I think I may have just invented a new word today that completely sums up a feeling I often get that is kind of halfway between an obsession and a crush. Allow me to elaborate...
When I was about 17 I attended a Maths class (yes, ok, I got a D in my GCSE maths and had to resit it - in my defence, in the resit I got a B!) and the teacher of the class was a wonderful guy. He had a great sense of humour and a quick wit and I was totally smitten. Now, this guy was probably in his late thirties or early forties and his fashion sense was not his primary concern but I thought he was the best thing since sliced bread. The thing is that, and heres the thing, I had no desire to sleep with him/have any sexual contact etc I just thought that he was wonderful. That's the odd thing about having an obscrussion, you think that the object of the thoughts is fascinating and extraordinary, but you have no sexual feelings towards it/them whatsoever.
Thankfully I don't think that I ever mentioned this strange obscrussion to anyone as they would have mercilessly ribbed me and said 'You fancy him!!!'. No one would have understood that I didn't want a relationship with the man, I was just enthralled by him. Also, I just want to point out that I never did anything about it and I presume that he is still blissfully unaware of my feelings, well...unless he has read this I suppose.
Anyway, that was one in a long line of obscrussions I have had over the years with men, women and objects. It seems that the obscrussions are present regardless of my sexual preference - despite being completely heterosexual I had a massive obscrussion on Kylie Minogue, again - never did anything about it, well, except for buying her singles, albums and wanting to look like her when I was a teenager.
You see, that's the thing, you can never truly convince anyone that you don't want to have sexual contact with the person that your obscrussion is currently based. I used to get the whole 'Oh, you fancy him! You do! You blushed!' when I am still as pale as I have always been, I don't know if I have ever blushed and believe me, I've lived through some pretty toe curling moments during the course of my life.
Having OCD, obsessions are pretty much par for the course for me - intrusive thoughts, obsessing over the tiniest detail, one good reason why I have always seemed pretty competant as a software tester and also, when I came up with this word Io gt so obsessed that I had to write this blog entry - and I have had crushes during my life and so it was difficult to define a feeling that wasn't exactly an obsession or a crush. More like something in between.
I've had obscrussions about the most oddest things - my friend's hair for example...
My friend will remain nameless in this instance as he is, as far as I know, unaware of this strange feeling that consumed me so badly several years ago. I became completely fascinated with his hair - the colour, the shape, the texture. I used to sit in an office near him (oh boy, he is probably going to guess at some point) and every week day I would find myself staring at his hair, wanting to touch it mainly but generally just wanting to look at it. Now, let me assure you that while this gentleman was one of the nicest people I know, I had no desire to be anything other than friends with him. It wasn't an obsession as it didn't occupy my every waking moment or get in the way of my day to day duties and it wasn't a crush as there was no sexual nature to it - it was something in between.
The funny thing is that I go through phases where I become incredibly fascinated with something then I will pretty much drop it like a hot potato. For example, I watched The League of Gentlemen several years ago - I bought the series 1 DVD and eagerly went home to watch it. The very next day I went out and bought the series 2 and 3 DVDs, the Christmas Special and the Live DVD. I bought a T-shirt and for a while it was my hot topic. Then it was Frasier - I watched every single episode, many times, before I dropped that too, in the pit of my discarded obscrussions. At first it was mainly TV shows - Scrubs, Top Gear, Spaced, The Mighty Boosh - then it became TV characters - House (played by the very talented Hugh Laurie), Doctor Who (mainly David Tennant - despite complaining that I 'didn't like the new guy' after Christopher Eccleston I soon found myself buying Doctor Who mugs, watches, going to the Doctor Who museum in Blackpool etc What can I say, I warmed to him), Dr Cox from Scrubs (pretty much summing up my obscrussions on grumpy people in general - also see Edmund Blackadder and Inspector Morse ((I know, I know, what can I say really))).
Anyway, after ruining that sentence I should probably calm down a little but that's the thing, I get ridiculously passionate about something for a very short period of time then before you know it I have moved onto another obscrussion. I've had these feelings about Gordon Ramsay, Charlie Brooker, Richard Hammond when I have absolutely no desire to even meet them in real life - I just want to see everything they have been in on the TV. I don't want to stalk them, I've got far better things to do with my time, I just have a mild obscrussion.
