annafdd

The good news of the day is that I have an interview for a place at the Minster Centre, which is the training centre I really wanted to get into.

This elicited another round of passive-aggressive guilt-tripping from my mom, all very depressing, and also happening at the same time and instead of preparing to go out to meet rozk. I was only four hours late, but the good news is that this time I managed to kick myself out of the house at least.

This is something that I have found very hard of late. I have missed a whole lot of birthdays, meetings, celebrations, all things I was invited to, because... well, because getting out of the house is getting harder and harder. It's one of the reasons I am always so chronically late. I am late when I have meetings with people, but I am much, much later when I have just decided, say, to go out and shop for groceries. Sometimes two or three days late.

So I don't know if the problem is that I find it hard to meet people or just that I find it hard to get a move on. The results are the same, and are alarming for me. For a long time in my life the chief source of unhappiness, a bone-deep, aching misery, has been loneliness, and seeing myself as different, shunned, an outcast. Since I've moved to London that has gone away: I see myself as outgoing, gregarious, somebody who relishes being in the company of people. This may be because the people I can associate with now are actually people I like and have lots in common for, but I think it is also partly because I have changed myself.

So why do I find it so hard to go out and meet people I like, who have invited me, and whose company I enjoy?

I think part of it is the general slowing down, being sluggish and full of inertia, that comes with long-time depression. I can deal very well with my depression, but it is still there. The cognitive and emotional components have changed out of all recognition, but I think there are underlying modifications of my brain that are there to stay.

All the same... it was good that I had promised to go to this meeting tonight and that I managed to actually go, even if shamefully late. I want to connect with you people out there. Just because I fall asleep and take two hours to get ready and then get lost on the way and only show up at the last minute doesn't mean I don't want your company...

So, I have been walking Spike for four days now. I am starting to realize that I can't call to mind any dog-owner that is also fat. Some of them are sturdy, but, fat? Not so much.

That is, it's incredible how much a small creature who doesn't reach out to my hip can exercise. It's also pretty humbling to realize how horribly unfit I am compared to him.

The fun part of the walk is always getting to Hampstead Heath and being able to release Spike from his leash. There is this burst of the utter joy of caninity that is contagious and rewards all the begging and occasional lifting I have to do to get him to the park.

Unfortunately, with the exception of the first day, by the time we're there I'm smashed and panting. It's not so much the distance, the fact is that at some point Spike always sniffs that the park is near and starts walking briskly, and I tend to match my pace with him completely unconsciously. So I get there after a not bad workout and then he wants to play. Often there are other dogs who want to play just as much and it's only a question of collapsing on the grass and watching them play. The first couple of times I was a bit alarmed because Spike is a Bulldog and has powerful jaws, as well as lacking a tail that could reassure me around his moods. But now I know how utterly gentle he can be, and if the other dog's tail is whirling like mad, it's usually a good indication that they are having fun.

When no dogs are around, well, it's time to play Fetch the Stick. The Stick yesterday turned out to be a huge log that I had trouble lifting, never mind throwing, but that Spike could carry around in his mouth running. This morning I decided that a frisbee would be nice, not that I expected it to last for long, so I went into a cheapo store and bought one. Spike loved it to bits: literally. Unfortunately it also emerged that he loves tug-of-war much more than Fetch The Stick, and while Fetch I can play sitting down on a bench, the tugging has to involve my muscles.

I am getting paid very little for this gig, but there are times when I marvel at the thought that I am paid at all.

I suspect that I might maybe be tiring him out a little bit too. The first day he was jumping up and down in excitement when I opened the door. Today I found him splashed on his bed, and had to spend five minutes scratching his belly and telling him what a good dog he is, before he showed any wish to go out.

Anyway, on the way back I saw a white cat, maybe a Van or something like it, coming out on the road towards me meaowing demandingly. I petted her a little, but started to feel a bit alarmed at the clinginess and demands of this little cat. Lost? Hungry? Well... I could have walked away but my increasing MadCatWomanness kicked in. So I picked her up, rang the first bell I found, and asked the old woman who came to the door if she knew whose cat it was. She told me it was her neighbour's cat and she always meows like that, so I let her down, told her goodbye, and was on my way much reassured.

Monday the woman from the Mayhew is coming to see if my house is suitable for fostering semi-feral kittens. I think I should do a bit of picking up stray stuff.

This morning I had a nice big breakfast before going out. Result: by the time I got out to walk Spike I was already sick, and as soon as I got back and collapsed on the sofa, where I still am.

I would suspect celiac - again - where it not that I was fine all day yesterday as long as I kept to dry biscuits.

I don't know what this is but I'd much rather be doing something else than laying in bed trying not to puke.