It may get hairy…

Posts tagged ‘Holidays’

‘appy but ‘ectic post

Hello all 🙂

Finally, the time has come for a happy post.

Today I shall be the headless chicken, but all in aid of a drunken cause. Today we prepare to don our Splash Fen hats and hit the road. My mate and I shall be working there from Wednesday, so naturally we’ll arrive on Tuesday, to ensure our pickled livers stay pickled.

It’s been a whole bloody decade since I last went to Splashy. It was there that I met a naked old man, with a multi-coloured dog (spray-painted, poor bugger), swimming in a river. The quintessential Splashy story.

Me @ the last festival I went to (Download, 2010), what makes you think I wasn't exactly sober?

Today, I must run to the shops to buy buckets of cat food, to support my monsters while I’m away. Although we’re doing the supplies trip tomorrow, my personal supplies shall be bought today, like batteries (for my camera, you dirty bastards) and headache tablets (pretty sure I don’t want to be doped up on  my morphine pills when there, so Panado is a must).

In addition, I have to send off emails to various clients, explaining where I am (a work expo, obviously), chase for money, do all the work that needs to be done this week in one day and clean my bloody house.

How all this will happen, Darwin knows, but I’ll manage. Perhaps the house cleaning will fall short once again.

So, from now on, do not expect coherent posts…in fact, if anyone sees me about to post anything from my phone, take it. Quickly.

We’re doing Splashy in comfort (out of necessity and a lack of camping gear) – we’re taking a freaking sleeper couch 😀 Yup, that’s right. It’s an old foam mattress that flops into a couch and squishes into the back of a car. It takes some pushing, and you’d do yourself a favour to put the handbrake on first, especially when facing a downhill, as I accidentally found out a while back. It’s alright, I James Bond’d that bitch, chasing it down the hill and flying into the driver’s seat 🙂

I have my hat for sun and my docs for rain, what more could we need? If you need me after Thursday morning, I shall be passed out somewhere, hopefully on my sleeper couch, if not, please move me into the shade. I burn.

 

Before I disappear and on a side note:  I seem to have received a lot of calls/messages about my previous post, which I found interesting. Perhaps it was because people wanted to cement the fact that they’re my friends (and perhaps that the post wasn’t aimed at them), which I find rather sweet and thank everyone. I think the post before was more melancholy, but either way, I wanted to let the world know that although I’m disappointed in the people targeted in my previous post, I’m not wallowing in a vat of self-pity. The only time it crosses my mind is when I’m not busy and/or get some form of reminder, however, this does not ruin my day. So you haven’t any reason to fret – although I really appreciate the support and kindness.

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Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world

I’m probably about as demotivated as you can get this morning, so I figured a post might make me more…well…alive.

I did yoga for the first time in ages, but I was up early and it’s so hot, so I’m now a walking zombie. I now have to work.

This usually wouldn’t be a problem if I had something to do, but the joys of being self-employed is that being ‘pro-active’ is the only way to survive. I don’t have a set list of tasks or end goals that people give me, I have to sort them out myself.

So, after a long December and half-January, I find myself in a demotivational slump. I’m not a happy chappy. Those who run businesses that have been going for a while and aren’t dependant on tourist/retail/holiday income, know that December and January are slit-your-wrists, take up drinking months (when you can afford it – you are allowed to substitute food with drinking, thus saving you groceries).

Whilst you can be prepared for it financially and mentally, it’s still drains you. Counting your pennies every single day, getting to the point where your pride is almost non-existent and while you don’t regret being self-employed, you start to look at rich, old guys in a new, more positive light.

Most people know admitting this is like a kick in the shins for me, or a well-aimed face palm, but, as aforementioned, I have little pride left, so I may as well use you all as my shrink, so I can maybe get motivated again.

Let me have a little interjection quickly. I don’t want sympathy. I’m not actually on the bones of my arse, my business is actually doing well, apart from the normal Christmas period (as expected). I’m just being pathetic and feeling sorry for myself.

But woe betide the person who offers condescending sympathy – I’m looking for a slap in the face and get off your sorry arse talk, not a ‘Oh shame, honey, is there anything I can do?’ Anyone who does that, particularly those who haven’t yet hit the harrowing speed bumps that come with self-employment, will be treated as someone who is saying ‘Oh shame, honey, I’m doing so well at the moment, so I have the time to offer you useless sympathy and simultaneously offer you snide comfort, whilst reveling in my success.’

Technically, I’m on track. I’m exactly where I expected and hoped to be when I started up in September. So it’s really damned impressive that I’m on par, instead of a few steps behind.

