Oops.

I’m all talk and no action. 

At least here. 

Sometimes you just have to live your life in order to observe it properly. 

The silence here is due to many factors.  But I don’t think this space is going away.  I’m just working on finding a way for it to fit my life a bit better.  The beauty of the space is that it can change with my life. 

When I started this little venture I was very lost and suffering from PhD-PTSD. 

It’s totally a thing. 

While speaking to a fellow PhD survivor yesterday we hit on the core of PhD-PTSD.  

You cannot stop analysing.* 

For at least four years of your life 20% of the 25% of the brain we actively use was taken up with constantly analysing.  No matter what you were doing, that bit of the brain was constantly ticking over and ‘making connections’ and pushing you to write, write, write, write.  When you finally finish, that bit of the brain is at a loss.  Especially if you don’t continue with the academic life.  That bit of the brain is habituated to analyse so it turns to whatever it can find.  It’s like a virus (or something else that just latches on to whatever is nearby, a seed pod, whatever) and you start analysing your breakfast choices, your friends, your partner, your marriage, the look a total stranger gave you on the tube.  It’s all up for investigation with any social theory you can remember and suddenly you can’t enjoy ‘time-off’ anymore because that bit of your brain is telling you that there is something significant to be said about your choice of breakfast.  It’s all culturally relevant and indicative of a greater social pattern and the fact that you think you made the choice because it was all you could find in the cupboard and were running late, means you aren't taking a broad enough view of your life and choices…………

Do you see? It’s exhausting.  Who cares? It gets to the point that you can’t register a feeling without analysing why it is that you might be feeling this way. 

I should point out that this may only be the case with Social Science PhDs as we are trained to see any aspect of life as up for investigation, so why not my breakfast choice.

Getting back to the silence…

I didn’t want to analyse my life anymore.  I feel pretty confident in saying that continued analysis will not make life enjoyable.  The unexamined life is definitely worth living.  At least for awhile. 

I can’t turn this training off but I don’t have to feed it. 

I do, however, have to keep writing.  I have been writing and telling stories since I was 5.  Probably before.  I have a compulsion to embellish the truth for the purpose of a better story.  Some call it compulsive lying, I prefer storytelling.  Any event that happens in my life, big or small, I process through snippets of description.  Lines of text run through my head as I feel joy or horror or contentment.  I can’t stop it.  So this space will continue, but not like before. 

I don’t think. 

I’m not sure. 

I’ll get back to you.



*there is also a guilt component that rivals any cultural mother/religion stereotype

Loose Ends

The remains of a meal in Fez.

 A new month.  A new goal.

Remember back in January when I said I was keeping myresolutions to myself?

I still am.  But I will let you in on one.  One that I think is probably the most important and the stepping stone for all the rest.

Be Mindful.

It’s that simple.  Be Mindful. 

I find that when I operate on auto-pilot I tend to end up in behaviour and thinking cycles that are less than productive or helpful.  I find myself anxious and antsy. 

Being mindful sounds easy enough, but is much harder in practice.

Being mindful, for me, is considering each action and thought.  Purposefully marking each action and thought and deciding whether or not it is the right one for the moment. 

I started this practice, unknowingly, when I joined Weight Watchers in December of 2010.  Then again, when I decided to start running. 

The practice was immensely helpful in more ways than I can count.  But most important for me was the feeling of control over some aspects of my life.  At the time I joined Weight Watchers I felt that I had lost control of some major aspects of my life.  My academic career had come to a screeching halt, my weight had ballooned and my health (mental and physical) was spiralling.

Taking the small step of being mindful of my food choices and noticing the effects those choices had on my body and health was the start of my healing process. 

Three months later I was 15 pounds lighter and running 3K on a regular basis.  I was feeling more confident and healthy.  Most importantly, I was feeling happy and able to see possibilities. 

This winter, for reasons I still am not sure of, I stopped being mindful.  Or at least I stopped taking the time to check in with myself.  I had made a lot of progress with my fitness and health and I had made a few small in-roads in getting back to work. 

