Doctor When

I graduated on Saturday!  You are now looking at [the blog of] Bad Wolf MA *beams* - that is never gonna get old   Bit surreal really, being up on that stage with the lovely Floella 'Make a difference, change the world, make us proud' Benjamin.  Many times I thought I'd never make it to graduation, and I know I freaked out those around me too (Gloria, The Wife), but they kept me sane, and both of them have said how proud they are, which means a lot.

What also felt weird was being on campus as a non-student.  I know I've worked at the museum for four months now, but that feels different somehow, largely cos it's kinda on the edge of campus, and maybe just cos it feels like a job – albeit unpaid.  Not that I miss being a student, hell no.  Though, apparently, I want to do a PhD… Funny story, not.

After the ceremony on Saturday, I went up to the reception to see a few people, and was immediately accosted by The Prof. with 'I hear you want to do a PhD?'.  Slightly lost for words, I didn't immediately respond, other than to um and ahh a bit, but mother, well, she jumped on this bandwagon.  So mother and The Prof. set about planning my future, discussing possible funding opportunities and so on.  The Prof. then calls over another Film lecturer, Bill, and tells him how interested I am in taking on a doctorate.  Fortunately, for me, he had to rush off to pick up his brood, but not before agreeing wholeheartedly with The Prof. that there is absolutely no reason why I shouldn't apply for, and receive, funding.

Then we see my boss who mother, excited by the aforementioned conversation, harasses into giving his opinion on the matter.  He agreed with The Prof. and Bill – well of course he would – that there were many funding options available, and he'd even look into them for me – woo hoo.  Boss even asked if I wanted him to arrange for South to come and see me while I'm working at, to talk about possible PhD topics – OK, this I readily agreed to.   Sing was there too, and he was about the only one that listened to me that day when I said I didn't miss studying, and wasn't ready to do a PhD yet.  Though, that was probably because mother had left me unattended for all of a minute to go and get a drink.  Bless all these people for trying their best; they obviously believed that, not only did I want to do it, but that I could do it, which is naturally very flattering.

God, I even got a congratulations card from Gloria's daughter-in-law, saying 'Hope the PhD is going well'.  It really did feel like I was the only one that didn't think I was doing a PhD, though The Wife and VW both advised me not to do it, while Gloria told me to do what I thought was right, cos they listen, see?

I went home on a natural high from the festivities and, while the threat of a PhD had seemed to move closer, and it was all mother could talk about, it still only felt like a threat; not a promise.  However, on Monday night I switch on my BlackBerry – yup, I finally have a decent phone – to discover three e-mails from Boss; two of them information on post-graduate funding, while the other is informing me that he's arranged for Bill to come down to tomorrow (yesterday), to discuss applying for the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) grant, whose deadline closes on January 31^st.  Now, I have to admit, I knew when the AHRC deadline was, and I was deliberately trying to avoid it.  Well, if I wasn't planning on applying, why did I need to acknowledge it?  But, because Boss and Bill had been led to believe that this is what I wanted to do, they considered this 'urgent'.  Cue freak out.  Seriously, I cried, my heart raced; total flight response.  I just felt like I'd suddenly been pushed into a corner, and there was no way out – stupid I know.  The Wife, quite rightly, gave me a virtual slap, and told me to just say no, but I felt so guilty.  These people had gone to some trouble to try and help me out, and I was going to look like a right idiot, and totally waste their time, by saying that, actually, I don't want to do this. 

That physical reaction I had was almost the last bit of proof I needed that I really wasn't ready, it was similar to how I often felt during the MA; totally out of control, and overwhelmed.  It's like, I'd put the MA, and all my feelings towards it – good and bad – away in a box on a shelf in my mind, and I was quite happy with it just sitting there.  I knew it was there, and it was well within my reach, but it was tucked away enough that it wasn't bothering me, and I wasn't constantly tripping over it.  Now though, with all this talk of the PhD, it was like someone had come in and found my MA box, tipped it all over the floor, and left a right mess in my already cluttered mind.  The MA is still comparatively recent too, so all these feelings are pretty raw, which doesn't help.  Suppose it's like after giving birth, you'd say 'never again', but a couple years later... Yeah well, I haven't forgotten the pain yet.

So anyway, I was worried.  I knew I had to tell Bill the full story but, aside from looking like a time waster, I knew I'd probably get upset talking about all this, and I hate crying in front of people.  Especially male people.  Bill was 'booked' to be there at 10 a.m., for when I arrived at the museum, and I was worried that mother – who drops me off – would insist on staying, and I wouldn't get a word in edgeways.  Fortunately, Bill was characteristically late, and mother had already gone.

Bill, and Boss – we stayed in the main office, so it wasn't exactly private – were great!  Neither of them had realised how uncertain I was, and Bill was so understanding, telling me I should only ever do the PhD when I was ready – which is what The Legend said to me ages ago.  I told Bill how tough I'd found the MA – I could totally feel myself getting upset – and he agreed I should give myself some time to really think about what I wanted, and take that pressure off.  He could see I'd been flattered by the fact that everyone believed I could do it – everyone in the Film department apparently, *blushes* – but I shouldn't do it because other people wanted me to, or because there was a window of opportunity; there would be more.  Finally, Bill said that I was in the perfect place being in the museum, and I could use that to my advantage; if I come across something interesting while cataloguing, that I'd like to research further, that could become the basis of my thesis.  Equally, Boss said that if I came up with an idea that I'd like to look into, and he knew that the museum held relevant artefacts, he'd let me use my time there to view them.  I'm to use my position as an advantage – not something that occurs often – and call on Bill/HH/The Legend/Sing/South if and when I ever need them cos, even though I'm not a student anymore, I'm still 'one of their favourites', so they'd make an exception for me.

Aaaaand relax!  That convo was just what I needed, and to think, it was with Bill, i.e. A Bloke.  They do have hearts sometimes.  I was planning to have this kind of conversation in the near future anyway, to clear the air, and try and sort out how I felt about a PhD, but I was thinking of talking to HH, or The Legend.  Although initially I freaked out about being put in that position, I'm glad I was in the end, as it made me confront the issue, and voice how I really felt.  OK, so Bill and Boss maybe weren't the ideal sounding boards but, actually, I think that almost helped, as I had to a) really compose myself, and make my thoughts cohesive, rather than be an emotional wreck and b), it's always supposed to be easier to talk to someone less involved.  Personally, I'm not very good at talking, and I have to really bond with people, and trust them within an inch of my life before I tell them anything remotely juicy, so Gloria, VW, and The Wife know everything, I should think they need counselling now.  So I was quite surprised how honest I was with Bill; maybe I've grown up a bit, and learnt to speak up for myself.  It's only taken 25 and a half years, not bad.  Or maybe I trust Bill more than I thought, and I should give him more credit, after all, I've known him for over four years, and he and the Film/English department have been incredibly supportive; still are it appears.

So I feel much better, like a weight has been lifted.  A weight that I wasn't completely aware even existed.  As far as I was concerned, I had no immediate plans to do a PhD; it was like a threatening storm cloud, just viewable in the distance.  After the events of the weekend, said cloud was right overhead, about to drown me, but now it's back on the horizon again.  It doesn't seem that threatening anymore either, weirdly.  When I repeated my conversation with Bill to mother – not exactly word for word, but she got the gist – I actually felt positive, and even talked about my next graduation with The Wife – who was appalled.  Knowing I've still got the support of the staff that I've grown to love over the past four years is an incredible boost, and having the time and resources to make my decision without any pressure is brilliant.  I'm not saying I will definitely be applying next year and, even if I did, there's no guarantee I'd get funding anyway, but I do feel that it is something that I'm probably going to do now, whereas before, it was probably not.  Might change my mind again tomorrow, knowing me I probably will.

BW MA xxx

Re-Enablement

*Updated 25/01/12*

Something else pretty big happened last year; my enabler, VW, got pregnant.  Now I know this news is obviously way bigger and more important to her than it will ever be to me as, unfortunately, I had nothing to do with this, much as I love her.  It's still a mahoosive thing for me though, as I will now explain, whist trying to redeem my inner selflessness.   It's not all about me, honest.

