Most of the time my life is an episode of that soap "Doctors' but with a lot less sex. Appointments for this, tablets for that...you get the picture. Let's face it, when you've been married for a while, sex is one of those things you do along with everything else: picking the kids up, making the dinner, mowing the lawn and so on. Far be it from me to suggest that it becomes a matter of routine. I can see you, shaking your head, pretending it doesn't apply to you, but I'm sure it does.
At my reading group we recently read The Slap, and the one thing we all agreed on was that the amount of sex the characters had in the novel was far too much. 'Totally unrealistic' was the chorus of the reading group. So, it's not just me then.
So, what do we do when we get to the routine stage? We apply our imagination. Games, roll play, dressing up. A bit of fun so that for a few moments we can pretend that we are young and sprightly, adventurous and carefree. You've seen those films where the characters decide to meet in a hotel, pretending that they've never met. We watched a film recently in which the characters, who were all single executives, joined a group where you dialled a number and simply said 'Are you free tonight?' and a meeting would be arranged for no-strings-attached-casual-sex.
So, in light of this 'humdrum lets have some fun' and put some spark back into our sex life attitude, I decide to send my husband a text saying simply 'Are you free tonight?' But, instead of a sexy and enthusisatic response, I get a quizzical phonecall 'What are you on about - you know I'm not out tonight!'
Well, there was no harm in trying.
Thursday, 12 May 2011
Saturday, 7 May 2011
Starstruck - not!
The woman at Dubai One is stalking me. No, really, she is. I must have one of those faces that just says 'please humilitate me in front of your television viewers'. I was rushing to get to the Youth Festival (I was judging the Fashion section - yeah I know, unbelieveable) and this woman from Dubai One rushes up, sticks a camera in my face and asks 'Do you mind answering a few questions?' and before I have chance to say 'Well, actually I'm in a bit of a hurry...', the camera's rolling and I transmogrify from the normally articulate, reasonably intelligent person that I am, into a bumbling idiot, giggling like a schoolgirl. And they actually air it!
So, the week before the Royal Wedding, my daughter and I are doing some emergency 'she doesn't have the right clothes to go to Paris' shopping and the woman from Dubai One pops up, as if by magic, and sticks her now very familiar camera in my face and asks me if I will be watching the Royal Wedding, and do I think Kate will make a good Princess? Once again, I stumble through a few phrases, acting as if I have just pitched up from Mars and have never spoken English before. And once again, I am humiliated before the UAE population when the show airs.
I should have learned my lesson in England. I had been decorating and was fed up, so packed my younger daughter into the car and we went to a shopping centre. My younger daughter was about 2 years old at the time and I had just given her a packet of chocolate buttons, which she had decided could best be absorbed through her skin, and had smeared most of it onto her face. Because I was decorating I had paint in my hair and let's just describe my outfit as 'not exactly designered up' and leave it at that. I could see that there was some sort of demonstration going on, with an audience standing around and cameras were rolling. Up pops this immacuately dressed woman, asking me if I wouldn't mind giving my opinion of a new product they were launching. I thought fine, I have 5 minutes, thinking that she meant as part of the audience that had gathered. But oh no. She meant in front of the audience, live on air for the shoping channel! By the time I realised, it was too late to back out. The woman was handing me a disclaimer to sign and I was standing, paint-in-hair and all, toddler covered in chocolate, in front of a TV audience. Great.
So, from now on, I am soooo pro the abaya and full headgear. Perhaps the Dubai One woman won't be able to pick me out of the crowd so easily and what little dignity I have left, will remain in tact.
So, the week before the Royal Wedding, my daughter and I are doing some emergency 'she doesn't have the right clothes to go to Paris' shopping and the woman from Dubai One pops up, as if by magic, and sticks her now very familiar camera in my face and asks me if I will be watching the Royal Wedding, and do I think Kate will make a good Princess? Once again, I stumble through a few phrases, acting as if I have just pitched up from Mars and have never spoken English before. And once again, I am humiliated before the UAE population when the show airs.
