shiraphant: (Default)
blah blah blah )
shiraphant: (Default)
I'm finding all these remixes of SWV songs on Youtube and a whole bunch of other stuff I used to listen to in the early 90s. Oh my gooooooood, Jodeci. I fancied DeVante so much my little teenage heart couldn't stand it. BRB visiting 1993 kthxbai.
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I have just found a live version of Uptown Top Ranking. Performed by the Sisters of Mercy. What.
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I do intend to make a happy post soon (about My First Holiday omg omg), but for now, some Thoughts I Thought.

Here's part of a conversation I'm having with [ profile] puzzled_anwen:

me: I did washing up this morning. I did ten minutes of washing up and in that time I developed a lot of pain in my mid-back, my shoulders hated me, I felt sick, my womb began to cramp and I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach repeatedly
all those pains gradually went away when I sat down
after about twelve years, I finally started to believe - really believe - that I am not lazy, I could not do more around the house "if I just wanted to do it enough", I genuinely do have something wrong with me
I am not faking just in order to get out of doing housework.
anwen: arr, I know what you mean
it'd be nice if you were *sigh*
me: I can't believe it's taken me this long to believe it and I am sure I will be doubting myself again soon
anwen: yup
I do all the time
anwen: esp when I was mostly quite well last year I was all 'oh god, maybe I wasn't really that bad' even though, you know, I WAS BEING POISONED BY MY TABLETS

Having fibro/other invisible or otherwise unverifiable illnesses (including mental illness, with which I also have daily fun in several forms) means, for many of us, daily self-doubt and guilt on top of the judging and unhelpful assumptions made about us by other people - friends, family, doctors, random strangers. (We won't even get into the frustration and depression which come from being unable to have normal bloody lives with jobs and socialising and hobbies). Our brains, like so many clueless people, tell us we're not really that ill. We're faking to get attention/avoid having to do any work. We've "embraced the sick role", whatever the shit that means. We hear it so much from others that we believe it ourselves, and we hurt ourselves, we make ourselves more ill, trying to behave as if all that were true, as if our illnesses were the convenient fictions that so many people seem to think they are, and as if we could just choose to behave like healthy, able-bodied people and we'd magically be better. Unfortunately it does not work. No amount of wanting it to be that way will make it that way, and I did not - we did not - choose to have our bodies fail in this way.

If you're one of the people who didn't need to be told this - thank you for not making our lives harder and more painful. Thank you for believing us, because it's fucking rare when anyone does.
shiraphant: (hip to my jive)
Dear People Who Designed The Packaging For My Fertility Drugs:

FUCK YOU for putting that cutesy little mummy-daddy-baby logo on the case that I have to open every day just before I inject myself to try and make my ovaries do their damn job. FUCK YOU for reminding me about HAPPY FAMILIES as if I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT I WAS INJECTING MYSELF FOR - it doesn't "give me hope", it just PISSES ME OFF - and ALSO FUCK YOU for your FUCKING HETERONORMATIVE ASSUMPTIONS.

No love



Dec. 8th, 2009 01:34 pm
shiraphant: (down with this sort of thing)
Dear Aunt Yvonne

Thank you for the Christmas card, it was a timely reminder that I am probably too late sending out mine. All this is by the by, however, because the main point I want to address is this: MY NAME IS NOT MRS JAMES BECKETT. NOBODY CALLS ME JAMES. BECAUSE IT IS NOT MY NAME. I AM A WHOLE SEPARATE PERSON IA;AEKJF'FGNDFLSKDG FSCSDAK
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In other news, the Oxegen festival was a pile of fail. I left a comment in [ profile] gothhippiegrrl's LJ about it, and I may as well reproduce it here; be warned, it's long )

In other other news, I am unreasonably excited about going to see the new Harry Potter film, despite knowing that I will want to throw things at the screen at certain points. I can't go until Friday night at the earliest because every ticket within a 30 mile radius is booked, but EEEEEEE.

