Class Fizz

I have a finishing day.

Finishing days are mightily important, but also quite personal... I get a little bit- I can't think of the word,

so I am going to say POOKED - when people say, "Oh, you're leaving, are you excited/going to miss me/nervous?" and it spoils it a bit. Don't you think? It's something you relish quietly, after all those times you plodded on because you knew people were tired of hearing how much you needed to get out of a place. Still, the people are good at listening (to a point, but that line is important too) so it's probably only fair to humour them in these last days.

I have a finishing day..... yes :)

AND I was called today to ask if I want to increase my shifts by five hours a week, which is excellent because I was worried about making sure I made up the shortfall with overtime every week. Super mega bonus, thanks. And my boss to be always seems so happy when he calls...

MOST IMPORTANTLY - As s.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.n as I leave that place, we are getting FIZZ. Racing name: Clash Fizz; dam - Clash Eliza, sire - Teds Jo. This is important, pay attention. Born 4th September 2004, retired from racing February 17th, 2009. Visited (and reserved) at the Sheffield Retired Greyhounds' Trust on Saturday 16th May, last week, by Richard and I.

We're getting a dog!

WE'RE GETTIN' A DOG!!!!!

I'll put a picture (or several) up once we have her home, no doubt.

Awesome.

What goes on at night...

The night before last, it was a lizard, outside a window on the sill. The window was below ground, with a trench all around and soil reaching up past the top of it, the grass just showing at the surface. The lizard was on his way off to the surface again. Half-formed, with no skin pigment. Like a tiny axolotl, pink with blue and yellow tones.

Last night, I had a baby. I went to sleep expecting and woke up with a baby wrapped up next to me. I couldn't remember the birth. He was born on Alfie's birthday and wanting to tell Shelley as soon as I saw her. It wasn't his real one, I realised this morning - October 13th. That was because, in my dream, when I'd woken up, it was today, the 14th, and he'd been born in the night. October, I'm not so sure about. I do like October, and it is the start of the new year on some calendars, which makes more sense to me than the 'traditional' new year... that's just postulation. I've left it too long now, I think, but I remember I walked around a shopping centre, in my jeans, thinking about my age, holding the child, thinking about how this was the end of my old life. Feeling sad, grieving for that girl. It was too soon. But loving the baby. He was mostly asleep. I wondered when Richard would appear. I thought, it wouldn't matter whether he was there or not, this was such a huge change, it was impossible to communicate. I was alone with this baby. My family were there, around, my mum particularly, who told me the birth had been rough. I remember moving cautiously, feeling very little soreness, checking out my stretch marks (three small ones on the right, more on the left), trying to remember having a swollen belly. Thinking maybe it was premature, though he didn't look it. I laughed at the thought of my birth being so traumatic. I'd blanked it out, like I was Wolverine. I imagined myself tied to the hospital bed, metal claws exposed. I think I was waking up at this point. One other thing... there were strange nappies, split at the front. George (Richard's dad) had no problem with them, made them look ingenious in fact, we discussed what a good design it was. I couldn't get them on when I was alone. They seemed huge, they didn't split in the right place, I couldn't figure out where the legs went. Someone else had to do it. 

Every time this happens, I'm grateful when I wake up. It's preventative (there's that word again). When you think it's real, you feel how you would feel. The only difference with these things is the suspension of waking reality. It makes it easier to explore the things you daren't think about during the day in case you convince yourself, wrongly, that you want something, and make a mistake... People assume, understandably but incorrectly, that this is as a sign of being broody. Really, I'm being allowed to do something for a while without the genuine consequences that arise. Other people don't really matter in a dream. The whole thing focused on the immediate experience, literally waking up and discovering I was a mother. Holding the baby, being able to feel sad. It's better than the in-laws saying, not yet, but perhaps one day. Whether or not you agree, that's nobody else's decision. Maybe it's not even your own.

Preventative Medication

I have taken the painkilling precautions necessary for when the anaesthetic wears off. Last trip to the dentist for six months, finally. This appointment turned into a race against time at the end because the first (worst) tooth took a little longer than expected... the back of it broke away a few weeks back, while I was eating a cheese and onion pastie. I was informed by Dr I that it wouldn't matter much at this stage what I was eating, the clip it was in (nothing to do with the crusty bread then, phew). 

Those jaw injections cause three different types of pain. Needle: Ow. Influx of numbing stuff which ironically, causes pain to the tissues it flows in to... then the jaw realises it's being invaded and the deeper, ear-bound swell of brown, wincing chronic stuff begins. Fortunately it doesn't last long, since it precludes anaesthesia. It's the type of instant-headache pain that you get when you really whack your head against something, or get punched. Problem is, it doesn't actually go away. It waits for the numb to subside so it can express itself fully. And that precautionary dose of ibuprofen wasn't administered soon enough, it would seem. 

I couldn't think of any word other than 'actioned' then. 

That's not even a word. 

Evil.

Other than the dentist's, then. Got a job! Got a good job, too. Finally. Support work, kids with disabilities, through the council, get in. A good tonne and a half has lifted from my lithe little shoulders. The agency is to blame for non-words like 'actioned' creeping into my lexicon. Bye-bye mickey mouse bank, bye-bye bigger jumped up building society with tacky bells on. It feels like I'm leaving the credit crunch behind. 

Having said that, everyone's forgotten, haven't they? Sneezing pigs abound. The result of another type of preventative medication that should never, never, never have been allowed. I got a book when I was six called 'The Young Person's Guide to Saving the Planet' which explained to me, among many things, why giving livestock antibiotics with their tea was, is, a bad idea. That was nineteen years ago (my Dad wanted to get me good and angry about the destruction of Gaia at a young age, it'd seem). Nineteen years ago. It's not much on a grand scale, but it's definitely enough time for something to be pencilled in for changing, looked at a bit more, grumbled about, pushed, and at least started. And they were still going on about it by the time I was doing GCSE Biology, so some people remember and thought it should be included in a national program for indoctrinating children. What's going on? I feel for the pigs, that's who I feel for. Sod the humans. It doesn't seem to be that serious ('scuse me, just sneezed) but it ought to be. It's definitely a warning, a rumble before the biggie. A chance to prepare and start to alter the way livestock are maintained before anything ridiculous happens. Personally, I'm convinced the next one will be zombie infection. My brother happens to be an expert on survival during zombie attack, so I'll be moving to Leeds to hide behind him the moment I get wind of THAT catastrophe. Whaddaya know little Rick, a media degree has its uses in the wide world after all. 

One final thing. Rita is still missing, has been since the 18th of April. The last mouse I left out has a strangely distended belly, which it didn't have before (I should note that it's dead, therefore should not be growing, and also male, so definitely doubly should not be swelling with child)... I'm scared if I touch it a multitude of maggots will spurt forth and bite me. I'll probably become the first zombie. Best get Richard to do it.