Monday, 31 March 2014
I won't give him up now.
I'm actually quite possessive.
Tuesday, 25 March 2014
To appreciate cake, one must first eat cake...and then some more
You cannot eat your cake and have it too, so I suggest you bake another
To not eat cake is to betray the bakery code
Cake is good, so are friends, but you can't eat friends, so cake is better
Cake is like bread, so it's okay to eat for breakfast instead of toast
A good household always has cake for guests, and another for when they have gone
A woman must have, at all times, the basic ingredients to bake a cake in times of need when the shops have closed.
Cupcakes are like cake dwarfs, we must have seven of them for the story to be right.
Crumbs are just pieces of cake that are very, very small, and one must not be sizest, eat all the crumbs.
Friends offer you cake, great friends give you a huge slice, the best of friends bring in a whole cake and two forks.
Sunday, 23 March 2014
I was about five when I knew all I ever wanted to do was write stories. I
hated school, to the point where my mother couldn’t physically drag me, I’d be
screaming and crying, choking: I hated it. I hated being stuck behind four
walls being dictated to, when all I wanted to do was write my stories. I did
learn however that exchanging one set of four walls for another wouldn’t do any
good, education lay in one and education would lead to escape. I took every opportunity
slim though they were, I worked hard, became determined, ambitious. The back of
every text book I ever had in school was filled with pages of stories I would
be sneakily writing in at every opportunity. It’s quite simply my natural
instinct. I don’t have anything else.
Saturday, 22 March 2014
What was family anyway? A bunch of people who pretend to get on and care for each other when most the time they can't stand one another and are bonking off with each other's husbands and wives. Well its true isn't it? There's never a well to do family party without one married person eyeing up another; an affair takes place, the gossip breaks, perhaps a maid saw a naked rear end in the middle of the night retreating quickly and quietly from one room to another, and then there's a scandal, some grandmother or such will be taken over by the vapours for the threat of such tabloid gossip, then it's all hushed up with money and family solidarity and then everything goes along as it did before. Indeed, such is the life of upper class families, they all muddle along, waiting for someone to die and leave them a chunk of estate, hoping secretly a few people will get murdered in the meantime to increase the size of their cut. I decided to remove myself from such a family atmosphere. I have plenty of friends in London, from University and from the museum where I work my week out as a historian. I've always been more interested in the past than the present, nothing exciting ever happens here, it's all happened before and I missed it!
The room has grown terribly smaller with the arrival of the family, they're munching on salmon sandwiches as if they don't know there is another platter awaiting in the lounge, but they do know. I just want to get this over with and get going, I feel strange enough that this Uncle Martin, the brother of my father, has bequeathed me something and I wasn't even around when he died: I was in Rome, studying for a Roman invasion expedition we're holding at the museum. Everyone here seems 'jolly glad' to see me, except Edward, that's the son of my dead uncle, so he'll be getting the lions share I presume. He's an unpleasant sort of fellow, not entirely bad looking but with a sour expression as if he smells something gone off, that may just be that he's standing over poor aunt Martha, the woman positively looks like a corpse! I actually think she may have dozed off. Edward's glared at me once or twice and greeted me with a 'didn't expect you here, glad to see you again' in such a tone as to suggest he couldn't care less if I'd been thrown under a train on my journey here.
Mr Dawson finally coughs a few times for attention and then a few more, Edward raises his voice
"Can everyone take a seat, let's get on with this reading"
Everyone hushes and sits, Aunt Martha is still asleep.
"Right then, we are here for the reading of the will of Martin Cornilius Carter. As well as a small amount left to myself, Martin was a firm supporter of the local hospital and has donated the sum of a hundred pounds to their new wing while the rest-"
"Get on with it Dawson, we're not interested in the bloody hospital." Edward interrupted speaking through his cigarette pursed lips, "how much are we all going to get?"
Mr Dawson, who was not particularly an old man, but had I understand been a close companion to my uncle looked as if he wanted to smack Edward across the face for his ill manners, however his countenance recovered and he smiled rather strangely, like a cat toying with a mouse it knows it will eat.
"Very well. The will reads thus:
My family, I finally died then, I'm sure you're all happy about it, especially my son Edward, as unfeeling a son I could ever have been burdened with, he's been trying to poison me for years!
But I never drink before bed, weak bladder.
To each of you I leave the small sum of eight hundred pounds as a token of my death and to not have you feel this was a wasted journey in train fare, although Martha may want to give hers up now if she's still kicking, the woman can't have long left...
There was a pause in which we all looked at poor aunt Martha still oblivious to the goings on around her.