I have an appointment with a neurologist tomorrow, which will hopefully a) be the start of getting some control over my migraines, which really are the worst part of being me because they ruin almost everything and prevent me from doing nearly anything b) go better than the fucking awful endocrinologist appointment I had last week which was so unspeakably awful that I'm going to write a letter of complaint. The woman was dismissive, ignorant, arrogant, fatphobic, hostile, didn't bloody listen, and TOUCHED MY HEAD (scrabbling about in my hair) without asking first and then tried to make out that I was in the wrong when I freaked out. I'd go into details but it needs its own post, really, and I might make that post when I've written the complaint letter. James said he was tempted to ask her "Are you a real doctor?" I wish he had. He's been referred to the Marfan clinic in Dublin which means HOORAY he will get proper treatment and we will have a better idea of when he needs heart surgery (he has a dilated aortic root and a leaky mitral valve).

I miss being able to talk to people on IM. Our dodgy mobile modem interwebs is terrible and the connection drops at least once every five minutes, sometimes more like twice a minute, so the only chat I can use is Facebook Chat, and even that keeps cutting out.

I must apologise again (and explain to the newer people on my flist) for not being great at answering comments. Migraine is worse than ever, and connection is dodgy, and fibro thoroughly kicks my arse on a regular basis, and I am basically just rubbish at replying. However, I do make a very tasty clafouti, which I would never have thought to try had it not been mentioned several times by [ profile] ailbhe, so thank you [ profile] ailbhe*!.

*for some reason I really like typing the name "ailbhe"
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Go and see this thing! Comecidal Lolocaust! I would totally be going except, er, I live in the wrong country.
For the link-shy among you, here be the blurb und info (no photo for you ftb I has the dodgy interwebs):

The Jokerists
Comecidal Lolocaust

Fresh and tart stand-up comedy from the inimitable Rose Watt (slapstick ninja mistress), the incomparable Holly Burns (scientist and fashionista), and the irredeemable Del Des Anges (do not feed or disturb).

Please allow plenty of time for digestion: fairy cakes offered to survivors, suitable for 15+

* Sun 9 Aug 2009, 4:15pm The Camden Head
* Mon 10 Aug 2009, 4:15pm The Camden Head
* Tue 11 Aug 2009, 4:15pm The Camden Head

Dudes. I am not generally a stand-up comedy (ahahaha I just typed vomedy by mistake and if Del
is involved THAT MAY NOT BE TOO FAR FROM THE TRUTH) type of person, but I can personally vouch for Del being one of the funniest people I know, in whose company I am often to be found having trouble breathing due to her hilarity. By which I mean, if you are able to go to this thing and you do not, you are a fool. Seriously dudes, I even list her as one of my interests in my userinfo.

shiraphant: (hip to my jive)
I nearly posted this in response to a STUPID post in a community but I decided to say it here instead so as to remove the likelihood of me going ASPLODE at the stupid smuggery and wilful ignorance.

I am so sick of this "well now we can manufacture sperm WE'LL NEVER NEED MEN AGAIN OMG" business and all that goes along with it. a) they haven't made sperm. They've made cells which are more like sperm than anything else they've made yet b) those people who can - ie most people - will still make babies the old-fashioned way because the majority of women like having sex with men, and will want to procreate with their men the way it's always been done.

WILL PEOPLE STOP BEING FUCKING RIDICULOUS. Saying "oh now the feminists will be happy because WE DON'T NEED MEN ANY MORE" is wrong in so many ways. Suggesting that the ability to create sperm without the presence of a man (which isn't possible yet no matter what the news is yelling) means women aren't going to bother with men any more is kind of like saying that the existence of nicely-shaped prosthetic legs is going to make people who don't like the shape of their perfectly-functioning legs cut them off and replace them.


