Destiny

It is time to explain how I took control of my destiny. (I have not been being deliberately mysterious about this, not since I got it sorted out anyway – I am just useless at finding time to gather my thoughts and write posts. This one has been sitting around half-written for a little while.)

SO, I realised (and yes, it’s all obvious in hindsight) that what I really want to be is a writer. It’s the one thing I really have some genuine talent at, and really do actually enjoy doing. The editing part of my job can be painfully tedious at times, but the writing part – once I get over my fearful paralysis and actually start writing – is exhilarating, challenging, satisfying. Moreover, your destiny does not simply waltz up to you and present itself: if I am to be a writer, I have to make it happen. Moreover, I have a unique opportunity to do that right now, without losing too much if I fail completely. I am in Mexico, I speak Spanish, more or less, I know the country, more or less, and I’m able to dedicate some time to trying to write about it before I have to move on to a(nother) proper job.

SO, I screwed up my courage and asked my boss if he would like me to stay on for a bit longer. The result was a new four-month contract, under which I would work three weeks out of every four, with the fourth being free for me to do my own research trips.

This is an exciting and wonderful thing. I am very glad that I have finally figured out one of the things I would really like to do with my life (there are a couple of others, but they are EVEN MORE impractical, hard to believe though that is). It is also completely terrifying.

One of the results was me moving off campus, as I would have had to pay a quarter of the rent if I’d stayed, whereas if I moved I would get paid money instead, in the form of a housing allowance. I was initially quite excited about this – a new stage of my life, a new challenge living in town, maybe meeting and spending time with different people, being all cool and hanging out (I wish my imagination wasn’t so optimistic) – and I do like my house a lot. It is peaceful, secure, and had lovely big windows and arched brick ceilings. On the other hand, the hassle, expense and incredible time-consumingness of all the packing, unpacking, cleaning, and furnishing – plus the rain coming in through my beautiful ceiling – has taken the shine off a little. And it is a wee bit lonely. I don’t like to admit it, but I think it was not having the internet, not not having company, that made it more lonely.

The writing plan, as first conceived, was to try my hand at some quirky travel/culture articles, but I realised pretty quickly that I wanted to write a book. A couple of vague book ideas have become a definite idea, and a plan is fleshing itself out all the time. I am a bit coy about it, partly because I have an irrational paranoia that someone will steal my idea, but mostly because I am afraid that people will people will think it is stupid and my confidence is yet a teetering house of cards. But I do think it is a good idea, a viable one, and each time I have to tell someone about it it is a bit less terrible.

Of course I can’t really write a whole book based on a few odd weeks’ research. The plan is to gather enough material for a few chapters, then try to get an agent, then a publisher and an advance when I got home. This is all very well in theory, but terrifyingly difficult (and random) in practice. As my first research trip approached, three weeks or so ago, and I explained this plan to a friend, I felt like I was being completely ridiculous even to dream that it might work out for me. Millions of people want to be writers, and how many of them manage it with any reasonable degree of success? What makes me think I’m so special? I felt like a spoilt and stupid child. I felt like the living embodiment of hubris.

My trip was in part great and in part disastrous. On the whole I have more hope and more faith in my book now than I did before I began, but the magnitude of the task is also a lot clearer to me. This intimidates me but it won't stop me.

Meanwhile, the exquisite tortures of the Boy who doesn't want me being my best friend in Mexico, the person who listens to me, the person who makes me laugh and makes me calm and makes me happy. But also the person who teases me and torments me and is so undemonstrative and private that I find it hard to believe even in our friendship. Of wondering about the questions he doesn’t answer or I daren’t ask and having no right to answers, and then the answers being just as bad. Of being able to think and - mostly - act rationally, but completely unable to feel rationally about it. With my friendship with the Boy shaken and uncertain, I feel friendless and shaken in myself. I often do not feel brave enough even to carry on being here, fighting loneliness all the time, let alone to push myself to go to strange places and talk to strange people. And yet the idea of leaving Mexico is so painful I can’t let myself think about it.

