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regeneration
May. 7th, 2009 12:12 amMy mother has left her homework out. Question: which of the following is not an SSRI? I believe I could hazard a guess at the answer, given I have been prescribed three of the four options in the last six months.
...this charmingly charmless anecdote aside, I am actually doing a bit better. On Monday, the house was full of a) people and b) the sound of drilling, so![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sebastienne coaxed me out of bed and persuaded me that really, going to the pub in the middle of the day was the best idea ever. And, so, indeed, it turned out. She and I and crouchinglynx retreated to a corner of the very nice pub across the road (it has recently transformed itself from old-man pub to hip 'n' trendy establishment - it's on Twitter, for heaven's sake) and we proceeded to sit there for six and a half hours, with breaks for lunch, and, er, Pictionary. My favourite part was sebastienne and yours truly attempting to sketch the concept of "Cambridge" armed with two blunt pencils and no artistic talent whatsoever. (My first notion was that we could somehow draw a very convincing picture of foreverdirt standing on a map. Then I remembered "no artistic talent whatsoever". So we drew colleges that looked like castles, a stick figure with a large hat and a very long scarf, and a police public call box. And the prison planet of the Time Lords. It was made of several kinds of awesome.)
Yesterday, I made it up north without incident, and have spent today feeling rather like I'm having my first day up after a long illness. At any rate, I am managing to do things one at a time. I got up, I got dressed, I stayed dressed, I wrote a couple of letters, I even went outside for a little while when I really didn't want to, which was healthy fresh air and whatnot. I went to the beach, because it was very windy and I wasn't likely to actually meet anyone, and on the way up, there was a flag with "25" on it and nothing else (I was thinking in that half-addled way, that's an awfully big golf course, but the flight of reason returned). There's an information board underneath it, courtesy of the National Trust - given current rates of climate change and sand erosion, it says, this is where the sea will be in twenty-five years' time.
...okay, I know I make jokes about this all the time, but that's kind of horrifying. (For those of you who actually know this bit of coastline, the flag is halfway through the bit where people leave their cars, so a good half a kilometre from the current high-water mark.) There is also, said the noticeboard, a flag at the fifty-year mark. I looked and looked, but I couldn't find it, and I am hoping this is because they haven't put it up yet, and not because they are mustering the courage to put it in my parents' living room. (They, on hearing this, gave me a resigned look and said, "Well, it's you who'll have to sell...")
And I had another funny thought, too. Pat Barker's Regeneration opens here, with the characters walking along the edge of the sea, and I think Siegfried Sassoon really did throw his Military Cross into the water here. Only, if that was 1917, then ninety years of erosion means he was another half-mile further out from where I was today. That's a weird thought. It's all relative, I guess, but there's something very absolute about your home being swallowed by the sea.
...anyway. Tomorrow, I have another quiet day at home - deep breaths, gentle self-affirmation - but have to actually do some research. Shall see how that goes.
...this charmingly charmless anecdote aside, I am actually doing a bit better. On Monday, the house was full of a) people and b) the sound of drilling, so
sebastienne coaxed me out of bed and persuaded me that really, going to the pub in the middle of the day was the best idea ever. And, so, indeed, it turned out. She and I and crouchinglynx retreated to a corner of the very nice pub across the road (it has recently transformed itself from old-man pub to hip 'n' trendy establishment - it's on Twitter, for heaven's sake) and we proceeded to sit there for six and a half hours, with breaks for lunch, and, er, Pictionary. My favourite part was sebastienne and yours truly attempting to sketch the concept of "Cambridge" armed with two blunt pencils and no artistic talent whatsoever. (My first notion was that we could somehow draw a very convincing picture of foreverdirt standing on a map. Then I remembered "no artistic talent whatsoever". So we drew colleges that looked like castles, a stick figure with a large hat and a very long scarf, and a police public call box. And the prison planet of the Time Lords. It was made of several kinds of awesome.)Yesterday, I made it up north without incident, and have spent today feeling rather like I'm having my first day up after a long illness. At any rate, I am managing to do things one at a time. I got up, I got dressed, I stayed dressed, I wrote a couple of letters, I even went outside for a little while when I really didn't want to, which was healthy fresh air and whatnot. I went to the beach, because it was very windy and I wasn't likely to actually meet anyone, and on the way up, there was a flag with "25" on it and nothing else (I was thinking in that half-addled way, that's an awfully big golf course, but the flight of reason returned). There's an information board underneath it, courtesy of the National Trust - given current rates of climate change and sand erosion, it says, this is where the sea will be in twenty-five years' time.
...okay, I know I make jokes about this all the time, but that's kind of horrifying. (For those of you who actually know this bit of coastline, the flag is halfway through the bit where people leave their cars, so a good half a kilometre from the current high-water mark.) There is also, said the noticeboard, a flag at the fifty-year mark. I looked and looked, but I couldn't find it, and I am hoping this is because they haven't put it up yet, and not because they are mustering the courage to put it in my parents' living room. (They, on hearing this, gave me a resigned look and said, "Well, it's you who'll have to sell...")
And I had another funny thought, too. Pat Barker's Regeneration opens here, with the characters walking along the edge of the sea, and I think Siegfried Sassoon really did throw his Military Cross into the water here. Only, if that was 1917, then ninety years of erosion means he was another half-mile further out from where I was today. That's a weird thought. It's all relative, I guess, but there's something very absolute about your home being swallowed by the sea.
...anyway. Tomorrow, I have another quiet day at home - deep breaths, gentle self-affirmation - but have to actually do some research. Shall see how that goes.