I leave my Tiffany Lamp to Mrs Drover our cousin for you admired it greatly.
The oil painting in the third bedroom to Peter for your collection
And my suitcase, an object that was dear to me in my youth and which I have treasured with more than sentiment, to my nephew Henry, perhaps it will expand your historical knowledge beyond book learning.
My son Edward, I leave my membership at the club where I hope he shall drink himself to death, and my horse King Charles, he's of a violent temperament and may with luck throw him off and crack his neck.
Now for the main chunk of my estate, I leave my home 'Riverdown' and all its grounds to the only one of you I really liked and who will appreciate it, Mrs Derville, the wife of my late beloved second cousin, the estate income being in the region of around fifteen thousand pounds. My shares in the sugar business I have sold for the sum of eight thousand pounds I leave to my nephew Henry Carter, the son of my brother Richard and a finer fellow than my son, I hope to increase his career and knowledge in history which I myself was such a great scholar of.
And so concludes the will.
I was in rather a shock, I hadn't expected so much, but Edward, Edward was past shock. I had watched his face grow redder and redder and his fists clench and unclench, and finally now he blew up in outrage, but it did no good, the will was written in steel and had been written it seemed two years ago well before my uncle was in his sick bed, Caroline looked positively pale, I suppose her designer job paid well enough to keep her in that charming fox fur but the estate was a tidy income and a lot of responsibility, unless she chose to sell up, I wondered if she had any family of her own she would move into the house.
To settle the situation between Mr Dawson and Edward I remarked that someone should wake Aunt Martha! She after all had been left a little sum, everyone fell silent and looked at Aunt Martha, the only one still sitting, she was ever so still and pale, but then according to Mrs Drover she always was. We all stared at her a minute and I wasn't the only one to wonder 'has she died?' It was Caroline in the end who ventured out a hand to touch Martha's shoulder, "Aunt Martha, are you with us?" She said gently, no response, we all assumed the worse and I think Caroline was about to see if it was so, when Aunt Martha's eyes shot open and she jumped violently
"Did I get the suitcase?" She cried
And everyone jumped and sighed,
"No aunt, Henry got that. But you have eight hundred pounds to spend, isn't that lovely."
"No suitcase, oh, never mind."
She looked awfully down about it for a moment but soon her head bobbed up and the rather oddly coloured half wool half net hat she wore bobbed along with her.
"Look here if Aunt Martha wanted the suitcase I don't mind..."
"Oh no!" Cried Mr Dawson "There are to be no exchanges, Martin was very specific on that, the suitcase is yours Mr Carter, and I trust you will respect it with the same care your uncle had for it." He said it so seriously I felt a little like a scolded school boy for suggesting to give the damn thing up. "I actually have it here with me," mr Dawson removed a sheet from a box I hadn't noticed and revealed the suitcase to me. Considering uncle Martin had treasured it, the thing was rather tatty. Frayed at the corners and discoloured but it had a certain character, a crisp steel four digit combination lock was on it, and a letter had been tied to the handle. I tilted my head and saw it was addressed to me in what I assume to be uncles slanted hand writing.
Caroline addressed the room,
"If anyone wants to stay at Riverdown this evening please feel welcome, I have coffee and cake waiting , I've been put up there for a few weeks now while the funeral was settled, and now it's actually mine I feel I'm entitled to invite guests, it would really be nice to have company for a while."
Everyone seemed pleased with this, except Edward, who stormed out of the office slamming doors.
I folded my coat over one arm and took the suitcase in another,
"I'd be delighted to take you up on that, I was going to pitch up at the local pub but cake sounds too good to skip out on."
I lugged the bloody suitcase up two flights of stairs to a room in Riverdown, where I was to be put up for the night. Despite being a handheld case it still had rather a weightiness to it and by the time I reached my room I had knocked my knees with it twice and resented it wholly. Leaving the damn thing at the end of the bed for most of the night I decided to read the letter later.
I was dreadfully tired, and still I hadn't opened the letter, I'd do it in the morning, I had a train to catch back to London and bed was calling me. The suitcase sat on the table and I wondered briefly if it had anything in it, before I fell asleep.
Waiting for my train, a man in work men's clothes approached me and offered to buy uncle martins suitcase, I was so taken aback I gripped the handle of the suitcase more tightly,
"I'm sorry but it has sentimental value."
The man was insistent
"I can offer you fifty pounds."
"It's not for sale, I'm sorry."
I frowned at the man who looked shifty and dismissively I strolled away to the other end of the platform, I stood for about five minutes when I heard
"That's him there!" I turned in time to see, the man who had pestered me followed by three other surly looking chaps, running towards me. Natural instinct was to run, but what had I to run from?
