too, but the feeling just wasn't there.

But anyway. I know perfectly well what the attraction is with Jill -- it's the same thing that has all the boys wanting her. She just has this way of focusing her attention on you, and it makes you feel special. She has this upbeat, laid back way to her -- and sure, she has her issues, and probably more of them and more serious than I could speculate -- but she seems like the universe was created just to compliment her.

I honestly don't know her very well. I've never had the opportunity to have a real conversation with her, to talk to her about how she feels or what she wants from life. It is just a crush and nothing more. But I've told San that I admire her self control to not leave me for Jill when Jill asked her to -- sure, I could never leave San for Jill, either, but that's an entirely different prospect. All the same, I sometimes wonder if the two of them wouldn't be better together.

Something needs to be done

Something needs to be done. This stress over what I am going to do about my course is starting to interfere with my normal life. My dreams are disturbed and I almost welcome the chance to get out of bed today. I have dark circles under my eyes that look like bruises -- what causes these dark rings? I mean, I know that it's from not sleeping properly and feeling like shit -- but what actually causes the circles? My appetite -- what little appetite I normally have -- has more or less packed its bags and left for another town, and to round things off I have that sore-throat feeling like I'm coming down with something.

The way I see it right now my choices are more or less limited to:
-- Quit my course; get some random job or jobs until I work out what I want to do
-- Quit my course with the view to taking a job as a bar supervisor or assistant manager some place
-- Don't quit my course; continue to feel miserable about it

And to think that I was so desperate to be accepted for a place. I saw it as my way of getting out and moving up, the beginning of my life properly, and wasn't sure what I could possibly do if I didn't get accepted. Now I almost wish I had never applied to begin with.