You've been swell, but I'm not getting married

Most nights I go to bed with a song in my head - 'Not Getting Married' from Stephen Sondheim's Company, in case you're interested. It's not a song I'm particularly familiar with. I only know a handful of the words, and I don't even like it very much. And yet, almost every night, it plays over and over in my mind.

Last night I finally realised why. The last thing I do before I switch off the light is check my emails and Facebook  just to make sure the internet has nothing fascinating to share with me before I turn in. Then I turn off my laptop. I can't believe it took me until last night to realise that the two little bing-bong notes it plays as it turns off are the first two notes of that song. And now a question for the tech-heads - Can I stop it playing a sound when it goes to sleep? Or even switch those notes for better ones? Sondheim is not restful.

Confusion

The last couple of months have been full of some fairly dramatic highs and lows. First a holiday, which was great but left me with some rather burning questions about my life and my attitude to myself. Then, on the last day of that holiday, I shattered my coccyx into a million pieces, leaving me housebound for the best part of a month, which is way too much time to spend dwelling on such questions. Just days after my return to work, and with only a couple more days until my birthday, I lost my grandfather, then felt horribly guilty for being able to enjoy what was a really wonderful birthday despite my bereavement. Top all that off with another intense trip to Burning Man, and the eternal disappointment of coming back down to earth afterwards and, honestly, I just don't know where I stand right now. I think the overwhelming impression I'm left with from the last couple of months is that there are a lot of people out there doing some really amazing things with their lives, regardless of what anybody else has to say about that. Also that life is just too fucking short to be spent doing things that don't make you happy.

I need to make some changes, but I don't know which or how. There are little things: I want to learn some kind of hands-on skill that'll make me useful to my camp at Burning Man, like carpentry or metalwork. I want to learn a new language. Being impressionable and, yes, ever so slightly mad, I want to take lessons in everything from circus skills to taxidermy. Unfortunately, the problem with learning new things is that you usually have to pay someone to teach you, and I can't. And then there's the big stuff. The eternal balancing acts between security and risk, the humdrum and the exciting. Do I continue to plod along in the same safe, ordinary manner forever, or do I put myself out there and take a risk which, knowing my built-in bad luck, would probably end in disaster, but which maybe, just maybe, in my most unlikely and most cherished hopes, could be my greatest triumph?

I'm rambling, I know. I did say I was confused. Turmoil is the order of the day. I'll shut up now.

Introducing......Mad Corgi Lady

Mad Corgi Lady is my downstairs next-door-neighbour. She is generally to be found in her garden, chatting loudly to her two corgis, Winnie and Teddy. Unlike my upstairs next-door-neighbour, Mad Shouty Man, who is also loud and often wakes me up at 3am by screaming at the apologetic and surprisingly patient man who may be either his son or his carer, she is quite likeable. She dispenses much wisdom unto her canine companions and I, by dint of being within hearing range (i.e. less than a mile away), feel I am also benefiting greatly.

Here are a few things I have learned to date:

• If you have a rash, you need to go to the doctor and get a ointment. Unless you're a dog. Dogs never get rashes but, when they do, they go to vets.
• The plural of egg is heggs. One egg, many heggs. The aitch is proper only she can't remember why.
• When you've been boiling vegetables you should put the used water onto the garden, as it's very good for the plants. Not potato water though. It's too starchy. Next time she'll boil the parsnips separately from the potatoes so she can put parsnip water on the roses. Roses like parsnip water.

I'm a little saddened that my education is likely to be called to a halt over the Winter, when I assume she will be spending less time in the garden. I must glean as much knowledge as I can while Summer lasts.