Up Front: Something Chronic
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We should just call it PAntS.
(ETA. I've done it again: inaugurated a new page with a distressingly stupid comment.)
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On PAS it's about the pants; on Twitter it's currently about the capes. We've got it covered.
ETA:
I've done it again: inaugurated a new page with a distressingly stupid comment.
No, no, that's *my* specialty. (It could be because 97% of my comments are distressingly stupid, so it's a statistically likely thing.)
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(ETA. I've done it again: inaugurated a new page with a distressingly stupid comment.)
If I had a dollar for every time I've done that, I'd be able to buy another belt so as to keep my pants up.
ETA. Snap. It is really a statistical improbability that all three of us do this, so I'm gonna accept that it's not me, it's you ;-)
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inaugurated a new page with a distressingly stupid comment
A Visible Panty Line? ;-)
[Where's Ian D when we need him?]
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My escape plan was basically always ensuring I had enough money to catch a taxi home (or to my parents or to the hotel I was staying at). I spent the extra and stayed in a hotel when friends were in backpackers or at mates' places most of the time because wherever I went I knew I needed a room I could just crash in if necessary.
I also would buy myself some really lovely pjs as a treat whenever I was in need of a treat. Sussan is good for medium priced ones w lots of different designs.
Of course all three of these things rely on having sufficient income to do this. I had the good luck to have enough.
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Julie, I have to admit that I had no idea that you had CFS - sorry! I'm glad to hear that you've got through things though.
Of course all three of these things rely on having sufficient income to do this. I had the good luck to have enough.
Yeah. Not having ever had CFS I can't compare my situation, but when I've had depression having the extra $100 in the bank account to buy whatever was necessary to help pull me out of a very fast slide was essential. Usually, good food.
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I think I probably was sick when we were in the same space/time George, but my memory of those years, and the years beforehand, are pretty patchy in parts. I was diagnosed mid 2000 and pretty sick from then until about 2004 when I started to really come out of it enough to work full time. Since then my health has improved a lot, with the odd set backs which have mercifully got shorter and less severe. Now I think I'm probably as well as I can get, which is no where near the level I could operate at before but then that was frantic and if I hadn't got sick with CFS it probably would have been something else that snapped.
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How recognised is it - by employers, disability services, government agencies?
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So what sort of things do people do to plan ahead for fun things -
I find needing to plan ahead with the worst case in mind is sometimes a bit depressing
Not that it is even remotely comparable, but 5 years of shift work, and the last 2 years of 4 and 5am starts, has left me feeling like I am living in a constant state of jet lag.
I don't have any problem getting out of bed. It's what happens as soon as I've put my feet on the ground.
So. I stay on top of my washing, so that I know I always have enough underwear. I get my clothes ready before I go to bed. Some mornings, not knowing what I am going to wear is more than I can cope with.
On PAS it's about the pants; on Twitter it's currently about the capes. We've got it covered.
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a veritable Pantheon...
We should just call it PAntS.
well there is a viable pant lineage that PAS embodies well... we are already part of a Pantisocratic social organisation in which all are equal in social position and responsibility...
...and the regular thread diversions are catered
for as well, with:
Pantries for the foodies;
Pantoums for the poets;
Pantomimes for the Friday Fiesta;
and, of course, Pantographs for the
inevitable copyright minefield... -
Oh, and Twitter & Wikipedia has helped me to self-diagnose myself with something else that normally I used to call "Living in Perth's timezone". I spent a year and a half on sleeping pills before I found out that the psychiatrist who had prescribed them to me had left the country due to his own mental health problems...
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Is this the thread for pantaloons?
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Well, I'm glad that's all over. It turned out to be wind, nearly blew my pants off.
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Pantaloons!
Also - on the subject of pants as a swear - pantsicles! And pantshead. As in, "that book is pantsicles" or "Ian McEwan - what a pantshead".
:)
I have to admit that my escape plan mostly consisted of never going anywhere. I was a bit of a shut in. It's taken a long time to rebuild the social confidence.
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PAS. We keep it in our pants?
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PAS. We keep it in our pants?
You haven't been to many PAS gatherings, have you?
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You haven't been to many PAS gatherings, have you?
Hey, that's not cricket!
Well, no actually, and I have to be in Chch during the next one, so missing another opportunity. Wait, that sounds a bit sordid.
PAS. You scare my pants off sometimes.
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Hey, that's not cricket!
Heheh.
I have to be in Chch during the next one
You're never actually IN Auckland, are you?
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Hey, that's not cricket!
I don't think anyone lost their pants at the cricket. Except for that brilliant streaker.
I could post that excellent picture I have of Hadyn eating a hot dog though. Except, I don't think Emma wants me to.
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You're never actually IN Auckland, are you?
I'm often here, unless I'm there. Sometimes I'm neither here nor there. Which usually means I'm in Wellington.
ETA. Seems like an age away that day. Is it cricket season yet?
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I have to be in Chch during the next one
Snap, sadly
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Oh, and Twitter & Wikipedia has helped me to self-diagnose myself with something else that normally I used to call "Living in Perth's timezone".
OMG! This is exactly me! To a tee!
When I was an employee I reckon I was quite majorly sleep-deprived, as I was unable to go to sleep until sometime after 3am, and would then struggle to get up in the morning. I was late to work (and often very late) every.single.day.
It got so bad that not one but two different employers have given me an alarm clock as my Secret Santa present. Hardy har har. Doesn't work cos I switch it off in my sleep and am completely unaware that it's even gone off.
Now I'm self-employed again I've been able to return to my natural circadian rhythm which is something like "go to bed at around 4am, read for an hour, fall asleep, sleep really well until sometime between 1pm and 3pm, get up and start my day."
I am an extreme night-owl for sure. The only problem comes when I have to arrange meetings with clients, but I normally get away with admitting I'm a night-owl and only doing meetings in the afternoons.
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I've sometimes fantasised about being a in position to decree a meeting at 11pm - particularly to educate those who think a 7am "breakfast" meeting is somehow morally superior just because it happens to suit their body clock.
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Oh yeah - the morally superior thing annoys the shit out of me.
I'm "lazy" and "ill-disciplined" because I can't get out of bed at the same time as most people, and therefore tend to arrive at the office quite a few hours after some of them have begun their day.
The fact that I carry on working many hours after they have gone home for the day (and as a freelancer I'm likely to be found in front of my computer working hard waaay past midnight most days of the week) seems to pass them by...
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It got so bad that not one but two different employers have given me an alarm clock as my Secret Santa present. Hardy har har. Doesn't work cos I switch it off in my sleep and am completely unaware that it's even gone off.
One of my dearest friends was like that since an early age. When he was in high school his mum thought she'd solve the issue by getting him one of those alarm clocks that you could silence by talking to it but then it would ring again in three minutes and so forth until you actually got up and pressed the button. It was a Braun product, and in the ad for it a bunch of alert fellows in the military cheerily shouted to it "Okay, Braun". Anyhow, I was talking to his mum some time after the purchase and she explained to me that now she'd wake up in the morning to the sound of her son screaming FUCK OFF! at three minute intervals and for up to one hour.
(Some years ago I told this anecdote to James McNoughton and he used it for one of his best poems. So maybe the most literary amongst you knew it already...)
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