Now, I don't think that I am entirely alone in this as my Dad is very similar. After my parents divorced I lived with my Dad for about 5 years before I came up to Edinburgh to go to university and during those 5 years I watched him go through a number of obscrussions.
At one point, all he wanted to buy was Bonsai Trees - not the real ones I might add but the cute little plastic/glass ornaments. The small house was filled with them, like a mini fake bonsai forest. Then he was all about the bronze, every ornament he bought had to be bronze. Then it was novelty tea pots, then onyx - he must have been a car boot sales traders dream. Oddly enough after that it became hoovers, then TV's, then computers, until his house started to look not disimilar to something from Steptoe and Son. It was always clean but the amount of junk in that house was breathtaking. This led me to think that perhaps it wasn't just me.
For me, my OCD and obscrussions appear to be totally separate. I get obsessed about numbers and the way songs sound and whether the door is locked or the hob is off (seriously, it takes me about 30 mins to leave the house with all of the checks I have to do - and that's on a good day) whereas my obscrussions appear to be totally different.
One of my biggest fears at one stage was that, when I took my OCD meds I was afraid that I would find out that my feelings for my husband were just an obscrussion or obsession as the meds allude to take away or at least ease the obsessions. The obsessions were eased and thankfully my strong feelings for my husband still remain and are definitely not an obscrussion. I love him more every day.
Even with the meds I still have obscrussions though so if you ever see me in HMV, clutching a handful of DVD's at the till - all starring David Tennant or Simon Pegg, be warned that my obscrussions rage on.
And if you see me staring at your hair, heck just take it as a compliment! :)
Thursday 12 February 2009
Tuesday 10 February 2009
The Gas man, the broken washing machine and the obese Wii Mee
Last week was, quite frankly, miserable. Don't worry dear reader, I'm not going to get all depressed on you now - there were some funny aspects admittedly but it was mostly miserable.
It started with the letter from the gas company a few weeks ago...
According to the gas company, who will remain nameless, they had visited our property on many occasions and left cards etc but they had not been able to gain access to our flat to examine the meter for it's yearly check thingie. Now, here's the deal - I have been off sick from work for approximately 4 months and I have been in most of the time (when I haven't been at the hospital having parts of me probed or at the doctors). So either they were going to a totally different property or just very confused. Anyway, they said that they would come round 2 weeks ago. I waited in all day and they failed to show up. I was quite rightly livid and my husband phoned them back and rearranged the appointment. Anyway, to cut a long story hopefully reasonably short, they finally were scheduled to arrive last wednesday.
They claimed that they would phone ten minutes prior to arrival and that it would be between 8am and 12 noon. So at 9am I was still in bed - I still have a lot of abdomen pain, don't you judge me now :) - when the buzzer to the main door of the flat parped loudly. I jumped up to answer it and no one spoke on the intercom, despite my plaintive cries of 'Hello?'. Then there was a hard rap on the door and as I had only just clambered out of bed I was wearing fleecy pyjamas and a huge bright pink fuscia dressing gown and pink furry slippers (attractive huh?) with the most ridiclous bed hair. I opened the door breathlessly, I had gotten a shock when the buzzer went ok and I'm not as healthy as I used to be!, and said the following: 'Oh, oh, thank goodness you've come, I've been expecting you!'
Now, I don't usually get so excited when men come to read the meter but I had spent an entire day the week before waiting for them and I was so relieved! I wouldn't have to spend an entire day wondering if I could go to the loo uninterrupted or start eating without having to discard the food untouched because the doorbell rang etc
Anyway, back to my wholly inappropriate comment at the door...
