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Sister Dagger of Courteous Debate

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I was going to post on facebook, something along the lines of: Hearing about Robin Williams committing suicide is really scary. If someone like him can fall to depression, what hope for the rest of us with our shitty little lives? I've never attempted suicide, but I've come pretty close in the past. And for a lot of us depression is a lifelong battle - he was 63 - do I have another thirty years of this to look forward to?

Then I remembered that I have a bunch of relatives and acquaintances on facebook. Most of them know about my depression - it's not exactly a secret - but they don't necessarily know how bad it's been, and I don't want them to know. Come to think of it, some of my nearest and dearest don't really know that; I don't think I've ever explicitly told them that oh, yeah, that time I went into therapy was because I had an actual plan to kill myself rather than just the normal vague thoughts.

It's not an easy conversation to start, is it? "How do you think things would be different if I'd killed myself five years ago? Would you have named the kid for me, somehow?"

I haven't been seeking out comments on the subject, but they're pretty hard to avoid right now. I read a couple of articles on the link between comedy and depression, which just made me think, great, I'm depressed and I don't even have the decency to be funny about it. Apparently Robin Williams was bipolar, which makes a great deal of sense to me, because straightforward depression doesn't exactly lend itself to, y'know, doing things, but the manic phases do.

Oh, I don't know.

I've actually been on something of an up lately, and I've actually been doing things round the house, but the last few days my back/shoulder has been hurting and I have acquired a boob rash, so boo to that.

And it's long enough since I posted here that everything's changed. World spins madly on, I guess.

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The transit of Venus approacheth! I am going to an all-night event thing which should be fun. If the weather is kind, the transit will be visible in the UK from sunrise until nearly six a.m. tomorrow.

After that, I plan to sleep.


ETA: The weather was not kind. The event was fun, our team came third equal in the quiz, there were pretty pictures and video from various places. We went outside just in case, even though it was quite cloudy, and so we wound up with a dozen people clustered around a laptop and the rest of us just standing around eating croissants. I saw a squirrel jump out of a bin, and while we were waiting at the bus stop a young guy asked us what time it was and apparently his phone had been telling him it was half-eight (it was quarter-past-six). And I got home and slept a bit and was up for a bit and slept a whole lot more.

ETAA: Also I had weird dreams, which is not unusual for me, and this one included Phil-off-of-Time-Team either proposing or getting married to a dude. And it took me a while after I woke up to remember it wasn't true.

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GRARGH

I just spent a joyous half-hour waiting outside my close door with a big bag of shopping, because apparently the lock got repaired last week and so people have been locking it, but I don't have a sodding key.

As there is a chemists in the building, which has a side door into the close, I went in and asked. Counter-lady said they had three or four people in yesterday with the same problem, including a letting agent. Chemist-lady gave me the factor's number and said they couldn't let me in. I called the factor, and left my number for the right woman to call me back when she came back from her tea break.

In the meantime, I poked at the entry system, which may or may not work to buzz people but doesn't seem to work as an intercom.

Factor-lady called back, said they hadn't told the chemist not to let anyone in, said they don't actually have a master key, said to get in touch with my landlord.

I know from a previous incident that my landlord doesn't have a key.

I went back into the chemist. No joy.

Called landlord-dad, blethered out the whole problem, then realised, that's no good, he'll get all complicated and 'oh but they can't do that because this' so I firmly checked if he had a key then told him I would handle it.

Then chemist-lady took pity and let me in, and I was very grateful, and she said it was only this once, and I agreed and thanked her and all that. I think the thing about not letting me in came either from head office or from manager or was in fact her idea because, yes, letting random people in is not really on. Still. Argh.

Landlord-dad called back asking, is the chemist not open? can they not let you in? Which, I did tell him the whole thing but apparently he only caught about a third of it.

I put a note on the door asking people not to lock it and put it on the snib, and I will be going round the neighbours later to find someone with a key that I can get copied.

