PECULIAR JANE

Worse than seeing a black cat...

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 16:04:00 +0000

Now I don't get nervous about many things and I'm not very superstitious but there is one thing that will always make my stomach turn, my palms start to sweat and my heart race. That thing is an email with which says [No Subject].

It may not seem threatening to most but to me [No Subject] says:

"this email is so confusing/emotional/complicated/awkward/weird/down right strange to summarise in one sentence so i have decided to just leave it blank"

I got one of these yesterday. I had my coffee. I had my cat on my lap. I was checking Facebook. I logged into my email account, scanned through the spam and junk mail and then saw it. I think Mr Kitten even realised that something bad had just happened because he hopped off my lap.

The email was from a guy (Don) that I am at university with. We have studied together for 4 years, sort of knew each other at school and have been working together very closely over the last two years in an organisation we formed. My standard response when someone asks me about him is that I say that if it wasn't for the fact we had to work with each other we wouldn't be friends. We clash a lot, have different opinions and generally drive each other crazy.

I knew a few people thought that we were involved (mainly because we are always with each other working) but I always used to brush it off. I am certainly not attracted to him. Partly because I find him very frustrating at times and also (and this makes me sound like a terrible person) he is much shorter than me. My dad is 6 feet 7 inches, my brother the same, so I have always felt more comfortable around taller guys.

The email was long...and awkward...and I has to psyche myself up to read it. It said that he was madly in love with me and that I checked all the boxes of what he looked for in a woman. And that he really wanted us to take the step forward.

But for me all that email did was make me take ten steps backwards - threatening even the viability of our friendship - and figure out ways not to have to see/talk/interact with him ever again.

When is it a problem?

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 19:41:00 +0000

I can't eat food without thinking how many calories are in it. I can't eat without thinking how much excercise I will have to do to make sure that it doesn't become fat.

I'm not throwing up or starving myself. I just can't seperate the concept of food from its effect on my weight.

I'm not underweght. Probably 135 pounds. I'm 5'7". I like eating.

I just wish I could enjoy a salad and not think that it's x-amount of calories that I need to worry about.

True Blood is BACK

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 13:01:00 +0000

Season 2 starts tonight and I am very excited. I have been waiting for this for a long time and have setup the PVR to record it - so I can watch it over and over again!

I am on study break now from univeristy and haven't really got around to doing any work yet, yes - I am very lazy. I want to try finish off an essay tonight and then get down to some serious studying.

The weather is shitty though, I wish it would be sunny so I could lie outside and get both a tan AND an education.

The saga that is Dick

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 21:05:00 +0000

It's strange how you can believe so strongly that you have control. You can tell yourself, your friends and your family not to worry. That it wont end in tears. That I wont be broken and mope around for months after he leaves. But as my Grandpa likes to say: you can't see the mountain when you're standing on it. And I was on one heck of a mountain.

If I had been my family or a friend of mine I would have been screaming and telling myself to get off that damn mountain. But you see the mountain had a British accent and was very good looking. He also has a jet setting life, a house in both America and England, a flat in London and very good prospects. This mountain would have been quite the catch. I wanted the mountain.

The first time I saw him was when I was outside my university's Anthropology Department. I had picked up an extra course and was trying to find my name on the tutorial list. Because I had registered late they hadn't allocated me one yet. So, the secretary had told me to join one which fitted my time table. I was trying to find one when a guy walked up next to me and peered forward to see the lists. It was one of those moments where I was genuinely taken back by how good looking he was. I sort of did a double take and then carried looking at the lists. I saw him look at one in particular and I figured that was the one he was in. As I continued to look casual he asked me where we collected the course packs from.

We had contact!

Because it's really hard to direct someone fiver metres down the hall and into a corridor I offered to show him and walked him to the office. As we walked my hand hit his as I swung it back. It's lame and girly but this little bolt on electricity shot up my arm. I pointed him into the office and tried to look very cool and thin as I sucked every inch of fat in.

I decided that I was going to go to his tut. I don't know why but I had to find out more about him.

