make me lose control

I've determined after long and careful deliberations that I really ought not to relocate to Poland. In time I'm convinced that I could learn the language, adapt to the culture, adjust to the winters, and eventually rule the country. But, embarrassingly, I lack the necessary self-control to stop eating their chocolate. As to the hot chocolate here...

The upside to my overly indulgent behaviour of the past few days is that I'll probably never want to eat the sickeningly disgusting British and American wannabe chocolates again (which could generate significant international multiplier effects).

At any rate, I now have even more motivation to use my new, sparkling running shoes.

mainly silliness

A friend of mine doesn't watch TV. Well done her, pompom wave, honk the horn, etc... Really,I think it is fantastic! Those who are privileged to know her can without hesitation testify that she has employed her time to much greater advantage.

My point here is that her underdeveloped attitude toward the talking-box is understandable, forgivable, and (if she would just make an effort) thoroughly reversible. But she stubbornly resists reform and even has gone so far as to say that the plot to Prison Break is unrealistic. Unrealistic?!? Hardly... an innocent man set-up by a rogue secret service, convicted of crime that didn't happen, sentenced to death row in a prison that his brother just happened to design is the sort of thing that happens all the time. Granted most brothers wouldn't then commit a major felony in order to bust their big brother out from the inside, but that is more a sad attribute to the times we live in than a serious flaw in the show.

For the sake of our friendship, I will conclude that since good taste is not universally endowed, it's absence may at times be utterly unavoidable. As Lincoln Burrows once said, "the quality of mercy is not strained but dropping from heaven to the place beneath is twice blessed."

Am I an Addict?

I'm afraid that I have once more regressed. Of course, it was all genuinely accidental. I just happened to end up at a golf course with my golf clubs. I didn't even remember how I got there!

As I stood on the first tee I felt myself falling again through the rabbit-hole. I'd been clean for 5 months and as I set up to hit my drive my self-control crumbled into the grass at my feet. Then and there, I resolved that first thing this evening I would swallow a bitter dose of self-help... beginning with an analysis of how severe my problem actually is. (I should warn you --- it isn't pretty!)

1. Do you ever play alone? YES
2. Have you ever substituted one course for another, thinking that one particular course was the problem? YES
3. Have you ever played one course to overcome the effects of another? YES
4. Do you avoid people or places that do not approve of you playing golf? YES
5. Have you ever played a course without knowing what it was or what it would do to you? YES
6. Have you ever been arrested as a result of playing golf? NO
7. Have you ever lied about where and how often you play? YES
8. Have you ever tried to stop or control your using? YES
9. Have you ever been in a jail, hospital, or golf rehabilitation center because of your playing? perhaps
10. Does playing golf interfere with your sleeping or eating? YES
11. Do you feel it is impossible for you to live without golf? NO (yes)
12. Do you ever question your own sanity? YES
13. Have you ever thought you couldn’t fit in or have a good time without golf? YES
14. Have you ever felt defensive, guilty, or ashamed about your playing? YES
15. Do you think a lot about golf? YES
16. Have you ever played a round because of emotional pain or stress? YES
17. Do you continue to play despite negative results? YES
18. Do you think you might have a problem? YES

Oh my!

De`ja Vu

There is a picture of me as a young golfer in one of the more original outfits known to man. At the time, I thought I looked pretty nifty. When I revisited the photo as a slightly older individual, I hurriedly condemned my mother for allowing me to inflict that many colors on society. An over-sized multi-coloured Buick hat, overly baggy shorts, and wrinkled over-sized polo, with white tube socks pulled unbearably high... well it's the sorta nightmare that stubbornly haunts my otherwise peaceful slumbers.

Sadly, more sleep-disturbances look to be my lot at night. And this time there is no one but myself to blame. Tentish green shirt with non-matching blue trucker hat ... definitely not a look that I'll be able to outrun during resting hours.

It gets worse. I still have the hat. And even more alarming, I love wearing it. Some days I insist on wearing it! I feel so cool, redneck, and utterly rugged. It's no end of sad.