But I’m broke. With that comes a new perspective. Everything revolves around money, and, as per bloody Murphy,* more bills and more bills come in (for instance: a mobile company, whose contract with you ended 2 years ago, suddenly black listing you for a R500, that you actually paid, without ever having contacting you to say they think you didn’t pay, and subsequently upping that R500 to R4500…; or the vet telling you the cost of the Guns’ vaccinations being well over R800).

And then clients don’t pay**

One of the first things my parents taught me, to a flabbergasted and incredulous face, was that ‘profit’ and ‘cash-flow’ aren’t synonyms. I pity those coming into self-employment who assume they are, and most newbies carry that comforting assumption around. The reality is that you often have to wait up to three months for payments, calling, threatening, emailing, just to get a payment. Sometimes, they don’t pay at all. Yes, it may come as a shock, but it happens. Legal fees cost too much to sue someone over a lousy K or two; so eventually, it dies and you move on at a small loss. Luckily, I haven’t had that yet with this company, or the three-month wait, but I do find someone stalling at present, and it irks me.  A lot.

So, I sit here, dwelling on when an appropriate time between emails has passed, so I can press on with that problem and I can’t seem to focus on anything else, such as making more money. I have many leads, but they’re taking their time to come through… and I sit here demotivated and making matters worse.

 

“Turning and turning the widening gyre

the falcon cannot hear the falconer”

*If Firefox hadn’t insisted I ‘proper noun’ his name, I’d have left it at my initial lowercased insult…but red lines upset me.

**I’m sure people will tell me not to put this on my blog, but hey ho, there’s no connection from my site to here, just the other way around, so hopefully I’ll be alright.

 

SEO mal

For those that follow the nostril, I just wrote a hugely long post, published it and Voila! WordPress deleted it, which is why you received an empty email from Up a Mammoth’s Nostril.

I’m not a happy chappy and therefore will leave reposting SEO Mal until later, after at least another 10 cups of coffee.

I might add that I’ve had no sleep, not enough coffee and sitting in 94% humidity.

Grumble.

A new religion: F*ck ’em!

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this post. There is so much I want to say, so much I shouldn’t say and so much that could spark a riot. I wrote this long, condemning post yesterday, which amounted to merely puking out all my thoughts and would’ve frightened even the hardiest reader away – hence, it has been deleted. So, hopefully this summary will achieve my goals and not frighten away my Constant Readers (stolen from S. King).

The Low Down:

My mum had brain surgery twelve days ago. Prior to surgery, she had the highest pain the world (on average, there is a 70% suicide rate in Trigeminal Neuralgia sufferers), which after surgery revealed itself to be double what other sufferers feel. Instead of merely a blood vessel touching a nerve in her brain, it was a blood vessel and an artery. The surgery was unbelievably successful. Instead of being a 5 hour operation, as expected, it was 3.5hours. My mum’s recovery has been remarkable. Twelves days later, she’s walking and talking. She gets dizzy, nauseous and gets severe headaches (akin to a migraine) when she does too much and often can’t stay awake more than two hours, but this is all par for the course. Doctors have told her that with brain surgery, Day 10 is the equivalent of only Day 2 after a Tonsillectomy. It takes awhile, but Mum’s doing better than most and with her hair down, you can’t even see the scar.

However, it’s brain surgery, it’s a mother-f*cking big deal.

*Which is why I fail to understand the total lack of common sense that people have adopted after and during the operation.

Side note, before I get all fumey and mad: Some people, mostly totally unexpected, have been amazing. My mum’s biokinetist has lent his support, her best friends, people she’s met briefly at organisation meetings actually came to visit her in hospital. A close friend of my mum’s and her daughter, who I barely knew before this, have been incredibly supportive and understanding. My best friends. My best friend’s fiancé. Family friends who understood enough to lend their care and support, without expecting anything or smothering my mother or my father and I. The support has been incredible and, for the most part, unexpected.

**Which brings me back to my vent: a lot of the support that was expected, failed to show up. In fact, in some cases, severely hindered my mother’s recuperation…and my sanity. We have had some wonderful cases. Starting weeks before my mother went in, with messages from her friends telling me that they didn’t know how they would cope if something went wrong and she didn’t survive. People, who are merely friends, expecting me, the daughter, to provide them with comfort. Here I was, merely completing task, by task. Trying my hardest not to think about what’s coming. Blocking it out almost entirely and SUCCEEDING, until I receive messages like this, which left me crumbling two days before Mum went in. A close friend of mine recently lost her mother and I was astounded when she told me that people who weren’t family, expected her to comfort them. I’ve now seen this first hand, albeit on a much less extreme basis.