I should have learned my lesson in England. I had been decorating and was fed up, so packed my younger daughter into the car and we went to a shopping centre. My younger daughter was about 2 years old at the time and I had just given her a packet of chocolate buttons, which she had decided could best be absorbed through her skin, and had smeared most of it onto her face. Because I was decorating I had paint in my hair and let's just describe my outfit as 'not exactly designered up' and leave it at that. I could see that there was some sort of demonstration going on, with an audience standing around and cameras were rolling. Up pops this immacuately dressed woman, asking me if I wouldn't mind giving my opinion of a new product they were launching. I thought fine, I have 5 minutes, thinking that she meant as part of the audience that had gathered. But oh no. She meant in front of the audience, live on air for the shoping channel! By the time I realised, it was too late to back out. The woman was handing me a disclaimer to sign and I was standing, paint-in-hair and all, toddler covered in chocolate, in front of a TV audience. Great.
So, from now on, I am soooo pro the abaya and full headgear. Perhaps the Dubai One woman won't be able to pick me out of the crowd so easily and what little dignity I have left, will remain in tact.
Thursday, 5 May 2011
Medication Morons
So, my medication over the past few weeks has become troublesome. Dr Neurology asks me not to use any more of the current batch of meds and order some more. Hmm. This stuff is 1000 GBP a box so I am not too enthusiastic about throwing any of it away. But I do as he says.
Now, we have spoken about morons before, and how being a moron seems to be a requirement for certain professions here in Dubai (taxi drivers, maids, gardeners, etc) but yesterday I came across a new job that requires this special qualification: the medical supplier. So, I order a new box of the medicine and when I get home from work it has arrived. But the box is twice the size of the old one, containing completely unrecognisable contents that I can 't use with the auto -injector I have. I go into a blind panic, thinking that I am going to have to undertake two years of nursing training in one night in order to inject myself manually. Yeah, it ain't gonna happen. I contact said moron medical supplier. 'Oh, yes Madam, the medication has been changed. You need to speak to the medical rep. I will give you his number'. What, so you didn't think it fortuitous to mention to me, before I hand over a very large cheque, that I would need new equipment to administer this new medication????
Anyway, the medical rep is coming over to see me tonight with the new equipment and an apologetic demeanour. So, we'll see.
Now, we have spoken about morons before, and how being a moron seems to be a requirement for certain professions here in Dubai (taxi drivers, maids, gardeners, etc) but yesterday I came across a new job that requires this special qualification: the medical supplier. So, I order a new box of the medicine and when I get home from work it has arrived. But the box is twice the size of the old one, containing completely unrecognisable contents that I can 't use with the auto -injector I have. I go into a blind panic, thinking that I am going to have to undertake two years of nursing training in one night in order to inject myself manually. Yeah, it ain't gonna happen. I contact said moron medical supplier. 'Oh, yes Madam, the medication has been changed. You need to speak to the medical rep. I will give you his number'. What, so you didn't think it fortuitous to mention to me, before I hand over a very large cheque, that I would need new equipment to administer this new medication????
Anyway, the medical rep is coming over to see me tonight with the new equipment and an apologetic demeanour. So, we'll see.
Sunday, 24 April 2011
From unconsciously incompetent to completely pathetic
For those of us who have a teaching certificate, it will come as no surprise if I mention the Conscious Competence Learning Matrix. This is a scale of learning where we begin as unconsciously incompetent at something and progress through a four scale matrix until we become unconsciously competent. In other words, we progress from not knowing that we are pants at something, to doing it on auto pilot. So, for example when we learn to drive a car, we are not aware of how difficult it is until we begin to learn (we are 'unconsciously incompetent') and when we are able to do it masterfully, we are unconsciously competent (doing it without having to think about it).
And so, I apply this to my game of golf. And, oh boy, am I unconsciously incompetent! Yesterday on the driving range, I think I managed to progress from absolutely abysmal to truly pathetic. I mean, for goodness sake, I am working on a research proposal for a Phd and I can't hit a small ball 150 yards with a stick?