Without going into too much detail, VW was, basically, under the assumption that it would be very difficult for her to have children, maybe even impossible.  So when she told me last June that she was pregnant, it was quite a shock for both of us.  I must clarify here, in case she reads this; when I say she told me, what actually happened was I dragged it out of her.  Harsh I know.  I didn't mean to, but she was being all mysterious, asking if I had any plans for the following week, as she wasn't going to be able to see me.  I initially assumed she was covering for someone else, no.  Going away with the boyfriend?  Noo.  Skiving?  Nooo.  I don't even know what made me ask her if she was pregnant, but I did.  Yes.  Cue emotional 'I'm very pleased/happy for you' speech, which of course I was – am.  I knew how much she wanted this, and how awesome she's going to be, but also, at the back of my mind, I knew that this meant I'd eventually lose her.

She has been brilliant over the past seven months, trying to help me get things sorted for when she leaves in February.  Aside from [some of] my family and friends, I have very little outside support.  I have a couple of regular carers that come throughout the week to help with bathing, and another to help me at lunchtime when I'm at the museum but, apart from that, and VW, I have zilch.  My home carers can only do so much, as they're not allowed to lift me, and I'm still waiting for a hoist to be set up.  Not sure if I've mentioned this before but, cos of my condition (Brittle Bone Disease, or O.I), moving me isn't a straightforward task.  My mother has always done 99% of the lifting, with the odd exception of very trusted [and brave] friends and other relatives, and she still does it all today.  I've been waiting for my, frankly, rubbish Occupational Therapist to come up with a suitable means of hoisting me from A. to B. for what must be almost two years now.  I know I'm a difficult case, but really, does it have to be this hard?  Anyway, digressing.  The point is, that VW has been fighting this already crappy system on my behalf in order to, a) try and resolve the above issue and b), set me up with a suitable replacement, to fill the huge void she'll be leaving in my life.  Not possible, but bless her for trying.

For reasons that are far too complicated for me to understand, let alone write, I never had to pay anything for VW's services – innuendo much intended.  It was actually one of the few things that my OT did get right, the other was finding a house for me and my mum when we really needed to get out of a bad situation.  VW's role was chiefly to give me back the confidence I lost after The Event, and to provide me with some much-needed independence.  She certainly did both of those things, but particularly the first, as I now barely think anything of going out in the car – unless it's a motorway trip, that still bothers me a little, but really, minor.  Hence why I didn't have to pay I suppose, as this was classed as 're-enablement'; a service helping people get back on their feet – so to speak – after a difficult time, an illness, hospitalisation etc.  This was only meant to last for a few months; until I was back to 'normal' again anyway, but two years later…

What I need, and what VW has been doing for me for the past two years – somewhat under the radar – is an enabler.  Someone to take me out shopping, cinema, to meet friends, and so on.  Obviously, none of this comes free, and this is what VW has been helping me sort out; putting a rocket under my useless OT, in order to get her to reassess me, so that I can have more hours of enabling time, and the money to pay for it – courtesy of Direct Payments.

VW must have actual magical powers cos, finally, after much pissing around – by OT, but you got that – it is sorted, and my new enabler starts in February.  Hoorah.  Obviously, nothing is that simple.  Yes, I'm happy because I managed to claw a couple of extra hours out of the government, who totally bloody owe me (see The Event) - I'm now entitled to five whole hours a week, as opposed to three.  Yes, I'm also happy with my new enabler, as I chose her - it's one of the carers that comes in the week, so I'm used to her already, and we get on well.  She's not taken me out yet, or practised securing me in the car and, while I might find it a bit difficult to get used to somebody else driving, I reckon I'll be alright, in a not-freaking-out-kinda-way.  Besides, I've come to realise over the past couple of years particularly, that this – getting used to other people doing things for me – is my life, I've just gotta deal with it.  My mother can't do everything for ever, and I wouldn't want her to; she's done enough.  We should've sorted al this out a long time ago, then I probably wouldn't have so many issues about learning to trust new people.  We kinda just struggled on, finding our own way to do things, without asking for any help; and look where that got us.  There is loads of amazing support out there for people with disabilities, and I've experienced just a fraction of it, but my main source of support has been from my friends, particularly Gloria and VW, and family.  I think it's about time somebody else chipped in.  I'm not saying the world owes me, but my friends and family need a break so that they can be just friends and family, not carers, and it's not like I've asked for a lot over the past [nearly] 26 years.

Course, getting use to a new team means saying goodbye to the old one, and it is gonna be super hard to do that where VW is concerned.   Aside from everything I've already credited her for, she has been a brilliant friend.   I've never really had the opportunity to just go out with a friend, and be normal, so for a couple of hours a week, VW gave me that experience.  Yes, OK, that was her job, and she was getting paid for it, so maybe that doesn't make it a 'real' friendship.  But I think the world of her, and I hope she sees me as a friend now, rather than just a client.  I haven't asked, as this would come across as needy – right?  I'm just going by the fact that we talk a lot and, while she is a very open person anyway, some of the stuff she's told me is the sort of thing you'd only tell those you really trust, so if I'm in that category, then that'll do me. 

She's also enabled me – see what I did there? – to feel involved with her pregnancy; something that I largely missed out on with other friends, as I never saw them.  It has been incredible, without being too mushy.  Not so much the 'miracle of life' stuff – yawn – but more how it's affected her.  It's gone so quickly, and obviously there's the physical changes – though she still looks amazing.  Bitch – but the emotional/personality changes have been the most eye-opening.  VW's always been one of those people that only cries if she's very upset, and doesn't often let you know that she's worried about anything, mainly cos doesn't often seem to worry or dwell on things that can't be changed.  Nothing like me at all!  Now though, thanks to those blessed hormones, she cries at anything and, more recently, is really paranoid about things that are so unlikely to happen.  Last week she nearly had me going when she said she wanted to learn first aid, as one of the things that she's worrying about is the baby dying.  I wasn't upset cos I'd had the same thoughts – I hadn't – but because she was having them.  It killed me to think that my fearless VW, who has wanted this so badly, could ever be freaked out by – basically – the scariest thought a woman can have.  And there's absolutely nothing I can do for her, apart from being a mate, and letting her know she can always talk to me about anything.  Not that I know much, and even less about pregnancy and babies, but I can have a go.   I could never do for her what she's done for me, which is quite hard to get over, as I often feel pretty useless, but as long as I offer myself as a friend, what more can I do?

I hope this won't be the end of a beautiful friendship, and that VW – and bump – will be part of my life for a very long time.  Don't think I'd be quite the same without her.  Or quite as sane.

BW xxx

* We had a practise run of getting me in and out the car on Monday, with VW giving a demo, and SB – VW's replacement – having a go herself.  When it was SB's turn, VW turned to me and said 'this is weird', meaning it didn't feel that long ago that she was learning the ropes, and now she was handing over to someone else.  I think she felt quite protective, telling SB to be careful when driving over rough roads, and telling me afterwards that, if ever something didn't feel right, I must say so.  Monday the 6^th of February – VW's last day with me – is going to be a very emotional one.  Though, I was given a pretty strong assurance that I'm not going to lose VW completely, with her making plans to meet me, with my new enabler, in town, once she's recovered and all.

Job's Worth

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not sitting here twiddling my thumbs, hell no; I have A Job.  I know, right?  Shocking.

While I was researching my dissertation, I spent a bit of time in the campus' very own Film museum, and figured I might as well ask the curator, Mr Wickham (HH's equally awesome husband) for a job.  I've known for ages that the museum takes on volunteers, and was always tempted to sign up, but didn't think I'd have been able to manage that along with the degree/MA.  Looking back, I know I wouldn't have been able to do both.  I'd already decided I wasn't gonna do the student thing for a long, long time after finishing the MA, but kinda worried I was gonna miss the security of knowing exactly where I was, and who I was with.  Everyone at the University had been so amazing that, although I was saying goodbye to some extent, I wouldn't have to leave completely.  I know that sounds a bit pathetic, but when you've built up that much trust and confidence, it's difficult to leave it all behind.  Also, maybe I felt that by not completely leaving, I'd have loads of support, and [free] resources, on tap, in case I ever wanted to come back.  That, and I'm hoping that, if I show enough willing, this job might lead to something more permanent.

Luckily, Mr Wickham said yes, and I am now Chief Cataloguer [self-titled] of The Robin Allan Disney Archive.  I'm ashamed to say I don't yet know a lot about Allan, other than he has written books on the history of the Disney studios including, most famously: Walt Disney and Europe: European Influences on the Animated Feature Films of Walt Disney (1999). 

