It's now been 100 weeks-as of today. I'm not celebrating, because there is nothing to celebrate-except, perhaps, the fact that the two doorknob doctors only destroyed my balance system. They didn't blind me, and they didn't put me in a wheelchair for life. That was more down to luck (and miracles, obviously) than to good (medical) management!
When I reach 104 weeks, I will have endured this for two years-and I said I would stop counting and do what I can to let go and move forward. It isn't an easy thing for me to do; I hold onto things, I have trouble letting the past remain in the past - and I can hold a grudge forever.
I find it marginally easier to cope with the idiots who insist on crashing into me when I am trying to walk (and am clearly having difficulty) by saying to myself (silently, or someone will be taking me away!!) "40" and shaking my head.
I remember the research that concluded that the average IQ of people in Britain is only 80 - so I just look at the really rude people and say "40"-someone else got the rest of their 80!!
As of yesterday, I started calling these people "doorknobs" - as in, they don't have the intelligence of a doorknob. And, I'm very fond of calling blokes "peanuts" (they probably are peanuts, anyway). It makes it a little amusing, and it seems to take some of the heat away from having people who are braindead (and rude) nearly knock me over, and then turn around and curse at me.
Doing this might just help other people who feel vulnerable and delicate (I refuse to refer to myself as either frail or disabled. Those labels are too negative and toxic) cope with any abuse they receive from others who are more able-bodied.
Perhaps I will start a trend...:-)
Saturday, 14 July 2012
A footnote to H'Angus the monkey, mayor of Hartlepool
I told you the story of who hung the monkey-but there is a footnote to that story.
When Stuart Drummond (aka H'Angus the monkey) became mayor of Hartlepool, one of the MPs -Peter Mendelson - told Drummond that he was embarrassing the entire government, and ordered him not to wear his monkey suit. This comes from a government minister who is well known as a thief and a scoundrel, and who defrauded the taxpayers of as much money as he could steal. You and I would be in prison for fraud and theft-but, true to the British government (and it doesn't matter which government, Labour and Conservatives all have the same procedure: steal as much from the people as you can, and you will be rewarded), but Tony Blair's thieves (and Cameron's thieves, too) are rewarded with knighthoods and peerages.
Mandelson is now "Lord" Mandelson (chief thief), and he told Drummond that Drummond was the embarrassment. The words "pot", "kettle" and "black" spring immediately to mind!!!!
Drummond doesn't wear his monkey suit (sadly-they should all wear one, it would be a vast improvement. At least we could ridicule them while they are stealing our money). He was re-elected in 2005, and in 2009, and is still mayor of Hartlepool.
The schoolchildren are still waiting for Drummond to honor his promise of free bananas (as if that will ever happen. A politician honors a promise? Not in my lifetime. Or yours. Or theirs!!).
Party leaders are still handing out knighthoods, peerages and other awards as if they are M&Ms (smarties in the UK).
If you go to Hartlepool, go on a pub crawl, and ask who hung the monkey, you are either a masochist or you have the intelligence of a doorknob: you will still get a beating.
Only in England!!
When Stuart Drummond (aka H'Angus the monkey) became mayor of Hartlepool, one of the MPs -Peter Mendelson - told Drummond that he was embarrassing the entire government, and ordered him not to wear his monkey suit. This comes from a government minister who is well known as a thief and a scoundrel, and who defrauded the taxpayers of as much money as he could steal. You and I would be in prison for fraud and theft-but, true to the British government (and it doesn't matter which government, Labour and Conservatives all have the same procedure: steal as much from the people as you can, and you will be rewarded), but Tony Blair's thieves (and Cameron's thieves, too) are rewarded with knighthoods and peerages.
Mandelson is now "Lord" Mandelson (chief thief), and he told Drummond that Drummond was the embarrassment. The words "pot", "kettle" and "black" spring immediately to mind!!!!
Drummond doesn't wear his monkey suit (sadly-they should all wear one, it would be a vast improvement. At least we could ridicule them while they are stealing our money). He was re-elected in 2005, and in 2009, and is still mayor of Hartlepool.
The schoolchildren are still waiting for Drummond to honor his promise of free bananas (as if that will ever happen. A politician honors a promise? Not in my lifetime. Or yours. Or theirs!!).
Party leaders are still handing out knighthoods, peerages and other awards as if they are M&Ms (smarties in the UK).