Please someone... be kind and somehow destroy it before I once again humiliate myself.

blood hurts

At half five I woke to discover that I had one arm. Well, only one that I could feel. With my one good arm, I rotated my numb shoulder until my numb hand was free ... and then bit the pillow to keep from screaming!

Seeing as it wasn't light yet, no report on whether the arm was actually blue...

thoughts of a non-obsessive nature

I am a relatively uncompetitive individual. Relatively, as in, when compared with the rest of my immediate family. This is perhaps best demonstrated during the occasional board game that we sit down and play. Be it Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit, or Risk, it is patently obvious that I lack the necessary focus and desire to see my opponents paying me to retain their organs by the end of the game. Call me a "poor loser" if I insist that Monopoly fails to reflect economic reality, Trivial Pursuit is a trivial waste of neurons, or that Risk would be greatly improved if trade were permitted between countries. (It's a pet theory of mine that tit-for-tat would dominate here as well.)


I freely admit that in the world of grades I can be a bit more anal. Nothing motivates me to study like a brilliant friend (pictured) getting a higher mark unless it is brilliant friends getting higher marks (not pictured). Coupled with my desire to do no more than is economically-efficient, it becomes necessary to calculate just how much more time needs to be spent in the books in order to raise my grade by the appropriate increment. (Given an uncomfortably wide margin of error, I additionally assume that my colleague's grades will rise slightly.)


Apparently, Glasgow University has a reputation for not inflating grades which is great and probably would make my mom happy. It's nice to know that the mark I receive is the mark I deserve... but it would also be nice to know what exactly that mark means. In the alternative universe that is this university, a B doesn't correspond to a B, and percentages don't correspond to percentages. Confused? Join the club! It's like playing rock-paper-scissors where you know that paper beats rock and scissors beats paper and rock beats scissors, without any clue as to why!


Then there is the reality that full marks aren't given because, apparently, that would mean that the student should be teaching the course and not the professor. In other words, "Because I said so" beats rock, paper, and scissors!


Despite the fact that even the professors are at a loss to explain the grading system to befuddled North American students, marking seems to be fair. But it throws a monkey- wrench into my marginal analysis of just how much additional studying is needed in order to outperform my good friends.


It's a good thing that I'm relatively non-competitive or I might start to obsess over this.

Inner Hebrides (In Blues and Greens)

The Inner Hebrides are islands off the west coast of Scotland. Their beauty is truly unique.

I waited and waited but Aslan didn't stop by.

Taken from the ferry to Mull with my aunt in mind.

That water sure was on the cold side.

Dear Diary Cont.

Sequel to "Since You've Been Gone"

March 14. OMG. I am officially the rider of the squeaky bike. Every single pedal push is a squeakier squeak. My 30 minute ride to uni is driving me nuts. During my 15 minute ride back from work at night, I'm sure the neighbors curse the day I came to Scotland as I wake them with my squeaks. I swear they can hear me in Edinburgh. I cannot ride Squeaks through Maryhill one more time... they'll kill me.

March 17. I am the official winner of St. Patricks Day. And the New World Symphony was amazing. Rugby is stupendously boring... and did I mention that I won at St. Patricks Day?

March 28. Iona and Mull were lovely. A bit desolate, lonely, secluded, etc... but wow. I've been to the islands, finally seen a bit of the highlands, am extraordinarily tired, but thoroughly happy. I've seen the Dawn Treader (it was docked at the Tobermory wharf), had fresh Mull bread, and swum in the North Atlantic.

Okay, it wasn't exactly swimming. And it was really cold... my feet were very angry with me!!!! Did I mention how tired and happy I am? My brain is a bit of mush at the moment. So sad!

And Oban (background of picture) was surprising pretty. I think Richard Hannay got chased by the efficient Scottish "polis" through Oban. He evaded their efforts and made it up to Skye (next months trip).

March 31. Dearest Diary. I quit my stupid job!!!!!