During his research, Allan met with animators, and others associated with Disney, and subsequently donated a load of his findings to the museum.  There's tons of it; from newspaper clippings, to greetings cards designed by the animators themselves – Eyvind Earle, Mary Blair are two I can remember off the top of my head.  Cos I happened to write 20,000 words on Disney, Mr Wickham automatically set me the task of working on this archive.  So not complaining, it's brilliant!  Course, some of the stuff is dead tacky, and not really that interesting, but most of it is great – and very pinchable; not that I ever would, natch.  Really though, it's not what I'm working with that's important, it's the fact that I'm working with it at all.  Alright, so I don't get paid, which to some means that it's not a 'proper job', but it's still a job.  It's still a responsibility that requires at least half a brain to manage; if I got the item numbers mixed up, then the consequences could be catastrophic... Well, it would make it very difficult for someone searching for an item within the archive anyway.  I have to write a brief description for each item and, while I'm not going to win any literary awards, I was pretty proud to see my first few entries go up on the online catalogue.  Even more proud to see a small article go up on the museum's Facebook page - I'm a slave to modernism. 

Yeah, so I'm pretty happy in my work, and I think Mr Wickham is relatively impressed with what I'm doing.  Bless him, he's marvellous.  He's always making sure that I'm OK, and asking if there's anything else he can do to make things easier.  Such an atypical bloke.  He's so calm and quiet too, possibly HH's influence, but the museum does seem to descend into chaos whenever he's not there.  Hope he doesn't read this, cos that might worry him.  I mean comparatively speaking, of course.

Working one day a week, unpaid, at the university where I studied for four years may not seem such a big deal to a lot of people, but for me it is.  I've had jobs before, paid jobs actually, but I've never gone out to work; with the exception of a quarterly meeting for a disability magazine I used to write for.  A lot of my friends are all 'Ah, that's good, well done you', and I think 99% of them really do mean it.  Without assuming too much, I reckon Gloria for one is pretty proud, from what I've gleaned from @sarahwithstars.  Actually, just remembered; the museum had a children's fun day last October, to which Gloria came down for a visit.  I rang her a few weeks later with my MA results – so it was a pretty emotional conversation anyway, and I can't remember much of it, annoyingly – but I do remember her saying how well she thought I'd done that day, and how confident and happy I seemed.  Gloria is just the best ego booster ever, she should be bottled. 

Anyway, so I know I have the support of me crew at least.  Not so sure on the family.  I mean, of course they're proud by default, but whether they're as made up about it as I am, and my friends are, I'm not sure.  Mum keeps referring to it as my 'little job' in conversation, which grates on me just a tadge.  Alright, so I'm not on the brink of finding a cure for cancer, but at least I'm making some effort to do something with my life, rather than hanging around at home, annoying her – I can do that the other six days a week.  I dunno, I'm probably reading too much into it, as per.  She is disappointed that I'm so anti-PhD, and maybe thinks, like I said in my last post, that she won't ever see me graduate as a Doctor.  Honestly, are two graduation ceremonies not enough for some parents?  Not that we've been to the second one yet, it's next Saturday (21st).  Big day.  Big day.  So much bigger than the last one.  Not just in terms of the qualification being higher, but after everything that happened in 2011, and the worry that I put everyone through, let alone myself; this means hell of a lot more than the degree did.  God, I may even cry… If Gloria does – and she's sitting right up front with us this time – then I don't hold out a lot of hope.  It'll be good to see Floella Benjamin OBE (the university's Chancellor) again too.  Got a feeling she might recognise me – not being big-headed; I'm the only one in the Department in a wheelchair.  Thinking of greeting her with 'Hey, we have got to stop meeting like this!'

BW xxx

Great Expectations

Yup, I had a baby... But not in the way you're thinking.  Well, the way I think you're thinking anyway... Lemme explain.

OK, so there I am, at the beginning of 2011, struggling away with, frankly, everything.  Although I'd started to get myself mentally together in February, and was feeling a lot more positive about certain things, I was completely panicking about the 20,000 word dissertation I still had to write, in order to even attempt to pass my MA in Film.  The thought of it scared me half to death; I just couldn't imagine being mentally, and physically, able to cobble together enough research to 'fuel' a 20k essay, let alone write the thing.  I also had no idea what I wanted to write about.  I remember going to see The Legend in December, who tried to get me to think of a subject – or 'corpus' – I'd enjoy writing about.  We discussed maybe writing about the portrayal of women in vampire films – I did know I wanted to focus on feminism.  Really though, I was pretty clueless, and not particularly passionate – an important word, will feature heavily in this post – about any subject.  I came away from that meeting feeling rubbish – absolutely no reflection on The Legend – so much so, that I reckon I could pinpoint this exact day as the tipping point; the day that it all just got way too much.  The day my head exploded... Figuratively speaking, natch.

The next couple months are a bit of a blur, to be honest.  I know that, after Christmas, once the worry regarding that, coupled with my bonkers family – and other animals – was over with, I definitely started to pull myself together.  Counselling began in March, after my friend Gloria had already removed a load of weight off my shoulders, simply by listening, and I just had one – huge – hurdle left to stagger over, which [finally] leads me back to the beginning – and point – of this post.

While I'd not stopped thinking [fretting] about the dissertation since November, I'd also tried really hard not to think about it, which is as difficult to do as it is to explain.  It wasn't till late February, that I finally hit on an idea that might just work as an MA thesis.  I'd just written an essay for Sing's module on New Cinemas; we had to choose a film that had sparked debate, positive or negative, over its portrayal of a group not normally the focus of mainstream cinema, i.e. the elderly, disabled, homosexual, those of ethnic origin.  Thinking outside the box, I wrote on Disney's Aladdin (1992), and how it, in a nutshell, Westernised the goodies, and emphasised the foreignness of the bad guys. 

For the first time in ages, I actually enjoyed writing and researching an essay – what wasn't to like? I had to watch Aladdin several times over – and thought that, maybe, mixing a childish love of Disney with a spot of feminism might be enough to drag me through the next seven months.  A lunch date with The Legend helped to finalise this idea, and she sent me off with a few – OK, loads of – wise words, and a starting point for my research.  I was still bloody petrified and, had someone said that I could pass the MA without writing the dissertation, then I would have asked them where to sign.  In fact, someone sorta did, as Gloria – whose husband is a lecturer – thought that there was a way of avoiding a dissertation, probably based on extenuating circumstances, which resulted in some form of qualification, albeit of a lesser status than a Masters.  Bearing in mind what I've just said, and how I was feeling then, it really never occurred to me to just not do it.  I suppose I saw it as yet another challenge, and didn't wanna play the 'I'm disabled/stressed' card to get out of doing something that, maybe subconsciously, I knew I could do.  

When I saw her a few weeks ago, Gloria confessed that she'd worried I wasn't gonna see the dissertation through.  Now, if anyone else had said that, or I'd not completely understood where Gloria was coming from – after all, I was there – I could've been offended into thinking she didn't believe I could do it.  But that's not what she meant at all, and a chat with @sarahwithstars – aka The Wife, Gloria's niece, my soul mate – confirmed this.  Both Gloria and @sarahwithstars were worried that I didn't believe in myself enough to realise that, actually, I was being a tit – as @sarahwithstars would say – and that this was very doable.  Also, back when I was just starting to research, and formulate ideas, Gloria was desperate for me to feel passionate – there it is – in order for me to get anything out of this experience, and to care about it.  Well, I definitely wasn't passionate, and thought Gloria was possibly a bit bonkers – who gets excited about an essay?  This perception wasn't helped by the fact that Gloria said she'd written her Masters dissertation in three weeks, WTF?  So not possible…

I can't really remember the exact order of events that led up to finalising a title but, eventually, this is what I came up with:

'The Women of Disney's Renaissance: Not Such a Fairy Tale?'

Catchy, no?  To cut what was a very long process short, I basically figured that the Renaissance era of Disney (1989-99 approx) would provide a narrow, yet interesting background, as it was supposedly a time of change, and modernisation.  To narrow it down even further, I chose just two films to focus on; The Little Mermaid (Clements & Musker, 1989), and Beauty and the Beast (Trousdale & Wise, 1991) and, as both of these stories derived from fairy tales, this became the final element.

I was assigned the incredible HH as my supervisor, who I'd previously had for a module on film adaptation so, naturally, this became a big part of my writing; the rationale for the way that these films were adapted, and moulded, by Disney. 

