At last!

After 3 years of applying, and 2 years of being on the waiting-list (and living in hope and then not-hope), I've finally been accepted into the Masters in Community-based Counselling Psychology degree! Woop woop! Myself and 11 other psychoanalytic souls will be selling our sanity to the academic gods for a year. I'm excited! And terrified. And uncertain. Because of the uncertainty, I've applied for Clinical Psychology Masters as well. I'm busy going through the interviews this week. I've fluctuated between feeling very confident and very guilty, and both feelings are related to the fact that I've already been accepted for a degree. I'm risking angering the MACC crowd by applying, but I've also noticed that 2 other people are doing exactly the same thing. My reason for applying is basically that I know more about clinical theory than I do about community stuff, and so I'm really just making my life easier. Hopefully. This didn't stop me receiving a very dirty look and a "What on earth are you doing?" from one of the MACC lecturers when he saw me standing outside the office, waiting for my clinical interview. I'm waiting to by lynched - either by one of the lecturers or one of my fellow applicants.

This basically sums up how I feel right now:

And in other news, I really want one of these:
http://www.bandstores.co.uk/shop/freddieforaday/proddetail.php?prod=32860703

Of Bears

As someone who did a degree in English Literature, I do occasionally struggle with the fact that my boyfriend (HOMSI) is dyslexic. He's worked really hard to improve his reading, and he and I have similarly extensive book collections. That said, his spelling is often interesting to say the least. Which makes for some fun, like today's SMS conversation:

Candice: I haven't heard from you in a while. Are you still alive?

HOMSI: Bearly.

Candice: Panda or grizzly?

HOMSI: Grizzzlly.

Candice: Breathe. Connect with your inner koala.

HOMSI: I have a panda.

I now realise that koalas aren't bears, but marsupials. Sorry. They are terribly cute though. Observe below:

C'mon, c'mon...

When I heard that Kylie Minogue was coming to perform in South Africa, I really couldn't have cared less. Unfortunately, because the concert is this weekend, the radio stations have been playing her music as if there's no tomorrow. Because of this song being played repeatedly, I am now forced to admit that some small part of me may want to be in a crowd full of people, singing along, when she performs this on stage. Oh, the shame!

Male broodiness

For what it's worth, I'm not sure if men get broody, but if they do, then HOMSI definitely has a case of male broodiness.

It all started on Sunday, when his neighbour's tabby cat came to visit us. This cat (which I've named Charlie, simply because it's a suitably gender-neutral name and I can't for the life of me figure out if said cat is male or female) is ridiculously friendly and probably falls into the category of "aggressively affectionate". It was sitting on the outside windowsill of HOMSI's place, but as soon as we opened the window, it came inside. What followed was about 20 minutes of head-scratching on our part, and lots of purring from Charlie, who also decided to purr all over HOMSI's couch and stairs, as if to claim them as his/her own. I eventually coaxed Charlie back outside (I was slightly worried that some neighbourhood dispute might arise if HOMSI's neighbours thought we'd stolen Charlie), and he rolled happily in the grass (and then attacked my hand when I tried to tickle his tummy).

Later that evening, when HOMSI was driving me home, we had the following (strange) conversation:

• HOMSI: I nearly bought a guinea pig today.



• Me: Why?



• H: They had them at the Lifestyle Garden Centre and they were cute.



• M: (containing laughter) Oh. Okay.



• H: I'm seriously considering getting a cat.



• M: Why? (while barely able to contain excitement and amusement)



• H: I don't like coming home to an empty house in the evenings.



• M: Do you want me to move that ugly cactus that your mom gave you back inside?
  

The "I don't like coming home to an empty house" part is apparently seriously indicative of broodiness (according to Kath). Since HOMSI has given up trying to get me to move in with him (it would be a ridiculous commute to work), I'm quite excited about the prospect of him getting a cat. HOMSI's garden is quite small, and so he would have to get a small dog. Unfortunately, no "manly" small dogs exist - and the men who own small dogs generally have life partners. HOMSI likes big dogs, like Great Danes and St. Bernards and so toy poms, yorkies and sausage dogs are not an option. And his garden is far too small for a Jack Russell. So, he has opted for a cat. A giant cat. Yes, my boyfriend has fallen in love with Maine Coons. They can weigh up to 11kg, are huge and fluffly, have manes and are pretty much like owning a tiger.

