I am becoming convinced that I have given myself some kind of permanent brain damage. If this is the case, I will be really irritated because I only have myself to blame. Well, my excessive drinking to be precise. It's not just my memory that has deteriorated beyond belief, but I have actually gone and developed a fully blown speech impediment. To top this off, I have a foot injury, which must either be due to an drunken incident of which I have no memory, or due to gout. But given that this is often referred to as the "rich man's disease", and I am neither rich nor male, I am hoping that I remain goutfree.
We have recently been discussing the ridiculousness of cancer foods, aka. the foods that can apparently give you cancer, the most recent of which being bacon. BACON! Conveniently, however, what with tomato ketchup allegedly preventing cancer, a bacon sandwich with ketchup is actually cancer neutral - so we can continue filling up on these. For peace of mind, I have researched further cancer preventing foods. These are: tomatoes, blueberries, red cabbage, spinach, garlic, whole wheat, oranges, strawberries and beans. Now, I personally have eaten four of these today - so you would assume that my life for the meantime will be cancer free. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of reseaching cancer causing foods as well. Along with all processed meats, red meat, fats and alcohol are all key perpetrators. As I have had two beef based spaghetti bologneses and copious amounts of alcohol in the past three days, I think my cancer/no-cancer equilibrium is swaying decidedly towards the less desirable direction. So, thinking along the cancer neutral lines and bearing in mind I am no great chef, I have come up with a few cancer neutral recipes:
1. Juicy steak with a blob of ketchup. (I forgot to mention - they are rather basic recipes.)
2. A fruit salad made with blueberries, oranges, strawberries and Cointreau instead of orange juice. (Though I suppose for a mental twist you could use Blue Curacao.)
3. A lump of lard covered in garlic. (Cancer neutral, but possibly heart disease positive-sometimes you have to weigh up the pros and cons.)
As my friend Tessa pointed out, it's not just cancer you have to look out for. After searching for other potential explanations for my gout, someone mentioned osteoporosis - which is in fact (well, not solely) caused by diet coke. She then pointed out that there were of course osteoporosis neutral drinks on the market, one of them being the Smooth Black Russian Cocktail, which contains Kahlua (calcium-rich and therefore osteoporosis negative), Coca cola (osteoporosis positive) and vodka and Guinness.
However, after reviewing this recipe just now, I have realised that, despite being osteoporosis neutral, it is in fact cancer positive! Oh, back to the drawing board. This is a veritable minefield!
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Friday, 20 July 2007
And so it goes on
You could literally drive yourself insane worrying about things and worry can manifest itself in so many different ways, even physical pain. It can cause headaches, stomach aches and even diarrhoea - each adding to the stressfulness of the situation. I think the worst thing to be worried about is health. At least when worrying about other things (relationships, exams, etc.) you can console yourself with the fact that no matter how bad it gets, it's not actually going to kill you, you're not actually going to die. Dying, of course, when worrying about health, actually tends to be the frightening source of concern.
I'm delaying going to bed now. The average person takes seven minutes to get to sleep. That is most certainly not true of me, and I know it will take even longer tonight. Why is it that worries seem so much more significant and life-threatening when you're laying there in the dark?
I look forward to going home. I will be there in five nights. There I will be able to lie in bed beside my boyfriend and voice every worry the instant it appears in my fraught mind, and he will hopefully extinguish each one with words of reassurance. But that means five more long sleepless nights alone. And four more days in fact, since I am living alone at the moment. In truthfulness, I cannot wait to get home, see my parents and tell them my ridiculous worry (that I have developed an abdominal aortic aneurysm) and for them to laugh in my face and say "Don't be silly. I sometimes have that feeling too. It's normal."
What I want most is to wake up tomorrow and never feel a pulse in my stomach again. Do you know what I also think? I wonder if yesterday I happened to feel it more than usual, which led me (unfortunately) to look it up on the internet and find this condition and therefore the pulse, which I always vaguely sensed in the past, has taken on a whole new fatal light, which I will never be able to see past. Thus I will be irrationally worrying about it for the rest of my life - an unbearably bleak thought. And one that I am in fact not willing to tolerate.
I have decided that if I still feel this on Tuesday (when I return to England), I shall make a doctor's appointment, to which I will undoubtedly go along only to be diagnosed with "states of anxiety", such was the outcome of my last visit to an establishment of this sort.
I'm delaying going to bed now. The average person takes seven minutes to get to sleep. That is most certainly not true of me, and I know it will take even longer tonight. Why is it that worries seem so much more significant and life-threatening when you're laying there in the dark?
