Hello

Hello darling reader(s) (I do not assume there is more than one of you. In fact it's presumptuous of me to even assume one, but if you're kind enough to be gracing my little corner of the Internet with your attention, it is only right and courteous of me to address you warmly). This blog, or at least the thought of it, has been in its embryonic state perhaps far longer than the proper gestation period. While being constantly composed, mentally if not tangibly, matters of self-consciousness or the need to hoover have thus-far prevented it from being committed to screen. But, fragile self-esteem and crumby carpet aside, I give you (with an awkward little 'ta-da'!) my blog.

Now my clumsy self-introduction is over, where was I? Oh, yes. Resolutions. I will not bore you with my several- suffice to say, this was one of them. Another was to shed (several pounds, and) my signature colour of black. (Lovely, lovely reader you can eff off NOW with your 'black is not a colour' comment.) At this point I should state- I am not a Goth, or an Emo, or a Scottish Widow, or one of J K Rowling's Death Eaters. Not that I have anything against these groups, except those naughty Death Eaters. In fact, I would probably like to be a member of most of them, because it would give me an excuse to drown myself in black all the time. But since I like ABBA, Jane Austen and films which star Hugh Grant, they wouldn't have me. So, as I don't fancy being a Nun either, I have taken an oft-quoted line from one of my heroines, and vowed to 'wear all the colours of the rainbow and fall in love with someone who fancies me for a change'. Besides, I was beginning to lean rather too heavily- literally and figuratively- on the 'wearing black is slimming' mantra. There comes a point when this really isn't true any more. But this is not a blog about clothes, or colours (other than as weak metaphors). It is about my resolution to be more positive. In fact, not just be more positive, but take positive action- to go for a run instead of watch 'Sweet Charity' for the 11 millionth time; to count my blessings, not my split ends... that sort of thing.

Well, I still haven't been for a run. Funny that. I did visit an osteopath though in an attempt to be cured of my 'negative' posture. It was really good, you know. And I was dubious. I giggled. I did not relax when told to. I DID NOT like removing my clothes. Of course, what I was secretly afraid of, apart from him (yes, that's right a him!) vomiting at the sight of my thighs, was being told that there was nothing wrong with me. This hideous disappointment is one to which the seven-minutes-per-person NHS is frequently subjecting me. I was not disappointed. I entered the osteopath with your generic round shoulders and anxiety. I left with a cornucopia of problems. I have a lopsided pelvis; bad posture; breathing difficulties; and some kind of cranial trauma from childhood. (I'm not sure that's the phrase he used- but something to do with banging my head. I was a rather stupid child- always running headlong into things.) How do you think I felt, to be told all of this? You might think that a soul so inclined to melancholy and angst would be devastated by so many new ailments to worry about. You'd be wrong. Dear reader, I was delighted. You see, I KNEW something was wrong- OK, the head thing was a surprise, though probably not to those who know me, but not the rest.

Firstly my wonky pelvis has possibly been the cause of much pain. Which my doctor unimaginatively put down to venereal disease (I had to go through the fun of disproving this- another blog in itself). However, I was particularly happy to be told about my shite posture (yes, I do believe this is the technical term) and the fact I do not breathe properly. Mostly because when it is corrected my panicking might stop. Also because the lovely, lovely man told me it had been caused by a terrible shock (I might have added the word 'terrible'.) Apparently, when something unpleasant happens, the body goes into shock as a coping mechanism, and it is hard to correct by oneself, so you end up clinging on to all this negative tension and anxiety. Of course, it isn't as tragic as I am making it sound (things seldom are). I only lost my job, a year ago, along with so many other people, and I've managed to find work since. But it was still very nice to have my pain over it finally validated and what's more be given a reason/excuse why it just won't go away. When he told me this I welled up and nearly went off into a monologue about the shattering of my self-efficacy, but stopped myself.

Obviously I texted friends with my diagnosis. One darkly replied- 'Remember they r a business tho- so they need to give u a reason or many to go back.' But nothing could kill the inner peace that finding out I was not a hypochondriac (or at least that I was less of a hypochondriac) had given me. I stepped back out into the daylight, self- congratulating for having managed to function all this time, with all these things I have had wrong with me all along. And do you know what? I AM breathing a little more easily and I DO feel more relaxed. I would recommend you all (all one of you) go and see an osteopath, even if you feel fine! It's amazing.

Well on that positive note, kind reader(s), I bid you adieu, for now
love J.B
(still basking in my long-suffering martyr- glow)