I want to be Sookie Stackhouse

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 16:42:00 +0000

A friend gave me the first season of True Blood yesterday. I have watched ten episodes in two days. Varisty work? What varsity work?

An issue of mass

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 16:39:00 +0000

I’ve never been petite or fragile looking, and I’m more soft then toned or slender. But I have been able to remain reasonably happy with my body – even through the tortuous high school years. Apart from not having the will power to not eat, I enjoy food. And food obviously enjoys me, or at least my stomach area. The bugger.

I have a little pouch. It’s not of beer belly standards or suggestive of being in an unfortunate condition, but it’s there. And I don’t like it. But I’ve never hated it enough to do much about it. You see, I’m lazy. I love sleeping and napping, reading books and watching TV. Pass the popcorn please.

Yet, I have still succumbed to the opinion that thin is beautiful. And that any extra centimeters, or God forbid inches, around my waist are paramount to failure as a woman. I used to believe that part of the allure of being skinny and slender was that it was easier for you to be rescued. If you’re in a burning building and a tall, dark and rippling fireman burst through the door to save you, you need to be relatively light to be swept up into his arms and carried effortlessly down the stairs to safety, your inevitable marriage and happy ending. If you’re a heavy girl your daring rescue became slightly more unseemly and may end in your unfortunate demise. Who knows, one less muffin and you might have had it all?

If people ask me what I think about the media’s continuous promotion of the ideal female form, I answer (in a very serious voice) that the modern woman needs to reject this ridiculous standard and embrace the body that she has. But at home when I stand exposed in front of the mirror and see what most others don’t, I know I’m a liar. As ‘modern women’ we are the receptors of two very contradictory messages. The magazines which place size zero models on their covers contain articles on the horrors of anorexia and bulimia in the modeling industry. We read articles on healthy eating plans and balanced diets which sit opposite advertisements which feature the model’s hip bones more prominently then her clothes.

In the sixties women burned their bras in rejection of the expectations that society placed on them. That generation is remembered for throwing off and burning their bras, but our generation’s women may also be remembered for their relationship with their lingerie. Our ladies too are burning their bras; however they just have forgotten to take them off first. We are not innocent victims – rather masochists. We oppose unrealistic standards from society when our friends, children and colleagues are listening. It is of course the PC thing to do. But when we are alone and naked we so easily slip. We falter and our gaze is no longer embracing or forward thinking. It is harsh and cruel and everything that we fear others think.

Ah, we are complex creatures. We so want to be secure with bodies, but we are our own saboteurs. And being hypocrites we’ll continue to point fingers and blame the media, men and the modeling industry as the smell of smoke lingers tellingly in the air.

Waiting waiting waiting

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 14:24:00 +0000

He said he would sms me on Monday. He did, just to say hi though. "Heya Jane. I don't really use facebook but thanx so much for the invite anyway. I'm sure i'll c you around campus. Catch you later." Mmmm, okay. When? Coincidently, when the stars align?

Of course I asked my sister what she thought. This was her speedy text reply -

"A guy friend says it does not sound promising. He says you must act chilled. be more chilled then he is. Dont be a bitch. Be layed back..Love you sexy. Jus a little less effort then him.."

Okay, then. Chilled, layed back, not a bitch.

I think I can handle that.

Late Monday Night Distractions

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 19:52:00 +0000

I hate it when bloggers disapear for ages and then start writing again and give a whole diatribe about how busy they were, and how sorry they are. I'm not going to do that.

His name is Matt. He is cute and funny and already has a nickname for me. He has his own flat and all I can imagine is lying in bed on a Sunday morning with him and reading the papers and eating toast with sweet tea.

But he would be the rebound guy from the "International Student Which Broke My Heart And Made Me Cry" - or as I like to call him "Dick". I don't want him to be the rebound guy though.

I wish I hadn't slept with Dick. Fucking Dick.

Recession Blues

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 07:37:00 +0000

This recession is biting our ass big time. Although South Africa isn't technically in a recession it sure feels like it. We run a business from home and depend on it for our main income. It pays my university fees and my sisters board and school fees up in Gauteng. It pays for my horse's livery and shoeing. It pays our bond, our lights and water, our rates, our satellite TV and pretty much everything else.