Lightness

Lightness

It was your lightness that drew me,
the lightness of your talk and your laughter,
the lightness of your cheek in my hands,
your sweet gentle modest lightness:
and it is the lightness of your kiss
that is starving my mouth,
and the lightness of your embrace
that will let me go adrift.

Meg Bateman
her translation from the original Gaelic

This is one of those poems that has stayed in my mind since I first read it, in Staying Alive, edited by Neil Astley, which is not quite perfect but is the best anthology of modern poetry I have ever come across. Leafing through it, now familiar, over the weekend, this was the one that stuck with me.

[By a miracle I have remembered my mother's birthday two whole days in advance. Her passion and obsession is Gaelic music, like the poet discovered in her youth. I am almost glad that Lightness, the book that this is from, seems to be out of print, because it would feel too personal, even if only I knew it. But, thanks to the internet, Bateman's second book, with poems both in Gaelic and in English, will be arriving at my house even before she does, back from another trip to the Outer Hebrides.]

O tempora, o mosquitos

Mosquito season is upon us, following the coming of the rain with grim inevitability. This was called to my attention on Friday night, when I got bitten ALL OVER and spent the hours of repose tossing, turning, and scratching.

Saturday night: I lie in bed. And ominous whining fills my ears. I get up, put the light on, and kill two mosquitoes, including the biggest, ugliest one I have ever seen, which squishes in a truly revolting way. I retire with tranquil mind.

Sunday night: It is 1.30 am and I haven't had proper restful sleep all weekend. I turn out the light and lay me down to sleep. I think, I toss, I turn. Finally I am still. The room is still. The room is not still, there is a fucking mosquito in it. I get up. I put the light on. I stagger back to bed. I poke myself in the eye with my glasses. I spend a lot of time looking for an apparently invisible mosquito. I find lots of bits of fluff and small marks on the wall. I reflect that hunt the mosquito is a bit like hunt the thimble, only considerably less enjoyable. I find the mosquito, sitting on the wall. I hesitate - partly because splatting it while resting seems less sporting than splatting it in mid flight, partly out of disgust at splatting it on my wall, and partly because I am so goddamn tired. She who hesitates is lost. The mosquito flies away. I continue looking for it, this time without thought of mercy, until I am too tired to remain vertical.

Monday lunchtime: War has been declared. I vengefully splat a mosquito against the wall of the stairs on my way back to work after some lunchtime ping-pong. I walk back to the office with bits of mosquito and someone else's blood making my hand crawl.

I do not like mosquito season.

It is also the season of birds, which I do like. In Britain the limiting factor on new life bursting forth, including insects with which to feed chicks, is temperature, whereas here I suppose it is largely water, but Spring seems to be at about the same time. Which means the world is suddenly full of little birds, showing off and squabbling and singing and collecting nesting materials. Just a week or so ago began to appear fragile halves of tiny, translucent eggs (which as a child I would have joyfully horded in cotton wool and margerine tubs), and now are appearing the naked corpses of the newly-hatched, with their babies' beaks designed for gaping and their closed, bulbous eyes. They are sad, these little ones, but to me beautiful. Everywhere I am - in my house, in my office - I can hear the chirping of their living siblings.

It is not the season of dogs - I do not think dogs have seasons - but on the theme of fauna, yesterday I saw a puppy that I wanted terribly much to rescue. It was dusty and downtrodden-looking, sweet and black and soulful, and yelping pitifully at being kicked by a little girl to get it away from her mother or grandmother's flower stall. Well, not so much stall as a couple of buckets set down on the dirt. It is disconcerting to see a little girl kick a puppy instead of petting it. I am still toying with the idea of going back to look for it, but common sense asserts that I am not allowed dogs in my apartment, that getting it home would be near-impossible, that I have neither the time or the money to invest in a dog, and so on. I always thought I was a cat person, independent and reserved (ie unfriendly) as I am, but of course one's own characteristics don't necessarily make for the best pets. So a friendly, faithful dog it is for me, one day, at least until I can get my elephant.

