Labyrinthitis in my case takes the form of a viral infection of the inner ear, which - like most viral infections - has no cure.
It lasts around two weeks ... or maybe much longer.
And means that any movement of the head causes acute world-spin, nausea, vomiting ... and for me, at one point a black out - - When you wake up on your back dry-heaving, you realize that two near death experiences in the last 12 months is a little bit more interesting than is comfortable.
Luckily they do these nifty little pills that taste vile, which you stick under your upper lip, and they stop the vommiting. They do not however stop the nausea and dizziness.
Norovirus would seem to be, by comparison, a walk in the park.
Thanks Fairy God-Cat. ... Laugh it up you b*stard furball!
Showing posts with label Fairy God-Cat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fairy God-Cat. Show all posts
Monday, 29 March 2010
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Possibly norovirus ...
I kid you not.
STOP LAUGHING YOU B*STARDS!
The Fairy God-Cat is taking the piss with this one. Grrr....
STOP LAUGHING YOU B*STARDS!
The Fairy God-Cat is taking the piss with this one. Grrr....
Sunday, 20 July 2008
The Three Gifts
When my Fairy Godmother (A.K.A. The Fairy God-Cat) cursed me at birth she didn't mess about. Those Three "Gifts" she gave me were the ones that any sane person dreads:
1) WRITING
2) PROCRASTINATION
3) BOUNDLESS OPTIMISM
Individually, not so bad you might think. But as a combination quite capable of destroying the mind and soul of the fainthearted. Luckily I have the heart of an ox. I keep it pickled in a jar in the cupboard.
1) WRITING - quite a cool gift you might imagine, unless of course you are afflicted with it.
If I don't write regularly I start to lose my grip on reality: one month without any kind of writing and I start to slip into minor insanity... I tried it once as an experiment.
Really. Not. Pleasant.
I am only loosely connected to sanity at the best of times, I tend to orbit around sanity rather than live hand-in-hand with it the way most people seem to. So when I say the feeling of losing your grip is unpleasant, I'm already starting from a point a ways off normal. (I know some other writers are afflicted with this curse, so don't pretend you're not aware of the feeling I'm talking about gentle readers! YES, I am looking at you. Stop trying to hide behind that cup of expresso!)
The other problem with being afflicted with writing, is that I really know that I can write. ... It's not some half-hearted optimism, but a firm belief. No, it's more than that! I actually KNOW that I can write.
I'm a fanatic when it comes to my belief in my ability to write. It isn't a wishy-washy spurious system of belief like say 'a belief in the existence of God'
(Or gods? Whatever, choose your poison).
I KNOW I CAN WRITE. IT IS WHO I AM. - - Which links into the whole boundless optimism thing.
You could present me with an affidavit which says that "Eleanor is a bad writer" signed by every writer there ever was, is, or ever will be, and it wouldn't make a dent. ... I'm a bit of an ego monster about my writing. Perhaps a quiet monster that prefers to lurk rather than being the type of monster who shouts from the rooftops or swings from buildings, but a monster nonetheless. *sigh* Told you it was a curse.
2) PROCRASTINATION - "So what?" you say, "Every writer indulges in that particular paddling pool."
Yeah, okay, fair cop. But when you really know you can write and then get no where fast doing it, the doubts creep in. And that's not just doubts about your ability as a writer, that's doubts about your whole reason for being.
ARGH!
3) BOUNDLESS OPTIMISM - which drags me back into the whole vicious circle of hell that keeps me always looking for that next story, the next hit, this might be the one...
*gnashes teeth*
So, gentle readers, were any of you cursed at birth? And if so, with what?
Enquiring minds need to know. Fess up, I double dare ya.
1) WRITING
2) PROCRASTINATION
3) BOUNDLESS OPTIMISM
Individually, not so bad you might think. But as a combination quite capable of destroying the mind and soul of the fainthearted. Luckily I have the heart of an ox. I keep it pickled in a jar in the cupboard.
1) WRITING - quite a cool gift you might imagine, unless of course you are afflicted with it.
If I don't write regularly I start to lose my grip on reality: one month without any kind of writing and I start to slip into minor insanity... I tried it once as an experiment.
Really. Not. Pleasant.
I am only loosely connected to sanity at the best of times, I tend to orbit around sanity rather than live hand-in-hand with it the way most people seem to. So when I say the feeling of losing your grip is unpleasant, I'm already starting from a point a ways off normal. (I know some other writers are afflicted with this curse, so don't pretend you're not aware of the feeling I'm talking about gentle readers! YES, I am looking at you. Stop trying to hide behind that cup of expresso!)
The other problem with being afflicted with writing, is that I really know that I can write. ... It's not some half-hearted optimism, but a firm belief. No, it's more than that! I actually KNOW that I can write.
I'm a fanatic when it comes to my belief in my ability to write. It isn't a wishy-washy spurious system of belief like say 'a belief in the existence of God'
(Or gods? Whatever, choose your poison).
I KNOW I CAN WRITE. IT IS WHO I AM. - - Which links into the whole boundless optimism thing.