I'm not gonna say much more about the content of the dissertation, as I'm hoping to put it up on here, in a modified state, soon.  What I will say, and I've hinted at it enough for you to probably not be surprised to learn that… I totally fell in love with my dissertation.  I got passionate!  Way, way too much actually.  Just seeing everything fit together, like my choice of films opening the door for an analysis of fairy tales, or HH providing me with tonnes of resources regarding adaptation theory, became exciting.  God, I never thought I'd be one of those people, who got excited about research.  Wow.  But I did  

HH played a big part in my total mind shift.  She was such a calming influence, and constantly told me that 'I could do it'.  Yes, Gloria had been saying the exact same thing for months, but I think hearing it from somebody else, who wasn't so close, and who wasn't obliged – as a friend would naturally be – to say 'of course you can do it', gave me the final push I needed.  I wouldn't say I couldn't have done it without HH or Gloria – though there are many things I couldn't have done without the latter – but without them, I don't think I would have got half as passionate about what I was writing, and the end result definitely wouldn't be what it is today.  I wouldn't love it like I do either, I call it my baby.  Seriously though, that's not a bad analogy; it took nine months – November, when I started thinking of a suitable subject, to August, when I handed in – of preparation, worry, stress, and discomfort – I barely slept or ate while I was writing – only for me to be left with something that I couldn't leave alone, was immensely proud of, and actually missed when I finally decided that I couldn't do any more for it.  To it.  See?!  I cried when I finished it, HH [nearly] cried I told her I'd finished, and Gloria [again, nearly] cried when I handed in.  It was a very emotional time for all concerned.  Oh, and what I said about it not being possible to write 20,000 words in three weeks?  Yeah, I was wrong;   It is.  Gloria's always right.

Am I glad I did it?  Yup.  Would I do it again?  Nope.  As much as I [eventually] enjoyed the process, it has well and truly put me off studying any further for a long time.  Though maybe not forever.  The next logical step is a PhD and, while it'd be awesome to be a Doctor, and my mother's desperate for me to do it, the thought of putting myself through all that again, times five – a PhD thesis is 100,000 words – scares the crap outta me; an altogether too familiar feeling.  Part of me almost feels I should do it for my parents - who aren't getting any younger - kind of as a 'thanks for supporting me' gesture, and I know there would be a fair few other people who'd be dead proud too; Gloria and The Legend for a start.  That thought; of how it would make other people feel, sways me one way.  That, and the fact it'd give me a purpose in life for another three years.  However, as The Legend said recently, you've gotta a) really want to do a PhD, b) have a 100% solid idea of what to write about and c), be passionate – last time I'm using that word today, promise – about the subject.  Currently, a) I don't want to do a PhD, and I'm certainly not doing it because other people want me to, it's got to be for me, or merely as something to do; b) I have a rough idea of what I'd write about, but it largely depends on what's already out there; c) I think maybe all the passion – sorry, that was the last time – I did have got poured into the MA, and there's not a whole lot left.  If – dunno, maybe 'when' – I can get conditions a. and c. up to the level of b., then yeah.  Maybe.  Watch this space… For quite a while.

BW xxx

PS, I do have a potential title for a PhD thesis; it literally popped into my mind a couple days ago, when I was barely thinking about it – I was actually thinking how much I did not want to do it.  This title-enlightenment means nothing.  Totally zilch.  Nada.  Nowt.

2011 in a Nutshell

Bloody hard work!

No, don't worry, that's not it.  I know I've been very, very absent over the past 11 months - has it really been that long?  Man - But believe me, I've had my reasons.

OK,where the hell to start?   Maybe where I left off last February  So, I had counselling, and it was good.  Seriously.  I didn't need to freak out about it, story of my life; maybe my New Year's resolution should be 'I Will Not Freak Out'.  Yeah, that'll work.   Anywho, although it wasn't face-to-face, and therefore may not be considered as 'real', or 'proper' by some, including me at first, I'll admit, it really was helpful.  Just being able to write everything down, all my deepest, darkests, and know that the person reading it was not gonna judge, or criticise what I had to say, was marvellous.  That, and the fact I wasn't burdening yet another friend with my baggage.  I mean, really, I could've got a similar effect if I'd just carried on blogging... wait a minute, now I realise!  D'oh.  But at least with the counselling, I was guaranteed a response from a pro - I assume - who, while not allowed to give advice, was able to guide my ramblings into some form of cohesive logic.  Yeah, she must've been a professional, cos no one else would've stood a chance.  I told her the whole family saga, and I was finally able to make some sense of the whys and wherefores of my crazy, messed up mind.  I've still got everything I wrote, plus the counsellor's responses.  Don't think I've read any of it since then, but it's almost comforting to know I can look back at it all again if I ever need to.  Remind myself that it is do-able.

I didn't keep up with the mentoring, which I did feel a bit bad about, as everyone had gone to so much trouble to put me back together again, when I was blatantly cracking up.  I just found that, by releasing all the stress and emotions over the family issues, everything else seemed to fall into place.  I genuinely had a light switch moment; when one day I just felt better, in control, like I could actually do this.  It was still hard, and I had my bad days, still do, but at least I didn't feel so shit-scared and alone.  Always a bonus.  So yeah, counselling, in any form; recommended.  Failing that, write everything down, diary-stylee, or even simple bullet points, or a brainstorm - love a brainstorm - so you can make sense of how you're feeling, draw connections between thoughts and events, pinpoint triggers that make you feel good/bad/ugly. 

Maybe that's one of the reasons I've started blogging again today - the second reason being to do something constructive, and not be such a lazy cow, wolf - not cos I feel crap, and need to vent, but as a preventative measure.  The counselling only lasted six or seven weeks, and I found I missed it for a bit afterwards, so what better way to make sense of my innermost thoughts and anxieties, than publicly, over the World Wide Web.  Genius.

I know I keep on about it, but I really can't get over how much better I feel now, in comparison to this time last year.  It does get better.  It's hard to believe when you're feeling rubbish, and the proverbial shoe's been on the other foot lately, with me trying to offer help to friends, so I know how difficult it is to both accept, and convince, that you will get though it.  @abbey_queenofall tweeted me the other day, saying she'd read my last post (yay, somebody does), and was currently going through similar feelings.  I hope I helped her a bit, basically by saying all of the above (in 140 characters, natch), and if reading my, somewhat garbled, ramblings makes one person feel a teensy bit better, then that's cool.  Peace out peeps, and Happy New Year!

BW xxx

NB: Next time, I'll actually explain what I've been doing for nearly a year, to account for my lack of blogging.  I'll give you some clues; it took nine months of planning, and caused a lot of pain...

So no one told you life was gonna be this way...

*Clap clap clap clap*

Ok, so my job's not a joke, as I don't have one, and I'm not broke; though I'm certainly not rich.  Nowhere near.  I wouldn't even describe myself as 'comfortable', just um, stable?  My love life definitely is DOA.  Fact.  But, all that aside, I'm using the above Rembrandts lyric to illustrate the following point: that friends are there for you, well, me anyway.

I finally shared a secret with a friend, specifically Gloria, a couple weeks ago, and it really did feel like the proverbial weight had been lifted.   I still can't really elaborate too much on what this secret is, though I suppose this blog is meant to be anonymous... Still, you never know, so let's just say I used to live with a very difficult, at times violent, family member; but I don't anymore.  Haven't told many people about this, a) it's not the kinda thing that one can easily bring up in conversation, b) other family members would be furious with me if they found out I'd been telling tales, in case the 'culprit' was put in jeopardy; God forbid.  Families have very strange ideologies don't they?  Kind of a pack mentality.  Anyway, c) it's bloody hard to talk about.

On the one hand I feel really guilty, like every time I do say something, I'm betraying certain members of my family, or pack; those that have seemingly put all this in the past, and have moved on.  Maybe I'm not a very forgiving person.  On the other hand, I feel like I should be allowed to talk about such things if I want to.  It's my right, damn it.  And aside from the whole freedom of speech aspect, I got to the point recently that if I didn't talk, I was gonna go crazy.  Again.

That's one of the many reasons why I was so messed up last year as, although this is technically all in the past, it can still so easily flare up again, with Christmas being a major catalyst.  Is it me, or does Christmas make everything like 10 times worse?  It's such a big deal to be all together as one big happy family, but the reality is that sometimes this is a Total Nightmare.  So yeah, Christmas + family issues + mountain of essays = one stressy wolf.

I went to the Mentoring session, and it was ok, not what I expected, which I think is a good thing.  I was sooooo nervous, but all I really had to do was talk about how hard I found last term, within the context of university, nothing else.  Phew.  Going again this Wednesday, expecting (hoping) for practical advice on how best to tackle this 20,000 word dissertation, which I'm still dreading.