"Look here chaps, what's all this about?"
"Just hand over the suitcase and be on your merry way."
"I've told the fellow no, it's not for sale."
One of the men tried to grab the case from my hand and I backed away gripping it tighter, "I say this is robbery, get away from me. Officer!" A train was about to pull away and I ran for the doors, jumping into the carriage almost losing my hat in the process I sighed in relief as the men scrambled away. No one either on the platform nor the train seemed perturbed by the commotion, finding this awfully curious I took a moment to gather my wits before taking a seat. Pulling the suitcase up onto my knees I found I was almost hugging it. What the devil was that about? Men climbing up windows, thieves in the station! It hadn’t rained in a while either, was England going positively barmy? Perhaps there is something of value in this suitcase, after all I hadn't opened it yet, and the letter was still dangling from its handle a little creased but still intact and sealed. But then how did these apparently random characters know anything about it, did my uncle make public his costly possessions? By the time I was seated comfortably in a train compartment bound for London, I had entertained several ideas, perhaps the suitcase contained a secret will, one to disinherit everyone and leave all to the hospital, perhaps there were precious jewels and uncle had been a notorious jewel thief none of us knew about! Perhaps there was a mummified hand of some scandalous maid uncle had murdered to keep quiet but had kept her arm as a memento.
We have not by any means been close or even mingled together in any sort of society since you left for university, however your father Richard and I were very close, and he tells me you have had a flare for history since you were a young boy. My own son has disappointed me in many ways and has no interest in the past or indeed the future, he is a selfish boy only concerned with the here and now of his own little life. And yet this suitcase is dear to me, and it should be passed onto family. I came by this from my grandfather and it's given me great enjoyment and knowledge, but also with it comes a great burden. If you have not already you will soon learn there are people around you who will do anything to get their hands on this suitcase, some might kill you for it therefore you must guard it and keep it safe at all times as I have done before you.
This is no everyday item my boy, this is one of a rare few dying breeds. There aren’t many left as far as I know, I spent a good part of my life studying and looking for others with little luck. This is a portal.
Here are your instructions:
Take off your clothes, everything from socks to your hat and place them in the suitcase, also a wise addition would be some money and identification depending on how far you're going back. Shut it up and using the lock combination choose a year...when you re-open the suitcase your clothes will have transformed into the exact clothes worn in that year, they will be of the same quality of the clothes you put in and the money will have changed too. Once you're fully dressed, you will no longer be in 1959, you will have travelled back to the year you have chosen, to where your clothes suit, the suitcase too. You learn to be adaptive and a quick thinker, and to come back you need only reverse the process. You can't go forward, only back and you cannot and should not attempt to change major events, every death and birth is pre written it seems and will happen despite any attempt at change, but you can experience history, you can live it. There are people, time thieves that want the portals of the world to steal the time from them for immortality, you cannot let this happen. We are the keepers of time, it has fallen upon our family for this portal and it must be respected and treasured.
Mr Dawson is my trusted friend, he knows everything, and he will guide you when necessary.
You have my faith,
I say, uncle Martin was off his trot. How long before he died did he write this? Its jolly good for a mental person, I wonder is Caroline knows. I mean he can't be serious, these strange men surely can't believe these nonsense. A time machine indeed, stealing time, immortality! What rot. And thinking Mr Dawson must have supported such fantasies, and he a man of education too, a man of the law, well it's absurd. I stuffed the letter into the pocket of my jacket and spent the rest of the journey mulling over whether or not to continue to lug this suitcase to my London apartment or just dump it in the stations lost property box, it seemed silly to keep hold of it after such a revelation. And still it also seemed callous to the last wishes of my uncle to just dispose of it, mad or not he clearly valued this and had left it in trusted hands. I would make use of it as a shoe box or something once I returned home.
A few days later I had not used the suitcase for a shoe box, in fact I’d stowed it beneath my bed and found myself every night waking in a sort of panic checking to see that it was still there. The day I was to return to work at the museum I was inconceivably reluctant to leave the blasted thing alone in my room, I debated taking it into work with me but what cause did I have to lug such a thing around? I told myself I was being downright foolish and left for work. As I walked to work my footsteps echoed like the beating of a heart, I thought of the suitcase unguarded in my room. I half turned back twice and ended up being late.
Thursday, 20 March 2014
I never much liked change. Not even when I was very little and shouldn't really care about such things. Everything's about to change dramatically, when that day comes it's going to spiral at a rapid pace, I know I is! When that day comes nothing is going to be the same as it was the day before, I hope to god I'll be ready by then, but I know that I'm not and worse than that I see these eyes following me with judgement and the same expression as if waiting to see me fail.