If you go to Hartlepool, go on a pub crawl, and ask who hung the monkey, you are either a masochist or you have the intelligence of a doorknob: you will still get a beating.
Only in England!!
Thursday, 12 July 2012
Who hung the monkey? A true story!
I sat in Starbucks yesterday, having my usual flat white and contemplating life (as you do), when two older ladies sat near me, trying to figure out how to get to the West End from North London. They had northern accents, so I figured they were in town for the day (it turned out that I was right).
They finally turned to me to ask directions (which I provided), and then asked me if I have a Canadian accent. I get this often; people ask if I am American or Canadian, and if I'm on holiday. After a while, it gets really tedious - especially since I have been here for more than half my life. That is a very long holiday!!
Now-if I say I'm from Vancouver, I will be informed (usually very smugly) that the person thought so; if I say I'm from San Francisco, or Chicago (most of the people don't even know where Chicago is-one person asked if that's in New York. And the Brits make fun of us because they say that we don't know anything about geography!!), or New York, I will be told that it's obvious, because I have an accent from wherever I say I come from. Obviously, they haven't got a clue, but they just don't want to seem like they are one of the ones who have an IQ of 80-or, in so many cases, less than that. The average IQ is 80-I'm happy to say that my friends are considerably more intelligent, which is a good thing, since I have never been able to relate to anyone who has the intelligence of a cannoli.
Both women said they are from Hartlepool; I said I've heard of it, and tried not to laugh. I coughed instead. And when they left, I thought about all that I know about Hartlepool. You know, if you follow my blog, that there is always a story in there somewhere! This is one I really want to share with you - especially if you happen to come across a British tourist who is arrogant, imperious, condescending (many are, but not all)-you can tell them to get stuffed, because we aren't monkey hangers, and they clearly are! Ask who is the idiot, then walk away. Better still, run.
I remember years ago, being told this true story by my ex-husband, who is from the northeast-where everyone knows this story, since it is taught in schools everywhere, and is the subject of much laughter and merriment by northerners-and, of course, the French (obviously).
During the war of 1812, when the British and the French were fighting each other (they have been fighting for centuries. They are still fighting. The French love to insult the British in French-the Brits don't understand, but insults in French can sound like compliments, if offered with a smile), the citizens of Hartlepool (pronounced HEART-lee-pool, if anyone should ask you) discovered a monkey wandering around. They'd never seen a monkey; they'd never seen a Frenchman. So they decided that the monkey was a French spy. They dressed it in clothes they thought Frenchmen would wear (I wish I'd been there-what a Kodak moment that must have been!!), took it to the town square, took a rope, and hung the monkey. Not content to do this once, at a much later date, they did it again, to another poor, unsuspecting monkey! Obviously the monkeys had much more intelligence than the people of Hartlepool, who clearly had the intellect of a doorknob. Someone else got the 80, that's for certain!!
I heard this story and immediately wanted to go and investigate Hartlepool-and go on a pub crawl to every Hartlepool pub and stand up and demand to know who hung the monkey. I was being facetious, of course, but I was told in all seriousness that anyone who was fool enough to do that would be severely beaten, and many pub riots in Hartlepool have been started by outsiders coming into the town to see what would happen if they had the temerity to ask that question!
Fast forward nearly 200 years to 2002. The football team's mascot was - guess which animal? Hint: if you guessed the monkey, you're right. If you didn't, you must be from one of the areas in the county of Essex where the people have an IQ that barely moves into single figures (no, I won't tell you where in Essex!!).
The other teams called the Hartlepool team "monkey hangers". Very funny-unless you're from Hartlepool, of course!
In 2002, the man who dressed in the monkey suit and played the team mascot put on his monkey suit, called himself "H'angus the monkey", and ran for mayor of Hartlepool, promising (this was his platform) free bananas for all schoolchildren.
He won. By a landslide.
They finally turned to me to ask directions (which I provided), and then asked me if I have a Canadian accent. I get this often; people ask if I am American or Canadian, and if I'm on holiday. After a while, it gets really tedious - especially since I have been here for more than half my life. That is a very long holiday!!