I've signed up for counselling too, which I can honestly say I am terrified about.  I mean, I think it's about time I got some - counselling, not... anyway - but I'm freaking out.  How much do I say about, well, anything?  I know I don't have to say anything at all, but it's totally connected, and totally turning me into a raving loon, so if I don't say anything, then surely I'll be limiting how much help the counsellor can offer me, and how much benefit I'm going to get out of it.  But, and this why I rarely tell people, what if what I say gets taken way too dramatically, and they think I'm still in danger, which I'm not, for the record, but what if?  It would rip my family apart, which is why I haven't told any of them; they'd freak out that I'd dob this person in, and probably tell me that I didn't need any counselling, like they did before, after The Event.  I did need it then, I was a mess, but still, mothers know best. 

I also, plain and simply, just don't want to worry them, they've got/had enough problems, how can I add to them by raking up the (pretty recent) past?  To that end, I've told my mother, who I live with, and who is my main carer, absolutely nada.  And, as far as she knows, my first counselling session, at 9am on the 23rd, is a change of seminar time.  She could consequently 'kill' my poor innocent lecturer.  I am an awful daughter, but what else can I do?  I hate lying, though I am scarily very good at it.  This is something that I need to do by myself, for myself.  With the help of Gloria, of course, who I owe so much too; note-taker, friend, adviser, confidant, counsellor, alibi, partner-in-crime, provider of much chocolate etc.  I feel just as bad for having to get her to lie for me too, though I guess she wouldn't do it if she wasn't such a loyal pal, and for that I am forever grateful.

I guess if, like me, your life involves being totally dependent on others, the only way to achieve any form of independence is to depend even more heavily on those you trust most; in my case, friends.

BW xxx

So Far, So Good

The catchphrase of one of my fave lecturers and, I think, very appropriate to sum up how things are going.

Got through Week One of Term Two fairly unscathed.  I mean, there was the small matter of one of my seminars being timetabled in a completely stupid, difficult to get to room; in a building miles from anywhere.  But, aforementioned lecturer, Sing, who must have actual magical powers, only went and got the seminar moved to the perfect spot.  I know all this sounds really trivial and, frankly, boring, but when you're in a wheelchair, or in fact have any form of mobility issue, this kinda stuff is Really Important.  It's all very well to say that timetabling is done by computer, and that the room is accessible, so that's all right then.  But it's not actually, thanks; one still has to get to the room, trekking miles across a hilly campus, going out of your way to avoid all the numerous building works.  In The Rain.  Some people just don't get it, and computers certainly don't; when I found out that a bit of software was responsible for my timetable, I knew I was screwed.

Big it up for Dr Sing though, Man Is A Legend - though, not The Legend.  He's amazing is Sing, not only are his sessios just so brilliant, and informative, and clear - you'd think all these would be givens at MA-level; you'd be wrong - but he is just So Darned Nice!  Though, not in the way that South is So Darned Nice, you get me?!  Example: Sing knows I'm only on campus on days that I have seminars/lectures, which means I have a limited time to borrow required DVDs from the campus library, watch them at home, and then return then, all whilst trying to avoid hefty fines, and disapproving looks.  Sing also knows how bloody crap (my words, not his, don't think I've ever heard him swear actually...) the library is at keeping their shelves stocked.  They either only have one copy of each film which, for a group of eight Film Post-grads with no scheduled screenings, is completely stupid, or they have Region One DVDS, which is fine, except we live in the UK.  So what does Sing do?  Offers to lend me his copies of all of the required films, two weeks in advance of each seminar, so that I have plenty of time to watch and return them.  Brilliant, it really is the little things that make a big difference... isn't that from a TV ad??

Maybe I should've titled this post 'Ode to Sing', but it is all about me (!) and, so far, I am good.  Have only got through the first week, and I do have my first 'mentoring' (counselling) session tomorrow, which I'm a teensy bit nervous about.  Never had 'therapy' before, though I'm sure I should've done.  Several times.  Thus I've no idea what to expect.  Do counsellors really use the much-clichéd 'and how does that make you feel?'?  Dunno, but I guess I'll find out tomorrow.  Will let you know.

Seriously, I am a bit worried.  Been feeling so much more positive, and calm at the moment, what if talking brings it (whatever 'it' is) all back to the surface?  I feel I want to talk, and I'm ready, else I'd totally be bailing out, yet I worry that dragging up all those bad feelings will start me off again; I haven't cried for siz weeks tomorrow!  Not a monumental record I know, but for someone who spent their entire last three weeks of term either in tears or on the verge, and who cries at everything anyway, it's pretty good going. Apart from anything else, I've got a seminar straight after, and don't want to turn up for that a gibbering, snotty mess.

I worry that if I let go, I'll fall apart.

BW xxx

From Little Tom Hardy, to Big Bane

Had to laugh, just read this article by Lacy Bryant regarding the awesome news that Tom Hardy will be Bane, in the next Batman film.  She describes Hardy as 'the little Inception guy', WTF?  How can you possibly describe Hardy as 'little'??  No part of that man is little - or so I've heard! - but honestly, LITTLE??  Has she seen him?  With Her Eyes?!  Rant over with, I'm sure he'll be brilliant.  I know nothing of this Bane character, but from what I've just quickly skim-read (from Wikipedia - don't try that at home kids, it'll rot your brain), and glimpsed on Google Images; Perfect Casting!  He's a buff (check), master-minded supervillain, with some rather deep-rooted issues.  So Hardy's quietly brooding intensity should do just the trick then.  That, and the fact he's Drop Dead Gorgeous.  LITTLE??

BW xxx

22/01/2011

I've just been back to the above offending article to see if my comment was published; it wasn't.  Obviously Ms Bryant didn't like what I had to say, which was basically the same as I've said here.  Some people just can't handle the truth.  Freedom of speech?  My hairy wolf's ar-

MA Part II: Return of The Wolf

Back to school again tomorrow, not sure how I feel... On the one hand, hello freedom and independence (albeit briefly) from the ever-loving, ever-nagging parents.  On the other hand, oh bloody hell do I really have to go through all that again? 

Term 1 was, quite simply, Hell.  I hated it, and it hated me.  So much so, that when I saw my dear friend and PA, Gloria, last week, she said how 'rested' I looked, which was nice, till I realised this probably meant I looked totally shocking by the end of last term.  To be fair, I felt totally shocking. 

Ho hum, they all tell me this term's gonna feel easier, what with there only being one and a half modules compared to Term One's two and a half .  It can't posibly feel any worse, can it??  As my mother always says: 'we'll see', which generally means no, so going by that logic, maybe Term Two won't be such a breeze.  Still, I signed up for it, and there are now only 11 weeks between me and what will be my last ever seminar - I'm soooo Not doing a PhD.  I came to that scary realisation last night; I mean I'll still have the small matter of a 20,000 word dissertation to deal with, but once (if) I've got that done (September 12th), then what the hell do I do?  Get a job I suppose, Oh My God.

BW xxx

PS, woke up with John Murphy's In a Hearbeat - from the 28 Days Later (Boyle, 2002) soundtrack - in my head today.  Considering I've not seen the film for a fair while, and am thinking a lot about Uni, it doesn't bode well that my subconscious has chosen a piece of music that signifies the Apocalypse.  Either that, or the End really is nigh...

Who's The Daddy

Can I just say, for the record, that I thought of the above caption AGES ago, long before The Sun.  I just hoped I'd never have to use it. 

*UPDATE* 

Yeah, so that kinda puts the knockers (pardon the pun) on my theory, as they're not getting married 'cos they're infatuated with the idea of each other, but 'cos Tennant's gone and got her knocked up.  Though, if one is to look at it from that angle, I guess it shows he's trying to do the right thing [With the Wrong Woman].  Ahh, bless.  Either that, or she did it on purpose to trap him... which I really hope is not true of course, David's a better judge of character than that, right?  But maybe he does feel trapped.  Maybe he's trying to maintain his 'I'm a good guy' star image.  Maybe he's wanting to prove himself to Davison; here's a real ma that won't walked out on your daughter, Mr Fifth Doctor Sir.  Or maybe he really does love this girl, and wants to spend the rest of his life with her.  Hmmm, maybe.  Suppose the wedding is taking place next New Year's Day (allegedly), when the child would be around 8 months old (allegedly she's 5 months preggers now), so it's not really shotgun.  Close though, very close.

Oh well, I can (and will) still look.  After all, Johnny Depp's got kids, and has been married - what, twice? - and I most definitely look (leer) at him.  On the other hand, my theory could still be right; that Tennant and Moffett aren't made for each other, and when they realise this, I could be in with a shot.  As my friend Zee said; if the shit does hit the fan, I could get Tennant, plus joint custody of his child, who we know is gonna be gorgeous, without ever having to have given birth to said child, or be involved with the icky bits of its upringing.  Win win!