I don't know who was more shocked - me because I had said something that could be misconstrued or him because he thought he was going to get molested by some desperate housewife with a pink fixation (I'm neither desperate or fixated on pink, I'd just like to add). To make matters worse, as I had just climbed out of bed and as the door was open, the guy could see right through to the bedroom with the covers pulled back as if I was ready to drag him in! By this point my face was probably the colour of my gown and fluffy slippers. So what did I do in this embarrassing situation my dear reader - did I shut up and motion wordlessly to the meter? did I pretend it had not been said? Oh no, that would have been too easy, I spluttered and said 'Oh no, that must have sounded so dodgy, I'm not expecting you in that way! It's nothing dodgy like that or anything I just mean that...'. Then I did what I should have done in the first place, motioned towards the meter and shut my trap. The rather bewildered man rushed in, looked at the meter, pressed a couple of buttons on his handheld machine and said 'That's fine, goodbye'. Never has a gas man checked a meter so quickly! Now, to be fair, they did say that they would give me 10 minutes notice and that never materialised so you could say that it was their fault I was in that situation - let's just say that if someone needs to do something to the flat, I will be ready at least ten minutes before the start of the period in which they will arrive...or at least pretend I have laryngitis and can't talk!
Which leads me to the second problem last week - the Sickness of the Washing Machine! About two weeks ago, our washing machine was a fairly happy kitchen appliance, washing it's way through load after load of yummy clothing but then it developed some sort of major blockage and conked out. I'm no washing machine expert, everything I know about washing machines could be written on the head of a match, then ignited as I don't actually know anything about them at all. After continually harrassing my husband to phone my dad, who quite frankly eats washing machines for breakfast (well, not so much as eats as fixes but you get the general idea), he finally phoned my dad.
Just as a brief aside, my Dad has been into all things mechanical for decades - when I was 15 I came home from school to find him sat on the dining room carpet with some sort of long metal pipe, scrubbing the inside of what appeared to be the engine of a car. I said 'Dad, what's that?', eyeing the oil which had somehow crept over the poorly laid newspaper onto the axminster carpet (that sounds quite grand carpet but it had been on the floor for approximately 25 years before being desecrated by various machinery so it was, by now, a bit worse for wear). My Dad replied 'it's the engine from the car'. What can you say to that really? I think that when my parents divorced that my Dad thought 'Right, see this carpet? I'm gonna get me some machinery on this carpet and no woman is going to stop me!' and to be fair, as I was the only girl/women in the house, I didn't really. He hauled washing machines out of skips to restore them to their former glory, vacuum cleaners from scrap yards to vacuum another day! Basically as long as my Dad can get something open he can generally fix it - with the exception of my Jem doll with the LED earrings. He cut the top of the dolls head open to fix a broken LED then realised that even if he affixed the top of the head she would still look like Frankenstein's monster and that's just scary for kids.
Anyway so my poor put upon husband eventually phoned my Dad. My husband is very skilled at fixing things but my Dad has eons of experience so I thought that between the two of them they could probably fix it. After much to-ing and fro-ing it was found that the filter and pump were hidden and the problem seemed to be with one of these items. Whilst I am aware of the purpose of a filter and pump in several objects, I'm not particularly familiar with any of the gobbledegook that was coming out of the phone from my Dad or from my husband with regards to how they function in the washing machine. As the problem didn't seem to be easily fixable and the machine is less than a year old, it was decided that an engineer would be called.
This was prior to the gas man incident but I was still annoyed that I would have to spend two days waiting for various workpeople.
Now, as you may have realised, I have OCD and while I'm not wholly fixated on cleaning, I am terrifed of germs and contamination - yep, it seems daft I know and the rational part of my brain agrees with everyone else but the OCD part is a lot harder than the rest of my brain and can generally bully me into submission. The washing machine engineer was prompt and, as he arrived the day after the gas man, I was ready and dressed and watching The Jeremy Kyle Show as he arrived - at least he was on time. The guy came into the flat and plonked his laptop on our clean worktop protector - I visibly flinched, considering the germs/dirt that would now be lurking (I'm sure he is a very clean man but that just does not mean diddly squat to someone with OCD). I had just boiled the kettle to make him a cup of coffee which he declined and he put his coat over the kettle. All I could think about was that something might fall out of his pocket into the kettle and make us all ill or that the kettle would be hot and burn a hole in his jacket, causing a fire and he would have to dangle me out of the window to escape - the kettle is near the window and I would have to run the other way but that's not the point.
