Monday, January 09, 2006

Or Maybe Not

I'm starting to get worried now. Maybe I shouldn't go to this group. There's the lesbian mother's group, and they meet on a Saturday afternoon, which I can't do because I've no babysitter. But there's another one called Rainbow Families that I could do, because it's for the children rather than the adults. They go on outings and such. So I'd be taking The Boy with me.

I know it'd be good for The Boy. I know I'm a bad mother for even considering not going. But I feel ill. I can't stop shaking! I want to hide away. I think I'll let the idea drop. I was stupid for even thinking I could do it.

Gathered Guts

Well! This morning I summoned up a bit of courage and phoned the two language units. One was very positive, the other wasn't sure it would be possible for us to see it at this late stage. They're both going to call back. But I did it!

I also found a lesbian mothers group. I posted on a forum about it, and was lucky enough to find someone who already goes, and has offered to meet me beforehand, so I don't panic and not go. Fantastic. :)

And, the Lothian Autistic Society accepts postal orders, so that'll be sorted out shortly too.

It's been such a nice morning, it makes me wonder when the shit plans to meet the fan.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

The Boy On How Life Is

I was telling The Boy that next year he'll be going to school.

"First you went to playgroup, now you go to nursery, next you go to school."

"What happens after that?" he asks.

"Well, after Primary school, you'll go to high school."

"What happens after that?"

"After High school? Then you might go to university or college, or maybe a job."

"What happens after univasty?"

"Then you'll hopefully get a good job."

He thinks for a bit, and says,

"After a job...can I come home?"

Aww, bless. The poor wee sod thought he had to go away to do all these things.

For fuzzy end of the lollipop...

I went back and had a wee look.

Apparently, this is Katharine Isabelle, of Ginger Snaps fame.

There you go.

Saturday, January 07, 2006



I'm going to go retire to my ridiculously overdramtic and beautiful four poster bed, and think happy thoughts.

Gothic Witches

I keep running in to this argument from certain witches: that people like me are letting the side down by dressing in a stereotypical 'witchy' fashion.

I wear mostly black. Black tops, long black skirts (I collect them), and black boots (that said, I do love my brown cowboy boots). And yes I do wear a pentacle, which I suppose adds to the 'goth' look.

Apparently, I should be ashamed of myself for promoting the stereotype, and quickly dress in a more normal fashion.

Bugger that, frankly. I like my black clothes. They are flattering. I feel good in them. I love the goth look, even though I've most certainly toned it down since I had The Boy. Anyway, as I don't always wear black/gothy things, what does it matter? I've always loved to look different. So what?

They keep telling me, these witches, that witchcraft is something that people who are strong, independant thinkers come to. That witches are highly individual folk, who come in all shapes and sizes, all walks of life.

So what is the bloody problem? Leave me and my black velvet alone!

I've spoken to people who are also goth witches, and as someone on one forum pointed out, most modern day pagans aren't exactly farm boys and girls, are they? Indeed not.

So why all the grief from these, presumably fading into the paintwork, witches?

Perhaps it's because, while witchcraft is something I do, a skill that I'm learning/improving as I go along, to them it's their whole life?

I appreciate that witchcraft/Wicca often gets misconstrued and misrepresented. I know there's a lot of 'Witches worship the devil' crap out there. But I don't honestly think me and what I wear is going to have a huge effect on that. If my wearing black makes any one single person think I'm/all witches are evil, then that is one hell of a stupid single person, anyway.

Rant done with. :)

Play Schemes

We're nearly at the end of the winter holidays. The Boy goes back to nursery on Tuesday :)

But I'm already thinking about the summer holidays. Three weeks has been a very long time. Six weeks will be unbelievably long. OK, the weather will be better and we'll be able to go out, but...

So someone told me the Lothian Autistic Society runs a summer play scheme. I contacted them by email. And the forms arrived today in the post. They want 20 quid just to join as a member, and then I can apply for a place for The Boy, and that'll doubtless cost as well.

I can manage that, but they want it in the form of a check. Where the hell am I going to get a check from? I've only just managed to get a basic bank account. Us scumbag single mothers don't get things like checkbooks.

I'll have to see if they'll accept a postal order... :(

Friday, January 06, 2006


And it's several inches shorter than what it was advertised as. No use at all. Bastards.

How Very Odd

Weeks ago now, if not months, I bid for a skirt on eBay, and won it. The sender cashed the money and insisted they'd posted the item, but it never showed up. I'd forgotten all about it.

It just arrived this morning.

Alanis Morissette

I watched a DVD last night about her. It was a bit disconcerting because my first girlfriend looked like a lankier version of her. Used to dress like her sometimes, too.