BW xxx

PS, watched Inception (Nolan, 2010) for the first time last night, and Loved.  It.  What's more, I understood it, which for me is a miracle; I don't usually 'get' films like that.  The delicious Tom Hardy helped take my mind off the Tennant situation for a couple of hours too, hope he wins the Rising Star Award at this years BAFTAs.  But, the Big question re Inception is, did the spinning top stop spinning?  Discuss.

Bad Romance

So, David Tennant and Georgia Moffett are getting hitched; old news I know, but I've spent the past week rocking in the corner of my darkened room... Well, not quite,but I have been thinking about it a lot, no surprises there, and have come to the sad conclusion that this marriage Will Be A Farce; no surprises there then either huh?  Now, I'm not being all bitter and twisted about this, actually screw that, I am, but that's not what's driving me here.  I believe I have formed a very convincing argument as to why these two star-crossed lovers are not destined to be together, and this is it:

Let us start at the beginning, and probably finish somewhere near the end.  On the 16th of November, 2007, the BBC broadcast a special episode of Doctor Who, as part of their annual Children in Need festivities.  This episode, titled Time Crash, saw the 10th Doctor's TARDIS colliding with that of the fifth (Peter Davison), resulting in eight minutes of Tennant being all adoring-fanboy over his former self, even crediting him for his trademark trainers and glasses (fortunately he drew the line at wearing vegetables on his lapel), and his squeaky-when-excited voice.  When Tennant utters the brilliantly moving line 'you were my Doctor', in that brilliantly moving way that only he can, you know for a fact that it is David saying these words, and that he deliberately picked up these influences and habits as tribute to his favourite Doctor.  Then, lo and behold, the daughter of said idol; Georgia Moffett, appears in Doctor Who some 6 months later.

Now, if you're the daughter of The Doctor, your childhood's gonna be pretty full of Who I imagine.  Particularly as the year that Moffett was born, 1984 - making her two years older than me, but I Am Not Bitter - was the year that Davison left the show, so his legacy would've been newly established, and he would still have been recognised, adored and, if my pinings for 10 are anything to go by, very sorely missed.  Thus, Moffett would have soaked up all this admiration as a babe, and must have ate, slept and drank Doctor Who (no sexual connotations intended) for a fair few years.  When you're that small, your pa's your hero, and if he's played an onscreen hero with two hearts for four years, worshipped by the masses (and David Tennant), then that feelings only gonna escalate. Who hasn't imagined/wished that Superman, Spiderman, Batman or whoever else-man was their dad?  Moffett didn't need to imagne; her dad was, and still is by many, regarded as a legend.

For 23 years, Moffett was full of admiration for her father, The Doctor, and basked in his shiny limelight.  Then in 2007 she acquired the perfect role, as The Doctor's daughter (typecasting or what?) in the imaginatively named episode, The Doctor's Daughter.  Without going into the intricacies of the plot, the 10th Doctor initially pushes Jenny (Moffett) away, as he is scared to get too close in case he loses her; like he loses everyone else.  However, he eventually warms to her - who knew how much - and accepts her as his own.

Right, recap time.  Georgia Moffett is the daughter of the much-loved fifth Time Lord Peter Davson, and probably grew up watching endless repeats of Doctor Who, rather that the usual CBeebies, and playing with her dad's sonic screwdriver - sorry, that just sounds so wrong.  She made her appearance on Doctor Who with this legacy behind her, and an innate passion for the show, and for the heroic, protective father-figure of The Doctor, who ultimately must connote feelings of security and love.  Meanwhile, David Tennant, who is known to have been completely obsessed with Who since he was a wee lad, and who has based his look and performance on that of Davison, not only got to work alongside his idol in the TARDIS, but now gets the chance to work with his daughter.

The way I see it is this: Tennant loves Davison, and is honoured to work with his daughter Moffett, playing her father whom he worships.  Moffett loves Davison (natch), and so automatically loves The Doctor.  Moffett and Tennant both love Doctor Who, The Doctor and Davison, and I think this is what their relationship is based on.  Moffett sees Tennant as like another father, helped by the fact that he is 13 years older than her.  She is in love with The Doctor; with the idea of this wiser, older man looking out for her.  I do believe that Moffett loves Tennant, but not in that way, rather, she loves him for what he represents; The Doctor.  Her dad.

While there is arguably a certain amount of sexual attraction on Tennant's part; he has a history of liking younger women, particularly blondes *adds peroxide to shopping list*, he sees Moffett as like an extension of Davison.  Tennant respects Davison to the upmost degree, and is obviously gonna project this loyalty onto Moffett, a) so as to gain mutual respect from daddy, and b) maybe because he feels he owes Davison; he did pinch bits of his act after all.

Basically then, I don't believe that Tennant and Moffett are in love with each other, but with what each other signifies.  And that, my friends, is how I see it.  See?  Course, I could be completely wrong; maybe I've become a sceptical old bint at the grand age of 24... But I Am Not Bitter.

BW xxx

Apocalypse Now?

Was just turning the TV off last night when I caught this freaky little story on BBC 3's 60 Second bulletin:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-12105157

Basically, a whole load of birds fell out of the skies above Arkansans, USA.  Now, if like me, you've seen FlashForward (ABC, 2009) and/or The Core (Amiel, 2003) you too will be freaking out about just how long humanity has left on this fragile rock.  See, I have watched a lot of disaster movies, and they scare me way  more than any horror ever has.  Of course, I'm not saying I've never been spooked by a good horror, I saw Candyman (Rose, 1992) far too young, and kept imagining Tony Todd rising up from under my bed *shudders*.  But I am able to rationalise that, for the most part, the content of horror films is very unlikely to come true.  Even those that are 'based on true events' have huge amounts of artistic licence.  Horror films play on the whole storytelling tradition, as that's just what they are; stories.  Who hasn't scared themselves shitless while sitting around a campfire (or miniature fondue set on your bedroom floor), telling horrific ghost stories?

Disaster films, on the other hand, Could Happen.  Anytime.  And this is what's flipping scary.  The Earth has been hit by asteroids before, so who's to say it won't happen again, soon??  Just because humans have taken over the lease, doesn't make us any safer.  It's not like the greenhouse gases are going to act as a barrier against anything hurtling towards us at 50,000 mph (give or take).  Now these birds are falling out the sky, á la The Core (where the Earth's core stopped spinning), and it makes yer think.  Well, it makes me think anyway, I also think it rather strange that there have been so many earthquakes, mine collapses, tsunamis and freaky weather etc.  I mean, coincidence?  Really?

Maybe I should just steer clear of the disaster genre altogether, focus on the minutia of life, like what to have for tea, whether I need a haircut, when my next essay's due in, the current shocking state of the TV schedule, etc.  Still, they do say that the world's gonna end on 21.12.12, so maybe this is the beginning... On that note, I'm off to play Sims 2, where the world never ends, unless I make it so, muahahaha.

BW xxx

Talking Talking Happy Talk

I'm baaaa-aaaaack, did yer miss me??  No?  Oh, right then... Well I've missed blogging for sure.  Feel a bit like a neglectful parent but, to be honest, I've had some pretty legit reasons for my absence.  Yeahhhh, so haven't had such a good time of it of late, what with one thing and another.  Obviously there's been all the stress of Uni, which I won't go over again, see my earlier post Depressions of a Mad Wolf for details.  But I'm delighted to announce that I'm on top of it, in fact more than on top of it; I've climbed the mountain and am casually lazing on the other side, enjoying a crafty fag and appreciating the smaller things in life, like puppies and raindrops.  Well not quite, I don't smoke, but you get the picture.  I've finished all three of my essays in plenty of time for Christmas, and am now officially on holiday.  Phew, thank Crunchie for that.

I still don't quite know what happened back there, why I had such a meltdown, and although I'm feeling really good at the moment (haven't cried for 9 days, record!), I'm worried it will happen again.  I mean, it was only 13,000 words, and I had enough time to do it, so why all the fuss?  Pffffffft, I really dunno.  I think the pressure just got too much, and I literally boiled over.  There's also been some long-standing family stuff going on, which I can't really go into now.  I mean, I want to, think it would be quite cathartic actually, but a couple of close friends read this blog, and I don't wanna say stuff on here without talking to them first.  So let's just say that some old crap got dragged up again, and it didn't help.

