Same old, same old.
I read through some old entries, including some of the stuff that I never posted on here, and I am reminded of a few home truths, as well as just how cyclical I have become. At the moment the only thing that I am missing is wearing my shoes in a morning, or I would be almost exactly the same as I was in December. Add an e-mail from work and I would be back as I was in January or February.
Tilly has tried to be helpful. Instead I feel even more stressed that I am letting her down. Someone else reminded me that not everyone sees the negative all the time in me, to them I am indebted. But I worry that I have nothing really to say.
My grandmother looks like she is recovering. When my mother told me this she also confided that she didn't want her to get better because my grandmother getting better means that she will be rude and insulting to my mother again. It wasn't always this bad, but it's always been a theme as long as I can remember. I share her concern. My grandfather seemed to be living for himself again, eating well and being... well, he was my grandfather again, a man I haven't seen since 1998 and I've missed him. That was when we think my grandmother had a nervous breakdown and when she started being rude and insulting all the time rather than in small chunks here and there. She'd had a stroke in 1996, I was in the room at the time, and had slowly gone downhill. Hell, anyone that can quit smoking because they never remembered starting has some serious issues going on.
Heh, I wasn't even going to write about my grandmother tonight, I was going for a status update because I'm autistic / OCD enough to think that I have to post roughly similar numbers of blogposts each month. I'll run with it for now.
She's got dementia, properly, and it's been going on for a long time. Both my grandparents come from an age where people did not discuss mental issues, they are children of the post-war British austerity and so one made do and mended. Families were private affairs, the NHS to be kept at arm's-length to prevent people prying on family business. People who were depressed were self-indulgent and should buck their ideas up. Going to the doctor's was a sign of weakness, of an inability to cope, and pride was the most important thing. They were products of the working class families they were raised by. The sort that lived in the slums and cleaned their front step every day, kept clean houses, clipped children round the ear a lot and were harsh and brutal to one another due to the environment. Large families because of economic necessity and hardship as standard. So my grandparents muddled on. My mother visited less and, once I went to University, I avoided going out of... well, laziness I guess. I'm not good at keeping in contact with family or sending cards or phoning or that kind of thing.
My grandfather will be at my niece's naming ceremony thing. I shall be there too. It's Sunday. Because I am a complete retard I forgot to pass on the date to my wife. Tilly has arranged our daughter's birthday party on the same day. This means that I must set up the hall with pictures and stuff on the Sunday morning, drive to where my brother lives (approximately an hour and a half away) for a 10am start, then get back home for 2pm in order to help my wife pack up the party and show my face to my surely disappointed daughter. I'm not looking forward to that kind of time pressure.
I have 32 mock examination papers to mark; 32 Year 9 (they're 13-14 year olds) books to mark (and I've left it a while so it's at a rate of three an hour) and an examination standardisation pack to create for a Year 8 examination. After that I have reports to write for Year 9, Year 10 and then mark Year 8 examination papers of my own (after checking everyone else is marking theirs of course). At the end of next week I shall have to mark about 60 Year 7 examinations. Oh, and there's about 20 Year 13 (17-18 year olds) essays on Russian history to mark too. Following that I have a timed essay to set for them, which will need marking... It's a never-ending cycle of shit.
Which is why I'm lazy. I had free time at work today, I could have marked the Year 10 examination papers in that time. I could have planned and created the standardisation pack. Hell, I could have written the Year 9 reports. Instead I read webcomics, read a story entitled "The Girl in my Closet" that I downloaded about two years ago and read through previous entries of this blog that I never published.
Now it is late. Bed. If you haven't, check out Yello.
Words of warning and welcome:
This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.
It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!