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Your Game

I like to spend time on treadmills and walking, imagining ideas for novels not yet written. One of them this week involved a celebrity couple becoming an item, and wanting to not tell the Press. It wouldn’t be because they were doing anything wrong or bad, simply that they wanted to have a relationship away from the glare of publicity. How long, I wondered, could you go in the modern world without anyone becoming aware you were together?

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So, the guy and the girl decide they want privacy. They don’t move in with each other and continue living separate lives. Friends aren’t let in on the secret, and most importantly their agents are none the wiser. Neither go out in public together and if they do, leaving and arriving at places alone becomes de rigeur. After six months of this the couple decide they want to go on holiday: not to a hotel, but a privately booked apartment. The vendor only deals with the guy, and several hours after he arrives his partner (who was in the country, somewhere else) arrives and they spend the next two weeks in bed. Then, the night before the apartment’s due to be re-let? The girl quietly leaves. So, it goes on, and after three years of this someone sees them together and finally joins the dots. The press then decide they’re an item, and then the couple laugh and admit they got married six months previously.

The press, perhaps understandably, go ballistic. It is up to celebrities to play the game. You ‘tip off’ the press, they help promote stuff. They sell this life, and in turn stories shift many, MANY units and create thousands of shares and retweets. That’s how this branch of ‘journalism’ works. Except, it only ever matters if anybody cares to begin with, and that begins with a long and tortuous process of hawking yourself to the highest bidder, prostituting everything you ever do and becoming a soulless, empty husk. After years and years of this it becomes habit, a drug, fix you cannot ignore and that fills every waking thought.

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Please don’t feel sorry for people when they have lived their lives in front of a camera. If you’re prepared to sell your wedding pictures to a magazine? Frankly, everything is fair game. If you go out of your way to avoid being in the public eye and people drag you into it? Then, I think, you probably earn more respect, but that’s no excuse for stupidity. If you stick your dick in someone else’s wife and expect an easy ride? It should be no different than the woman who cuckolded their husband. Sometimes, actions have consequences. The fact remains, millions of people feed on other people’s broken and battered personal lives. It’s been this way for HUNDREDS OF YEARS. The only difference now is that more people get to know faster. Salacious gossip was around for Jane Austin, and well before.

If you don’t want to be ‘news’, don’t make it.

If you don’t want people commenting on your personal life, stop fucking publishing it in public.

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Veronica

Occasionally when you write, the process of immersing yourself in a  Virtual World causes some issues with both continuity and believability. In this case, the latest part of my Bondfic made my husband do such a WTF on reading it that he left me an essay on the printed pages I provided. Normally, I’m ready with a suitable response or justification for his ‘objections’ to my direction but in this case? He’s spot on. This is such a leap considering the circumstances that I will need to go and add more to the narrative. Normally it’s about losing stuff, or making flabby dialogue less tortuous, but in this case I desperately require more background.

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Therefore I now need to come up with probably 1000 more words, possibly more, and rather than completely re-writing the whole thing, try and knit two pieces of work together. I have an idea how to do this already, and am gonna sleep on it tonight before coming down tomorrow morning to write it. I could do it now but I’ve learnt the value of letting stuff percolate first, and what I’m trying to do now is locate a suitable piece of music to link my ideas to. Needless to say, I need spoons. That’s not a metaphor for anything, I totally need to write in spoons.

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Oh yeah, and then there’s the small matter of a complete self-contained action sequence.

If I’m going to do this properly?

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You FUCKING NAIL IT. Wearing a waistcoat. AND THEN SOME.

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She Said

Occasionally, a meme comes along that you look at and go ‘you know what, I need to do this’ because there is an overriding desire to get people to grasp what you are. I know a lot of the Internet like to hid behind a complex hybrid of pretensions and schemes, but I’ve never been one for that. I am, like it or not, just this. That means, if you take Sam Lowry from Brazil, Dr Daniel Jackson from Stargate (film version, NOT TV) and Craig’s incarnation of 007? Yup. That’s as good a descriptor you’ll ever have of me. In fact, the more I think about it, the more perfect this amalgam becomes. Any more than three and you lose the point. The fact they’re all male is a very intentional and key factor, because I have never associated with that many fictional heroines, and that’s a story for another day.

