Please Block NHS Choices From My Phone

Having a cold at 20:

"Ahh, I'll take some Beechams, maybe chill for a day, but I'll just carry on. Isn't my red nose funny? What's a smartphone?"

Having a cold at 30:

"I'm dying. I'm going to sneeze/vomit my brains up. I have a brain tumour/Addison's/fetus/MS/some sort of blood parasite. WebMD told me."

#NotHypochondriajustGoogleeducated

A Problem Must Always Be Solved

Part of what comes along in the aspie way, is a very strong need to solve any problem that presents itself. Immediately. For example, if I remember I have a book I'd like to skim through for something and can't find it immediately, I will spend around two hours tearing through my flat to find it. The Boyfriend needed sweatpants the other day to chill in and even once he'd put on jeans, I couldn't settle until I'd located said sweatpants, even though he wouldn't be wearing them.

So I have this obsessive/compulsive streak. This proved to have disastrous consequences last night.

Twelve years ago I had my eyebrow pierced and happily, it never grew out. Eighteen months ago I had it taken out by a piercist (I was having a MRI scan soon) who said as I'd had the piercing that long I could easily go three months before it started to close up.

Since then, I've had my piercing in and out, but this time it was out for around six weeks. I tried for ages to get the bar through and wound up giving myself a NEW piercing. I basically forced this tiny bit of metal through my own head, all because I've 're-pierced' before and refused to stop until the job was done. Or it goes wrong and can't be done. 

So, old piercing more or less healed, but aggravated, and an angry new divet in my head. I look like Pinhead.

Luckily the nice people at Holier Than Thou gave me good advice and now have to use healing oils on my perforated eyebrow and then get the original piercing re-done when it's better. All because I have the compulsive need to complete tasks.

And yes, it hurts.

A Surprise In The Inbox

I wrote this email, not expecting a response:


Friday 20 February 2015

"Dear Mr [Chuck Palahniuk's agent],

I hope this email finds you well.

I apologise for writing with a 'fangirl' question, but I wondered if you may be able to answer this for me.

I have read that Chuck Palahniuk prefers to sign prosthetic limbs rather than his fans as people were then getting the signature tattooed. I also read that a possible reason for this is the worry of Sharpie ink entering the skin. I know someone who has a signed letter from Chuck. Would he still discourage his signature from that as a tattoo for them?

Also, I've been a fan of Chuck Palahniuk since I was a teenager and am now 30 and still follow his work. Seeing him read in the UK at the International Anthony Burgess Foundation (and listening to him read 'Romance') was possibly the highlight of my year. I'm looking forward to 'Make Something Up'.

With best wishes, 

SK Harrison"


Sunday 22 February 2015

"Dear Ms. Harrison,

Can you let us have your mailing address as Mr. Palahniuk would like to send you a gift.

Thank you.

[Chuck Palahniuk's agent]"

Wahooo!!!!

A Day Crunched Over The Netbook

Today I had to wait in for two viewings at my flat. Neither arrived. So I cracked on with some distraction so I didn't feel on edge about plans being changed.

Wrote: 
a chapter featuring a school reunion, a barman, and a blowjob;
transcribed a friend's interview that at 22 minutes ran to 3,500 words;
yet another job application...although it's not due for three weeks.

Picked up a book that may just make me laugh, as I'm hoping it's sassy and not soppy.

If not, then I have this to balance me out:

Nip And Tuck

"The first draft of anything is shit."

- Ernest Hemingway

I know, I know. Once a draft is done, it is recommended that you leave it to ferment, compost down. Give it a few weeks of being ignored. But I can't resist adding a bit there, cutting a bit there. It's like I'm stuck in the story I made up.

Doesn't that sound pretentious? But it is 3.02am...

Public Displays Of Emotion

It is reaching the point where leaving the flat on my own, even to the local shops is proving very difficult. So much so, that it takes me hours to pysch up to it. So, I thought a Tuesday afternoon in town with The Boyfriend doing fun things would be some welcome relief.

Uncharacteristically, it was me that refused to get out of bed in good time. I did not want to go out. But we got to town and saw Big Hero 6, which we'd been dying to see. That was when we realised it was half term. The shopping centre was completely packed. Got through the film fine, but quickly my brain was losing its filter. I was taking in relevant and irrelevant information until I started to feel queasy. We went round a few shops, but Sports Direct finished me off. Too many furrows of clothes, not in a good system, and I started to overheat and had the urge to cry. I told The Boyfriend I had to get out for a bit. I was hand-twisting outside with a drink and then finally we could go home. It took hours for me to come back to an even keel and I hated that on one of The Boyfriend's days off he ended up basically being my carer. 

I am now stuck with the dilemma of knowing that staying indoors all day will drive me crazy, because I can hear every single noise inside and out, but if I go outside I'm faced with hundreds of people that I can't decode.

Managed to get out today to see friends, but it was a very anxious affair. Diazepam barely works anymore, my sleep cycle is back to front and I feel like I have to solve every problem immediately.

The funny thing is, to most people they wouldn't spot a problem as I'm so good at 'passing'. It's only when the hand movements start that someone knows something's up.

Kate Middleton's Pledge

Okay, Kate Middleton, let's talk. How much money are you prepared to lay down to train and pay for school psychologists, counsellors, bigger CAMHS teams, and age-appropriate wards?

Talking isn't enough. The system needs a cash injection and a culture overhaul.