We have never been well off but we have always been able to make the most of what we have. We have a lovely house because we bought it in 1997 when you couldn't give property away. I wear nice clothes because I know where to shop for bargains and I alter older stuff. I have a horse because we were able to just afford it every month.

My father doesn't have savings. It's not like he has a nest egg or a bank account with ten or twenty grand in it. We literally live from payment to payment. Last night I went to draw money out our account and we were left with a balance of R21.

Since September last year our income has dropped R30 000 to R40 000. That means that every month we have to make due without it. And it is starting to take its toll. I have to sell my horse, which feels like giving away a child or a loved one. I went through a stage when I would cry every single day.

I couldn't register for university because we owed money for last year and we also have to pay the R2500 deposit that was required. My dad had to phone my older sister and ask her to pay for me.

In January I earned R3400 from working. And I worked bloody hard for it. Over December and January I only had one day off per week. I have had to send most of it up to my sister who is studying and had to use the rest to pay a lights and water bill so they wouldn't cut us off.

And the hard part is I can't complain to anyone because I would look like a spoilt little rich girl who is getting what is due to her. But it hurts, even if I do deserve it.

Dark and twisty

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 18:54:00 +0000

When I was in high school and three people I loved died, my school burnt down, my kitten died and the Pope died in one year I remember writing in my diary that I was all dark and twisty inside. I remeber explaining how my insides were twisted and knotted into a mess that I didn't even know how to undo. I didn't know which way was up. I didn't know if I was breathing anymore. I just wanted it to end.

But times like that never end. They never get better. You just learn to live with them. You live how to co-exist and not feel the sting of their presence. And eventually you learn to ignore it altogether.

Now I feel dark and twisty again. I can feel the knots forming. The twisting and winding of everything that was finally neat and pretty up into a ball and I still don't know how to undo it. I can't stop it. I can't do anything.

I don't do simple and happy. I'm not programmed that way. I do angsty, sad and destroyed. And the sick, sick thing is that I enjoy it. I wallow in it. It is so familiar and safe. So predictable. I link hands with that place so easily. And then I can't let go.

That sinking feeling

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 15:50:00 +0000

I found out on the 17th of December that I had not passed my Constitutional Law exam - and oh how I cried. It was a really tough course and I worked really hard for it. At the beginning of the course the two lecturers told us how their course is the hardest and that they didn't expect 2/3 of us to pass. That really set the tone well.

I got my results and then I got an email saying the had opened up the supplementary exam to everyone who wrote. People did so badly and their were so many complaints that they have given everyone a chance to rewrite and achieve a better result. The top students who get in the 90s just scrapped Cs. And us mere mortals who enjoy our reliable Bs flunked out. It happens every semester, without fail.

And they keep pointing the finger at the students. But the students are not the common factor here. The lecturers are! I'm so mad. And what makes me even more mad is that there is nothing we can do about it. Our university is so inept and incompetent that we just have to follow what they tell us to do. You can't fight, you can't try, you can never win. Ever.

My sister bought me some shoes this afternoon which brightened me up a bit though. They were on sale a week ago but I didn't have the money to but them so I sat in them at the store and walked up and down enjoying them before I put them on the shelf and said good bye. I love My sister.

But I might love these shoes more.

Happy New Year!

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 19:18:00 +0000

Last year I 'celebrated' new years in front of my TV with my kitten and a packet of Quality Street chocolates. Yeah, that was real fun. At midnight I phoned my best friend who was half the way around the world and got no answer. So I ate more chocolate, had a good cry and went to bed at 3am.

I found out later that the reason she didn't answer was that she was losing her virginity in a bathroom stall. She actually heard her phone ringing. But she was otherwise distracted.

This year I was a bit more organized. We went up the coast and stayed in a really stunning flat. It was an old friend's flat and it had the most amazing view over the Indian Ocean. That night we went down to the beach and were going to go to a street party. When we got there though it was dead. Everyone had heard that everyone had headed further up the coast to a small beach town called Ballito. So we called a taxi, and twenty minutes later we arrived and were absorbed into the biggest, craziest beach party. There were about 3500 people at the street party spilling into clubs and onto the beach. There were bars everywhere and lots and lots of drunk people.