Now-if I say I'm from Vancouver, I will be informed (usually very smugly) that the person thought so; if I say I'm from San Francisco, or Chicago (most of the people don't even know where Chicago is-one person asked if that's in New York. And the Brits make fun of us because they say that we don't know anything about geography!!), or New York, I will be told that it's obvious, because I have an accent from wherever I say I come from. Obviously, they haven't got a clue, but they just don't want to seem like they are one of the ones who have an IQ of 80-or, in so many cases, less than that. The average IQ is 80-I'm happy to say that my friends are considerably more intelligent, which is a good thing, since I have never been able to relate to anyone who has the intelligence of a cannoli.
Both women said they are from Hartlepool; I said I've heard of it, and tried not to laugh. I coughed instead. And when they left, I thought about all that I know about Hartlepool. You know, if you follow my blog, that there is always a story in there somewhere! This is one I really want to share with you - especially if you happen to come across a British tourist who is arrogant, imperious, condescending (many are, but not all)-you can tell them to get stuffed, because we aren't monkey hangers, and they clearly are! Ask who is the idiot, then walk away. Better still, run.
I remember years ago, being told this true story by my ex-husband, who is from the northeast-where everyone knows this story, since it is taught in schools everywhere, and is the subject of much laughter and merriment by northerners-and, of course, the French (obviously).
During the war of 1812, when the British and the French were fighting each other (they have been fighting for centuries. They are still fighting. The French love to insult the British in French-the Brits don't understand, but insults in French can sound like compliments, if offered with a smile), the citizens of Hartlepool (pronounced HEART-lee-pool, if anyone should ask you) discovered a monkey wandering around. They'd never seen a monkey; they'd never seen a Frenchman. So they decided that the monkey was a French spy. They dressed it in clothes they thought Frenchmen would wear (I wish I'd been there-what a Kodak moment that must have been!!), took it to the town square, took a rope, and hung the monkey. Not content to do this once, at a much later date, they did it again, to another poor, unsuspecting monkey! Obviously the monkeys had much more intelligence than the people of Hartlepool, who clearly had the intellect of a doorknob. Someone else got the 80, that's for certain!!
I heard this story and immediately wanted to go and investigate Hartlepool-and go on a pub crawl to every Hartlepool pub and stand up and demand to know who hung the monkey. I was being facetious, of course, but I was told in all seriousness that anyone who was fool enough to do that would be severely beaten, and many pub riots in Hartlepool have been started by outsiders coming into the town to see what would happen if they had the temerity to ask that question!
Fast forward nearly 200 years to 2002. The football team's mascot was - guess which animal? Hint: if you guessed the monkey, you're right. If you didn't, you must be from one of the areas in the county of Essex where the people have an IQ that barely moves into single figures (no, I won't tell you where in Essex!!).
The other teams called the Hartlepool team "monkey hangers". Very funny-unless you're from Hartlepool, of course!
In 2002, the man who dressed in the monkey suit and played the team mascot put on his monkey suit, called himself "H'angus the monkey", and ran for mayor of Hartlepool, promising (this was his platform) free bananas for all schoolchildren.
He won. By a landslide.
Wednesday, 11 July 2012
Thrones and other oddities
Every country has different terms for things. In the UK, a rubber is an eraser, for example. That got me into a lot of trouble when I first came here, way back in the Jurassic period. I heard a salesgirl say that someone had pinched her rubber-and I turned and said, poor thing, you can get some at the pharmacy. This, of course, led to hilarity among some other members of staff (and customers, too). For anyone who is reading this and hasn't been to the USA< a rubber is a condom.
In the US, the trunk of the car is the trunk; in the UK, it is known as the boot. The hood of the car is the bonnet in the UK-for reasons best known to the Brits. There are lots of terms which are something else. And my personal favorite is the term in the UK for waking someone up in the morning: here it is known as "knocking one up". I know this because I was with a group of Brits in Greece several years ago, and we made arrangements to meet early for breakfast. One of the group turned to me and said "I'll knock you up at eight". I nearly hit him - then I discovered what he meant, and it became a standing joke.
Our term in the US for the toilet is the bathroom, or the john (why the john? I've got no idea, and nobody I know seems to know, either. Or care). Here in the UK, the toilet is known as the loo (don't ask. I have no idea why, either).
I do have a reason (however obscure) for mentioning these things. When I was growing up, the term for the toilet was "the throne". Where is so-and-so? On the throne. Usually, that meant that someone in the family was sitting and reading a magazine; sometimes it felt like someone was reading War and Peace. Luckily, we had more than one "throne". To this day, I hear about the queen or someone ascending to the throne, and I can't help but have a good laugh. Besides, I've been here enough years to find that it is appropriate!!