When my youngest asks me questions like ‘if you were an ice cream flavour, what would you be?’ I always struggle with credible responses. I know why this is: there needs to be the opportunity to consider the correct answer. I don’t work well without thought. I’m an Introvert. If that’s true, then I should not feel the need to make sure everyone in the World grasps what I am, surely? Well, yes and no. Knowing the three characters up top there extremely well, I can quite comprehensively attest that after many years of study and consideration, they are the best fit. This has NOTHING to do with the actors, let’s make that 100% clear. It is all about their fictional alter egos.

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It’s also entirely possible the woman in the middle has the potential to muscle in on my list in the near future. It’s all gonna depend on how well she plays it when the movie finally releases. Until then? These guys do the job.

If it matters to you? Time to go do some homework.

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Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps

Today’s problem has been me. MEMEMEMEMEMEMEME. I want to climb up walls then jump on people before starting fights. My ability to construct coherent sentences has evaporated. Not good for someone who sells their soul on this ability, let me tell you. I need all the cake and chocolate with the desperation of a rabid addict. It will be hormones again, but without the red tide of horror that normally foretells their arrival. You think Menopause means you got served the good end of the deal BUT NO YOU’RE STILL FUCKED.

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This means a number of things: I have the attention span of a gnat. All food is potentially delicious and dangerous. Exercise makes everything hurt in a way that is just depressing, especially stomach and lower back. I’m prickly and unpredictable with the kids. It’s the equivalent of having an allergic reaction without all the potentially fatal consequences and just the horrendous, uncontrollable mental itch that WILL NOT GO AWAY. I have had a few days like this in the slowdown to menstrual cessation, and this has been by far the worst. Honestly, if I could cut the damn things out of my system so a) I can sleep for more than two hours without drowning in my own sweat and b) return to some semblance of normal mental faculties IT WOULD BE GREAT.

YES I JUST WANT TO FUCKING YELL AT EVERYONE.

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Therefore, I would like to apologise for the cessation of Normal Service. I’m trying to walk and exercise my way to utter exhaustion, in the vain hope it will allow my body to beat the hormones and just collapse in a heap. I’m almost there: it’s nearly 6pm and this is as close to shattered as I’ve managed for some time. All I can hope is that I’ll crawl to 9-10ish, fall into bed and finally blissfully there’s more than two hours of unconsciousness.

I’ve stopped caring about just about everything. I’m sorry. I just want this to go away.

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Learning to Breathe :: It’s Not the First Mile

The plan was simple after Monday’s benchmark 1k: it had to be beaten. This was not about just saying I could do it and that is it. I have to get better or else there’s no point, after all, and as I exercised my way through last week there was an understanding that once my brain and chest stopped fighting about who knew better, shit would just happen. It did too, with a speed that I found amazing and joyful simultaneously. Suddenly, thanks to the advice my PT had given over running style, my feet at times would feel as if they didn’t even touch the pavement. To not put too fine a point on it, I’d be walking on air. This is probably perfectly normal for all you people who’ve never had to think about putting one foot in front of the other, but I’m still sitting here in a state of revelation over how incredibly easy it has been to just beat the mental block. That’s what it was, pure and simple: you can’t do this because you’ll have an asthma attack/your body will break/the World will end has been a mantra for so long, but now it’s gone.

The fear has just evaporated.