Talking of talking, I have actually talked to somebody about the aforementioned crap, namely the brilliant and wise beyond her years, VW.  I'm not normally very good at offloading, it's like Donna (Catherine Tate) said to the Doctor once: 'you talk all the time but you don't say anything'.  Yep, that about sums me up too.  I'm a great listener, and can talk for England, or any other country for that matter, but when it comes to sharing my emotional stuff, I'm harder to break than the Da Vinci code.  Dunno why, always have been.  Hate crying in front of people for a start, am even less attractive crying than normal, and I am a crier, so 'fraid one goes hand in hand with the other. 

Anyway, so I talked to VW, and told her things that I've not told anyone before, which was really hard.  Really hard.  I didn't cry though.  Progress.  She gave me some advice, but mainly it was good to have someone to listen.  One of her gems of wisdom was to talk more, and she's right, so I will.  I'm even signed up for a mentoring session at Uni on the 26th of Jan.  Apparently 'mentoring' is like counselling but different as you get support with study skills etc.  Maybe it's what I need.  What with the home stuff and Uni and everything, it probably would be good to talk.  Think that's why I like blogging, it's kinda like therapy.  Only rather one-way... Didn't even have any counselling after The Event, which I probably should've done, as even now I can't think about it without going all cringey.

I'm hoping that 2011 will see a much calmer, less tearful, happy wolf.  2010 wasn't a bad year on the whole, in fact it was frickin' great!  Apart from the last couple months... Oh, and last New Year's Day... When The Doctor regenerated?  Duhhhhh.  Highlights of 2010 then, I graduated; one of the best moments of my life, and got accepted onto the MA; which a few years ago I never would've seen happening.  I had the best birthday that I've had in a very long time, which lasted a week, and involved some amazing friends and relatively little alcohol.  I celebrated living in my home for a year, which was very special for me and my mother on a personal level; new beginnings and all that.  And I've developed a very close, stronger than super glue, bond with VW (God help her), who has really helped boost my confidence and, like I say, just been the rock I needed, showing me that it really is ok to share stuff.  Even if it involves the waterworks I guess.  Even her Christmas card, which she bought round today, made me well up (in a good way); she said that I was amazing, and not to forget it.  Of course, she's right.  She told me off today too, for working too hard.  Of course, she's right.

So gonna try and be positive about the forthcoming year.  Yes I've still got another term and a 20,000 word dissertation to get through, but I'll have the mentoring support (providing I ask for it).  Yes my family are still gonna drive me insane, but they're my family, and I gotta stick by 'em... Some of them anyway.  If I don't who will?  No one else would have them.  And I've still got my friends, some of whom are probably gonna hear a lot more from me in the very near future.  Poor buggers.  In fact, run you people that know me, run faaaaarrrrr away!

Merry Christmas everyone, and have an awesome New Year,

BW xxx

PS, I've deliberately avoided mentioning until now the fact that, for the first Christmas in five years, David Tennant won't be The Doctor.  It's just too gruesome a thought, as a certain Ms Golightly would say (RIP Blake Edwards).  It will be a strange and sad Christmas evening, without David Tennant lighting up my bedroom - what?  I watch Doctor Who in bed, what on earth did you think I meant?  You disgusting lot.

PPS, in case I don't get chance to blog again before New Year, here are my resolutions:

To be a nicer, more supportive, daughter.
To blog more, I know I've been pretty slack lately.
To say that I need help/support/a chat/a blub as soon as I need it, not several weeks later.  I don't ever wanna feel like that again.
To be happy.

Who's Top Companion? Er, Rose is!

Check out my comment on the Radio Times' poll of best Doctor Who companions:

http://www.radiotimes.com/blogs/1103-doctor-who-billie-piper-rose-tyler-voted-best-companion/

I will blog properly soon.  Promise.

BW xxx

Depressions of a Mad Wolf

Yes I know, I've commited the ultimate sin of blogging and haven't posted for, what, a week?  Just having a few psychological issues at the moment, hopefully normal service will soon be resumed.  Again, nothing has actually happened, but last Wednesday I had a complete meltdown, where everything just got way, way, WAY too much, and I ended up crying solidly for a good three hours.  Seriously. 

I don't like to say I'm Depressed (with a capital D), as there are people in the world actually suffering from this illness, and describing yourself as 'Depressed' totally belittles the severity of the real thing.  But, I did feel awful last week; it's been brewing for a while, and at the time I would've said I felt depressed - with a very small d. 

Have got so much work to do at Uni, and I'm completely shattered - our terms are 11 weeks long, which is crucifying to say the least.  Just want a break; in the sense of some time out, not anything to do with bones, because that's the last thing I want.  Funny that, how one word can simultaneously mean something that I'm desperate for, yet something that I constantly dread...  Anyway, whenever I think of the Christmas holidays, I'm reminded of how much work I've got to do in them, and it's driving me insane.

VW was brilliant, as usual, last week and told me to a) calm down, and b) prioritise  - concentrate on one thing at a time.  Of course she's right, and I'm now trying to take things a bit slower and easier.  Skived off Uni today, which I never do, but it was just more constructive to stay home in the relative warmth, and work, than sit in a seminar which will have no bearing on the content of any of my essays.  Does mean I haven't seen South for a week, which was a tough price to pay.  Have even drawn up a little timetable of when I want to start and finish each essay - sad I know, but it helps me sleep at night - and I think I'll be ok.  Doesn't stop me worrying about the slightest thing at the moment though; I think I've totally lost the plot actually.  It really bothers me that no one else seems to be such a gibbering wreck as me - though, I wouldn't wish how I felt last Wednesday on too many people - and also that, if I'm this messed up about writing 12,000 words in 7 weeks - which is what it ultimately boils down to - then what the hell am I going to be like when it comes to writing a 20,000 word dissertation?  I've spent many a fun hour contemplating that.

I'll be back, but I may be some time...

BW xxx

PS, Dark Handsome Stranger announced that last Wednesday was his final seminar with us.  As if I wasn't depressed enough, could've cried there and then.  But I didn't.  Waited till I got home instead.

Avant-garde, or just plain bizarre?

Had to do a presentation this Monday gone all about avant-garde cinema which, I shall openly admit, has never appealed to me in the slightest, on account of it's sheer weirdness.  However, as one quarter of Group A (for awesome, duhhh), I thought that we should really make an effort on this one.  I mean, our last attempt was pretty shite, and it was for South's module.  I think he was suitably impressed - mainly by me, natch - so here's hoping you, dear readers, are equally mesmorised by my thoughts.  Feel free to comment on the contrary, I can take it.

What is 'Avant-garde'?

The term avant-garde is said to have originated in the late 15th century to mean 'vanguard' or 'advance guard', and was adopted by the arts at the beginning of the 1800s to signify innovation and experimentation.  The French Socialist thinker, Henri de Saint-Simon, was credited with first using the expression in this way (quelle surprise, it's always the French), as he believed that artists, along with industrialists and scientists, had the social power to lead society:

It is we, artists, who will serve you as avant garde: the power of the arts is in fact most immediate and most rapid: when we wish to spread new ideas among men, we inscribe them on marble or on canvas;... and in that way above all we exert an electric and victorious influence. (Saint-Simon, qtd. in Hobbs, 1997:4)

I'm now going to take a gigantic, TARDIS-like leap forward through time and space to the 1990s; when Spice Girls ruled the world, Furbies and Tamagotchis were IN (I never owned either), and a little chap called Michael O'Pray was writing about the British when Spice Girls ruled the world, Furbies and Tamagotchis were IN (I never owned either), and a little chap called Michael O'Pray was writing about the British avant-garde film in, funnily enough, The British Avant-Garde Film 1926 to 1995.  Now, O'Pray has done a little summary of all the decades, from the 1920s and 30s, to the 1980s, when the film, A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985); the focus of this 'ere blog post, was made.  For the purposes of this blog, the patience of its readers, and the willpower of its writer, I'm only gonna concentrate on the 1980s, but if you wish to know more, please cast your gaze over the reference list below. 

Ok, so O'Pray suggests that avant-garde cinema has always been used as a means of capturing and safeguarding snippets of everyday life, particularly by such 'minority' groups as: scientists, politicians, pornographers (minority?  Really?), and advertisers.  Thus, films belonging to the avant-garde movement are regularly influenced by the above marginal sections of society and, although censorship prevents unnaceptable material leaking into and affecting the flow of money that mainstream cinema accrues, this restraint has never been total.  Indeed, avant-garde films are generally made in opposition to the popular, and are often screened in churches, clubs and galleries; basically anywhere that isn't a cinema, so their, at times, contraversial content seems to duck below the radar. 
The link between avant-garde cinema and the other arts continues further, as many of its film-makers, such as Greenaway, Jarman and Brakhage, began their careers as art students, at a time when modernism was the dogs' danglies, and their films regularly addressed issues raised in painting.