Alanis Morissette was my heroine when I was a teenager, but I haven't paid her music much attention for years. I've discovered I still like it! :)

A bit sad, remembering all the dreams I had when I was a teenager, though. Wanting to do music, actually help people with it. My Mum told me to grow up, that dreams don't come true, that 'our kind' (whatever that is) don't do things like that. We get a job in an office, or a supermarket, and yes life is awful, but so what? It's the same for all.

Well being a teenager, I fought against that. I thought if I worked hard enough, made good contacts, had a bit of luck...maybe I could do it. I was bloody good, too. Being an office monkey didn't appeal at all.

I sang 'Bondage' one night, acappella, at the Cas Rock, just up from the Grassmarket. Bondage is a song I wrote about the girlfriend I mentioned above, who looked like Alanis. She died. The song's kind of about being in denial.

When I was done, I stepped off the stage and came face to face with a man who had tears running down his face, and he said to me, "Thankyou. I was at a funeral today. Thankyou. That's exactly it. Beautiful. Thankyou."

That's what I wanted to do. Get to people.

And now here I am, considering a computer training course, so that I can probably become an office worker when The Boy goes to school. My Mum was right. I'm a waste of space.

You know what the funniest bit is? While I understood the anger behind 'You Oughta Know', I'd never been in exactly that situation - being hurt by an ex replacing me at the speed of light. And now I have. On New Year's Eve, at the party, it came on the stereo, and we were singing along in a mad drunken fashion. And all the while, Bag Puss was busy replacing me at his New Year's celebration. How's that for an amusing coincidence, Alanis?

Thursday, January 05, 2006


The Sod has gone home. Before he went, he sat down for a wee chat, and the conversation came round to an old friend. I asked how this friend was doing, because The Sod still keeps in touch with him.

This old friend moved abroad, met someone, got married and had a kid.

The Sod refered to this as getting "...banged up in Holland."

"Do you mean jailed? Or tied down with a family?"

He meant family. You tell it like it is, mate. I suppose it is a prison sentence. But it's one most men manage to escape from with very little difficulty, it seems to me...

The Sod

I tell him about the language units, and he's just not interested. His son's future and he just doesn't care.

When The Boy was born, I asked him to apply for parental responsibility, because in Scotland at that time, legal responsibility went automatically to the mother, but if the father wasn't married to her, he had to apply for it.

His response was "I can't be arsed."

I've spoken to him about it since. I've explained that if I was to die tomorrow, The Boy would go into care, rather than to him, because despite being the father, he has no rights what so ever. He didn't believe me. I eventually convinced him, and he agreed to apply...if I got the forms and sorted it all out.

It drives me crazy. He comes over two evenings a week, and does all the fun stuff.

There's a nappy needing changed, right this minute. The Sod has said he'll do it, but he's putting it off in the hope that I'll do it. He's drinking a cup of tea first.

I suppose I'd better go and see to it. Turgh.


I took The Boy into town today. I've been avoiding doing so because it's so busy with the sales, but I thought just a couple of shops might be alright.

But clearly even that was too much, because he started to get worried by all the noise and the people.

Into Boots we went, for some bits and pieces. We were heading for the tills when our path was blocked by a lady inspecting something on a shelf. The Boy told me she was in the way.

"Well, all you need to do is say, 'excuse me, please'." I said.

So he pushed passed her, and yelled up at her, "Excuse me!", with his face all cross.

"Well pardon me!" she said to him.

I couldn't quite believe it. I apologised to the poor woman, and she seemed ok, but I was horrified.

I've banned the television as punishment. But he doesn't seem to understand what he's done wrong. And I don't know if it's him truly being naughty, or if it's his autism. I don't know or have any other children to compare him to.

He looked like the rudest, nastiest little boy you'd ever hope not to meet when he did it, and I could see the woman thinking exactly that. But I know he's got no idea how to behave socially. No clue, unless it's something he's learned already, manually, if you see what I mean, by heart. Like saying sorry.

All the way down the road, I tried to explain what he'd done wrong, but he just doesn't understand the half of what I say to him. He knew he was in trouble, and so he kept saying and shouting sorry to/at me. But he clearly didn't know why he was sorry, it's just that he's learned when he's in trouble, he's expected to say it. No clue as to why, or what it means, even.

So was it bad behaviour to be punished, or is it partly the autism and not entirely his fault? I wish someone could tell me.

He keeps hitting himself to punish me for punishing him. I'm trying not to pay attention.

Serial Shagger

Bag Puss has asked me not to cut him out of my life. But I don't see how I can stay friends with him.

When we split up, he said I was to use the following two weeks to think about things. Then he decided I should think about things for a couple of months, because two weeks wasn't long enough. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too. Which I do. He told me it wasn't over for us, as such, that he felt we could be together again in the future. I was just to think through what I really wanted first.

He's visited me here in Edinburgh (he's from a different city), and it's been the same as ever. Hugs, cuddles, kisses, etc. Like we were still together, only not. It was lovely, but so hard.