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Next up, having taken the benchmark, it is time to start beating new paths to improvement. It’s about an hour and 20 minutes from the youngest’s school to here, and that time can be improved: not by running to begin with, but with better walking as a starting point. Then, I’ll run sections. Wet roads and winter conditions are already a bit of a niggle in my brain, but we will get past that. What I’ve always done is approach my issues in stages: right now, morning energy levels are an issue. I can do 1k quickly and easily if I’m not worrying about anything else, but stamina remains an issue, so as long as I’m fuelling properly? I think I can take that time down quite a bit. Once I know I’m at the limit of walking pace? Then the run sections can be added, and whilst that happens I’ll work on the ‘static’ mile time. Yesterday I did an evening walk and knew, had I felt like it, I could have run it with ease. To test this was the case, I went into the Gym this morning and did a mile pretty much cold.

I took TWENTY SECONDS off the time I posted a week ago, and it was as if I was a completely different person. No stress or worry, no concern over breathing, it all just happened with a comfort and grace I don’t think I’ve ever possessed before. I stopped worrying, and it all just happened. I realise every day won’t be a PB (Personal Best) if I don’t feel I can push, but right now there’s the belief I’ve got a lot in the tank that could mean I’m shaving seconds off this for some time. That’s also a revelation: knowing my legs have the power and my chest is now capable of backing that up. It’s a feeling that will make me smile every time I recall the ease at which that kilometre was completed. Everything connected in my brain. My body did the business. I sat and had celebratory poached eggs on toast with the full knowledge that the only way now is better and forward.

I’ve not been this happy for a VERY long time.

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Silent Song

Yesterday, I took a day off.

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I’m not sick, or struggling. This wasn’t a step backwards. I woke up yesterday to rain and made a choice: I wanted to walk, but the weather would have hampered me. I can still exercise in the wet, but instead it was the right thing to do just to eat incredibly well, take in a shed load of protein, and do a large session today. In fact, all my body asked for yesterday was protein. Sugar cravings are now largely a memory, I don’t recall the last time I found myself itching for a chocolate bar. I ate an entire portion of Chinese dry ribs last night with my normal rice choice. The need to fuel myself has changed considerably in the last few weeks, and I’m actually beginning to enjoy this lifestyle. All I gotta do now is get more vegetables into the mix and I’m golden.

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I know there’s still some good weather coming but today is the blustery type of Autumnal day I absolutely adore, and I don’t want to be inside. I had a brilliant session of gaming last night to sate my desire to be stuck behind a PC, and as soon as I’m done here the trainers are going on and I’m out. It is an indicator of the benefit this is all having that I managed to sleep better this week than I have at any point across the Summer. It didn’t feel like an improvement initially, but this has a lot to do with my hormones having settled into far less of an issue. There are still hot flashes, but they’re far less significant in scope and duration than they were. Also, the benefit of a by-weekly sports massage is never going to be understated.

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I shouldn’t be here. Time to go and add 20k steps to my total.

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Voodoo People

Today, I live streamed a video game to Facebook. As this is a sentence I never thought I would ever type in my adult lifetime, it probably deserves some explanation.

My PC is not old, but it’s hardly bleeding edge technology. It also refuses point blank to play with Windows 10, which I suspect may have something to do with the rather Heath Robinson manner of its construction. I’ve tried and failed on so many occasions to get Twitch to operate with it, and recording to video and editing is a process that I have neither time or patience to entertain. When Facebook Live was announced to work with World of Warcraft, I determined this was probably my best bet for giving streaming a try, because it did not involve real money to upgrade anything or any more technical knowledge than simply a few clicks of a mouse. However, the main reason I’m using a platform I detest is that, like it or not, I can ultimately control EXACTLY who watches, and that’s not possible anywhere else on the Internet.

This is my project, and my rules.
 

 
It’s not an attempt to be popular or special, or become an Internet celebrity (at peak, EIGHT PEOPLE WATCHED ME) it is just a way to chat for an hour a week to people and add content to my arsenal. It works well in lieu of Podcasting. It allows people to see how I play in game and what matters to me. Mostly, I can fuck about and enjoy myself and record this to become a history of what I’ve done. If it works with this platform I can use Facebook Live to do video diaries for other stuff. In the end, it shows willing to give a bit more of myself than I have before.

Mostly, it is rather enjoyable.

If I keep getting people interested? I’ll keep doing it.