I keep telling myself that I know my book now, Grace has come back to me, she will see me through this. I'll make something of you one day I swear I will, and in return you will make something of me. God knows I have nothing else.
Remains of un-wiped food debris litter edges and crevices while stains of brown and yellow stare unashamed at each other as they spread and grow. Casting a reluctant glance around I wonder "Who has two washing up bowls?" and both full too, sitting half hidden beneath an open sink surface, on a tiled floor dull and dusty, no not dusty, carpeted with animal hair. The tiles seem to have grown a coating of sparse hair that collects and gathers in unpleasant clumps, a broom is no where to be seen; hardly surprising.
There's no workable surface, and what little space there is I fear for the growth of bacteria that must thrive there unseen to the human eye. Left over grease, some sort of sauce residue, unwashed pots and pans, unwashed everything! Is there anything clean? Do I dare take that festering sponge and clean something? Would it really be clean afterwards? Should I boil that kettle with the brown stain down the side and hope the water is hot enough to sterilise something. I reach into the grotesque pile of kitchen ware that has been contained to the sink, rather than bend down to those two washing bowls, I roll up a sleeve and dip two finger tips beneath a plate, the end of a what I hope is a fork sticking out, I pinch it and pull and with a cringe and stomach churn I drop it back suddenly, snatching back my hand from the germs and grease. I cannot stand it. How long must it have been there to have hardened and crusted to such a state! I retreat and hastily wipe dry hands with an anti bacterial wipe, I'll go out for something to eat. I cannot and will not put myself through such an ordeal that is that kitchen.
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
Then there's the getting it on and off if you intend to lose the underwear at some point...I'd do this even if you intend to keep it on, because who knows what he's in the mood for. You need to make sure before hand that you know the easiest, quickest way of getting this thing off, from experience, you do not want to try pulling something over your head to discover there's a clip that needs to come undone and your earring gets stuck and your elbow hits the table and.....yeah so we practice the on and off. We practice movements both normal and erratic and a few sex positions to make sure whatever it is you have on isn't going to be an obstacle or god forbid: rip a massive big hole and show your unflattering backside unexpectedly!
I'm also looking to see that everything looks okay, no nothing bursting out where it's not supposed to! No strange indentation made by a faulty clip, no discomfort anywhere, no tightness leaving red marks, no sag, no anything we don't want! This sounds clinical, but you can't just hope for the best! You need to make sure everything is tip top. Well I do, otherwise more things are likely to go wrong, I'm clumsy and I care about these things. I care about making the special effort. I also like to get used to what I'm wearing so I'm not fidgeting around, it's only after all this that I make the decision whether this had passed the first test...if so I allow it place in my underwear wardrobe and will wear it for the man in the bedroom...then if he likes it, a lot, I upgrade it to first shelf where only the best go and I rarely wear it so that its a treat! sort of. If he likes it but not so much that its first shelf, its second shelf, and if he doesn't like it at all, it's likely to be a PMS week outfit or it goes in the charity bag. Underwear is a serious business. I take it very seriously.
It's called an Amira Lace dress, and its made up entirely of black flower print lace and ribbon, it snugly hugs the body and goes all the way down to the knee, it's completely see through! I was tempted to shove a bra on but curse this thing it's gotten the better of us shy women and has a low back making a bra unacceptable...the front isn't really all that, its snug and its see through but its the back I'm wide eyed at. As if being transparent wasn't enough, the back is basically torn open from top to bottom and laced accurately and (unalterable) with criss cross ribbon, open criss cross ribbon, like a corset, but at the back, and open! Your naked rear end is framed and caged by a tempting revealing ribbon criss cross that's screaming, "I'm ready to be bent over onto my hands and knees."
I'm a breast person, through and through, I love my boobage, but my backside....not so much. You know boobs get bigger it's all fun and games, ass gets a little chubby and you're trying DIY lypo with Henry Hoover (I have not done that, I do not recommend it, it doesn't work...just going on others ;-) )
So anyway, I get this damn thing on, I make sure its all where it's supposed to be...oh yeah, don't think it's a tricky one to hitch up, oh no, they thought of that, the ribbon at the bottom unties so you can loosen and hitch up to your lovers content! So I'm in it, I put on some smooth music "The Look of Love" -Dusty Springfield...you know the one! Totally a bedroom song, and I'm thinking a piece like this needs practice in...confession: I practice in my underwear (I'll do a different post for that)...