Gaaagh, or, a brief rant about the sheer fucking awfulness of Windows Vista

I really, really, really, really hate Windows Vista. I hate it with a smouldering fiery passion and consistent irkedness. My replacement computer, which was the only affordable way for me to get any computer at all, came with it, otherwise you can be sure I would have avoided it with my natural suspicion of any new version of Windows. I'm sure that proper geeks could tell me exactly why I should hate Windows Vista (and yes, yes, I know, but I am not rich enough for a Mac or computer-minded/brave enough to switch to Linux, which I wouldn't know how to fix if it didn't work). I personally hate Vista because it is even more plasticy, patronising and generally awful than XP (I know, who would have believed it possible?). There are many small but shitty careless crapnesses about it, such as the fact that the taskbar is not blue but an ugly dark grey, and cannot be changed (trust me, I spent some time reading forums full of posts by other frustrated users).

However, the thing which fills me with homicidal rage is the lack of control over the sound. In previous versions of Windows you had individual control over the elements of sound going in and out. In Vista there is just a single volume control for the speakers and for the "microphone", which I assume is an irritating, patronising way of saying line in, because I don't have a sodding microphone. There is absolutely no way to access or use wave out, which is the audio feed you need to record streamed (ie real-time) sound from your computer. It is simply NOT THERE. I believe that this is so it cannot be used for illegal purposes, but really if I want to get hold of music without paying for it there are much easier ways. What I want it for is to record BBC radio off the internet via the seven-day listen again service, to talk to me and cheer me up and console me. Currently I want to record an unabridged reading of The Day of the Triffids, for I am deeply fond of Wyndham's "cosy catastrophes", which (I checked) has never been released for sale. And I bloody well CAN'T.

...

Fortunately, it seems that Microsoft hasn't actually disabled this option, only hidden it. I have been saved from an early death from sheer fury by the wonders of the internet, which knows everything. A wonderful person here has the answer:

1. Select sound from the control panel.
2. Select the recording tab.
3. Right click on the background of the tab and choose "show disabled devices".
4. Right click on Wave Out Mix and click enable.
5. Now it should work the same way as Wave Out Mix in Windows XP, allowing you to record any sound your computer makes.

But really it makes me cross that Vista should decide to hide things from me like some kind of smug and hateful nanny. If I didn't know that it ought to exist I wouldn't have known to look for it. Hate hate hate...

[It does sometimes strike me that I should try to let go of my rage, but I wouldn't know where to begin.

Ooh, and I saw this hat recently. I can think of a number of people it would suit, definitely including the ones responsible for Vista.]

wOOt

I have INTERNET! At HOME! It is AMAZING!

Sex, unhelpfully advertised

I saw a (young, cool-looking) guy in street the other day wearing a T-shirt daying "sexual vanilla". It was with some self control that I stopped myself sniggering out loud until he'd walked past.

And yesterday I saw a large sign, presumably above the establishment in question, reading:
"Sex shop: no te sorprendas!"
Or,
"Sex shop: don't surprise yourself!"

Huh? Don't surprise yourself by wandering off the straight and narrow into a sex shop? Don't surprise yourself with an exciting new toy? This seems like extremely unhelpful advertising.

The dictionary gives the alternative "to wonder, marvel" for sorprender, but that doesn't get us much further. Or, "to catch unawares" so I suppose, although I am quite dubious about the grammar, it could mean "Sex shop: don't get caught unawares". Well, I suppose getting caught out without an enormous rubber dildo IS a risk...

Snigger.

Memetastic

The blogosphere is abuzz with the most fantastic meme ever. I first saw it on Katy's blog and really wanted to do it, but felt too self-conscious to do it without being tagged. And, because I am a recent lurker over there, I didn't want to leap out shouting "me too, me too!", because it is not a very couth way to say hello. Yes, I am ridiculous and I should get over myself, I know. But then Anna did it and she tagged anyone who wants to have a go, including Laura, so yay, my first meme! Let's all play!

