ICS you can
09.11.06, 5:00 pm

ICS Ad: What with looking after the kids, I was afraid that I�d never be able to get back to work�
Me: Sell �em then.
Lisa: Pimp them out.
Me: Yeah, then you wouldn�t have to worry about work.

When the original ICS ad was on the telly, Paddy went through a phase of answering every single question I asked him with, "ICS you can!" The phase lasted a long, long time.

I have been neglecting this place way too much recently, and am determined to make amends. For now, let us move on to the current fun and frolics:

My gran�s decided to knit me a jumper, and isn�t allowing me to choose the colour of it. This can only go badly. She had me measure various lengths of my body and then ring her yesterday to relay them, before repeating the measurements back in an incredulous voice that makes me think I�m actually a giant whale in disguise. You know, first it was that I wasn�t eating enough and now it�s that I�m a bit of a biffer. Oh God, and what if I measured wrongly? Then she�ll knit it too big/small and I�ll have to wear it every time I see her anyway and risk her suddenly poking me with a disapproving finger and telling me off for not being able to use a tape measure properly. We�ve already had this conversation about making beds (�You�d think that by your age, Holly, you�d be able to make a proper bed with proper corners�), crockery etiquette (�You�re not a student now, and we�re definitely not using a bowl as a plate�) and every coat that I own (�Look at this tatty thing, Holly, it�s high time you got a proper coat. A decent coat is supposed to last you ten years. Do you want people to always look at you in the street?�)

I�d like to point out that I can make beds, mine just don�t have hospital corners; I don�t really see the big deal in using a bowl as a plate as they�re both kind�ve flat; and I wasn�t aware that people were looking at me in the street and making assumptions about me based on my coats, which I think are all quite nice. You know, this is from the woman who tells me that I should wear lime green more often and that John Lewis isn�t just for old people. And that liking silver jewellery is just a phase and that I�ll grow out of it. I�m only saying.

In a very brief ME update: I had a run of about 6 days where I felt fantastic, and didn�t require afternoon sleeps, and stupidly started hoping that I was getting better, or at least stabilizing at a higher level of activity. Well, the past three days have been horrific, and I�ve been waking up exhausted (never a good omen for the day). So I guess I�m not getting better after all. I�m a lot more disappointed than I�m letting on, and thankfully didn�t tell any of my friends about the potential getting betterness for precisely this reason. It�s okay though. I mean it�s not, but what you gonna do.

So, I�ve not really written about The Boy a lot in this thing� I�ve just kind�ve sprung him on you and then moved on. Well, I guess the first thing is to stop calling him The Boy and call him by his actual name, which is Peter. And the reason that I haven�t really written about him is because he has pretty much turned my whole world upside down in the space of 6 weeks, and I�m basically starting to fall in love with him, and the whole thing is completely terrifying and strange. Despite all of this though, I�m half-resigned to the idea that he�s bound to one day get bored of me and want to end things, because that has happened a lot in the past (thanks Paddy and nameless others).

But yeah, I�m seeing Pete quite a lot, and on Sunday I have to go for a genuinely terrifying meal out with SIX of his friends, four of whom I�ve never met before. This is complicated further by the fact hat he�s been raving about how apparently amazing I am to them, so there�s no way I can live up to their expectations of me, especially as I don�t think I�m even slightly amazing, just pretty okay. And I�m bound to say something inappropriate or spill something, because it happens without fail. Ugh, it�d be so much simpler if he just didn�t have any friends at all. I might suggest that to him.

And despite that everything�s not sun and roses, and I�m going to share a little bit of why because it might help. Plus it�s making me neglect my diary, which is sheer shoddiness on my part. With huge regret, and I�m being serious now, I have to announce that the anxiety gig has come back. I guess it was inevitable with the ongoing life screw-up that is the ME, but I did honestly try to battle it off. I really really tried but it wasn�t enough. The other night I had a freak-out, which hasn't happened since May, which I guess confirms that it's back. I don�t really know what else to say� my natural instinct is to make a huge joke of it, but I can�t because it�s serious and scary and horrible. I honestly do not know what to say. I�m still terrified of suddenly dying, it makes me feel like a complete twat, I can�t tell anyone about it because I�m ashamed. Same deal as last time. Besides, everyone thinks that I�m better now. I need some kind of magic pill, because nothing I try seems to work. Hate hate hate.

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