While I was still thinking about things, he's gone off with someone else.

Now, I know he had every right to do that. I'd dumped him, he was single. But, oh my god, how it hurts.

It's so quick, like I never mattered at all. Barely over a month later and he's with someone else. "It was a slap in the face, how quickly I was replaced," keeps going round my head.

He keeps saying I'll find a new if he's refusing to understand why we split up. I've told him and told him how afraid of pregnancy I the point where I can see myself alone for the rest of my life rather than be pregnant again. But still the comments about new men, new romance. For crying out loud, if I feel I can't be with the man I love, I'm hardly going to be chancing pregnancy with someone else, am I?

My Mum reckons he's a serial shagger, a typical man, she says.

Yes, I know I'm whinging, and it's very one-sided. Of course it is. But where better to spill ?

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Like A Different Child

The Boy's Speech and Language therapist just phoned to see what I'd decided with regards to where I want The Boy to go to school next summer.

I would like him to attend a language unit/autistic spectrum unit. They're attached to mainstream Primary schools, and the idea is - at his own pace - he'd be intergrated into the main school, with their help.

But places in them are like gold dust.

I'm applying for a place in the local Primary, too, in case he doesn't get into a unit. But he's so disruptive at times, I can't see how he'll cope with mainstream right now.

The nursery says he's not the least bit disruptive there. He doesn't scream endlessly. They say he does have a very short attention span, and definately needs a lot of help. They admit mainstream is more formal than nursery, and that will be a problem for him. But he doesn't behave there, the way he does here.

It's not that they don't believe me, they do. They know that a lot of children - special needs or not - behave like completely different individuals at home compared to how they are at school. When the child comes home, they relax and are no longer on their best behaviour. They're so familiar with the parent that they kind of take the piss.

But I just told the therapist exactly what he's like at home. Screaming about things being in the wrong place, or being the wrong size...she was so astonished, she asked if I could video him when he's like that.

As if. I don't have a camcorder, and it's not like he goes off on one, like an event, it's more of a constant stream of whining and screaming and shouting. I'm not imagining things, He really does scream all day long. Both Bag Puss and The Sod can back me up on this...

I'm not sure why they're so surprised. His old playgroup was at a Children and Family Centre, and they knew what it was like at home for us. It must be in his file, surely?

Off on a bit of a tangent, I've got to phone up and arrange appointments to go and see these language units. Then, I have to find them, work out how you get in (I've been to see one before, with our old key-worker from the C&F Centre. It's not easy if you don't know how), meet complete strangers and keep The Boy under control while I do it. All on my own.

I'm actually frightened. I can't bear going to new places on my own. It took me two years to work up the courage to go into a shop I'd never been in before. Before I had The Boy I used to travel up and down the country on my own, no bother. After I had him, I was afraid to answer the door and the phone. Now, I'm not afraid of the phone anymore, but a brand new place somewhere I don't know makes me panic.

Our old key-worker knew it, and as it was a centre that supported the family as well, she came with us. But now he's at a normal nursery that has help for him, but not his family. I'm on my own. I have to confess, there were open days for these units last December, and I didn't go, because I couldn't face it on my own. I made the excuse that The Boy had conjunctivitis. Which he did, but I still should have gone.

I am pathetic.

I will go to these units, and figure out which would be the best for The Boy, and apply for a place there. Even if I have to dose up on Kalms and Rescue Remedy to do it. It is essential I do it, and once it's done, that'll be an achivement.



Because I was so tired yesterday, today I slept in until 11:30am. Which means I'll be up until god knows when tonight again. It also left The Boy sitting bored in his room. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. It's nice to walk in and see him entertaining himself with his toys as opposed to watching dvd's.

Why is it that your hair looks so damn sexy when you get out of bed? All straight, tousled looking, falling in your eyes... But once you've washed it, dried it and styled it, it looks like crap?

My ex, the one I broke up with because I'm afraid of getting pregnant, confessed he'd perhaps pulled the girl I thought he might pull at new year. We shall call him Bag Puss, to differentiate between him and The Sod. I knew it was coming, Bag Puss and the girl. I've no right to be bothered. I dumped him. But I still feel sick. We're trying to stay friends...but now I'm thinking of him with her all the time.

Ach, I'll get over it, I suppose. :(

It's good I might have been replaced so quickly. That way, I can feel worse, and he can get laid.

Seems like justice.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Told You

The milk is still sitting there, untouched.


I couldn't get to sleep until 7am last night. Or this morning, rather. Already, The Boy is shouting at me. I'm to fetch him a cup of milk which he won't drink. He'll leave it sitting there all morning, and then shout and/or scream because it's old milk.

He's eating Whatsits. It's the end of the bloody world because one of them is 'hard'.

Apparently, they're all hard now. I know what I'd like to do with them.

You'll have to excuse me. I'm very tired.
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