My friend who I was with, the one mentioned earlier, was a little bit down because she doesn't like crowds. So while we were trying to take a picture of ourself two guys walked up and offered to take it for us. After they snapped the shot they offered us a drink. My friend was less that keen but I was looking to liven her spirits so I said yes and dragged her after me towards the bar. The one guy was really cute - he had just qualified as a biokenetisict. We ended up chatting to them for over two hours and I think they saved our evening. As we left I hugged one of them and he asked if he could have my number. Honesty being one of my resolutions I said no because I wasn't interested. He then proceeded to tell me I was being mean so I smiled and typed it into his phone. I just wonder what is meaner, not giving him my number or ignoring his text messages and calls.

At Work

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 09:09:00 +0000

Scene: Me frantically repacking bookshelves and trying to 'merchandise' my section to increase sales. Really rushing and trying to get it all done because I have a dozen other things to do for my supervisor. Rearranging books in height order, stacking old stock at my feet.

Middle aged man: "I'm sorry, do you work here?"

Me: *stares at him in disbelief*

It happens all the time. For the love of all that is holy. My frantic packing of books is a pretty good indication that I am employed at the shop. I once got a bit snappy with a guy and told him that I either worked there or I had OCD.

Luckily he had a sense of humour.

Rock climbing for dummies

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 11:40:00 +0000

I have always been slim. Not really skinny or toned just naturally slender. My stomach isn't completely flat and my arms are soft and that has never really worried me much. But I would really like to get fit these holidays.

Regularly each year I start working out after Christmas but by mid January I am over it and don't have much enthusiasm. So I think the best way for me to get fit is to find a hobby that I really enjoy that has the added benefit of weight loss. Brilliant idea, I know. So, I ride my horse 3/4 times a week that I think that is the exercise that helps keep my weight stable. But I would like to increase my muscle tone and general fitness. Friends of mine do rock climbing and I asked them if I could join them to see if I enjoyed it. I think it sounds really fun and would be a great way to meet people and tone my upper body.

I think I also need to work on eating better. I often go for hours without eating and then pig out on 'bad food' (read cheese and bread). It is a really bad excuse but eating healthily requires effort and after a 6 hour shift at work the last thing I feel like doing is cooking something healthy.

So, I'm waiting in anticipation for the rock climbing this week. I'll let you know how it goes. The only thing I am worried about is callouses. I like my hands being soft and smooth.

Hopping off the law train for a bit

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 20:55:00 +0000

I was pretty much set to do my law degree over the next three years, do my articles and then join a firm and start my legal career. But after a bit of soul searching and reading an amazing book I am looking at other options.

I've always wanted to write. At school I was always in the top 5 for composition and at university I did really well in my creative writing courses. I even had an English tutor recommend taking English further. And I have always known that I will write a novel. It's not really a wish or a dream of mine. It's just something I have always known I would do.

I started studying law because I wanted to be rich. That's probably the worst excuse for anything. It's just because when I was growing up my parents had a really tough time with their finances and I always knew about it. I don't want my children to ever have to feel like I felt. I used to feel like I carried all their problems. Even though it wasn't my fault I still felt responsible and fearful for the situation they were in. They were in arrears for our school fees all the time and they had to borrow money from relatives to pay them. They didn't know that I knew this and somehow it made it that much harder because of their forced smiles and their attempts to continue a lifestyle that we couldn't afford.

I thought if I was a lawyer I could be independent. I could also be rich and have a lovely home and be able to send my children to the best schools and have them care free. I don't want my children to ever have to worry about how mummy and daddy are going to pay for their school frees or their school uniform.

But over the last few weeks I have come to the realisation that I don't need to be rich, I need to be happy. Part of this revelation came after I read the 4 Hour Workweek - a book that I have recommended to everyone I know. I don't need to be exceedingly wealthy to enjoy my life. I need only to sustain an enjoyable lifestyle with the ones I love, doing the things I love. It's that simple.