So what you do is you search for "[your name] likes to" in google, and copy and paste the results. And I am happy to say that mine had me giggling like a loon, even though there were only 27.

So,

Eloise likes to use "S" words to describe what she does: skibbles up and down the stairs; skidders two sticks along the walls; slomps her feet against the woodwork...
The top result and it couldn't please me more. And I DO like to use "S" words to describe what I do. Others include sniggering, sarcastic remarks, salsa dancing, sliding down banisters, skipping with glee, spouting off, sillyness and swearing like a sailor.

Eloise likes to have adventures, and she often pretends to be other people. Sometimes she is a princess or a dinosaur...
I DO, I DO! This is all about me!

According to the maitre’ d, “Eloise likes to hide under the tables and steal scones.” She is usually “bouncing all over the place,” added our waiter.
I have been known to bounce all over the place when in one of my hyper moods. I have not yet tried hiding under tables and stealing scones. This shall be a Project for the future.

Eloise likes to pronounce rather as 'rawther'.
Um not really. Though I do like my British accent much more than all these North American accents I am surrounded by... but being surrounded by them I am going all transatlantic. It is sad.

All the above are about the Eloise series of books by Kay Thompson, but I don't mind because I am very fond of her Eloise. But, with result number five we break new ground:

Eloise likes to mix colors, such as red and white to paint fish, and red and blue to paint monkeys. Her friend Rainbow Joe tells Eloise he can mix colors...
Purple monkeys are my absolute favourite.

Eloise likes to eat...string cheese, goat cheese, plain whole fat yogurt, cow milk, cheerios, veggie sausage, other "fake meats"...
Bleh, there's something intrinsically repulsive about this list, but actually I would do terrible things for goat's cheese right now. And yoghurt and milk and veggie sausages are good too.

Eloise likes to eat my pikelets when they're still warm.
Now that is more like it. Pikelets are the food of the gods. Mmmmm, pikelets... I would do TRULY terrible things for pikelets. Do you think you could send pikelets in the post?

Eloise likes to be tickled and eat chocolate.
Who doesn't, man? Though both at the same time could be messy...

Hmm, lots more things about Eloises who are small children or pets. Come on Eloises, do more exciting things, you have a name to maintain!

Eloise likes to help daddy out when he is working out
Just pass me that dumbbell, would you?

What Eloise likes to do when we go to the beach is to hang around at the top of the beach making vague attempts at making sand castles.
Nooooo no no no no.... when we go to the beach, Eloise makes the best sandcastles you have ever seen. Or sometimes sand mermaids. Just so the record is straight, OK? Although if the wind is right she flies kites instead.

Eloise likes to tackle henry and bite him. She likes human food more than dog food and likes to wear cute little outfits. ...
Henry totally deserves it.

Eloise likes to play at being an orphan so guests will take pity and give her a "piece of melon or something." She wears toe shoes on her ears at lunch...
That orphan thing, it always works.

Eloise likes to sit at the edge of the shrubbery-lined walk, still as a statue, till a passerby steps too close.
This may be my favourite. I imagine Edward Goreyish scenes of rain-wet rhododendrons, concealment, surprise, and ghastly secrets. I DO NOT CARE if it is actually about a dog. Be quiet.

And I was going to say how surprising that there aren't any rude ones, but no, we end with
Eloise likes to touch her -
Actually, let's just end it there.

Some newses

I am in the middle of a loooong explanificatory post, but in the meantime here are some newsy things I have been thinking about, chortling at, and/or sighing over. Partly just to put them somewhere that isn't loads of open windows, and partly in case you want to read them too.