He then asked me if I had a bucket, I gave him a bucket but it turned out that it was too deep so, as there was no other alternative, he had to use the washing up bowl. Anyone else would have allowed him to use the washing up bowl and then washed it afterwards but not me, I had to go out and buy a new washing up bowl that very day - I jest ye not - and that was just a riot trying to cart it around on the bus.
He then asked if we had a towel. I thought that he was just going to wipe his hands on it but it turned out he was going to wipe the floor, the inner rim of the washing machine etc which again led me to dispose of the towel later on.
He kept pouring the dirty water from the washing machine into the sink caring little of the splashage onto the freshly washed plates and cutlery that resided in the drainer. The clean washing up sponge was hurled into the mini sink (that I never touch because it is too disgusting for some reason) in a cavalier fashion meaning that it too, like the towel, had to go. Essentially I was in the middle of an OCD nightmare that only lasted for 30 minutes but believe me, felt a lot longer.
Needless to say, I had to scrub the entire kitchen once it was over and go out and buy a new washing up bowl, drainer and new sponges. The 'contaminated' items are now languishing in our kitchen, hoping to be revived and used for other household purposes, preferably not by me.
Anyway, last week was also the week that I decided that enough is enough with my weight. I used to be so slim but now, well I wont tell you my weight but my BMI is now almost 37 which is pretty bad as things go. It's quite odd as about four or five years ago I had anorexia nervosa. I struggled with the cruel eating disorder for several years and at my lightest I was about 7 stone 6. I've always had a strange relationship with food and just over a year ago I gave up smoking which in many ways was a good thing but for my weight it was a huge mistake. I'm sure that not all people who give up smoking put on weight but I ate for Scotland - chocolate, crisps, mainly chocolate - I became orally fixated (yes, go on, have a chuckle).
So, combined with the terrible abdomen pain I have, I have managed to acquire 4 stone within a year. That would be impressive if the weight was diamonds or gold but as it is fat it is not nearly as welcome.
I decided that, even though I can't do much exercise because of the pain, that I would use Wii Fit for the Yoga to at least tone up. As someone who used to do boxercise and could easily get into the crab position all those years ago I kind of thought that it would be a breeze. I was so wrong.
Aside from the fact that when the Wii Balance Board weighed me and told me I was obese, it also made my Wii Me obese so not only is my podgy body right under my nose, it is now staring at me from the TV screen as I exercise - Nice. I know that this is to motivate me and I have indeed lost a pound in the past week, it's still very depressing to be told that I have a Wii Fit age of 44 (I'm 31). Thankfully I don't cry easily! Actually...actually that's a lie, as I'm off my OCD meds I cry like a baby at the merest hint of a polar bear on the TV but anyway, at least I didn't hit the ice cream feeling like a failure.
I've been doing the yoga and some of the muscle exercises and I do feel better for it but I have to admit to cravings for chocolate, cakes, mainly chocolate and often a cigarette!
All in all, last week was fairly depressing and I was hoping this week would be better but after forgetting my PIN number at the ATM this morning I'm not sure that's going to be the case.
Also, the boiler needs fixing...
It started with the letter from the gas company a few weeks ago...
According to the gas company, who will remain nameless, they had visited our property on many occasions and left cards etc but they had not been able to gain access to our flat to examine the meter for it's yearly check thingie. Now, here's the deal - I have been off sick from work for approximately 4 months and I have been in most of the time (when I haven't been at the hospital having parts of me probed or at the doctors). So either they were going to a totally different property or just very confused. Anyway, they said that they would come round 2 weeks ago. I waited in all day and they failed to show up. I was quite rightly livid and my husband phoned them back and rearranged the appointment. Anyway, to cut a long story hopefully reasonably short, they finally were scheduled to arrive last wednesday.
They claimed that they would phone ten minutes prior to arrival and that it would be between 8am and 12 noon. So at 9am I was still in bed - I still have a lot of abdomen pain, don't you judge me now :) - when the buzzer to the main door of the flat parped loudly. I jumped up to answer it and no one spoke on the intercom, despite my plaintive cries of 'Hello?'. Then there was a hard rap on the door and as I had only just clambered out of bed I was wearing fleecy pyjamas and a huge bright pink fuscia dressing gown and pink furry slippers (attractive huh?) with the most ridiclous bed hair. I opened the door breathlessly, I had gotten a shock when the buzzer went ok and I'm not as healthy as I used to be!, and said the following: 'Oh, oh, thank goodness you've come, I've been expecting you!'
