Sunday, 18 June 2017

Hair pt 2, lovely friends, and a probable midlife crisis.

I'm going to cut off the hair! It's decided. I'm feeling a little nervous about it, but overall, I'm already a little relieved.

I'm currently making lots of plans with lovely people, including a cinema trip with Carolinasaurus, and a plan to go for climbing lessons with Christina.

Steph says that the recent acquisition of a year long swimming membership and the climbing plan must indicate a midlife crisis. He's clearly right.

Hair, boys, lumps, swimming, gigs

Dear Diary and interweb bots,

It has been an age! I'm sorry for neglecting you, but you know I'm the kind of human that occasionally forgets to call for a year (or five) and then rings for a chat like nothing has happened. Well, shall we catch up? Yes, and please let me know all your news as well.

So, what's on the list? I still love my job, nearly two years in, which is awesome. I've never loved a job before. I'm not all gooey about it or anything, it frustrates me, makes me stressed, makes me swear and regularly hold my head in my hands, as everything and everyone worth loving should. 

Hair... is hair. But I've developed some kind of minor psoriasis, which left me with dandruff and an itchy scalp, which when combined with the occasional nit letter from school is a speedy recipe for insanity. And I checked and treated and checked and treated... there's nothing there. And the child's head is clear, which is also an good sanity check after I've combed mine to within an inch of it's life. But the itch, and the flakes. I tried medicated shampoo. I tried washing my hair with ghassoul clay and rinsing with cider vinegar, because detergent. I tried bicarbonate of soda in case it was some kind of yeast imbalance. I tried neem shampoo with colloidal silver in it. I tried neat coconut oil left on my hair for an entire weekend. I tried neat neem oil left on my hair for an entire weekend. I tried washing more, and washing less. I finally got it under some kind of control, then went to the hairdressers in February, and they used chemical shampoo and the whole cycle started again. The best thing I've found is a product called New Wash, and my scalp is almost okay, and not flaking visibly or itching much. 

Boys... Well, I'd kind of written that one off, because let's face it, I have two days free in every 14, but my lovely friend decided that she was ready to Tinder, and I must too. I talked to a boy, I met him twice, he was very nice, but it won't work. Boys need more time than I have, so that is done, and Tinder is deleted. Nice experiment, good to know that it would be possible if time permitted, but for now, it's a write off.

Lumps... There is a tiny lump on my arm, and I'm going to get to the doctors this week. It's been there slightly more than a month, itches like hell and it's hot, rather like a recent burn scar. Actually, it's on an old burn scar. It bled for a while and stabbed, and while that's healed due to the magic of sudocrem and plasters (to stop me scratching) it shows no sign of going away. While it's probably nothing, the glorious magic of the Internet informs me that it looks and feels remarkably like a basal cell carcinoma, which is eminently treatable, though all the treatment options sound gross, and generally involve burning or scraping. I think I'm most good with the description that opted for straight forward cutting- if it is that, of course. I need to get to the doctors, and out of my own head.

Swimming... You know I like swimming dear diary. I've not been since I concussed myself two years ago (remember, I walked into a door? Much hilarity and post concussion syndrome ensued), and that, combined with the lack of free time in my schedule, the acquisition of a desk job and my general apathy for exercising at home means I've become something of a fat fuck. Call it a size 14 (UK) on size 8 (UK) shoulders, combined with a 32GG  bust, with a short torso that has little room to allow for a waist. I basically look like a potato with cocktail stick arms and legs. But ignore the aesthetics. The aesthetics mean nothing. I want to be fit again, I want my lung function to be better again. I want to be flexible again, so this week I will be reincorporating some very basic yoga into my evenings (which will have the added bonus of helping me calm my head with thoughts of lumps and scraping and cauterising). With the swimming, I only did 10 lengths last Thursday, and 14 Friday, but Friday felt easier, my body less stiff. So on Monday I should be good for 20, and from there I'll be working on whatever can be fit into 30 minutes, hopefully by the middle of July I should be good for 30 in 30.

And gigs. I stopped going to gigs around November last year. Not so much a conscious decision, as much as a bad crowd experience at Dinosaur Jr at the Albert Hall (which is not my favourite venue) left me feeling a little agoraphobic and unable to cope. But I recently popped this years gig cherry with Melt Banana at the Deaf Institute and if was freaking awesome. I've booked a few tickets for things partially because they look awesome, partially so I start going out again, and in the absence of enough time to meet boys I need to do more with my time than watch all the Nicolas Cage films ever made and stagnate in my front room (let's face it, my relationship with music and gigs was always better than my track record with boys anyway). I am going to see Ex Easter Island Head Ensemble next week, I have a ticket for Saul Williams, one for the final incarnation of Fat Outs Burrow at Islington Mill, and a few other things besides. It will be excellent.