The global crisis in food prices and availability, while it has been brewing for a long time, has finally sidled into the media spotlight and hence into general consciousness. Working as I do at an agricultural research institute, where these issues are perpetually on our minds, I think this is a very good thing. Whilst not all the efforts people make end up making things better, and there are lots of challenges and no easy solutions, I hope that people - decisionmakers especially, but all of the rest of us too - are realising how crucial agriculture is to our existance, and beginning to place it accordingly at the centre of their consciousnesses and agendas. A fundamental reassessment of our relationship with the land and our environment, and what human life is really for, and what it means for outcomes to be good and worthwhile... this would be nice too, but I'm not putting money on it.

So, the BBC has a pretty good introduction to the food crisis here:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/7340214.stm
And one among many distressing warnings of the results:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/7398750.stm
It is horrifying that almost half of Indian children are already malnourished, and the mechanisms for the long-term magnification of suffering - people forced to drop a daily meal, take girls out of school - are stark.

On the other hand, a positive agricultural story from India. I am naturally a sceptical beast, but it seems that market and other information by text message can really help small farmers:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/7385542.stm
(Though of course the poorest farmers can't afford food, let alone phones.)

Talking of cynicism, using construction rubble to make parkland seemed like a really smart idea, until the comments on this story led me to consider that it could be either good or bad for biodiversity:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/7310211.stm
This particular project certainly looks pretty manicured. Sad to think that just because it's green and pleasant doesn't mean it's got soul.

Another interesting story out of India - recycling as a small-scale enterprise rather than an industrial process - another paradigm for how things can work?
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/7354977.stm

The latest in Mexico's ongoing saga of drug-related murders:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7393443.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7399795.stm
These events have really got me thinking about the impact of drugs in Mexico. I am absolutely positive that without illegal drug smuggling Mexico would have much, much less murder, kidnapping, police corruption, political corruption, and crime and violence in general. It might be able to turn the corner on the road out of its appalling mess of corrupt, theiving, unaccountable institutions and build the country it should be, with all its natural and cultural and human wealth. Yet another reason to just say no, kids. Or radically rethink legalisation.

On a serious note, chocolate teacakes are QUITE CLEARLY biscuits and not cakes, though from the table it seems like it's more important what kind of biscuit/cake you are:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/7340101.stm
Mmm, what I'd do for a Tunnock's teacake...

Or, three-headed coconut palm anyone?
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/7358713.stm
I love that people don't just work on the most important staple crops, but somewhere in the world everything has its research centre - and there is something intrinsically endearing about coconuts.

And apparently the world contains colossal squid. Not just giant, colossal. Awesome!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/7374297.stm

This story, about the man in Venice who got arrested for photographing women's bottoms made me laugh (my officemate thought I was weird):
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/7397426.stm
Obviously he's a creep, but at least he's a hilarious creep...

This sweet little old man, what he managed to do to two porsches, and how nice the garage staff were about it make me smile inside:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/7347339.stm
The best of us odd island folk I think.

And finally, "Vatican says aliens could exist". Possibly the best headline ever.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/7399661.stm

I do not recommend...

...blithely spending all your cash on books when your bank card doesn't work, in a city far from home, leaving yourself without even enough for your return bus ticket, let alone the next few days.

After a stressful hour wandering about looking for a long-distance calling place that I had enough cash to call my bank from, contemplating having to call my parents and wake them in the middle of the night, hungry but not daring to buy food, I have discovered that my bank has finally noticed (after a couple of years) that I should no longer have a student overdraft. I made a lot of phone calls at one stage - I even took the drastic step of actually going into the branch - trying to draw this fact to their attention and organise having a proper grown-up account, but eventually I gave up. And, moving into a new apartment, paying some rents in advance, and forgetting that I'm now getting half my salary in cash and therefore to pick it up have finally pushed me over the edge.

On the plus side, I spoke to a nice lady who sounded just like Victoria Wood and only cried a bit, and I now have an overdraft. And so I can go and get some dinner...

(This post has no point. I was just scared and sad for a while, and needed to share.)