Raven haired vixen

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 06:37:00 +0000

It's my Grandma's birthday today. She is 87 years old and unfortunately lives all the way over in Australia. But due to the wonderful technology of Skype I will be having a little chit-chat with her soon.

I have been feeling a little down and boring lately. So, I decided to shake myself up a bit. I went to our local shopping centre and bought a box of temporary hair colour. My first instinct was to go for the darkest dark brown because it seemed safe and not likely to stain my hair black for the next three months. However, my sweet darling sister was convinced that the only colour that would change my normal hair colour was black. Pitch black.

It happens all the time. Every time. Without fail. If darling sister feels that she is right then she has to get what she wants. I was set on getting safest darkest dark brown but she was having none of it. And because I have no strength of will or the ability to stand up for myself I caved.

By the time I got home I was feeling excited about the potential changed in the colour of my follicles. But that was until I bumped into my mother. Cue horror stories of her friends who used a black rinse and there hair was never the same.

This was followed by a shouting match with darling sister about her flaws and my obvious virtuous qualities before I stomped out to the car and drove back to the shop to change my purchase.

My hair does look rather good though. It came out almost black - but still brown. I was told by a close gay friend that I looked hot. Well, if that's not confirmation I don't know what is.

Money, money, money

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 19:12:00 +0000

I have to admit the I got my title inspiration from Mama Mia The Movie, which was just spectacular, darling! I even saw it twice. And sung in the cinema...yes, I have no shame.

I am proud to admit that I got a job. I am freshly employed and still filled with enthusiasm. Which I expect to disappear in about two weeks. I applied for a part time job at a very popular book store which has branches all over the country. They pay better then my last job and we get double pay on Sundays and public holidays. Caching! I'm probably only going to be making around R1800 a month. But compared to my current income - which is R0 - it's a definite step up.

With the new influx of money I have been thinking about saving money. I have considered starting a savings account and putting away at least 10% per month but I am now thinking about investing in a unit trust. With the global market struggling I am hoping to get shares at a really good rate and wait for the market to recover and reap the rewards. Have you invested any money? What would you suggest I do with my moola?

There's not much I could do

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 05:42:00 +0000

I was driving home from university two days ago and came to some traffic lights in a low income housing area (that being the politically correct term for a township). I was not paying much attention but about thirty seconds before the lights changed I noticed a white double cab bakkie was stopped at the lights opposite me and two really big black guys were punching and restraining another black guy while trying to push him into the car. I was sort of dumbfounded for a moment before I realised what was happening. This poor guy was screaming and struggling against the two men and they were being really rough to him.

The light turned green and I tried to get the number plate as I drove past but I only managed the first couple numbers. When I got to the next robot I called the local police station and told them about and they said they would send a car to check it out.

The thing that really amazed me about the situation, though, was that everyone acted like nothing was happening. Everyone who was near enough to see and hear him was looking straight ahead and pretending that nothing was happening. I think as South Africans we are so worried about being a victim of crime that we are willing to ignore other people's plight if it might endanger ourselves. I don't see that as a completely bad attitude though. In out country we are exposed to terrible, rampant crime which touches us all. We are programmed to protect yourself and your family - strangers don't seem to warrant our attention. Especially black strangers in a bad area. However I can't stop thinking that the characteristic which makes us human is our ability to recognise ourselves in others. To imagine how others feel and be compelled to help them. If I was in a bad situation I would hope and pray that someone would help me. It is more likely that I would get help though because I am young, white and female.

Sometimes when a hijacking occurs at traffic lights the surrounding people in the other cars do nothing. They wind up their windows, lock the doors and look straight ahead. People try and exist in their little safe bubble while others are suffering.

I have been a victim of crime and so has my family. I have lost count how many times our house has been robbed. Although thankfully it hasn't happened in the last five years. We have a security system at home which we activate when we go to sleep and we have panic buttons which when pressed will have armed response at our house within minutes. My dad has a selection of firearms which he keeps in the safe and he always carries one on him at night when he is at home. When I stay at home by myself I always have access to a handgun if I should need it. We have bought big dogs to ward off potential criminals and have a walk in safe which doubles as a panic room.