In my bathroom, the loo is sitting on top of a concrete plinth that is somewhere between 6-8 inches high (to this day, I still work in inches, not centimeters). Why? Nobody seems to know; I think the person who lived in the flat before me must have been eight feet tall, because when I sit down, my feet don't touch the floor. So it really is a throne!! And it only took a year for me to push the landlord hard enough to send someone to remove the plinth. Someone will examine it on Friday. It'll probably take another year for anything to be done. By British standards, that is very quick work. Meanwhile, I have to stand on my toes before I can sit down. A throne, indeed!!
I've had a tough time with the noisy neighbor from Hell upstairs. I'm sure he's lost his marbles: he hammers on the floor in the middle of the night - no idea why. Perhaps he can't sleep, so doesn't want anyone else to sleep, either. I confronted him, and he pretended not to speak English. I'm contemplating violence.
In the US, the trunk of the car is the trunk; in the UK, it is known as the boot. The hood of the car is the bonnet in the UK-for reasons best known to the Brits. There are lots of terms which are something else. And my personal favorite is the term in the UK for waking someone up in the morning: here it is known as "knocking one up". I know this because I was with a group of Brits in Greece several years ago, and we made arrangements to meet early for breakfast. One of the group turned to me and said "I'll knock you up at eight". I nearly hit him - then I discovered what he meant, and it became a standing joke.
Our term in the US for the toilet is the bathroom, or the john (why the john? I've got no idea, and nobody I know seems to know, either. Or care). Here in the UK, the toilet is known as the loo (don't ask. I have no idea why, either).
I do have a reason (however obscure) for mentioning these things. When I was growing up, the term for the toilet was "the throne". Where is so-and-so? On the throne. Usually, that meant that someone in the family was sitting and reading a magazine; sometimes it felt like someone was reading War and Peace. Luckily, we had more than one "throne". To this day, I hear about the queen or someone ascending to the throne, and I can't help but have a good laugh. Besides, I've been here enough years to find that it is appropriate!!
In my bathroom, the loo is sitting on top of a concrete plinth that is somewhere between 6-8 inches high (to this day, I still work in inches, not centimeters). Why? Nobody seems to know; I think the person who lived in the flat before me must have been eight feet tall, because when I sit down, my feet don't touch the floor. So it really is a throne!! And it only took a year for me to push the landlord hard enough to send someone to remove the plinth. Someone will examine it on Friday. It'll probably take another year for anything to be done. By British standards, that is very quick work. Meanwhile, I have to stand on my toes before I can sit down. A throne, indeed!!
I've had a tough time with the noisy neighbor from Hell upstairs. I'm sure he's lost his marbles: he hammers on the floor in the middle of the night - no idea why. Perhaps he can't sleep, so doesn't want anyone else to sleep, either. I confronted him, and he pretended not to speak English. I'm contemplating violence.
Saturday, 7 July 2012
The tortoise and the hare, and the fat lady singing
I did manage to fire off some rockets without a huge palaver-except from the upstairs noisy neighbor from Hell, who stuck his head out the window and demanded to know why there was noise-and why there was so much smoke. So I gave him my famous withering look, and said I was setting off fireworks. He mumbled and grumbled-and I said I'm surprised he noticed, since I assumed he's deaf as a post. The man's an imbecile.
So that was Independence Day: some rockets, and a few sparklies, and a few Mojitos, and a good time was had by all. No surprises that the media didn't cover the festivities over the Pond!!!!
I know the story about the tortoise and the hare - and, at the moment, I am certainly more tortoise than hare!! On Thursday I went to what was supposed to be my final vestibular assessment at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. This was delayed because I was in the hospital. I discovered that my physiotherapist is leaving - so I asked (jokingly) if it was something I said, since Izzy is the second person to treat me and leave! I was told that each physio has a nine month rotation, and Izzy's finishes at the end of July. She measured my movements - and informed me that I have regained 55% of my balance and visual mechanisms. Hooray!!