Now, I don't usually get so excited when men come to read the meter but I had spent an entire day the week before waiting for them and I was so relieved! I wouldn't have to spend an entire day wondering if I could go to the loo uninterrupted or start eating without having to discard the food untouched because the doorbell rang etc
Anyway, back to my wholly inappropriate comment at the door...
I don't know who was more shocked - me because I had said something that could be misconstrued or him because he thought he was going to get molested by some desperate housewife with a pink fixation (I'm neither desperate or fixated on pink, I'd just like to add). To make matters worse, as I had just climbed out of bed and as the door was open, the guy could see right through to the bedroom with the covers pulled back as if I was ready to drag him in! By this point my face was probably the colour of my gown and fluffy slippers. So what did I do in this embarrassing situation my dear reader - did I shut up and motion wordlessly to the meter? did I pretend it had not been said? Oh no, that would have been too easy, I spluttered and said 'Oh no, that must have sounded so dodgy, I'm not expecting you in that way! It's nothing dodgy like that or anything I just mean that...'. Then I did what I should have done in the first place, motioned towards the meter and shut my trap. The rather bewildered man rushed in, looked at the meter, pressed a couple of buttons on his handheld machine and said 'That's fine, goodbye'. Never has a gas man checked a meter so quickly! Now, to be fair, they did say that they would give me 10 minutes notice and that never materialised so you could say that it was their fault I was in that situation - let's just say that if someone needs to do something to the flat, I will be ready at least ten minutes before the start of the period in which they will arrive...or at least pretend I have laryngitis and can't talk!
Which leads me to the second problem last week - the Sickness of the Washing Machine! About two weeks ago, our washing machine was a fairly happy kitchen appliance, washing it's way through load after load of yummy clothing but then it developed some sort of major blockage and conked out. I'm no washing machine expert, everything I know about washing machines could be written on the head of a match, then ignited as I don't actually know anything about them at all. After continually harrassing my husband to phone my dad, who quite frankly eats washing machines for breakfast (well, not so much as eats as fixes but you get the general idea), he finally phoned my dad.
Just as a brief aside, my Dad has been into all things mechanical for decades - when I was 15 I came home from school to find him sat on the dining room carpet with some sort of long metal pipe, scrubbing the inside of what appeared to be the engine of a car. I said 'Dad, what's that?', eyeing the oil which had somehow crept over the poorly laid newspaper onto the axminster carpet (that sounds quite grand carpet but it had been on the floor for approximately 25 years before being desecrated by various machinery so it was, by now, a bit worse for wear). My Dad replied 'it's the engine from the car'. What can you say to that really? I think that when my parents divorced that my Dad thought 'Right, see this carpet? I'm gonna get me some machinery on this carpet and no woman is going to stop me!' and to be fair, as I was the only girl/women in the house, I didn't really. He hauled washing machines out of skips to restore them to their former glory, vacuum cleaners from scrap yards to vacuum another day! Basically as long as my Dad can get something open he can generally fix it - with the exception of my Jem doll with the LED earrings. He cut the top of the dolls head open to fix a broken LED then realised that even if he affixed the top of the head she would still look like Frankenstein's monster and that's just scary for kids.
Anyway so my poor put upon husband eventually phoned my Dad. My husband is very skilled at fixing things but my Dad has eons of experience so I thought that between the two of them they could probably fix it. After much to-ing and fro-ing it was found that the filter and pump were hidden and the problem seemed to be with one of these items. Whilst I am aware of the purpose of a filter and pump in several objects, I'm not particularly familiar with any of the gobbledegook that was coming out of the phone from my Dad or from my husband with regards to how they function in the washing machine. As the problem didn't seem to be easily fixable and the machine is less than a year old, it was decided that an engineer would be called.
