Lost in Sofia

We’ve just returned from a Sofia Coppola (or Giovanni Ribisi, depending on your poison) double bill at the Prince Charles. The Virgin Suicides and Lost in Translation. I wasn’t sure whether to go or not, because I’m a bit low and watching those films could, I figured, push me either way. I’ve never seen The Virgin Suicides on a big screen before – I bought the music before I ever saw the film (by Air – check it out), love the book, love the film. I had forgotten or blocked out the more upsetting bits.

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No additives or preservatives.

NOTE: potentially too much information for anyone who  knows me in real life. Not for the squeamish.

I am lying on the sofa with what feels like the worst kind of period pain (disclaimer: it’s a couple of days later, now, as I finish this). It’s not my period, though. It’s the aftermath of having a copper coil fitted.

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Not actually what I’m talking about.

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Break

Today my Christmas/New Year break starts. I have nearly three weeks (ok, two and a half, but nearly three makes it sound much longer) to do all the projects I claim not to have time to do when I’m working full time; I basically get to pretend I’m a student again – more specifically an English student, which means about 9 hours of the day committed (to training) and the rest “studying”, where studying means doing whatever I please. Continue reading “Break”

Run for your life

It’s not a secret, exactly, but it’s not common knowledge among the people I see day-to-day that I have depression.

I don’t mind people knowing about it and I don’t mind answering questions. I don’t think it’s something that ought to define me, but there’s a stigma attached to it and it’s definitely not a glamorous quirk, so I tend not to drop that side of my life into general conversation when someone asks me about myself.

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