Nearly there

Today I go to my Doctor to see if I can go back to work next week. I am very much hoping that he says I can, I didn't ever think I would say this but I am desperate to fill my time with something other than daytime tv, reading and lying down.

I have discovered that there are many reasons why work is good...

• Today is Friday, I do not have the Friday Feeling, this is not just because I can't move much, no, it is because that when every day is the same, Friday is just another day. There is absolutely no anticipation for the weekend, no excitement when you get to Thursday, no giddiness when you realise it is 4pm on Friday (well, actually there is a little bit because it means that Deal or No Deal is about to start...), it is simply another day of the same thing.
• I will stop talking to my tv, myself and inanimate objects. Yesterday I yelled at my cushion as it kept slipping down behind my back and it hurt to move it back. This must stop for my own sanity.
• I will have something else to talk about with Steve other than Jeremy Kyle, Rikki Lake and how depressing my book is.

Of course none of this matters too much, when back at work I will still be limited. I can't walk far and when I do I walk super slowly, I can't move easily, I struggle to sit down, to stand up, to do anything exciting at all. I am desperate to do all the things I used to, go to dinner, dance and, hell, even work out! I am told that it will just take some time for my muscles to heal and reattach themselves. A month, two months.

Here is hoping that it will be a month and that this time next week I will be struggling to sit down at work rather than at home!

ps a year today people! x

I have an obsession

Glee.

I could have blogged a long time ago about this but I assumed that, like most of my obsessions, it would fade within a few weeks but no. No. No.

I am still in love with Glee.

The everything of it. The music, the dancing and most of all the hilarity of the whole thing.

There is also one thing I love, possibly more than the rest of it combined... Puck.

He is SCRUMMY, I even love his admittedly dodgy hair. And when he sung Sweet Caroline, a decidedly awful, sickly and all round poor song? I loved him more!

When I was at school there was no Glee Club and there was no boy like Puck (granted I went to an all girls school but still). And now I am engaged, if there is a God (I am still open to ideas on that one..) then he must be testing me...

Steve is working late all next week, would it be totally wrong to take the wedding fund, fly to LA, find Puck, bring him back and keep him in the spare room...?

Answers on a postcard.

Oh just one more... what the hell.

Livy's burning

There is a reason for the lack of postage. On Saturday night I was in a house fire and jumped forty feet out of the window to escape.
Ridiculous I know. It has got to the point that I don't really believe it myself, while I can remember a lot of it, it seems like a story I have heard or seen on television.

My life motto of 'It is fine because it has to be fine' is serving me well; there were four of us in there and we all got out, three of us are walking wounded, bruised and battered but fine and the fourth, while still in hospital, is recovering well and will be fine in the long term. My friend's flat is a mess but it could have been a lot worse. There are several what ifs... if the bathroom door had been open, if the kitchen door had been closed, if we hadn't have been there and she had been there by herself, if the neighbours hadn't acted so quickly. It goes on and on.

I am up and down, my back is slightly screwed up, as is my left leg and there is something up with my neck. But we are all very lucky. The police, firemen and paramedics couldn't believe we weren't more hurt.

So now I'm at home, still slightly smelling of smoke (maybe the fourth hair wash will be the charm) and discovering more things I can't do (today's revelations include wrapping my hair in a towel and putting socks on).

Tomorrow I am going to see my friend in hospital; I can't wait to see her but am slightly apprehensive about travelling as well. Everything tires me out. I have been assured that this won't last very long, that this will be over soon but it is definitely dragging.

It is quite frustrating not to be able to help everyone.

Still, everything will be fine because it has to be fine... except right now it is not.

One, two, three...

I am being forced by Steve to watch a ridiculous programme about numbers.

They were just talking about the biggest numbers, apparently you can't count to a billion in your lifetime which begs the question, how on earth do we know who is a billionaire and who isn't?

Anyway, apparently one of the biggest numbers is called 'Graham's Number', it was invented by a man called Graham. Original. Graham's Number is an actual scientific thing, it is written in physics papers and astrological journals. It is even mentioned in the Guinness Book of Records as 'The Biggest Number Known to Mankind'.

The thing is, Graham doesn't actually know what his number is, it is that big. He doesn't know how many digits it comprises of or what it represents or how big it actually is.

All he does know is that it ends in a '7'.

It is now that I would like to announce the invention of a new, bigger number:

It is exactly the same as Graham's number except it ends in '8'.

It is called 'Livy's Number'.

