Last week, as I was walking to work through the park, I noticed that the circus had come to town, and for the few minutes it took me to walk past, I entertained myself with imaginings of "what if".
What if I'd known about my freakish bendiness when I was a kid - could i actually have run away and joined the circus, and now be travelling the country as a contortioinst.
What if I was a lion tamer, with a fancy outfit and some rather big cats for company.
What if I was a juggler, a clown, a trapeze artist.
What if I travelled the country, never staying in any place more than a few days, my entire life contained within the structure of a small caravan or motorhome.
What if, what if, what if.
If I'm honest, the cirus life is not for me - I need more stability than that, and there's there'd be no room in a caravan for my yarn stash, so I'll have to get my circus kicks elsewhere, and I'll be doing that through Lucky Oliver, a new online stock photography site.
I met the Lucky Oliver folks on their stand at SXSW, mostly because they had a pool full of rubber duckies and I wanted to know why (the trials of having a rubber duckie fixation). I had a good chat with them and they seemed like a cool bunch of people, so I figured I'd see about joining, and using their site as a way to make a bit of money back from some of the many thousands of photos I've taken over the last few years.
It took me a while to get round to it, but last week I submitted my first three photos, and as of yesterday, was accepted as a Carny, and over the coming weeks and months will be updating my Lucky Oliver portfolio, which will hopefully simplify things a lot, and save me agonising over how much to charge when people ask permission to use an image of mine on their site - particularly because their prices start at a mere $1 (or less than 50p at the moment if you're a Brit), which is very reasonable for a web or blog sized image.
I'm unlikely to get rich by doing this, but every little helps.
Full disclosure: I'd decided to join/blog about them before I asked if I could have one of their rather natty t-shirts, so the fact that they told me I'd have to promise to blog about them to get one of their t-shirts wasn't bribery of any kind.
I lived in Camden for a year, between October 2002 and 2003.
It was a bit of a strange time in my life, but an important one, and a lot of things changed during that year.
One of the things that happened was that I finally gave in to the impulses I'd had for many years and indulged in some body modification.
I had lots of reasons for this - mostly around wanting permanent external reminders of the internal changes I was undergoing, but part of me wanted to do it to see if I could. The thing about having Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome is that one of the related issues is poor wound healing, and so with each piercing I knew that it'd carry a bit more of a risk than most, and I'd have to pay more attention to the aftercare, but at the same time, I felt that if I could do this - conquer the poor wound healing - that I could have some control over something I previously thought I couldn't control.
It started with getting my tongue pierced in September 2002, and over the space of the year, I got a further five piercings and a tattoo, most of which settled down and healed and since then it's been as if they were always meant to be a part of me.
Two of the piercings, however, just refused to settle. They'd be okay for a couple of weeks or months, but then they'd flare up a bit again and I'd go through the whole regime again until they'd calmed down, and I'd tell myself that I just needed to be a bit patient.
Then when I was at SXSW, one of the two went a bit icky, ulcerated and bled. Luckily, it didn't happen anywhere public and I was able to deal with it, but instead of just telling myself that I needed to be a bit more patient, this time it was different.
So after letting it settle down and heal a bit, and after considering all the options, I removed the piercings on Friday.
It felt a little weird - after all, they've been a part of my body (and body image) for almost four years - but it really had to be done.
The really funny thing is - in spite of my notoriously poor wound healing - they've healed really quickly and well, and the marks left behind are barely visible on the one which was ok, and slightly visible on the other, and they're fading more each day. I suspect that by the end of the week, I'll have to look very hard to see where they once were.
Which actually disappoints me, if I'm honest. I made the choice to do them in the first place because I wanted a permanent reminder, and although I no longer have the metal in place, i still wanted to be able to see where it once was - gone, but not forgotten.
Of the many new things I've experienced since moving down south (of the river), nothing has kept me so continuously entertained as the music played through the loudspeakers in Brixton tube station.
Over the weeks I've been using it, I've been treated to a wonderful selection of the very best classical music. Not what I was expecting at all, but nonetheless, I've found it quite relaxing and uplifting, for the 2 minutes or so I hear it each day.
I even play a little game with myself - trying to figure out if I can put my classical education to good use and identify the music before I get off the escalator, and my average has been pretty low so far.
This morning though, I got it within two notes.
Because this morning my fellow commuters and I were regaled with a rousing version of that well known multi-cultural anthem...
...Jerusalem.
That I found Bloodbus via the Metro Best British Blog competition will forever be a point of shame for me.
It's superbly written, and takes me right back to where I was born and brought up - particularly the entry titled "Stoned".
It took me right back to the time I saw a bunch of neds push over a number 18 bus in the local bus station.
Yes, you did read that right, and it wasn't any of your single decker easy target nonsense either.
Still, it's good to know that my home town's still the way I left it.
Five years is a long time, but it feels like it was only yesterday I sat there, listening to your last few breaths, wishing with every fibre of my being that I could make it easier and less painful for you.
I miss you so much. There isn't a day of those five years that I haven't missed you.
I wish we'd had more time.
I miss talking to you. I miss your advice. I miss sitting in the car outside the house because the radio's on and if we go into the house the moment will be lost and we won't turn the radio on and keep listening. I miss going to museums and stopping for a cup of tea (even though I don't drink it). I miss the jokes and the laughter, and I miss the conversations we never had because I thought we had all the time in the world to have them and it didn't exactly work out that way.
I wish you could see me now (well, not exactly now - stuck at home with a dodgy stomach is never a good look), but at where I've got to over the last five years.
J too. I don't know how it happened, but somewhere along the line, we accidentally grew up, and it feels weird. I'm so proud of her - her wee one is beautiful. She's an amazing child. So bright. So aware of her surroundings from such an early age. I wish you could have got a chance to see her, to hold her, to take her on trips to museums like you did with me. You'd have made such a great grandad.
She's not the only one I wish you could have met. I wish you could have met K. Who came into my life unexpectedly just five months ago, when things were so very bleak. Most people would have run a mile, but he didn't. He accepted me, as I was, and continues to accept me, as I am, each and every day, letting me be me - whatever that is at that time.
I wonder what it'd be like... if things had gone differently.
I imagine you coming down to visit. Helping us move house. Asking if I was sure I wanted to move. Asking if I was sure I wanted to move to Brixton, because, like me, your main knowledge of it would have been the coverage of the riots (but don't worry, things are very different now).
I can even picture us arguing over the construction of IKEA furniture - you wanting to read the instructions all the way through before even picking up the pieces, me wanting to jump straight in as I always did. I'm sure you'd be very impressed with the home automation stuff K's spent the last week putting in. I can switch the living room lights on and off with a tiny little remote and the hall light is even cleverer - that goes on and off by itself, on when you're in the hall, off a little while after you leave the hall. Energy efficient and safe for those 2am munchies.
I imagine taking you to museums instead of the other way around. I haven't visited many since being down here. It's just not the same.
I wish for lots of things that I know I can't change and all the wishing in the world can't bring you back - cos if it could, then surely five years worth would have done it already.
I miss you Dad. Every day.
...but for all that I miss you, I know that you're no longer suffering, and that, sometimes, is the only thing that makes this ache bearable.
Rest in peace, Dad.
I love you.
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
... contactable via email.
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