I look forward to going home. I will be there in five nights. There I will be able to lie in bed beside my boyfriend and voice every worry the instant it appears in my fraught mind, and he will hopefully extinguish each one with words of reassurance. But that means five more long sleepless nights alone. And four more days in fact, since I am living alone at the moment. In truthfulness, I cannot wait to get home, see my parents and tell them my ridiculous worry (that I have developed an abdominal aortic aneurysm) and for them to laugh in my face and say "Don't be silly. I sometimes have that feeling too. It's normal."
What I want most is to wake up tomorrow and never feel a pulse in my stomach again. Do you know what I also think? I wonder if yesterday I happened to feel it more than usual, which led me (unfortunately) to look it up on the internet and find this condition and therefore the pulse, which I always vaguely sensed in the past, has taken on a whole new fatal light, which I will never be able to see past. Thus I will be irrationally worrying about it for the rest of my life - an unbearably bleak thought. And one that I am in fact not willing to tolerate.
I have decided that if I still feel this on Tuesday (when I return to England), I shall make a doctor's appointment, to which I will undoubtedly go along only to be diagnosed with "states of anxiety", such was the outcome of my last visit to an establishment of this sort.
Thursday, 19 July 2007
States of anxiety
I suffer from anxiety. I find it very easy to get worked up about insignificant things. I end up in such a panic that I just make the original source of worry worse.
Now I've worked myself into a panic. I think that I may have an aneurysm on my aorta simply because I have been feeling a pulse in my stomach. Not a constant one; very on/off. I typed "stomach pulse" into google to try and find myself some reassurance that nothing was wrong, but instead I stumbled across a minefield of information about abdominal aortic aneurysms, and, despite sources reporting that they are far more common in males over 60, and the fact that I am a female of 21 years, I am now convinced and therefore thoroughly panicked that I am indeed suffering from this condition.
I then decided once again to try and put my mind at rest by further researching the condition, only to discover the word "catastrophe" in the description of one of its outcomes. I am now in a state of, albeit quiet, indescribable panic whereby I can feel my pulse racing, not only in my stomach, but in my neck and chest as well.
Unfortunately it seems that there is no way to relieve oneself of such anxiety without actually visiting a professional and having them state plainly to one's face that "it's perfectly normal and nothing to worry about whatsoever" (preferrably after having undertaken a series of serious looking but painless tests in order to demonstrate that his remark is scientifically founded and therefore reassuringly accurate). However, by going to a professional, one runs the risk of hearing unwanted words; words along the lines of "I'm very sorry, but this is indeed a catastrophe" - words which I'm sure a patient would never heard a doctor say, but which they nonetheless imagine hearing. And it's this fear of bad news, along with the more minor fear of looking like a hypochondriac when I ask them their opinion on the matter only to be scoffed at and told "Everyone has a pulse in their stomach! Don't waste my time"; yes, it's these fears which prevent me from actually stepping foot in a doctor's surgery - well, these fears and the fact that I'm petrified of needles and am convinced that even if I went in complaining of a common cold, they would be hell-bent on injecting me with something; that said, it would be nice to go along and get some peace of mind, because then I would immediately be able to cleanse myself of this state of anxiety - which no doubt is responsible for prolonging my stomach pulsation as it is!
I need to learn meditation.
Now I've worked myself into a panic. I think that I may have an aneurysm on my aorta simply because I have been feeling a pulse in my stomach. Not a constant one; very on/off. I typed "stomach pulse" into google to try and find myself some reassurance that nothing was wrong, but instead I stumbled across a minefield of information about abdominal aortic aneurysms, and, despite sources reporting that they are far more common in males over 60, and the fact that I am a female of 21 years, I am now convinced and therefore thoroughly panicked that I am indeed suffering from this condition.
I then decided once again to try and put my mind at rest by further researching the condition, only to discover the word "catastrophe" in the description of one of its outcomes. I am now in a state of, albeit quiet, indescribable panic whereby I can feel my pulse racing, not only in my stomach, but in my neck and chest as well.
Unfortunately it seems that there is no way to relieve oneself of such anxiety without actually visiting a professional and having them state plainly to one's face that "it's perfectly normal and nothing to worry about whatsoever" (preferrably after having undertaken a series of serious looking but painless tests in order to demonstrate that his remark is scientifically founded and therefore reassuringly accurate). However, by going to a professional, one runs the risk of hearing unwanted words; words along the lines of "I'm very sorry, but this is indeed a catastrophe" - words which I'm sure a patient would never heard a doctor say, but which they nonetheless imagine hearing. And it's this fear of bad news, along with the more minor fear of looking like a hypochondriac when I ask them their opinion on the matter only to be scoffed at and told "Everyone has a pulse in their stomach! Don't waste my time"; yes, it's these fears which prevent me from actually stepping foot in a doctor's surgery - well, these fears and the fact that I'm petrified of needles and am convinced that even if I went in complaining of a common cold, they would be hell-bent on injecting me with something; that said, it would be nice to go along and get some peace of mind, because then I would immediately be able to cleanse myself of this state of anxiety - which no doubt is responsible for prolonging my stomach pulsation as it is!