Maybe these little steps, which were successful, let me think I could take a break. 

I now know, as with running, so it is with mindfulness.  I need to keep at it.  The positives gained through both are not permanent.  At least not yet.  They require vigilance and constant work. 

This past month of illness brought that realization home. 

Now that I am finally feeling better I have come back to my mindful resolution. 

First up, tying up a some loose ends I left dangling here. 

Mission: Declutter came to an unexpected stop when I worked my way through the flat to my ‘research.’  Boxes and boxes and shelves and shelves of book, articles, bits and pieces of my research from six years.  Research I spent a lot of time on and with.  Research that I have since stepped away from with no real plan to return.  However, I can’t get rid of it.  While I have decided to leave academia for the time being, I don’t think I am ready to leave that research.  It doesn’t feel done.  That journey, my circus/storytelling journey is not at an end and until it is I can’t get rid of all those bits and pieces. 

I became overwhelmed and stopped. 

Mission: Declutter ended abruptly, but it was successful.  It resulted in at least four trips to charity and quite a bit of recycling.  There are still bags of clothes waiting to be swapped and I still have yet to sell off the nicer pieces of clothes and stuff, but the overall declutter was helpful. 

And so I declare that mission complete. For now.

The sewing that was meant to accompany the declutter never started.  Or at least never got beyond collecting the clothes and cutting up some t-shirts.  This stalling is mostly down to a space issue.  I haven’t given up on it but I have accepted that it is going to have to wait until I have some space.  I will be sure to inform you when it starts back up again.

Morocco Motoring was abandoned just as I got started.  We went to Morocco in October and I have yet to tell those stories.  To be fair, there aren’t a lot beyond being ill and learning a bit about desire (hint: It’s suffering).

But not suffering as we normally think of it.  More like reality vs. expectation.

There are stories to tell, however and I intent to get on that.  If for no other reason than to preserve some of the good moments of those two weeks.  Despite the sickness, there were very good moments.  So I will endeavour to share those with you here and over in the Attic. 

It always feels good to tie a neat bow. 

A Mighty Return

Yesterday, being the *good* housewife I am, I noticed Pete's 'dress-down' jeans were still in the laundry basket and quickly gathered up a load of laundry.  Before I started the wash I texted Pete to let him know the jeans were going in the dryer to be ready for tomorrow. 

No problem, he replied.  If they aren't ready, I'll just wear something else.

This is where I should have left it.  He had something else to wear, no need to rush things and get the dryer going.  Especially after this...

The noise actually stopped shortly after I sent this out.  I forgot about it and moved on.

The washer stopped, everything seemed normal, no need to think anything was wrong.  Although now I think about it, when I rearranged the clothes before the dry cycle they were a bit heavier and more wet than usual. 

Then, things started to go a bit wonky.

Disregard the time stamp at the top.

See, I went down to check on the dryer and there were suds.  Lots and lots of suds.  Needless to say, there are not suppose to be suds.

Pete couldn't handle anymore bad info, so I took to the interwebs. 



And then things got worse. 

I started pressing buttons with the hope of figuring out the Mystery of the Drying Suds. 

I turned it off.  Waited.  Turned it back on. 

Nothing.

So now I had a washer full of clothes and water and suds.  And because it is a front-loader, there is no way to get the clothes out until the water disappears.  Which it wasn't.



This is around the time I started to freak out a little. 

I know. It's just a washer, it's no big deal. It can all be fixed.

It's a testament to how stressed we both are that this turned into a drama.  A really big drama.

I cried.  I kicked the washer a few times in the hope that it might literally kick-start. 

Nothing.

I tried shaking it.  But it is a washer full of water and sodden clothes.  It wasn't budging. 

My twitter friends offered advice, from the usual, 'unplug it' to the more fanciful, 'sing to it and stroke it gently.' 

I offered it chocolate.  Really good, 70% Dark Chocolate.  But the washer remained uncommunicative and cold. 

I mean I was willing to work with it here.  I would give it whatever it wanted.  Anti-limescale tablets.  Gentler, more expensive, washing powder.  Two days off a week.  Whatever it wanted. 