You could present me with an affidavit which says that "Eleanor is a bad writer" signed by every writer there ever was, is, or ever will be, and it wouldn't make a dent. ... I'm a bit of an ego monster about my writing. Perhaps a quiet monster that prefers to lurk rather than being the type of monster who shouts from the rooftops or swings from buildings, but a monster nonetheless. *sigh* Told you it was a curse.
2) PROCRASTINATION - "So what?" you say, "Every writer indulges in that particular paddling pool."
Yeah, okay, fair cop. But when you really know you can write and then get no where fast doing it, the doubts creep in. And that's not just doubts about your ability as a writer, that's doubts about your whole reason for being.
ARGH!
3) BOUNDLESS OPTIMISM - which drags me back into the whole vicious circle of hell that keeps me always looking for that next story, the next hit, this might be the one...
*gnashes teeth*
So, gentle readers, were any of you cursed at birth? And if so, with what?
Enquiring minds need to know. Fess up, I double dare ya.
Friday, 3 August 2007
Trial & Error - the start of my screenwriting journey
I'm one of those unfortunate souls who was cursed with "writing" at birth. I guess my Fairy Godmother has a wicked sense of humour -- but since I suspect that she is in fact a cat, I'm not surprised.
You've probably already guessed that I'm a little eccentric ... well, okay, mad. But I figure as long as I'm not a danger to myself or others, where's the harm?
Erm. Don't answer that. Where was I?
... Writing.
The curse of writing.
I've been writing snippets of stories and making up worlds for as long as I can remember, but then in 1992 something happened that changed my life. I saw Batman Returns, and it sparked against an old thought I'd had watching the Batman & Robin TV series (well over a decade earlier), and that was that. Inspiration. Struck down by the Muse.
Over the next two months I watched the film 8 times and rewatched Batman 14 times, investigated the Batman comics (Arkham Asylum - from Vertigo, is a favourite), and then went on holiday to Tuscany with my family and spent half of it locked in a room writing.
My family thought I was mad - why this seemed to be a new concept to them, I have no idea ... or maybe I just hit a new depth of insanity as far as they were concerned? Quite frankly, I don't care. I loved every second of it. While they were enjoying Italy, I was staring out of the window at the sky.
Best. Holiday. Ever!
By the end of it, I had written Batman's Grave, and thus committed the first major error of many aspiring screenwriters: creating a spec sequel to an existing franchise. I then made the second error -- convinced of its excellence and thus gaily ignoring the rules of format, I tracked down an address for Tim Burton and sent it off.
Oh boy. I cringe to think about it now.
I can only apologise to any one who had the misfortune of trying to read it back then. Hopefully it hit the bottom of the round file unopened.
But that was when I first really realized that someone, somewhere wrote a screenplay for each film that was made. And that possibly, just possibly it might be something I should be doing with my life. -- The length of a screenplay was less daunting than that of a novel, AND it was moving pictures and moving emotions ... and that held a magic for me - a sparkling desire - to see my story playing on the big screen at my favourite cinema. I was hooked. My Fate sealed. I had glimpsed that screenwriting is who I really am, who I'm supposed to be, my destiny.
...
Bugger!
There's a cat laughing somewhere, I know it.
What have I been doing since then? Procrastinating.
You've probably already guessed that I'm a little eccentric ... well, okay, mad. But I figure as long as I'm not a danger to myself or others, where's the harm?
Erm. Don't answer that. Where was I?
... Writing.
The curse of writing.
I've been writing snippets of stories and making up worlds for as long as I can remember, but then in 1992 something happened that changed my life. I saw Batman Returns, and it sparked against an old thought I'd had watching the Batman & Robin TV series (well over a decade earlier), and that was that. Inspiration. Struck down by the Muse.
Over the next two months I watched the film 8 times and rewatched Batman 14 times, investigated the Batman comics (Arkham Asylum - from Vertigo, is a favourite), and then went on holiday to Tuscany with my family and spent half of it locked in a room writing.
My family thought I was mad - why this seemed to be a new concept to them, I have no idea ... or maybe I just hit a new depth of insanity as far as they were concerned? Quite frankly, I don't care. I loved every second of it. While they were enjoying Italy, I was staring out of the window at the sky.
Best. Holiday. Ever!
By the end of it, I had written Batman's Grave, and thus committed the first major error of many aspiring screenwriters: creating a spec sequel to an existing franchise. I then made the second error -- convinced of its excellence and thus gaily ignoring the rules of format, I tracked down an address for Tim Burton and sent it off.
Oh boy. I cringe to think about it now.
I can only apologise to any one who had the misfortune of trying to read it back then. Hopefully it hit the bottom of the round file unopened.
But that was when I first really realized that someone, somewhere wrote a screenplay for each film that was made. And that possibly, just possibly it might be something I should be doing with my life. -- The length of a screenplay was less daunting than that of a novel, AND it was moving pictures and moving emotions ... and that held a magic for me - a sparkling desire - to see my story playing on the big screen at my favourite cinema. I was hooked. My Fate sealed. I had glimpsed that screenwriting is who I really am, who I'm supposed to be, my destiny.
...
Bugger!
There's a cat laughing somewhere, I know it.
What have I been doing since then? Procrastinating.
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