What a pain in the arse. I mean, it'll be nice to have a close that can't get used by the odd junkie and/or pisshead, but I don't know what the postie's going to do. Maybe the chemist will let him in.

ETA: Also, first time I went in the chemist, I was the only customer there. Counter-lady told chemist-lady "there's a woman blah blah blah" and when chemist-lady came out, she looked at me dubiously, looked around, looked at her colleague, looked at me again, looked at her colleague again, then finally came to talk to me. It's not like I've got a crewcut any more... but maybe I look too young for "woman". Eh.
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I had my first ECDL class today. Well, yesterday. You know what I mean, days are between sleeps.

It was OK? There was another new person and an almost-new person and we had to sit around for a bit at the beginning while another class was using the computers to do quizzes on moodle, but one of those was about sex, drugs and alcohol (I am not even kidding) so that broke the ice a bit.

It is not a proper class, it is a Flexible Learning Session, so you all work away from your books but the lecturer is there if you need help. I got through the first chunk of the word processing module, it was a bit odd because I have not used Word 2007 before and it has different menus and such. Also it kept having me open a document, save it as something else, then close it again. I can kind of see the point but it got a bit annoying.

And at the end I went awkward and walked out without saying goodbye and did not get the theory booklet I am supposed to have but I can get it next week, it is all fine.

Also I may filled out the letter template using fictional people, but I think that's fair.

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Yesterday was my last day at Key Enterprises. It is a charity for people with mental health problems; it provides routine and teaches various skills. I have been going there for a little over two years - during that time I have met quite a few people, learned how to refinish furniture, taught myself pyrography, and improved in terms of mental health. Unfortunately they have lost funding and are closing; I decided not to attend this Thursday as I am going up to Aberdeen, so yesterday was my last day. I gave people cards, and left cards and small presents for the other two still attending my department, who are not in on Mondays. I was given a few cards and a small bunch of flowers, which was very nice. I walked out with two carrier bags full of stuff - books, material, bits of wood; with a stitch-picker in one pocket and a dozen nails in the other. And I knew it was coming but I am still sad and kind of confused.

Today I have been doing very little - I skipped my evening class, again, but I will go back in January and do my best not to miss another time. But this year my present-making has branched out into woodwork, so I have just been doing that, and managed to injure myself. If I had sanded my knuckles, or hit my hand with a hammer, or cut myself with a stanley knife or a saw or whatever, I would not have been surprised. But I cut myself with a drill.

Cut yourself with a drill, you say? How in the world did you manage that?

Well, it was a good drill, and a not-so-good drill bit. I was working on top of a big wooden toolbox, holding the wood in place with my foot (it is a two-handed drill). And as I attempted to drill a second hole right next to the first, the drill slipped, the tip hit the work surface, the bit bent, and as the drill wound down, the tip of the whirling drill bit caught my foot. It bled.

I should have bought myself a vice before I started. Or at least been wearing shoes.

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I have a nephew!

Parentals were driving up so I went with, though I sincerely regretted forgetting my music beast. Anyway, baby was born very early this morning, is a little on the small side but generally ok, and I didn't drop him or anything, which is good. He is kind of wrinkled and generally baby-shaped.

Babies are kind of ridiculously small, aren't they?

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I am visiting my sister. I brought my laptop but forgot the charger, doh. Luckily she is married to a gadget geek and I am using one of their tablets, however I cannot remember most of my passwords and bookmarks. Boo. Also I may get his old smartphone, but I find it slightly terrifying.

Baby is due soon-ish but probably not while I am here. People at Key suggested I stay until babby arrives but that was not the plan and I feel like I would be in the way, I am not so desperate to see the baby that I am willing to wait in a hospital for several hours.

Um. Anyway. I woke up and needed food or I would still be in bed. Never mind, I can nap later.
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So, some stuff has happened - not a great deal, but some, still, and anyway.