JUST F****ING GIVE ME SOME INDICATION!

Still nothing.

I started to get desperate and began collecting tools to disconnect the water hoses and poke around inside the washer.  I stopped myself just as I was unscrewing the first connection. 

This was probably not the best plan of action. My attempts at home repairs, more often than not, just make the problem worse. 

So I gave in and informed Pete of the situation.

You'll notice that after I gave in and admitted to Pete it was broken.  He didn't respond. 

30 minutes later he tells me he's on the way home.  But no mention of the washer drama.

This is where it all turned around.  I decided this was going to be a shit situation any way we sliced it.  So why not try and turn it into an adventure.  A story of our joint triumph over the washer. 

I threw some beer in the fridge and waited. 

We tackled the washer together and came out the other side. 

There was a lot of water.  A lot of sodden towels and buckets, tupperware and mugs of dirty water.  A fair amount of swearing (but not as much as I expected).

And a collar stiffener. 

That was the culprit.  Those little arrow looking tabs that go into shirt collars to keep them from curling.  That innocent little piece of white, pliable (yet indestructible) plastic.  How it got jammed into the water pump I will never know.  I vaguely remember a shirt loosing one months ago.  Like last year. 

That's how the story ended.  A collar stiffener jammed in the water pump. 

We put it all back together.  Had another beer.  And ordered pizza. 



Here's the surprise twist.  The rest of the night was really nice.  I mean, we didn't do anything terribly exciting.  We watched some TV and got ready for bed.  But we truely enjoyed each other's company. 

Our nights of late have been a bit sullen and quiet.  None of our usual silly banter or joking. Just sitting side by side quietly watching repeats on TV while eating a boring meal.  The joy of being at home together is squashed a bit by the realities of grown-up life lately and it's been getting us down. 

Our triumph over the washer was just what we needed to give us a little boost.  We fixed something.  We didn't have to wait on anything or anybody.  We fixed something that had gone wrong.

In some intangible way it reminded us that we are a solid team and we can totally do this grown-up thing.  







The Snot-nosed ramblings

Well hello!

This is earlier than expected.  But I'm bored and it's raining.  Why not shake things up?

As I write, The Queen* is 'officially' opening some touristy-historical spots in my City Centre.  As a volunteer of one of those tourist-historical spots I could be enjoying the Royal sighting with a special view. 

But it's raining, again.

And I have bright yellow snot, again.

So it goes. 

I'm pretty much writing off the month of April.  It has been nothing but rain and snot.  At least that is my lasting memory of the month.  The photos on my phone tell me there were some moments of sun but those memories are hazy and squiggy around the edges.  That must be the snot taking up residence in my brain.

Simply put, the quicker this month is behind me, the better. 


In other news, I applied for a job that has the potential to be the elusive 'dream job.' I was diligent about this one and attempted some networking, put quality work into the CV and cover letter, and convinced myself I was the perfect candidate in order to also convince the HR intern whose job it is to short-list candidates** that I am the perfect candidate...

We'll see.  It's all a crap shoot. 


This faux spring is not bringing around the rebirth I usually expect from this time of year.  In fact it is doing just the opposite and causing hibernation tendencies. I haven't gone for a run in over a month and the lack of exercise is definitely beginning to take its toll. I haven't been writing and the creative juices/chops are going the way of the snotty tissues (in the trash).
I'm even in a cooking rut and can't be asked to crack the food magazine I obsessively buy every month to find something new and interesting. 

I'm so desperate for sun and warmth I've taken to stalking the EasyJet website and fantasizing about impulsively booking two tickets for a weekend anywhere in a four-hour flight radius that can guarantee me sun and temperatures above 50F/10C.  If you've ever had the pleasure of a four-hour EasyJet flight you can understand how desperate the situation has become.  If you haven't, well, consider yourself lucky.  Hell is upholstered in orange and grey. 

Alas, looking at old holiday snaps will have to suffice. Not the same at all.

