First analysis

I remember my first analysis session, although I didn’t know what it was at the time. I was in the final year of middle school (so about ten?), and I was asked to take my desk drawer to a room near the school office. I think assumed I was in some sort of trouble, as this was certainly out of the ordinary.

I waited there for a short while without anyone present, but I don’t believe I was over-worried.

I only recall two parts of the session.

The first is that I was asked if I pick my nails. I said I did, and was asked why. My reply assumed they wanted to know why I picked them instead of biting them (seriously, I don’t think any kid bothered with nail files and clippers), and I remember considering this for a moment before replying that it “gives me control”. By this I meant that in picking I could see what I was doing and choose how the nail removal went, which I assumed wouldn’t be the same with biting (though I’d never bitten so didn’t actually know). Not something I fervently believed, but I knew I had to give an answer, and that made sense at the time.

Hmm…you call a child in for analysis, and he tells you he bites his nails because it gives him control…? I’ve wondered since what was written down about this, but I’m pretty sure these records will have been destroyed long ago. Would be amusing though 🙂

The other part I remember was noticing that the hour and minute hands of the clock didn’t tally – they were in the wrong places with respect to each other. I think this is something I’d registered when waiting on my own, looking round to occupy myself. I think I was asked if there was anything I wanted to say or talk about (I *think*, anyway, this was an awfully long time ago), and I considered bring this clock up, probably because it amused/intrigued me. I have to wonder how *that* would have ended up in the session notes!

The last things I recall were after the session. I was at the front of the class, waiting to talk to the teacher* about something, and I looked at the register/diary and noted a date and time with the text “Tom’s analysis” (or similar). I mentioned this to my mother, who sort of laughed it off, and I have the feeling of a jokey reference to more of a chemical/physical analysis rather that psychological. I’m sure she understood what had just happened, but it could be she either didn’t let on, or I didn’t pick up what she said.

In the past I’ve often wondered what notes were made, and could I have seen them at a later stage?

I’ve just had a new few thoughts:

  • Why did this take place anyway?
  • Should the school have asked for consent to this beforehand?
  • Actually, did it ask, and did my mother know beforehand? Perhaps she invoked it??

I’m not at all worried about the whys and wherefores, merely interested….

* Hmm…. note that I said “the teacher” instead of “my teacher”. Does that have any extra meaning?

 

Another another week

Yes, it’s another post celebrating the absence of death of the blog.

A near thing, perhaps, as my laptop was utterly out of charge and it by chance that I thought to give it a little juice overnight. So here I am, on the train, coffee beside me, typing on its clicky keyboard…

My Gladiators Are Waiting For Me!

Yes, I do have gladiators. I did, at any rate, but now they’ve probably dispersed into ones and zeros.

This was all some time between 2001 and 2005, but part of a larger theme. Back to the beginning. Every day, for a period, I had an email arrive with the subject “Your gladiators are waiting for you!”. It was an online (browser based) game, where I would train gladiators, and set them to fight others. The training was by assigning points, and I’ve a feeling the points were a result of a successful battle. It wasn’t just gladiators though, but I don’t recall the other fighting type. Perhaps Vikings?

I drifted away from this game in the end, and I either just ignored the emails or put them in spam. The gladiators were still there though, waiting, ever waiting.

The gladiators, and the Vikings.

Oh, and the character in Meridian59 that I played with at Cafenet, the pirate aliens in some bizarre tower defence game I liked on iPad, towns of monkeys wanting to pop bloons, hordes of armies and heroes in fantasy and futuristic worlds, and, and, and…

Obviously I’ve played many many games over the years. With some of these I’ve left my character(s) out there, on the internet, waiting for me. What has become of them? have they aged and died, have they been starved of electricity and vanished? Perhaps they realised I’m not returning, and they found a better employer – could it be that some of those gladiators have retrained and moved on to popping bloons with darts?

Hayfever

Hayfever.
Thankfully I never suffered from hayfever as a young’un, but as old age creeps up on me I’ve noticed the introduction of a few of the symptoms. Hits me in London, as I enter Bloomsbury where the plane trees abound.

Anyway, this is mild, really really mild. Itchy eyes, tickly throat, stingy nose. I’ve seen people who have it bad, eyes streaming and all the rest.

Now I begin (just begin) to understand how awful it must be for those kids who have to sit exams through the high season of grass pollen. Sorry guys.

Death of a child

A current piece of news is of the convictions of a couple of people responsible (through gross negligence) of the death of a seven year old girl.