But the weird thing is that it feels very normal. I don't feel like I'm under constant siege. I don't feel like my life is in danger. I don't feel worried or upset that I have to have an alarm system in my house and handguns in our safe. That's normal for me. The fact that it is normal for me does not mean that it is right or an acceptable way to live. It probably just means that I have become desensitized to the crime.

I know I did the right thing by calling the police and not intervening. However I feel that my desire for self-preservation overrode my human instinct to help someone who was in need and calling out for help while everyone drove past and ignored him.

The real reason I like being single

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 18:35:00 +0000

I have always (and with great pride) told people that I am good at being single. It's something which I do well. It's not that I don't enjoy being in relationships. It's just that single Jane kicks relationship Jane's ass.

When I broke up with Tristan I felt my single ways coming back. I am very particular about the way I look. I take a lot of pride in looking and feeling good. Once I was single again I felt that little twinge when I walk past guys. I like that twinge. I lose the twinge when I'm in a relationship. I become content and happy and lose my edge and I stop being sarcastic and witty. It's not that I let myself go, it's just that I don't have that same drive to look good and feel good.

To be quiet honest I am a bit of a tease. Not in the twirl your hair around your finger, wear short skirts and laugh at all the jokes kind of tease. Rather I see myself as hard to get. I have a few acquaintances at varsity who I like to banter with. They are guys who I would never go out with but I like the back and forth. I like the game that we play. I like being unattainable.

So right now I'm in heaven. I'm back at varsity and I'm single.

And I'm loving it.

Getting back on the horse

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 19:27:00 +0000

Well, this evening marks the third week since my accident and also means that as far as my concussion goes I can partake in 'risky sports which could cause potential head trauma'. That's what I'm talking about! So, hopefully I will be able to get back to riding once my body is up to it.

I had a nice relaxing weekend and spent Saturday with my brother and his family celebrating my sister-in-law's birthday. We had a lamb on the spit and it was delicious! It took four hours to cook and was tender and still pink when we carved it. Since I'm still on heavy pain killers I'm not allowed to drink so I entertained myself for a large part of the afternoon teaching my two year old niece to say that I am her favourite aunt. I had to contend with my younger sister though as there is some pretty steep competition. I have three sisters and we all claim to be the best, prettiest and kindest aunt in the family.

The relaxed weekend was somewhat halted when we had a very serious conversation this evening about our family's future in South Africa. We had chatted to some family friends at my brothers braai and they are planning on immigrating to New Zealand. I have always thought that I would stay here and live out my years on African soil. However the reality of the situation is starting to hit home and I have had to reconsider my future. I think it would break me to leave this country. I am fused with this country in a way that is indescribable. Just the thought of having to leave feels painful. But I think that I have to be a realist about the situation and try and keep my emotions out of my thinking.

Some people say that South Africa is heading to a Zimbabwe like situation. I seem to plunge from optimism to ultimate despair regarding my beautiful country. I see the beauty and potential that it offers but I also see the corruption and violence which plagues its people. Hopefully we aren't heading down the same path Zim took.

On a lighter note I was happy to see that Obama gave Biden the VP spot. I think that his foreign policy background will help against McCain. It's going to be an exciting finish.

Please don't tell me I'm lucky - Part 2

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 18:26:00 +0000

So, I got to casualty and they extricated me from my mum's car. Those ER women are not slim and slender as they are depicted on prime time TV. They are butch and don't take any shit - in a nice way of course. I then had my neck stabilised and had my vitals checked and an IV put in. Then the roller coaster starts. Now when I hit the ground I thought I had broken my neck but then got up and walked away and was fine - as I said in the earlier post. But all of a sudden they were worried about my spine and brain. So they started the tests straight away. X-ray, CT scan and MRI were all ordered and then they called in the neurologist. I started freaking out just a little bit. By this stage I had no control of my left arm. It was just a big floppy mess. I could move it a little bit but they were very worried about it. They told me they wanted me to stay in for observation over night just to keep an eye on me. Okay, no biggie. They do this all the time with people who hit their heads. So they wheel me away to the ICU. Not cool.