It might be time to re-instate the tradition of the 'Winter Burn-off' party. 






* HRH Queen Elizabeth II, Her Royal Majesty, Queenie?  I have no idea about the proper etiquette for this kind of thing but I'm sure it's included in some journalism stylebook somewhere or at the very least on the 'Life in Britian' exam. Today I can't be asked to find out. Bad former journalism student.

** I'm assuming it's an intern sorting through the hundreds of applications. Let's just hope they aren't too disgruntled by the time they get to my application in the pile. Or maybe that's what I need.  A disgruntled intern that throws my wacky CV in the mix to stick it to 'the man' just enough to feel rebellious but not enough to get fired. Let's face it, no one wants to go from sorting CVs to sending CVs.

In the Meantime II

Hello dear readers,

You face-less and ever-diminishing group.  You're wonderful.  I really don't deserve you.

What can I say?

We've had a hard few months over here.  Lots of uncertainty, lots of loss, and lately, lots of mucous.

Lots and lots and lots of orangey, yellowey, greeney mucous.  Going on 18 days...

When months like this come around, and around, and around all you can do is circle the wagons and hunker down for the duration.  And that usually means cutting out some activities that just add extra stress.  Like blogging. Or laundry*. 

We are taking turns taking care of each other, physically and mentally.  As painful and annoying as these turns can be, they are also one of the best parts of being married, I think.  I mean right up there with watching the luggage while you pee and being contractually obligated to clean up your mountain of snotty tissues.  That 'in sickness and in health' clause is handy. 

But it's not all tough.  We have a better appreciation of each other as the mucous starts to diminish in color and frequency.  (all together now, aaawwww or eeeeewww)  And while there is still a lot of uncertainty, we are beginning to move forward despite the unknown. 

This is all very vague, but some things are best left off the interwebs.  We are at one of those moments in life where everything could suddenly change or it could stay exactly the same.  We are hoping for change, as we quietly dread it at the same time.  (And just for the record, and I hate that this is exactly where everyone goes when a married woman of a certain age talks about change but... all this talk has nothing to do with offspring.  Mom, I'm looking at you.)

With that being said, or not said as the case seems to be, we could use some good vibes.  So whichever way you lean, I humbly ask you to burn some sage, light some candles, say a little prayer or do a little dance and send some good energy our way. 

And with that, I leave you for another undisclosed amount of time. 

Cheers and much love,

Ariel  




*However there is still time for baking and after two over-heated hand mixers and one crying-jag over my inability to determine 'stiff peaks,' I made that monster Pavlova and it was SWEET! I mean literally, so sweet it hurt your teeth.  Sadly, no photographic evidence, but trust me, it was awesome. In both size and taste.

In the Meantime...

On our 'sides of origin' at the Prime Meridian

Let’s pretend this little break in broadcast is for a fabulous reason. 

Such as…

After my Life List success of last week, I was recruited to saber open champagne for the rich and famous.

Or I am furiously typing in order to meet a manuscript deadline.

Or maybe I am trapped under a pile of National Geographic magazines which toppled during Mission: Declutter (and typing this on the iPhone I can just reach with a twist tie I found under the pile instead of calling for help.  Priorities).

Perhaps I missed the nausea, bumpy roads and pure exhilaration of East Africa so much we packed it in and jumped a plane never to return (and I am typing this from the internet shed on the side of the road).

Perhaps I finally convinced Pete to run away to the circus again and become a Big Cat Trainer while I run the cookhouse. 

I became so enthralled in Current Events, I effectively created a fort of newspapers from which I can’t escape.

Any of these are perfectly good reasons for the radio silence.  In fact, turn on your radio, maybe I am telling a story on This American Life or Desert Island Discs, depending on your day of the week or side of the Atlantic.

My absence definitely has nothing to do with the recent sunshine and a complete loss of words.  Or that my life is moving along at an even keel and I can only create so much drama out of my mundane domestic routine. 

Now, if you will excuse me, there is a bottle of bubbly chilling in the fridge which needs my attention. 