Speaking of my internets, it's unlikely I'll be able to get online until Monday because the Oxegen festival is happening across the road from me and ninety squillion people going HI I'M AT THE BEER TENT! NO, BEER TENT! will be using all the wotsit that we rely on for our dodgy mobile-modem connection.
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I said I was going to make a post about where we live, and here it is. Bit random, and only phonepictures which don't really do it justice, but here is an assortment of photos of the hausonnafarm, its inhabitants, and parts of the farm and land themselves.

many, many photos. Not large, but numerous )

So there you go! We live in a really gorgeous place. If I could transplant it to England, its perfection would be complete. Instead, you're all just going to have to come and visit.
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Samantha Orobator was arrested last August in Laos and charged with drug trafficking; her family and friends say she has no history of any involvement with drugs. She's been in prison ever since and is now pregnant, most likely as a result of rape. She faces possible execution by firing squad, though Laos is currently saying they probably won't execute her because she's pregnant - this is before she's even been tried.

Please go and read the whole thing at Shakesville. As Liss says, the best thing we can do at the moment is make it clear that we're paying attention to what happens to her. From one of the comments over there:

Facebook has contact info and a petition:
Email Harriet Harman, Samantha's MP, and Gordon Brown:
Harriet Harman: / Tel: 0207 219 4218
Gordon Brown:
Nag them! Let them know that you are worried about Samantha and demand something to be done about her situation. Invite your friends (facebook or otherwise!) to do the same. Her life is at stake.
UPDATE: You can sign a petition here:

Please read the comments at Shakesville as well, if you have time - there's useful information there too.
shiraphant: (angry button from the train)


I don't even drink coffee.

p.s. as always, dyslexics are exempt from my mighty wrath.
shiraphant: (rainbow eye)
James' mum. *shakes head*

Basically I'm using large chunks of a conversation I had with [ profile] apiphile shortly after this all happened, because there's so much to type. There'll be some background in there also.

Over the past few years, she's insulted me in many ways - almost always when James was not in the room, though that didn't mean he couldn't hear it. She has: tl;dr list of ways in which she has insulted me over the past few years )

And all this while acting all sweetness and light when other people were around. There's been other stuff, but that list is more than long enough. I tolerated this shit for James' sake but eventually I had had enough, and he agreed that I shouldn't have to put up with it. I'd never have taken that behaviour from anyone else for so long.

epic tl;dr, like Icelandic saga-type-length, of the SHOWDOWN and BANISHMENT )

I phoned them half an hour or so later to see if he was still there. They said *she* was but he had left five or ten minutes before, so I went out to look for him and he was huddled in a corner by our front door.

the really frightening bit where I was more scared than at any other time in my life )

His mum sent him the money for the cab the other day. I said I didn't want her fucking money but James pointed out it was our money anyway. He's said he doesn't know if he will ever want to speak to her again, and he definitely doesn't want to right now. He's just amazed that she showed herself to be such a nasty, bigoted, hypocritical, lying, wilfully ignorant bitch. I am very very glad he had the strength of mind to overcome his conditioning and realise that she isn't the person he always believed she was. He was already believing it intellectually, but I don't think he would have got it on a visceral level without witnessing her attack on me, where he was left thinking something like "I don't know who the hell this awful person is that you're talking about but it's certainly not my wife, she is none of these things."

we phoned his sister )

The aggravating thing is, she has never displayed this behaviour except in tiny, non-noticeable-if-you're-not-wise-to-the-tricks-of-abusers ways, to anyone else. My sister, mum and some friends who have been in abusive situations spotted what she was up to very early on, but people in general think I must be making it up, which is of course what abusers want everyone to think.

I can handle being hated by his whole family because of lies. What I am worried about is the years it will take to fix my husband from the damage she's done. I am grateful that he's realised and accepted what a toxic bitch his mum is, but it's a hell of a thing to realise and it'll take him a long time to process it and really be ok. Thank god we never have to deal with her shit again. I am so relieved he's chosen to stand up for me, but I hate that he's been put in this position.
shiraphant: (Default)
This is from a comment I just made over on [ profile] apiphile's LJ, to someone who was having great trouble a) getting the point b) accepting that yes they do fucking well have privilege even if they haven't had a life of strawberries and silk cushions.