Now granted it was rather nice to have some privacy and a personal nurse but my concerns about being in the Intensive Care Unit sort of out weighed the nifty benefits. Being in ICU means that they have to check on you every two hours. Every two hours. Even when you are sleeping. Which wasn't very easy due to the fact that I had to keep my neck brace on. So I was woken up every two hours to have a bright light shone in my eyes, my temperature taken and to be given meds. Not only that but I'm hooked up to a blood pressure machine which takes my BP every 40 minutes. To add injury to insult they insisted that they bathed me. They were at the very least thorough.

The next day I had some more tests and was cleared for transfer to the neurological high care ward. This meant I had to share a room with two other ladies. To my left I had a snorer and across from me a lady who grunted all the time because she had 2kgs strapped to her head and feet. Luckily I was discharged that afternoon and got to come back to my own bed and bath myself. It is a privilege that I think very few understand.

I've been home now about two weeks and have been pretty out of it. I thought it was because of the concussion that I was feeling so sluggish and well, mellow. When I phoned to get a top up of my pain killer which I take three times a day the lady told me that not only is it a pain killer but it's also a tranquilizer. They give it to patients they want to say in bed and not exert themselves. This is why I don't trust doctors. They also think I might experience withdrawal when I go off them. Can't wait for that.

My arm is pretty much healed but I'm still battling with fine motor control. The main issue now is my lower back. It went into spasm on Monday and has given me grief. They then decided on Friday that maybe I'd damaged my lower spine and hadn't picked up on it. So I had to go back for more x-rays to check on that. It's all clear though.

I'm planning in going back to varsity tomorrow. I;m probably going to have to drop two courses and just do my majors this semester. I don't think I would be able to manage. I'm just dreading the reactions of people when I get back. I don't want them to tell me that I am lucky. Because that means I shouldn't be able to walk or even be alive. It means that the odds were stacked against me and somehow I snuck through. I don't want to be lucky because it means that I was very close to the alternative.

Please don't tell me I'm lucky - Part 1

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 11:41:00 +0000

Finally I have the strength and desire to sit down and recount what happened last Sunday. Please bear with me though - I'm doing this with one hand and the remnants of a concussion. Spelling and grammar are likely to go straight out the window...along with creative imagery and witty quips.

I was competing at a local show jumping competition but my horse and I hadn't done much work for it so we entered some smaller classes. My first class went okay but I was nervous when I saw them put the jumps up for the next class. They weren't very big but I had fallen off on that Friday and my courage was slightly lacking. My instructor persuaded me to try the class and said that if I felt nervous once I started I could stop. The round went amazingly. I was so proud of how well my horse went!

It was then time for the jump off and my ego kicked in. Pride before the fall, anyone? They called my name and I entered the ring. The bell rung, I moved him from the halt to the canter and went towards jump one - he did it really well. Jump two was a tight corner to the left with jump three after that being a tight corner right. I got him around the corner and as I folded into my jumping position he slammed on brakes and crashed through the jump.

I can remember very clearly what happened. I lost my balance and flew head first past the right side of his head. I could see the ground coming closer and then my forehead hit the grass. It pushed the peak of my hard hat into the bridge of my nose before my head was pushed onto my chest and I landed on the back of my neck. As this happened I thought, "I'm going to break my neck." I wasn't scared or upset. I just knew. My body then flipped over and my back slammed onto the ground.

I couldn't see anything - just black with white stars. I was conscious and knew what had happened. It felt like forever before the cavalry arrived. I could move my fingers and toes but the pain in my nose was unbearable. When my instructor reached me the first thing I said was, "I think I broke my nose." That would be vanity for you folks. My neck could have been broken, but I was worried about my nose.

A non-medical person said my neck was fine and they made me stand up and walk to the stable office. I was a bit disoriented and clumsy but I felt okay. They sat me down in the office and gave me a coke to drink. Cue the concussion. Shivering, nausea, incoherent speech, tears. Not a pretty site considering my nose had started to swell and had a lovely graze on it.