I can hardly imagine the sheer hell of watching my daughter being swept away to her death before me, as happened in this case. A similar thing happened to a colleague, who not only witnessed the death of his daughter but father as well (who died trying to rescue the child), while he was utterly powerless to save them.

Ultimately, this represents one of my greatest fears, the total horror of the prospect of the death of my own daughter. I know the chances of this happening are low, but they are real, through any one of so many reasons. My daughter is one of the few people for whom I know I would kill or die, if that were required.

Another week begins, the blog survives..

Well, the week’s hardly beginning really. It’s Wednesday, but it’s the first day I’ve used my laptop. Monday was a bank holiday, and yesterday I took a day off. During which I helped Elena clean an office for eight or so hours.

So here I am, on the train, typing. I’ve posted an earlier prepared draft, and I’ll soon post this wee effort, so that’ll be a couple of  steps toward keeping the pulse going.

Do I really have nothing else to say?

Most certainly.

I’ve thoughts on:

  • Universal love. Referring to the Dalai Lama, and Wintershall.
  • People who get away with small crime, and what we can do about it. Spurred by someone pointing out a person driving an untaxed/licensed vehicle.
  • The concept of Minimum Viable Product (new to me).

Will I get them down? Wait and see…

….actually any noise really

It’s not just sniffing that gets to me, it’s pretty well any human-generated noise that annoys. Headphones, talking, any electronic device (although possibly not  keyboards, which is handy as mine’s not exactly silent – hmm… double standards?)

Eating. Heaven help us, eating. Not only am I driven incandescent by people eating with their mouths open, but the act of taking a bit can infuriate somewhat. Crunching on a crisp with the mouth open, rather than sealing the lips over the crisp to reduce noise is one of this trivial yet mind-blowingly large things that can really drive me to distraction. Yes, really!

Voting Matters

Voting frequently feels futile, particularly in a very safe area for the Wrong Party. Why vote if you cannot effect change, if your single slip of paper will make no difference?

There was a local election yesterday, and my area’s strongly Conservative. The LibDems had had a decent vote in the past, and in the 2010 general election might have been a serious threat or even taken the seat if the Labour voters had switched over (which would have been a sensible tactical vote given they had no chance at that point). The LibDem shot themselves in the foot with their time in coalition and stopped being viable locally for 2015. Labour tried in the last general, but still failed.

The local election, then. What’s the point? The LibDems stand (among other things) for Remain, and I don’t believe my area’s that way inclined. Voting Labour won’t make a difference here, and there’s not even a Green Party candidate as an alternative. I considered not voting, but I believe I have a duty to take those few moments. After all, how on earth can I have the right to complain if I can’t be bothered to turn up to vote? Without a candidate I believe I can win, should I instead spoil my ballot, and at least use that to register my dissatisfaction?

In the end, I voted, and felt defeated.

In the end, the LibDems took my seat. The Conservatives still have a really strong majority in the council, but there’s a positive change. What’s wonderful is that the LibDem had a majority of just 33, so my vote made a difference.

So, the title of this post. It’s concerning matters about posting, and it’s saying that voting does matter.

Photography

That sunset picture I posted a couple of days ago. What of it?

This is about me trying to find a creative outlet, I think, an activity that I can enjoy where I can express myself. Ideally one that involves little skill or effort, and even more ideally, one that might make some money.

I do enjoy trying to find a good picture. I was given (the money to buy) a camera, and I have had fun in playing with it, and seeing some of the results. I do need to practice in many aspects – holding the camera level would be a good start, but at least issues there can be corrected afterwards.

I like looking at light and dark, and reflections. I like trees, silhouettes.

What I want (or need?) to do next includes:

  • Getting my camera serviced. There are specks of dust I need removed and the flash (while I rarely need to use it) sticks.
  • Creating a portfolio. I already have an account on and pictures uploaded to a stock photo site, but I need to seriously ramp this up if I’m to make anything of it. I then need to work on ways to promote myself. This (or a less personal and more public) blog might be good idea too.
  • Take more pictures. An area to try is in simple stock photos of objects – single object, white background. Try to make this a production system. It might be a mechanical soulless thing to do, but it might be a path to making money out of a hobby.
  • Keep enjoying it. Yes, there’s the idea of money, but I do need to keep the joy.

Thank You To…. Mr Hollins

Thank you to Mr Hollins. I’m afraid you’re not with us any more, but you gave me a Sunday morning gardening job when I was at 6th form. It was well paid, enjoyable, and I learned a lot. I still enjoy gardening, and I reckon this is down to you. Thank you, I only wish you were still alive so I could get in touch with you.