"One thing that you're forgetting is this very helpful rule: If it's not about you, don't make it be about you. If you really think all this stuff Del wrote about truly does not apply to you and your family, don't take it personally, just leave it alone.
Also, just because you think it doesn't apply to you and your family doesn't mean it's not true for millions of other people. An important thing to note about privilege is that by its very nature it is invisible most of the time to those who have it, unless they've trained themselves to see it and even then they won't catch it all the time. Another thing is that many people fall into the same trap when the issue of privilege is raised - they think the people pointing it out are saying they ought to feel guilty for it, when that's not the case at all, and they think they're being accused of having lovely swanky lives, which is also not the case. I mean shit, my life's been rather awful but I'd never deny that I have benefited from privilege of various types. This is because of another thing that I try my very best not to do and which I wish more people would try to avoid: Suffering Trumps. It's ok not to be the most hard-done-by. Really, it is. Attention is not a zero-sum game, and just because someone points out that x group of people in general have it worse than the group you're in does not mean that all your personal suffering is invalidated, it just means it's time to talk about someone else for the moment."

I could say more about this, a lot more, but it's nearly half past two and this broadband connection James has managed to magic up is very prone to frequent disconnection.
shiraphant: (purple)


All change

Sep. 22nd, 2008 02:43 pm
shiraphant: (Default)
First, thank you to everyone who left messages/sent texts after my last post - I can't reply to you all individually but I really do appreciate that you all took the time to respond.
James and I managed to find a place to live - we'll be moving to a house in a small village in the Wicklow mountains not painfully far from where he works, and this is where it gets tricky: we have to move between the 9th-14th of October. We cannot afford to hire a removal company. Originally we had three people lined up to help us move, but for various reasons none of them are able to do it now, and currently it looks like James is going to have to drive from Cambridgeshire to North Wales, get the ferry across, drive from Dun Laoghaire to Wicklow, unload, then go back via shedloads of driving and ferry and do it all four times - the final time with the car and cats. Then he'd have to get to Dublin, fly to Stansted, get a cab to fetch me, and fly with me over to Dublin (I am terrified of crossing water and absolutely cannot do ferries, the plane is bad enough) and then somehow get us back to the house in Wicklow.
This is basically not feasible so what I'm saying is if anyone is willing and able to drive a van - a 7.5 ton van, I expect - from Cambridgeshire to Wicklow on any day between the 9th and 14th of October, we really, really need your help. We'd obviously pay for absolutely everything and we would thank you with love and food and money if you'd like.
Ideally we'd end up with three people to drive as well as James and then it could all be done in one day, but really, as it stands, anyone would be a massive improvement, though if there's only one person to drive apart from James it'd be a double trip and take two days what with ferry times being ridiculous.
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I've been posting to a very small group of people over the past months about fertility treatment.

In order to save time and faffery, I will post an edited version of the first post I made to them. I apologise if you're on my icsi filter and have already seen this, feel free to skip.

plenty of medical stuff and TMI here )
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Well, shit, dudes. I am just not sure how well I'll cope with the progression of my lipoedema. I can't exactly do anything about it, but damn. I am not looking forward to it. Currently, my legs look like this (I am affected from waist down and on arms, but I'm only showing you my legs because you don't need to see my arse and because I couldn't find any arm-comparison photos):

Here are my legs, which may not be work-safe, and the bodies of two other women with lipoedema; the photos of advanced cases are definitely NSFW, what with containing breasts and buttocks and the like. Bear in mind, this is some damn ugly stuff and you may be put off your food if you're eating. )
shiraphant: (Default)
boobly boo )

ION, James still has no job. We can just about manage rent from the tiny amount of work James has had recently, but we can't pay anything else at all; if Dad hadn't insisted on giving us the money for our last electricity bill and council tax we'd have been in deep shit, but that was the last of his spare money. We're down to using our saved-up coppers to buy food, and would have been there several weeks sooner had André not bought us a trolley full of stuff the other week. We're pretty much fucked.
Oh, there's that panic I was trying to avoid.


shiraphant: (Default)

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