I am however, surrounded by distractions. Firstly, its bloody hot and all I want to do is sit in the shade with a cold glass of sauvignon blanc and a good book. Secondly, I don't know what it is with golfers but they have the cutest, tightest little bottoms in those shorts! And thirdly, all those guys who hit the ball 350 metres just make it look so easy! I nonchalantly place the golf ball on the tee, stick my bum out, knees bent and raise the golf club in expectation of a good 250mtr shot, only to whack a huge divot out of the turf which flies 5 yards onto the green! I look to left and right to check if anyone saw me. Luckily, one of the great things about golf is that most people are concentraing so hard they don't notice what anyone else on the driving range is doing.
And today, I have aches in my arms and legs in muscles I didn't know I had. Perhaps I should stick with the sauvignon blanc and the book?
And so, I apply this to my game of golf. And, oh boy, am I unconsciously incompetent! Yesterday on the driving range, I think I managed to progress from absolutely abysmal to truly pathetic. I mean, for goodness sake, I am working on a research proposal for a Phd and I can't hit a small ball 150 yards with a stick?
I am however, surrounded by distractions. Firstly, its bloody hot and all I want to do is sit in the shade with a cold glass of sauvignon blanc and a good book. Secondly, I don't know what it is with golfers but they have the cutest, tightest little bottoms in those shorts! And thirdly, all those guys who hit the ball 350 metres just make it look so easy! I nonchalantly place the golf ball on the tee, stick my bum out, knees bent and raise the golf club in expectation of a good 250mtr shot, only to whack a huge divot out of the turf which flies 5 yards onto the green! I look to left and right to check if anyone saw me. Luckily, one of the great things about golf is that most people are concentraing so hard they don't notice what anyone else on the driving range is doing.
And today, I have aches in my arms and legs in muscles I didn't know I had. Perhaps I should stick with the sauvignon blanc and the book?
Helpful advice from Dr Neurology
Ok, so I emailed the neurologist about discontinuing the steroids in view of the 'speed' effect'. This is my email to him today, responding to his comments:
Dear Dr Neurology,
I thank you for your interesting and informative email, requesting that I continue with the steroid treatment and offering some suggestions on making the most of the 'speed effect'. I respond to your comments as follows:
Ok, so maybe not, but I am sure my husband would delight in my neurologist giving me this kind of advice!
Dear Dr Neurology,
I thank you for your interesting and informative email, requesting that I continue with the steroid treatment and offering some suggestions on making the most of the 'speed effect'. I respond to your comments as follows:
- Firstly, your suggestion that I should overcome my lack of sleep by providing 'stimulating noctural activities' for my husband is duly noted.
- On a similar note, taking advantage of the fact that I have no sense of taste by engaging in additional bedroom activities, those which are usually described in Latin terms, is also noted. As is your comment that if my husband does not wish to partake, you will.
- Whilst I find neurological disorders absolutely fascinating, I must decline your offer of carrying out research for you, reading large numbers of journals and taking notes, in order to satisfy my current intellectual curiosity.
- Finally, I take on board your comment that a feeling of euphoria whilst married is untypical and I should cherish it.
Ok, so maybe not, but I am sure my husband would delight in my neurologist giving me this kind of advice!
Friday, 8 April 2011
From desperate despair to calm
He lifted up his head and look directly at me. If I had expected a blankness or calm malevolence, it wasn't there.
'I'm...'
" I know who you are', I told him sternly.
'You know my name?' he enquired.
'Many of them', I retorted, shocked at the confidence in my own voice. 'Your name is mortality'.
This wasn't at all what I had expected. His demeanor was no more than indifferent; calm but nevertheless foreboding. There was no brooding vengeance or malice, just a dull inevitability, almost a boredom. It dawned on me that this was reflexive: what I was seeing was the mirror of my own calm resignation. The ineradicable suggestion of acceptance. And there in that, I saw the answer. The path chosen was to be my own. How I chose to walk it would be up to me: in fear or denial, acquiescence or dissension. The shock of this inner revelation washed over me like a wave of panic and I had to look away.
'You can leave now. I have seen what I need to see.' I mumbled to him.
He vanished like smoke in the wind, leaving only the most delicate hint of a breeze that swept past my shoulder. I stood up and crossed the room to the window. Spring was at last invading the garden and awakening the promise of new hope, new life.