In terms of the British avant-garde movement, centred around the London Film-makers' Co-operation (LFMC) the 1980s saw many influences and changes:

• The impact of the women's, punk and Black independant film-making movements.
• A new, younger breed of film-makers returning to an 'underground' ideal; the opposition and confrontation of the established ideologies of the older generation, like punk's rejection of mainstream music.
• The influx of 'Super-8' film-makers - those who chose to shoot in the rather amateurish, low-budget Super-8 filmstock, instead of the conventional and high-quality 16mm.
• The birth of Channel 4 in 1982, who promised to support innovative work, and was an important source of funding for films of the avant-garde, thanks to commisioning editor, Rod Stoneman.  However, while the channel screened documentaries on such fillm-makers as Jeff Keen, which served to broaden the spectatorship, the restrictions of broadcast TV made some directors sceptical of its value.

A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985)

*SPOILERS*

Moving on then, to the above film, which I suggest you watch before you read the rest of this post; it might make it bit easier to understand.  Might.

I won't bore you with a synopsis; a) because the film has several narratives from which the viewer is supposed to chose from, and far from me to dictate how others should understand it (or not) and b), because I think that, in some cases, the provision of a synopsis suggests that the writer is lazy (it's a good filler), and assumes the reader is fairly dim - surely if you're researching the context of a film, you're gonna know the basic plot, right?  So I'm just gonna get straight to the nitty-gritty.

On the 24th of April, 1997, the director of A Zed and Two Noughts, Peter Greenaway, gave a lecture on his style of film-making, stating that his aim was one of 'maximum ambiguity' (qtd in Petrolle, 2008:159).  Petrolle goes on to say that Greenaway's films interrogate knowledge by their self-consciousness, unremmiting theoreticism, ambiguity, and pluralistic, perverse nature.

In Greenaway's DVD introduction, he suggests that A Zed and Two Noughts, or Z00, should be read as three seperate films: on twin-ship, ecology - the world as a zoo - and cinema as a manipulation of light (nothing ground-breakingly new there then).  He cites Jean-Luc Godard, of the French New Wave strand of film-makers and critics, who said that the 17th century Dutch painter, Johannes Vermeer, was the first cinematographer, as he made 'extraordinary manipulation essentially of the product of light' (DVD intro, 2003).  Greenaway was fascinated by Vermeer, calling him 'invisible', and wanted to create a character for him.  He also resurrects Hannicus Van Meegeren, another Dutch painter, this time from the 20th century, who became famous (infamous?) for his forgery of a number of Vermeer's.  He was arrested about 12 years later, you'll all be relieved to know.

What has all this got to do with Z00?  Well, the film constantly references Vermeer's works, as I hope the following images demonstrate:

The Girl with the Red Hat - 1665-67

Venus de Milo and Van Meegeren in A Zed and Two Noughts - 35:37

The Music Lesson - 1662-65

A Zed and Two Noughts film poster

These allegorical referrals provide the viewer with a means of interpreting and understanding this otherwise super-complex film.  As Greenaway himself said, in a 1991 Cineaste interview:

I would like my movies to work the way Dutch paintings did, on literal and metaphorical levels.  If you've got that as a premise it's no problem at all to find all the information that ought to go in the frame - all the cultural allegorical material. (qtd. in Petrolle, 2008:160).

Allegory, according to Madsen, is all about the focus on interpretation, and how bloody difficult it can be to make sense of things.  With allegory at its heart, Z00 reminds us of the desire to understand, and it places a great importance on the perception and production of meaning.   Understanding paintings, for example, can be very subjective; the artist may well be trying to convey a certain message, but the viewer will draw their own conclusions - sometimes based on their age, gender, ethnicity, moral values and so on.  In Dutch paintings, such as Vermeer's, meaning is situated between a realistic representation, and the symbolic sum of coded objects - often hidden as household items, spatial relations and characters.   Consequently, a painting's hidden meanings and suggestions can be easily overlooked, and Z00 plays on this by constantly throwing the viewer red-herrings and random, misleading clues to follow.  Vermeer's paintings require the viewer to reflect on their nature, purpose and signifying strategies, and Z00 asks the same.  The Music Lesson (above) in particular evokes self-reflexivity, by depicting a mirror reflecting an easel.  The above film poster mirrors this (pun intended), by showing camera tripods in a frame behind Greenaway; connoting the extreme self-reflexivity of cinema too.

It came up in Monday's seminar that the characters in Z00 are so flaming odd, that no-one could identify with them.  I would argue though, that we're not supposed to identify, or even like, the film's collection of nutters.  Rather, they serve a purpose, as images to interpret; like Venus de Milo (see above), who is commissioned by Van Meegeren to make a dress for another character, Alba Bewick, who allegedly resembles the women of Vermeer's paintings, namely The Music Lesson and The Concert.  So, you see, the characters in Z00 all fit together to form certain meanings and ideas for the reader to work out.  Granted, they're still proper weird. 

The film is also about twin-ship, and the phenomena of coincidence.  The two protagonists, twin brothers Oswald and Oliver (the two 0s?), both lose their wives simultaneously in a car crash.  The car, driven by Alba Bewick (Buick is a car manufacturer), crashes into a swan (what else?) on Swan's Way (of course), and the brothers (both zoologists) become totally obsessed with trying to sort these coincidences into sorm form of narrative, in order to make sense of this bizarre trgedy.  The brothers' quest for answers parallels our own search for details within the film, that will enable us to make sense of the plot.  This duality signifies th process of producing meaning; the attempt to locate, and then connect, a series of events, from which to tell a coherent story.

Obviously, if you'v seen the film then you'll know it's not that straightforward to understand (understatement much?!), due to the numerous red-herrings and dead ends. While McHoul and Wills (not Prince Wills') accuse Z00 of being pretentious and vacuous (cited in Petrolle, 2008:163), Petrolle argues that the film's refusal to completely satisfy our thirst for knowledge does not make it devoid of positive content.  Instead, the disturbance of wanting to know something, yet not quite being able to figure it out, mirrors life's biggest mysteries - the origins and meaning of life - and this is epitomised nicely by the lovely David Attenborough's Life on Earth films, which Oliver is seen avidly watching.  This, according to Petrolle, highlights the limitations of the human mind, and our uncertainties about such questions as the meaning of life are reflected in the art of textual interpretation that is required when viewing this film. 

Finally, because poor Oswald and Oscar are unable to create an understandable narrative, they end up committing a double suicide (shoulda gone to Bad Wolf Bay).  But even this attempt to make death meaningful fails, as the camera set up to record the event malfunctions, once more paralleling the viewer's interpretation of the film; we are unable to construct any logical meaning. 

A Zed and Two Noughts makes us aware of our longing to completely understand the world around us which, if this were possible, would mean that there would be no room for ambiguity.  As Petrolle says:

'Z00 suggests that it is possible, necessary, and sometimes even fun to live with ambivalence.' (2008:174)

That's it folks.  Hope that was an enlightening experience.  I'm still nowhere near a fan of the avant-garde, and I think Z00 is one of the most bizarre films I've ever seen, but at least I can now see that it was trying to make a point, rather than just being random for the sake of it.

BW xxx

References:

A Zed and Two Noughts (Greenaway, 1985)

Dictionary.com (2010) 'avant-garde',  Dictionary.com LLC [online].  Available from: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/avant-garde (Accessed November 20, 2010).

Hobbs, S. D. (1997) 'The Avant-Garde and The Culture of The Future', in: The End of The American Avant Garde: American Social Experience Series, New York University Press: New York.

O'Pray, M. (2008) 'Introduction', in: The British Avant-Garde Film 1926 to 1995, Luton University Press: Luton.

Tate Online Glossary (2010) 'Avant-Garde', (c) Tate London [online].  Available from:  http://www.tate.org.uk/collections/glossary/definition.jsp?entryId=38 (Accessed November 20, 2010).

Petrolle, J. (2008) 'Z is for Zebra, Zoo, Zed, and Zygote, or Is It Possible to Live With Ambivalence?', in: Alemany-Galway, M. & Willoquet-Maricondi, P. (eds.) Peter Greenaway's Postmodern/Poststucturalist Cinema, The Scarecrow Press: Lanham/Toronto/Plymouth, p.159-176.