I signed up to do a craft fair, and then it got postponed to last weekend because of a fire at the venue, and hardly any customers came, and I sold one keyring, which doesn't even cover my bus fare, and I tweaked my knee carrying all my shit home again. But I am giving them another chance and doing their next fair in about a month and if that is crap then I will stop throwing good money after bad.

My bank account is looking a bit unhappy as I have been spending more money than usual lately - with the craft fair, getting in a bunch of stuff to work on, and a few random bits and pieces, and also with yarn, of course. My stash is increasing because whenever I want something for a specific pattern I seem to wind up buying other stuff as well. I have been knitting a variety of baby stuff - oh, hey! reading back I see that I have not actually posted about that.

My sister is pregnant, due in a little over two months. It is the first spawn of the next generation, so it is all rather exciting and as I say, I have been knitting a bunch of stuff. She was down for work last weekend and has quite the bump, and I have just about got past calling it a parasite.

Also I had one of those moments where you think of the perfect retort ten minutes too late, because she made a comment about me going grey - I have a visible sprinkling, which I find quite amusing, especially being the youngest, and with the whole thing about Katie Holmes going grey when she is like five years older than me and not as 'bad' - and what I should have said is that she'll obviously catch up once she has the kid.

Eh. Stuff.

Oh, and Key - where I go to do the furniture stuff - has lost its NHS funding, which is what pays for me and most of the other clients to go there. So that stops at the end of the year, and since there will only be a few folk still going unless they get a training contract or something, there's a decent chance the whole place will close down. Which sucks, because I like it and it's been really good for me, and... yeah.

Also I have a lump on my finger where I scratched it the other day, except I didn't think I broke the skin so I don't know why it has gone lumpy. Hopefully it will go away by itself but if it gets worse I am totally going to the doctor because it would suck if my finger fell off. Not that that's likely, but, well. Better safe than sorry.

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Today, the first Tuesday since I stopped seeing my psychotherapist, I didn't go out - not to the shop, or to knitting group, or to visit a friend like I said I would.

And now it's so late it's early, and I'm still doing nothing, and I just heard myself planning the excuse to my friend, that I felt insane today.

Gee, I wonder if there's a connection.

It's slightly terrifying, actually. Not just not having that support any more, but thinking that I might be 'better' - the extensions of which being that maybe I'm just lazy when I don't get up, and maybe I really should be doing more, and maybe this is all I'll ever manage, which is vaguely content but with a pile of regrets - and thinking that I might not - extensions include worrying about another downward slide and 'holy shit what if something happens that I can't cope with and what if...'

It should be a good thing, that I'm not seeing him any more, and it is, when it isn't three in the morning after a litany of failures. And I'm hungry, which never helps, so I shall eat and sleep and then I shall do at least some of the things I didn't do today.

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I went to a party held by a guy from Key, and I talked to some people, and one guy was talking to me about Dr Who and said nice things about me and then, and then I went, "shit, he's hitting on me." Because I don't notice things like that, because he's older than me (has a son only eight years younger than me), because I am poorly socialised, because I am reasonably non-sexual and thus expect other people to perceive me that way despite the epic tits.

And it's just going to be awkward next time I see him, whether or not he remembers.

Also I'm hoping not to see the guy who asked me if I'm a dyke. I tried to explain to him that it was not a nice word to use, but, eh. I told him, "sometimes." And a friend of mine told me she pulled him up for that, said it was none of his business and it didn't matter anyway, which was comforting.

He said if his 15-year-old daughter was a dyke, he'd set her straight. And I tried to tell him, y'know, that's not how it works, but... some people, some circumstances, you can't educate. It's not my job to make him listen.

I am still kind of wtf about getting hit on. I mean, work-ish party, ill-advised hookups are, I believe, to be expected, but... but... he's middle-aged! I'm me! What?

ETA: I have hiccups. :(

ETAA: Also he likes Rose, that is totally a valid reason to tell him to piss off, right?

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