(slight - uheh, yeah. "Slight" - moan)I've had a headache on and off for about three days. It could be fumes from the tedious amount of gloss paint which now adorns our skirtings, or it could just be... uh... a tense, nervous headache.
Meanwhile to add to the tense and nervous woes my cystic hygroma has been wrestling its way in to my consciousness over the last couple of day for the first time in about eight years. It seems to have swollen up under my chin slightly to the left. I've also got the telltale feeling of weird pressure inside my lower palatte. you can demonstrate the feeling yourself by getting your thumb and pushing it up in to the area under your tongue, from underneath your chin. Hmm - feels good doesn't it. Now think of that all day! What a delight.
It's weird, disconcerting and it brings back far too many ghosts from my god awful childhood (to tell the story in 10 words or less: Me: circus freak; other kids: evil bullying bastards. Depression ensued). So, I must now phone the docs so I can get it checked out by zee specialist, although they will shrug their shoulders and say "We can do nothing, madam" and I must also battle the inevitable traumatising insecurity and wish to go and hide in a cupboard until all the bad stuff goes away.
But you see, the trick is, I never did go and hide in that cupboard, when i was a young'un. I was too bloody minded / stupid (take your pick) so I toughed it out. Had no friends, hated school with a passion and took solace in lonely reading in libraries but then again, since when were any of those particularly bad things? Er, apart from the first one. I say all that and it is true but, it ignores my tendency to show off, which was very much on display at the time. Ok, at the risk of entering a state of melodramatic weeping, the Hygroma stopped me from going in to acting or singing. It made me horrendously depressed: I didn't brush my hair or teeth, I didn't wash properly and I ate *enormous* amounts of food. and then I used to go and sing in assemblies and school productions! Obviously a masochist from an early age.
So try being the parent of a fat girl who looks like a circus freak (not, by the way, an exaggeration), and explaining that there's not really much point her going to any of those open auditions for kids in musicals up in London - because she is a fat girl who... (etc) only without saying the end bit. Bless them, they tried very hard.
Never quite got to the cutting holes in my arms stage thank christ. It was that bloody minded obstinate ego shoving its way through, that was.
See what I mean? My Cyst awakens, Kraken like, and my consciousness is invaded with unwelcome visitors from the past. Go on, piss off, the lot of ye.