The beast would return, along with his companions, despair and denial, but now I could see that the battle was within my capability; the recovery as inevitable as the attack, and I felt an inner calm.
'I'm...'
" I know who you are', I told him sternly.
'You know my name?' he enquired.
'Many of them', I retorted, shocked at the confidence in my own voice. 'Your name is mortality'.
This wasn't at all what I had expected. His demeanor was no more than indifferent; calm but nevertheless foreboding. There was no brooding vengeance or malice, just a dull inevitability, almost a boredom. It dawned on me that this was reflexive: what I was seeing was the mirror of my own calm resignation. The ineradicable suggestion of acceptance. And there in that, I saw the answer. The path chosen was to be my own. How I chose to walk it would be up to me: in fear or denial, acquiescence or dissension. The shock of this inner revelation washed over me like a wave of panic and I had to look away.
'You can leave now. I have seen what I need to see.' I mumbled to him.
He vanished like smoke in the wind, leaving only the most delicate hint of a breeze that swept past my shoulder. I stood up and crossed the room to the window. Spring was at last invading the garden and awakening the promise of new hope, new life.
The beast would return, along with his companions, despair and denial, but now I could see that the battle was within my capability; the recovery as inevitable as the attack, and I felt an inner calm.
Friday, 1 April 2011
SPEEDy Recovery
I have always been in favour of drugs. Even in those situations where drugs are frowned upon: like childbirth. Those 'earth-mother' midwives who want you to have the perfect 'natural' birth sitting in an enormous bath surrounded by your nearest and dearest, are stark-staringly unnatural to me. I wanted my 20 hours of hell to be immersed in periods of drug-induced oblivion with the occasional bout of lucidness. So, my recovery from this MS episode is of course, accompanied by a cocktail of drugs, vitamins and essential dietary requirements (mostly alcohol).
The drug of the moment is Predisolone, a steroid. I googled it today, in view of the fact that the complimentary instruction leaflet in the box has clearly been written by someone who has never spoken English before. What I was searching for was the bit under 'side effects' that said 'mimcs the effects of taking speed'. You see, when I take these tablets I feel like I want to leap over tall buildings in a single bound, solve Fermat's Theorum by myself or go for the world speed talking record. My mind is on fire.
My body is exhausted, but I can't rest: I can't sleep. I am completely and totally bored with everything because I want constant intellectual stimulation but am too tired to get it. I walk around in a constant state of euphoria - and this is all legal - seriously, you should get some of these drugs. If everyone were taking these, we'd have the cure for Cancer, Aids and probably MS by the end of next month, Japan would be completely re-built and half a dozen alternative eco-friendly fuels would be available shortly.
I have emailed the neurologist just in case I should stop taking the steroids now - is this how atheletes on steroids feel, I ask myself. The sad thing is that I am really hoping the neurologist tells me to keep taking them - I mean I'm not complaining about these feelings, it's just a bit odd. I ought to get that novel started before I stop taking the drugs and my IQ drops 20 points, hadn't I?
The drug of the moment is Predisolone, a steroid. I googled it today, in view of the fact that the complimentary instruction leaflet in the box has clearly been written by someone who has never spoken English before. What I was searching for was the bit under 'side effects' that said 'mimcs the effects of taking speed'. You see, when I take these tablets I feel like I want to leap over tall buildings in a single bound, solve Fermat's Theorum by myself or go for the world speed talking record. My mind is on fire.
My body is exhausted, but I can't rest: I can't sleep. I am completely and totally bored with everything because I want constant intellectual stimulation but am too tired to get it. I walk around in a constant state of euphoria - and this is all legal - seriously, you should get some of these drugs. If everyone were taking these, we'd have the cure for Cancer, Aids and probably MS by the end of next month, Japan would be completely re-built and half a dozen alternative eco-friendly fuels would be available shortly.
I have emailed the neurologist just in case I should stop taking the steroids now - is this how atheletes on steroids feel, I ask myself. The sad thing is that I am really hoping the neurologist tells me to keep taking them - I mean I'm not complaining about these feelings, it's just a bit odd. I ought to get that novel started before I stop taking the drugs and my IQ drops 20 points, hadn't I?
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