This was prior to the gas man incident but I was still annoyed that I would have to spend two days waiting for various workpeople.
Now, as you may have realised, I have OCD and while I'm not wholly fixated on cleaning, I am terrifed of germs and contamination - yep, it seems daft I know and the rational part of my brain agrees with everyone else but the OCD part is a lot harder than the rest of my brain and can generally bully me into submission. The washing machine engineer was prompt and, as he arrived the day after the gas man, I was ready and dressed and watching The Jeremy Kyle Show as he arrived - at least he was on time. The guy came into the flat and plonked his laptop on our clean worktop protector - I visibly flinched, considering the germs/dirt that would now be lurking (I'm sure he is a very clean man but that just does not mean diddly squat to someone with OCD). I had just boiled the kettle to make him a cup of coffee which he declined and he put his coat over the kettle. All I could think about was that something might fall out of his pocket into the kettle and make us all ill or that the kettle would be hot and burn a hole in his jacket, causing a fire and he would have to dangle me out of the window to escape - the kettle is near the window and I would have to run the other way but that's not the point.
He then asked me if I had a bucket, I gave him a bucket but it turned out that it was too deep so, as there was no other alternative, he had to use the washing up bowl. Anyone else would have allowed him to use the washing up bowl and then washed it afterwards but not me, I had to go out and buy a new washing up bowl that very day - I jest ye not - and that was just a riot trying to cart it around on the bus.
He then asked if we had a towel. I thought that he was just going to wipe his hands on it but it turned out he was going to wipe the floor, the inner rim of the washing machine etc which again led me to dispose of the towel later on.
He kept pouring the dirty water from the washing machine into the sink caring little of the splashage onto the freshly washed plates and cutlery that resided in the drainer. The clean washing up sponge was hurled into the mini sink (that I never touch because it is too disgusting for some reason) in a cavalier fashion meaning that it too, like the towel, had to go. Essentially I was in the middle of an OCD nightmare that only lasted for 30 minutes but believe me, felt a lot longer.
Needless to say, I had to scrub the entire kitchen once it was over and go out and buy a new washing up bowl, drainer and new sponges. The 'contaminated' items are now languishing in our kitchen, hoping to be revived and used for other household purposes, preferably not by me.
Anyway, last week was also the week that I decided that enough is enough with my weight. I used to be so slim but now, well I wont tell you my weight but my BMI is now almost 37 which is pretty bad as things go. It's quite odd as about four or five years ago I had anorexia nervosa. I struggled with the cruel eating disorder for several years and at my lightest I was about 7 stone 6. I've always had a strange relationship with food and just over a year ago I gave up smoking which in many ways was a good thing but for my weight it was a huge mistake. I'm sure that not all people who give up smoking put on weight but I ate for Scotland - chocolate, crisps, mainly chocolate - I became orally fixated (yes, go on, have a chuckle).
So, combined with the terrible abdomen pain I have, I have managed to acquire 4 stone within a year. That would be impressive if the weight was diamonds or gold but as it is fat it is not nearly as welcome.
I decided that, even though I can't do much exercise because of the pain, that I would use Wii Fit for the Yoga to at least tone up. As someone who used to do boxercise and could easily get into the crab position all those years ago I kind of thought that it would be a breeze. I was so wrong.
Aside from the fact that when the Wii Balance Board weighed me and told me I was obese, it also made my Wii Me obese so not only is my podgy body right under my nose, it is now staring at me from the TV screen as I exercise - Nice. I know that this is to motivate me and I have indeed lost a pound in the past week, it's still very depressing to be told that I have a Wii Fit age of 44 (I'm 31). Thankfully I don't cry easily! Actually...actually that's a lie, as I'm off my OCD meds I cry like a baby at the merest hint of a polar bear on the TV but anyway, at least I didn't hit the ice cream feeling like a failure.
I've been doing the yoga and some of the muscle exercises and I do feel better for it but I have to admit to cravings for chocolate, cakes, mainly chocolate and often a cigarette!
All in all, last week was fairly depressing and I was hoping this week would be better but after forgetting my PIN number at the ATM this morning I'm not sure that's going to be the case.
Also, the boiler needs fixing...
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