A Monday night

Last night I made Steve a sandwich. I brought it to him. He took the plate gratefully. He smiled. He looked at the plate.

For a brief second his disappointment showed.

Steve: Do I have to eat it like a grown up? All in one piece? Can't I have triangles?

For a second my nuturing instinct raised its head and I nearly took the plate back. I then remembered that it wasn't an adorable three year old I was dealing with; it was my 27 year old boyfriend.

Me: No.

Valentine's....

Valentine's Day, schmalzy made up holiday that has been designed to make us spend money?

Or

Lovely excuse to have a nice meal, exchange cards and buy underwear you usually wouldn't dream of?

I vote: THE LATTER!

I got to talking with friends about the 14th and was surprised (and for the over-sensitive bit of me, hurt) that most saw it as the former.

For me, that is sad. I know, I know, you should celebrate your love all year round, you shouldn't have to have one day to force you into buying your loved one a card etc... and I agree, you should show your love and romantic side all year round.

But why not use it as an excuse for a love in? Why not take the opportunity to buy a bottle of fizzy, have a scrummy meal and pash (fyi, I am bringing that back after watching Charlene and Scott's wedding in Neighbours... I am considering asking the registrar to say, 'You may now pash the Bride' when we get married)? Why not decide that you want to spend that day with your loved one/ones (Livy doesn't judge...), together?

Because, yes, while we all have the chance to show them how much they mean to us every day, do we...?

What do you think? Have I been overcome by Cupid's arrow and hearts and am talking crap? Opinions please!

Because sometimes you can't catch a break

Honestly, it stands to reason that if you wax warm and fuzzy as you write about sleeping one day and how lovely it is, you will have the worst night's sleep of your life that night.

Because: your boy will not be ready to go to bed when you are, and will instead sit in the bedroom watching Family Guy at full volume.

Because: when he finally DOES turn the tv off, he will want to read Jeremy sodding Clarkson and will use his little night lamp to do so.

Because: when you finally fall asleep, he will start tossing and turning because his back hurts.

Because: when he tosses and turns, he'll throw the covers off you (every time), making you cold.

Because: when you're cold and trying to get warm, you'll snuggle up to him, which will bother his aching back and cause him to push you away. Repeatedly.

Because: you will be baffled and a little hurt, since you won't know that he's in pain and you'll just think he's suddenly become the Antisnuggler. Plus you'll still be cold.

Because: his back pain will get so bad that he starts to whimper, so that you finally ask him what the eff is going on. You will offer to get him nurofen and he will decline.

Because: ten minutes after initial decline, just when you were dozing off again, he will decide he does want the drugs after all. You will go creaking through the cold flat in your skivvies to get them.

Because: at 5:45 a.m., when you are FINALLY drifting back to sleep, the phone will ring. You will lurch up to get it, nearly passing out from sleepy lightheadedness and imbalance only to find that it is your Dad asking if you know when your sister is getting home on Thursday. You will say you do not but if he calls back at a more appropriate hour, ie not in the middle of the night, you will find out.

Because: the phone thing will be repeated half an hour later. The same scenario will ensue only this time your Dad will be indignant as, in his mind, 6.00am is most definitely the morning and therefore why am I asleep.

So now I've told you all the truth, gotten the annoyances off my chest, and can hopefully get over my grumpiness and exhaustion and get on with my day.

And you think your night time shenanigans are exciting....

Please note, this is not me, I obviously look much more radiant and snoggable when sleeping. Although I do like the jim jams.

Something strange happened in bed last night.

No not that! Dirty readers!

No, firstly, I slept well, it was IMMENSE. I love it when I have a good nights sleep, it was perfect. I woke once, looked at the clock, found it was 2.21am and happily drifted back into slumber, knowing that I had another four hours sleep.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm at 6.31am (I always set my clock for an irregular time; I feel I am getting more sleep that way). I dreamily hit the snooze button and dozed away, safe in the knowledge that my alarm would buzz again in approximately eight minutes.

And that is when it all went weird.

I suddenly awoke, aware that Steve was getting up.

I glanced at the clock and asked why Steve was getting up, it was only 7.02, he could stay in bed at least for another fifteen minutes without too much stress. He replied that it was in fact, 7.30.

No, I say, indignant. And I show him my clock.

We both stare at it, confused for a second, the clock, which went off reliably at 6.30, now states the time as 2.02am.

Will it do it tomorrow? What is it doing? Who has possessed my clock?!