I had driven myself up so they had to call my mum and dad to come and take me to hospital. In retrospect they should have called an ambulance but as horse riders we tend to think that we can bounce back - with adequate bruising to still make it look dramatic, of course.

That's all for now folks. I'm off to go pop some pills. Part 2 will follow soon.

Jane is back in the building

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 05:49:00 +0000

My lack of posts have been caused by everything but laziness. Cross my heart. The first week of uni was utter madness so I was going to post on Sunday but as fate would have it I ended up in the ICU of our local hospital.

Long story short, I dove head first into the ground over a jump when my horse stopped. Physically I'm okay. I'm just not dealing so well with everyone telling me how lucky I am - I keep bursting into tears. The docs thought I had broken my neck or worse. It's really hard to deal with.

Once I am feeling a bit better I will chronicle the whole story for your reading pleasure.

I Passed!

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 18:10:00 +0000

I passed my driver's test! I am unbelievably stoked. I couldn't stop smiling the whole day. This is partly because a lot of people didn't think I would get it on the first try and also because the South African motor licencing department is utter shite.

At some stations it takes up to eight months to book up date for your test. Each licencing department only processes 200 applicants a day. In order to make sure you are one of the 200 you have to be at the offices by 4:30 am! That means waking up at 3:30 am to get ready and travel there. The office only opens at 7:30am so you have to wait in the freezing cold and hope that some vagrant is not going to accost you and pinch your flask of coffee. They also then conveniently close at 14:00. So even if you are in the first 200 if you are not processed by 14:00 - sorry for you! - you have to come back early the next morning.

The New York Times did a piece on how hard it is to get your licence in South Africa. I think their description of the K-53 test will out do mine:

Based on Britain's national driving exam, the K-53 effectively requires an applicant to imagine that he is driving a live Claymore mine under assault by guerrillas in bumper cars. The and brake must be silently engaged at all stops (ratchet-clicking is strictly forbidden [you get demerits if it clicks!]) and all mirrors must be checked every seven seconds. Points are deducted for glancing at the gearshift, driving too slow, failing to ensure that headlamps and tail lamps are securely attached, failing to check the pressure on the clutch pedal, failing to look beneath the car for leaks and several dozen other sins.

I was lucky enough to have a very nice chap by the name of Mr. Mtungwa examine me for my test. He was very patient and said he appreciated my driving style. I do too. It is very effective in getting places.

I'm baby sitting tonight and have a baby monitor muttering to me every 10 minutes. In the bath this evening we had drama when my niece put shampoo in her eyes. Her screaming only stopped when I offered her a sweet. She's got me wrapped around her little sticky fingers.

Trust Bill to Put it in Perspective

peculiar_jane@yahoo.com (Peculiar Jane) — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 15:27:00 +0000

When ever I feel sad or mopey there is a piece from Bill Bryson's book Notes From a Small Island (1997) that I like to read. It helps put things in perspective. If you haven't read anything of his I really recommend it. He is utterly hysterical.

Here it is:

The way I see it, there are three reasons never to be unhappy.

First, you were born. This in itself is a remarkable achievement. Did you know that each time your father ejaculated (and frankly he did it quite a lot) he produced roughly 25 million spermatozoa--enough to repopulate Britain every two days or so? For you to have been born, not only did you have to be among the few batches of sperm that had even a theoretical chance of prospering--in itself quite a long shot--but you then had to win a race against 24,999,999 or so other wriggling contenders, all rushing to swim the English Channel of your mother's vagina in order to be the first ashore at the fertile egg of Boulogne, as it were. Being born was easily the most remarkable achievement of your whole life. And think: You could just as easily have been a flatworm.

Second, you are alive. For the tiniest moment in the span of eternity you have the miraculous privilege to exist. For endless aeons you did not. Soon you will cease to be once more. That you are able to sit here right now in this one never-to-be-repeated moment, reading this book, eating bonbons, dreaming about hot sex with that scrumptious person from accounts, speculatively sniffing your armpits, doing whatever you are doing--just existing--is really wondrous beyond belief.

Third, you have plenty to eat, you live in a time of peace, and "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree" will never be number one again.

Thanks, Bill.