Hi honey, I'm home

The last month or so I've completely lost all faith in my abilities to write a sentence that anyone would want to read. Sat here now FORCING myself to type is actually pretty scary and giving me those funny feelings in my tummy - not like the ones you used to get climbing the rope in gym class but the ones you get when you're having an awkward yet polite conversation with someone at a bus stop. That sort of tight, uncomfortable, butt-clenching awkwardness that leaves you feeling a little nauseous and makes you want to run really fast and really far away.

But now I'm here, writing about how difficult it is to write. The 'RUN AWAY' feeling is not abating but I'll persevere. Partly because I received a request for me to return to the blog-o-sphere yesterday, and partly because I don't think fear is a good enough reason to stop yourself from doing something.

This might explain how I found myself booking an appointment to give blood. I'm the only person in my family that doesn't give blood on a semi-regular basis, I always had my brother as a shining example of a non-blood donater which allowed me to continue my selfish blood-retaining lifestyle for many many years, but then even he got his shit together and willingly gave up weed for a while just so he could possibly save someone's life at some point (to be fair, it was sort of coincidental timing-wise rather than the motivating factor but still, it sort of had me freaked). That was months ago now and adds further weight to the deeper fears I have that my brother is actually going to surpass my efforts at living life any day now. He's been actively job seeking and doing his uni work and being generally responsible. I'm just pretty much existing and marking time (Monday morning: will it to be lunchtime, will it to be lunchtime. Ooh! Lunchtime! Will it to be hometime, will it to be hometime. Ooh! Hometime! Tuesday morning: will it to lunchtime... Well, you get the general idea). But anyway, the long and short of it is that when I saw the advert on our intranet pages for the blood-mobile (or whatever they call it) I instinctively picked up the phone. Sometimes I do shit like that. Pretty much every single action, behaviour, sigh, glance, tear, whatever, is coldly calculated, analysed, weighed up, carefully considered and then AND ONLY THEN do I continue with it. Rarely am I known for my spontaneity. However, this time I didn't think: I just did. It was only after I put the phone down that a cold sweat crept over me. I do not cope well with blood, or more specifically, with the thought of blood swooshing about in the outside world when it should be tucked all snugly within your veins. I'm the person that finds it hard to watch the bit in the Simpsons when Sideshow Bob is writing letters from prison in his own blood. The thought of it makes my whole arm go weak and starting aching. However, everyone assured me it wouldn't hurt, that it's quick and easy and would be over before I know it and, most importantly, that I'd get free tea and biscuits. This did not stop the thought of blood draining out of my arm into a plastic vessel of some kind and then being carried around literally make me sick in my mouth. A lot. But when I arrived at work this morning I decided that being a squeamish girl was not a good enough reason to avoid it.

Plus, I figured I'd get to feel a dangerously high level of smugness afterwards.

So off to the van I went. I tried putting my 'mummy's brave little soldier' face on but, apparently, that fooled no-one.
'Are you ok? You look a little faint? You're not squeamish are you?!' was the first question I got having sat down next to another Council employee that was also trying to skive off work and get free food.
'No, no I'm fine'
I was not fine. But I don't get how this dude knew instantly how NOT! FINE! I was. I spend an awful lot of time trying to hide my emotions from the wider world. Only the privileged few get to have a glimpse of the crazy that goes on in this ol' noggin of mine on a daily basis. I figure I must do a kind of ok job at it because people rarely ask me 'are you ok?' with a head-tilt and faux-amount of sincerity even when I'm going through the most traumatic internal conflict and can think of nothing else. People generally just leave me to it no matter what is going on in fact. I kind of like it that way. Maybe the 'LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!' banner I painted and carry around 24/7 helps? Who can really say. But yeah, this dude knew I wasn't a happy bunny and went on to ask when I was going to start biting my nails and whether or not I was shaking.
'HAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahahahahHAHAHAHAhahaha. Ha. ha' wasn't my response surprisingly. It was more like this:
'hmm'
That tight-lipped, non-committal noise you make when you're trying to find an inoffensive way of telling someone you think they're a dick. Although he obviously gleaned 'oh my god, you should be on the stage, why are you not getting paid to come up with this shit? You fucking rock! TELL MORE JOKES TELL MORE JOKES' because he told more jokes.
'Ooh, watch out for the size of that needle! It's huge!'
Fuck. You.
'Yeah they take nearly enough to drain your whole arm!'
Seriously. F-U-C-K. Y-O-U.

Luckily I then got dragged away to be asked whether or not I was a whore, a drug-addict, had ever sex with gay men, or could be infected with any nasty diseases. I answered no to everything but it would have perhaps been more honest to answer 'no, not yet, don't think so, god I hope not'.

Then, after checking if I was anemic (Result: HELLA NO! My blood sank faster than jokes about Amy Winehouse not going to rehab after everyone discovered she is in fact, in dire need of going to rehab), the blood-letting began. I can tell you this: it did hurt. Well not hurt hurt but it was a touch uncomfortable. She poked around for a fair while before hitting the vampire jackpot. And I don't know if it's psychosomatic but I SWEAR it hurts a bit even now. Well, not hurts hurts but I'm aware that my elbow is feeling a little browbeaten. But still. I done it I did. And yes, the feelings of smug did top Defcon RED ALERT levels. I guess that made it worth it alone.