The only problem is that HOMSI would quite like a rescue cat. Where we would find a homeless Maine Coon is our first problem - the second being how much Sinutab HOMSI will have to consume to be able to breathe, since he's mildly allergic to cats. Maybe the guinea pig is a good idea after all.

Questioning things

The point at which I really started wondering whether things would work out with us was about 400km into our 600km roadtrip.

I changed the CD. Somehow, of the 10 tracks on it, the one he loves the most is the 1 track that I want to skip.

A quick note

I've come to realise that writing up my epic MA (and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting) has made me blog a lot less. I actually can't even remember when I last posted anything. *Bad Candice. Very bad Candice. No biscuits for you.*

So, instead of never getting around to writing proper posts, I'm going to be trying something new by posting bits and pieces on my blog to get me back into the swing of things. Sound good? Kthanxbye. :)

House hunting and nervous breakdowns

I vaguely suspect that I may be losing my mind. After much debate, I decided to go see my therapist on Thursday. Most people dealing with their father being terminally ill, losing 4 pets in 1 year, having their bank card cloned, having a very dodgy knee and writing up a Masters would probably have gone to see a psychologist about 4 months ago. Given that the knee/ankle/back/low blood pressure has been quite a costly process and that my medical aid limit was exceeded by about September, I put off therapy for a while. After the way I have been feeling for the past couple of weeks though, I knew it was time to talk to someone.

I had forgotten how nervous therapy makes me. Despite wanting to be a psychologist, the process of laying all my issues on the table is somewhat frightening. The session itself went well and I felt a lot better for it - although I felt weirdly exposed and vulnerable afterwards, and a lot of "stuff" that I need to deal with surfaced. It was good though, and has made me realise that I need to start looking after my own interests a lot more and put myself first a little more often.

The post-therapy weekend was thus somewhat weird. Friday was quite nice, as I worked the morning shift at the vet and then had the afternoon off (I haven't had a proper Friday afternoon to myself in ages!). Sarah and I took her cat, Cassidy, to the vet for it's vaccinations - I went with to help carry the cat while Sarah held Joshua (who is really cute!). Cassidy was far from impressed with the whole thing, but Joshua seemed to relish every second of the outing! The strangest part of the afternoon was Cassidy sitting on my lap and purring - something that she's probably never done to a visitor before, as she used to be extremely shy! I suspect that she was trying to befriend me, so that I wouldn't take her to the vet ever again!

Saturday was a serious emotional rollercoaster. I went for a walk in the morning and found an injured dove which I took to the vet. On the way there, I just started sobbing about the poor dove (and all my other pets who I lost this year), and then had a long sob when I got home. HOMSI and I went out for lunch, and there was more sobbing in the afternoon. Then, all the post-crying endorphins kicked in and the rest of the afternoon was great! We played miniature golf, got pizza and went to see "Spud". I cried in that too, but I'm going to argue that it was a moving story and that crying was acceptable.

I was in a much better mood yesterday. HOMSI and I went to go look at townhouses and apartments, because he wants to buy a place and move off the Sand of Death (i.e. the evil dirt road to his current place, which may have somehow caused the 5 strokes he had this year). We found a really amazing place with 2 bedrooms and a loft area (games room, anyone?) and a thatched double-volume ceiling. The only thing that is making HOMSI think twice about it is that the complex apparently doesn't allow pets (weird because we saw someone walking a dog in the complex). We also saw a really beautiful 1 bedroom place, which had a gorgeous seaside cottage feel to it. I kind of went weak at the knees - everything was grey and white and light and airy and happy. I'm definitely inspired on the decor front - although not sure how I'll deal with white duvets and cats!

In any case, I'm feeling good today and hope that it continues (mostly because the serious mood seesawing is exhausting). Happy Monday!