Izzy went on to say that the tests show that I am relying on my legs as well as my eyes-in two years I have been able to get my legs working, too. However-she said that this is probably all I will get back, and I need to prepare myself for the fact that some days (and weeks) will be better than others. In six weeks I return to see her colleague, and I will be remeasured, just to see if there is any progress when I have recovered fully from my chest infection and hospital incarceration.
We'll see. Today marks 99 weeks-and I have set myself a target of 80% (minimum) by the time I hit two years. It's a goal; it's a target. I'm convinced that nobody knows everything about the brain, and therefore new neural pathways can be (and are being) made, even as I write. That is all that keeps me going.
I really expected to be much better in six or eight weeks-but I will just keep going, even though progress is hideously slow.
I know that there are people who are much worse off than I am - but someone else's misery doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel like I have to trust myself more, and work harder.
The fat lady hasn't sung yet.
So that was Independence Day: some rockets, and a few sparklies, and a few Mojitos, and a good time was had by all. No surprises that the media didn't cover the festivities over the Pond!!!!
I know the story about the tortoise and the hare - and, at the moment, I am certainly more tortoise than hare!! On Thursday I went to what was supposed to be my final vestibular assessment at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. This was delayed because I was in the hospital. I discovered that my physiotherapist is leaving - so I asked (jokingly) if it was something I said, since Izzy is the second person to treat me and leave! I was told that each physio has a nine month rotation, and Izzy's finishes at the end of July. She measured my movements - and informed me that I have regained 55% of my balance and visual mechanisms. Hooray!!
Izzy went on to say that the tests show that I am relying on my legs as well as my eyes-in two years I have been able to get my legs working, too. However-she said that this is probably all I will get back, and I need to prepare myself for the fact that some days (and weeks) will be better than others. In six weeks I return to see her colleague, and I will be remeasured, just to see if there is any progress when I have recovered fully from my chest infection and hospital incarceration.
We'll see. Today marks 99 weeks-and I have set myself a target of 80% (minimum) by the time I hit two years. It's a goal; it's a target. I'm convinced that nobody knows everything about the brain, and therefore new neural pathways can be (and are being) made, even as I write. That is all that keeps me going.
I really expected to be much better in six or eight weeks-but I will just keep going, even though progress is hideously slow.
I know that there are people who are much worse off than I am - but someone else's misery doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel like I have to trust myself more, and work harder.
The fat lady hasn't sung yet.
Wednesday, 4 July 2012
Drum roll, please, it's Independence Day!!
I'm in a better frame of mind this morning, despite having a very sleepless night. Some days are better than others, and some days are much worse than others. The good days haven't turned into good weeks-yet-but the bad weeks have certainly moved into bad weeks. I'm working on changing that - but it does take time!
Today is the 4th of July, and I always celebrate by firing off rockets, and Catherine wheels-any fireworks I can get my little hands on. Now-in this country, the only legal day for setting off fireworks is the 5th of November. So I always buy fireworks around the 3rd, and save them for July. The stuff that is sold by the supermarkets is all pretty lame-and expensive-but I buy it anyway, just to have a little firework party to celebrate Independence Day.
Last year, I was in much worse shape than I am now-and I invited two Brits to join me in a firework display in Highgate Wood, which is not far from my house. I found a clearing, and both people acted as my lookouts as I set everything up. It was hilarious-because we could have been arrested on some stupid charge, like disturbing the peace. I doubt very much that the trees and the squirrels would complain-but that's the law, no matter how ridiculous it is!!
So I've got the fireworks, and one rebel, bolshy Brit to stand as lookout. It's raining and is supposed to rain for the rest of the day-but that won't stop us from a short road trip to Highgate Wood when it gets semi-dark. I still am unable to see or stand very well in the dark, so dusk will have to do. And last year we had an audience-about a dozen people watched, rather confused as to why we were setting off fireworks in July. But we cleared all the evidence afterward, and tried to be very nonchalant as we left. Our audience's faces were priceless: another Kodak moment missed!!
It might be only a matter of time before I run out of luck - since I've been celebrating the Fourth for years - but I've decided that, should we get caught, I will appear to be very confused. And deaf. And mute.
Sometimes having a walking stick and no balance can work in one's favor!!!
Happy Independence Day. Celebrate. Set off fireworks. It drives the Brits nuts...