April 9. I've been a very good girl and studied all day (with the exception of my 2 hour afternoon nap). I did my laundry, cleaned and vacuumed my room, changed my sheets...Now I must go watch Prison Break.

Since You've Been Gone

Contrary to popular opinion, blogging is not what I gave up for Lent. Neither was the silence a New Years resolution to eradicate my strong narcissistic tendencies beginning with my overly self-aware musings. In truth, such a resolution is entirely too difficult for one such as I to accomplish. Hushed tone: But I have accomplished all of my 2007 new years resolutions!!! The important aspect to all of this, is that I've returned from the quiet and will once more stoke my narcissism as it requires.

If I had kept a diary over the past months, it might have looked a little like this.

Jan 2. I have met the love of my life. I'm sure I will get no sleep for my heart thumps in the most unusual of ways... though that may be due to actually exercising. This might not be love, it could be cardiac arrhythmia's. And the butterflies in my stomach might not be good flutterings but signs of acute hunger and malnutrition. Unlikely given the quantity of food imbibed over the past week. But this bike make me so happy (I did write bike--- what were you expecting? Boy!?!).

When I look at the little wheels, and white seat/handlebars, rusted bell, one gear, and rusty orange frame I see a future that bears all the signs of long-term commitment and joy. I think I shall call this little-bike-that-could, this relic of the battle of britain, this rather Miss. Marply contraption, I shall name it the "Dr. Seuss bike."

dearest diary... I am so happy.

Jan 12. Dear Diary... I am not so happy.

I rode Dr. Seuss to school for my first day of classes and I didn't bring a change of clothes. Considering that I left in the middle of a downpour, this wasn't as unavoidable as most kind people would assume. I spent 9hrs in wet jeans and was most miserable. I think I may have cried. Of course, falling off of Dr. Seuss has given me new confidence... I am now a most confident cyclist knowing (as I do) that I will always land on my feet.

btw... my new job isn't so bad though it does mean riding Dr. Seuss back at 2am on occasion.

Feb. 10 Dear Diary

I am a tad bored. Malta is gorgeous and the bumpy buses are so much fun, but I didn't bring anything to read. Besides, I am homesick... that palm tree at the airport did that. I won't be hiring a bike like I had intended seeing as the Maltese can't drive (my bus hit a car a couple hours ago). But, I've taken loads of pretty pictures, walked around Valletta, and discovered for myself a quiet little creek off Grand Harbour that will no doubt be my mental "happy place" for years to come. And now, nestled up with my recently purchased copy of the Economist I shall be very content.

Feb 12. My camera was stolen. All my pictures are lost. My mom is going to kill me.

Feb 23. Fine, I lied... Feb 25.

Well the joint birthday party was loads of fun... despite the constant visits to the ladies room to blow my nose. I'm surprised I didn't look just like Rudolph... but cuter of course.

I had class all day Friday and I was just miserable. Sniffle, sniffle, BIG sniffle! I was supposed to stay over with the other birthday girl after the party, but she may not want me within a hundred feet of her dorm room. (These and other dark thoughts sniffled through my conjestedness.) Fortunately, she was even sicker than yours truly and didn't mind at all. So after all the classy sniffles, and the sniffly reminders to come by McPhabbs (home of Scotland's best attempt at a real hamburger), and the hurried attempt not to be late for my own party (our own party), and the accidental doubling of the recommended dose of super-drowsy decongestant, the party went swimmingly (other than the slight shoe and hat problems).

March 2. Whispered:
Dear Diary
I've had laryngitis for the last week.... it hurts. How could this have happened?

March 9. I am assuredly the world's worst cyclist. What part of "turning in front of moving automobiles/buses could lead to physical harm" do I not understand. I am such a conservative driver but put me on a two-wheeler and I turn it to the demon of the roads. I almost ran over a crossing guard last week, I almost maimed an old man yesterday, and today I gave the driver of that black Audi the fright of his week.

If I don't kill myself soon, my Dad will fly all the way here to do it for me.

I should mend my ways.

[Editors note: Ways have subsequently been mended.]