Desperately Seeking...Smarts

A PhD is a lonely journey. This is the first thing I was told as I interviewed for my spot in my PhD program. It's lonely in that it is just you. Your thoughts, your writing, your research. You will speak to fellow students and discuss with your advisors, but it's all you. Near the end, you become convinced you are the only one going crazy over this thing, that your fellow students are having an easier time of it, that this is the moment everyone discovers you have been faking it for the last few years, etc.

Then you finally finish, come up for air, take a shower and rejoin the world to find that actually everyone else doing a PhD was feeling relatively the same way. While only you could finish your particular PhD and it was a lonely journey, you were not the only one sloughing through and muttering, 'just keep typing, just keep typing, just f**king keep typing.'

Strangely, it doesn't really make you feel any better about the situation, but at least now you have some people to share a drink with and reminisce about the agony.

Somewhat interestingly, I find the role of housewife to be a similar experience. It is a lonely existence and it is easy to believe you are the only one in your situation. Going from student (which was largely performed at home) to housewife doesn't make for the best social life. At first is was a bit of a refreshing break to not have a ton of articles to read or a word limit to hit and I could just get on with finally giving the house a proper clean and maybe indulging in some more complicated cooking/baking (or just learning to cook, a generally useful skill for anyone).

A month later, the house was clean, I mastered a few recipes and realised daytime TV is quite depressing.

As more and more job applications were rejected and I lost the will to continue the seemingly futile process of applying, I also lost the will to keep up with current events, let alone my field. The more my life became about cooking, cleaning and ironing, the less I wanted to know about the world outside that realm. It seems counter intuitive perhaps, but as my life began to seem more and more about simple things and the likelihood that I would re-enter the wide world seemed to shrink, the less I wanted to know about what I was missing.

I hoped ignorance would be bliss.

I can tell you, this mantra did not serve me well.

By ignoring the world around me, I became so uniformed about the world that when I did occasionally venture out in an attempt to be sociable, my former witty conversational banter was reduced to overly excited (I'm talking to real people!!) anecdotes about failed culinary attempts and my theories on the past-times of my neighbours. (FYI, the house two doors down is definitely a half-way house, I think, and my neighbour across the way prefers banana-hammocks to boxers.)

To put it plainly, I felt as though I had lost a bit of my hard-earned smarts. I couldn't share in debates or express an opinion on news stories unless they appeared in the free-morning-newsprint-bundle-masquerading-as-a-newspaper-my-husband-brings-home-every-evening-which-I-eagerly-thumb-through-in-an-attempt-to-be-informed-only-to-inevitably-learn-about-a-chicken-nugget-shaped-like-George-Washington-instead-of-yet-another-crisis-in-the-Middle-East.

With virtual media taking over and newspapers going under everyday there really isn't an excuse to be so uninformed. I could read the news online in between obsessively checking my email and blog reading, but I tend to get distracted by photos of celebrities on red carpets or reviews of yet another costume drama.

At this point, it's almost a wilful ignorance. I have an unreasonable aversion to online research and news. Although, at the same time, I find the possibilities it offers the previously disenfranchised, incredibly interesting and promising. This reluctance to seek out news and research online is a bit problematic as I doubt Gazetteers, Almanacs or Encyclopedias (spelled correctly in one go, Thank you, Jiminy Cricket) are even printed anymore, but what can I do? I'm stubbornly hypocritical.

On Monday, it will be two years since I submitted that PhD. In another few months it will be two years I have been a housewife.

That's two years of enforced semi-ignorance.

If the mantra is to be believed I should be luxuriating in a bubble bath with champagne and a perma-smile, I'm so blissed out.

I'm sure we are all clear on the fact that this is not the case. In fact, I am feeling decidedly uncomfortable. As painful and distressing as the 'news' usually is, I am more distressed over being unaware of the world around me.

As a self-described free-lance Geographer, it is unacceptable.

So, I have decided to subscribe to a Sunday paper (I welcome suggestions), if for no other reason than I need cocktail chat material. I seem to have mastered most of my kitchen appliances and haven't mucked up a recipe in ages.