Today is the 4th of July, and I always celebrate by firing off rockets, and Catherine wheels-any fireworks I can get my little hands on. Now-in this country, the only legal day for setting off fireworks is the 5th of November. So I always buy fireworks around the 3rd, and save them for July. The stuff that is sold by the supermarkets is all pretty lame-and expensive-but I buy it anyway, just to have a little firework party to celebrate Independence Day.
Last year, I was in much worse shape than I am now-and I invited two Brits to join me in a firework display in Highgate Wood, which is not far from my house. I found a clearing, and both people acted as my lookouts as I set everything up. It was hilarious-because we could have been arrested on some stupid charge, like disturbing the peace. I doubt very much that the trees and the squirrels would complain-but that's the law, no matter how ridiculous it is!!
So I've got the fireworks, and one rebel, bolshy Brit to stand as lookout. It's raining and is supposed to rain for the rest of the day-but that won't stop us from a short road trip to Highgate Wood when it gets semi-dark. I still am unable to see or stand very well in the dark, so dusk will have to do. And last year we had an audience-about a dozen people watched, rather confused as to why we were setting off fireworks in July. But we cleared all the evidence afterward, and tried to be very nonchalant as we left. Our audience's faces were priceless: another Kodak moment missed!!
It might be only a matter of time before I run out of luck - since I've been celebrating the Fourth for years - but I've decided that, should we get caught, I will appear to be very confused. And deaf. And mute.
Sometimes having a walking stick and no balance can work in one's favor!!!
Happy Independence Day. Celebrate. Set off fireworks. It drives the Brits nuts...
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Turning the corner and hitting the wall
I passed the 98 week mark on Saturday - and I really have decided that, once I get to two years exactly, I will have to stop counting. It just gets me very, very depressed. And I have been pretty depressed since I left the hospital a week ago. I should be both happy and relieved; instead, I'm just very down. Perhaps it is a delayed reaction to the antibiotics. At least my veins are both bleached clean and happy to be cannula-free!! Hospitals are not good places to hang around - they are filled with sick people.
On Saturday afternoon, I decided to take myself to the movies; I thought that if I could actually sit through something I wanted to see, I would feel better. I missed nearly all the films I wanted to see in the last two years-so I went to see Men in Black 3-and I pushed the boat out and saw it in 3-D. Amazing-I was able to sit through it without feeling severe vertigo, and I really enjoyed it! Of course, I stood up when the film was over and nearly fell flat on my face! It took me about ten minutes just to get my eyes back and be able to stagger outside. But-I felt a sense of achievement to be able to go and watch a movie at all. That's a good sign; it lifted my mood a bit, which was, of course, the whole idea in the first place!!
I'm not in a joke-telling mood this morning. For one thing, it's been raining - and rain makes the balance worse. I can report that the specialist consultant who is doing the reports for my solicitor told me yesterday that this case is very complicated, that I have (in his opinion) a very good, strong case-but if Barts fights (and he said they would), this whole thing will be very long and drawn out.
It would be much easier for me to move forward if we could settle early - but it doesn't look like that is going to happen.
I'm discouraged, but I refuse to allow myself to be beaten. This mood will pass (eventually). It always does. Meanwhile, I will keep doing everything that makes me dizzy-and see if I keep improving.
On Saturday afternoon, I decided to take myself to the movies; I thought that if I could actually sit through something I wanted to see, I would feel better. I missed nearly all the films I wanted to see in the last two years-so I went to see Men in Black 3-and I pushed the boat out and saw it in 3-D. Amazing-I was able to sit through it without feeling severe vertigo, and I really enjoyed it! Of course, I stood up when the film was over and nearly fell flat on my face! It took me about ten minutes just to get my eyes back and be able to stagger outside. But-I felt a sense of achievement to be able to go and watch a movie at all. That's a good sign; it lifted my mood a bit, which was, of course, the whole idea in the first place!!
I'm not in a joke-telling mood this morning. For one thing, it's been raining - and rain makes the balance worse. I can report that the specialist consultant who is doing the reports for my solicitor told me yesterday that this case is very complicated, that I have (in his opinion) a very good, strong case-but if Barts fights (and he said they would), this whole thing will be very long and drawn out.
It would be much easier for me to move forward if we could settle early - but it doesn't look like that is going to happen.
I'm discouraged, but I refuse to allow myself to be beaten. This mood will pass (eventually). It always does. Meanwhile, I will keep doing everything that makes me dizzy-and see if I keep improving.
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