I need to learn meditation.
Tuesday, 12 June 2007
Purgatory
I like to sleep.
When I'm asleep, I don't have to think.
There's dreaming, I know; but the less said about that, the better - life's complicated enough without having to analyse actions and thoughts in a scenario invented by a confused, unconcious mind. When I sit down to write, like I have done now, I find, not that I've run out of things to say, but rather, the things that I had to say have run away from me. My trains of thought, which were seemingly going somewhere, have lost all sense of direction. When I lie in bed at night, the thoughts that dart haphazardly through my mind are of such numbers that I could use them to pen an entire nonsensical novel in just those few hours.
My best thinking is done when I lie there, in that state which finds itself somewhere between conciousness and sleep. I like that state sometimes. I like that I can be thinking rational thoughts, reliving situations, fantasising about others - all of my own volition, and then suddenly I find myself in a Finnish supermarket with a dog I never had, buying umpteen butternut squash, which I hate. Then all of a sudden, the realisation swoops in through the black emptiness that, haha, I was about to drift off then. That was the moment when dream thinking mushed with real thinking. That was the start of a wild sleep adventure that I refused to embark on.
The thing about this state, and the bad thing, I mean, is that you can sometimes find yourself trapped in it, with that undesirable feeling that you have in fact been awake all night and the uncertainty about whether this is true. When I first slip into bed, I allow myself some time to think about things - not necessarily worry, although that is often the case. The problem of arriving at purgatory between conciousness and unconciousness arises when I let myself think for too long. Then I can't stop.
That is a lie. I can stop, but my brain carries on in my absence. Somehow, it is possible that, while I am lamenting the fact I am still awake and there are all these thoughts shooting through my semi-conciousness, some thing, some separate part of my brain is audaciously thinking them all up. And I can lie there for hours, pleading with this thing to shut the hell up, give me some peace and let me fall asleep. There is nothing so unfair and miserable as lying in the dark, thinking about not thinking; thinking that if only I could stop thinking about not thinking, then I wouldn't be thinking and therefore I could sleep. Round and round the thoughts go, in their tedious yet erratic fashion. But, every so often, you find yourself in that Finnish supermarket, buying butternut squash, drifting off...and then that bastard gleeful thought comes along: hooray! I'm falling asleep! And, needless to say, you're straight back out those supermarket doors, lying in the dark, thinking about not thinking.
Sleep well.
When I'm asleep, I don't have to think.
There's dreaming, I know; but the less said about that, the better - life's complicated enough without having to analyse actions and thoughts in a scenario invented by a confused, unconcious mind. When I sit down to write, like I have done now, I find, not that I've run out of things to say, but rather, the things that I had to say have run away from me. My trains of thought, which were seemingly going somewhere, have lost all sense of direction. When I lie in bed at night, the thoughts that dart haphazardly through my mind are of such numbers that I could use them to pen an entire nonsensical novel in just those few hours.
My best thinking is done when I lie there, in that state which finds itself somewhere between conciousness and sleep. I like that state sometimes. I like that I can be thinking rational thoughts, reliving situations, fantasising about others - all of my own volition, and then suddenly I find myself in a Finnish supermarket with a dog I never had, buying umpteen butternut squash, which I hate. Then all of a sudden, the realisation swoops in through the black emptiness that, haha, I was about to drift off then. That was the moment when dream thinking mushed with real thinking. That was the start of a wild sleep adventure that I refused to embark on.
The thing about this state, and the bad thing, I mean, is that you can sometimes find yourself trapped in it, with that undesirable feeling that you have in fact been awake all night and the uncertainty about whether this is true. When I first slip into bed, I allow myself some time to think about things - not necessarily worry, although that is often the case. The problem of arriving at purgatory between conciousness and unconciousness arises when I let myself think for too long. Then I can't stop.
That is a lie. I can stop, but my brain carries on in my absence. Somehow, it is possible that, while I am lamenting the fact I am still awake and there are all these thoughts shooting through my semi-conciousness, some thing, some separate part of my brain is audaciously thinking them all up. And I can lie there for hours, pleading with this thing to shut the hell up, give me some peace and let me fall asleep. There is nothing so unfair and miserable as lying in the dark, thinking about not thinking; thinking that if only I could stop thinking about not thinking, then I wouldn't be thinking and therefore I could sleep. Round and round the thoughts go, in their tedious yet erratic fashion. But, every so often, you find yourself in that Finnish supermarket, buying butternut squash, drifting off...and then that bastard gleeful thought comes along: hooray! I'm falling asleep! And, needless to say, you're straight back out those supermarket doors, lying in the dark, thinking about not thinking.
Sleep well.
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