Before I bore the hell out of you, I’ll sum it up. We’ve had people who’ve expected us to run errands for them, so they could visit my mother. One particular fool is still lucky to be alive, after hurting my mother and nearly setting her back, with too much physical affection…in the Neurosurgical ward. Seriously? What fucking planet do you live on? You don’t hurt someone fresh out of brain surgery, and…when they tell you it hurts, you STOP! For the most part, people just haven’t thought and weren’t malicious. We’ve had one person start a fight the day my mum went into hospital, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve been called a nag for fussing, but you watch your mother puke (okay, I didn’t actually see that, but they told me) after taking her first steps, or see her in pain and so nauseous she can’t sleep (regardless how tired and weak she felt) after having a few visitors – you’d be a nag too.

So, after all this, my father and I learnt something in what was probably the most terrifying moment of our lives (waiting for 3.5hours in the Neurosurgical waiting room, whilst my mum had her skull drilled open and her brain fiddled with):

Sometimes, it’s okay for it to be about you. Sometimes, it’s about you and your family and no one else matters.

This was and still is (until the day she is fully recovered) about Mum. Now that she’s recuperating, we can allow ourselves to feel the anger we have towards these people for imposing their silly nonsense on our lives. After all, it was the most difficult moment of our lives. So now, it’s alright for it to be about us just a little and about Mum a lot.

So, with this in mind, we have started a new religion. A new way to dealing with problems and people:

Fuck ’em!

*Apologies for starting with a conjunction – Poetic License.

**As above

Speechless…

Whilst I know that I shouldn’t post a one/two liner, I couldn’t help but update you on a search term that my recent post attracted, warranting a outloud ‘Oh, dear Lord!’ from me, first thing in the morning:

 

“Enter my orifice.”

I have little else to say…

Twinkle, twinkle little star

I’m sure you’ve gathered by the title that my lights are finally up?

Can I get a Hoorah?!

No? Ok then, well I’m proud and relieved. The tree is up. Most of the tacky shit I acquired over the years is in its box or on it’s way over to my folks (along with antlers for their Great Dane), sorry Ma! I’ve got lights in my office window – my bedroom window is missing it’s lights because I found out that when you shook said set of lights, the blue and red globes worked, but when you shook it again, the yellow and green globes worked.

Not a funky action – loose wires. I’m also missing a whole bunch of two-pins, which Mum brought round last night. So, my birthday goal is to rewire my Christmas lights and plug ’em all in. Yay…

Anyhoo, this is as far as I’ve gotten. Do any of you  have blogs or links to pics of your decor?

“It’s beginning to look a lot like”….a lot of bloody work

Last night, I donned my Christmas hat, got out my wine and unpacked all the Christmas decorations.

I’d like to place an emphasis on ‘all.’ Let’s remember that I’ve been away for nigh on two years and have had no decorations throughout that time, so I looked forward to coming back, calmly putting up the lights and decorations and moving on.

So I put up my tree and unpacked my decorations. The result was this:

In case you were wondering, all those things around the lamp are lights. All the things on the coffee table are lights. I have, I think, 12 sets of working lights.

Can someone please tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do with them?

I’m not good when given choices. Set me on my way with one route and I’ll go that way (as long as I have the illusion of freedom). Don’t give me 12 sets of lights! It took me roughly 45 minutes just to decide which ones to put on the tree.

I put them all on. Checked them. Moved them. Nudged them into symmetry (OCD). And then decided they sucked. So replaced the coloured lights with another set. Then added the original set. Then realised it was too crowded and took the new set off.

Last night, I started at about 7pm and ended at 11pm. Not drunk, because I was too busy faffing with bloody lights to drink. I managed to put up a wreath (very pretty, I must say, even if done over the monkey/kitten mesh), put up my tree and put the lights on said tree. That’s it. There are no baubles. There are two pieces of tinsel on the tree. Nothing else.

And this morning I woke up, looked at the tree and thought ‘Fuck it, we’ll have to start again.’

Does anyone else have this kind of OCD or is it just little ol’ me?

On that note, the baubles come next.

“Rest ye merry gentlemen” my arse…

Side note: Four stockings. There is one person in this house. My folks have their own. What was I thinking? About 10 random wall hanging things. Seriously? Old Sez, what the hell were you thinking? Tacky much? A packet of Reindeer Food…with, dear lord, two-year old chocolates in. Three or four decorative mini trees (wire and bead ones). 9 hats…although those are cool, if they survive the kittens. GARDEN decorations and outside lights that no longer work.

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