I need to get my confidence up in this thing, I'm doing the Roger Rabbits Wife dance in front of the mirror, analysing that everything looks alright without any support, the rear end is doing rather well, and when I wiggle nothing busts out so it's a win. I'm still a little shifty eyed about this rear end attention but we'll see. Into the cupboard it goes, ready for when I've worked up enough nerve for the weekend. Now I just need to pick a dress to go over this thing.
Anyway, for whatever psychological reason a fireman is my thing, it's my top fantasy...ok I've said it, plenty of people fantasise about threesomes or public places whatever...but my big one is a fireman. I dream about it when I'm asleep and I must admit they're my favourite dreams... You know its not even the idea of a genuine fireman, its the more the role play fireman, the corny lines and the excitement and fun of play acting. Sex shouldn't always be so intense, I want to have fun.
So my dream, the most recent, I mean scenarios change but this is my favourite and its been cropping up a lot lately is some hunk in a fireman's yellow and red, hat and all bursting in unexpectedly, with a white top you can cling onto, maybe a few corny lines that I've giggled myself senseless to in a pub once or twice..."is there a fire in here or is it just how hot you are" ...come on! Cringe or not it's got me laughing! It's fun! "Wanna slide down my pole and I'll show you how the hose works" ...am I convincing you yet? ..well it does it for me okay!
I picture having a cold glass of water thrown down my front in a comical putting out of the fire (I mean can you imagine some git bursting in on you and soaking you in cold water, all down your bra, top comes off, you're wet and a little annoyed, which leads to more sexual tension.) then before you can react you're pushed back, thrown up a wall or a washing machine or something. and basically that's it really....the rest is what it is, but you feel like you're fucking a god damn fireman. and that's hot!! I know what you're thinking...I'm one of those weirdo's that actually keep Uniform dating.com afloat. I'm not, really, but if I was single...would I...probably. I don't see what's wrong with a little fun on a hot summers day, when you're doing the dishes and suddenly a fireman comes slamming through the door to ermmm...put out your fire. ;-)
Thursday, 13 March 2014
Heels, bags, even dare I say it...hats, and underwear, just don't grip me the way that the right dress does. Underwear comes close, don't be mistaken, underwear has my passion but 'that' dress comes along so rarely, and when it does it hurts, it's in the air, on the scent of perfume lingering beside the mirror...I want it.
It's usually red, the last one was red. This one was like a dark, dirty tease. It flaunted itself in front of me when I shouldn't have even dared stray over there. Crisp, bold, seductive...a strapless, sleeveless Basque of plunging heart neckline dipping lower and looser than I've gone before, wrapping tightly into a breathless waist and then hitched high enough for a pair of 5.9 legs with little heels added on, to slip out all the way down. Then comes the magic, not for the untrained eye of design: a beautiful ornate cascade of transparent lace tumbling down the back, the illusion of length contrasted against the leg demonstration, what a show, what a con, what complete distraction! All that leg, bare shoulders, half a back and cleavage to crash a jumbo jet. Statement black (not usually my colour) black isn't a colour, it's the absence of light, this treasure is not for light of day, it's for dimly lit chambers and not for a shivering virgin but a seductress of temptation. Gold lingers underneath, the merest hint, like a few bronze coins in a bottomless purse. This dress is a 12 but a 10 would really scream, it must be a 10! I must be a 10 to be worthy of such a dress. Nothing could be left to chance, a golden-bronze bag, black heeled shoes (not such a statement as to draw attention away from that neckline) and perhaps some sort of prettiness in the hair, hair that must be curled and must be swept up with a regency air of demure defiance against such a dark piece.
I've thought about it at least every day for a flicker of a moment since that first viewing. It's been a while, the red dress seems more of an embarrassed blush, ashamed at the immodesty of this new piece, the red dress has no leg, it has no back or shoulders, it is in a word: uncertain. Uncertain of its own potential...but this black and golden cascade is far more confident than I am, sometimes the dress can make the woman if she is willing to act a part...I need this dress. I wont be at peace until I own it. This dress has seduced me! It must have the power to seduce a pair of brown eyes somewhere in a crowd.
it will sing you lullaby's for the rest of your sweet life
As you move inside me, I'll keep you safe from harm
and carry you inside my fortress, and later in my arms
I haven't met you yet, but you're my favourite person
nothing will ever change my mind, and that's absolutely certain.
I promise with all I have, that it's all for you now
and I'll never remember, how I ever did without.
I'll catch every fall, wipe all your tears
I'll be the champion who destroys your fears.
the one that sweeps away the monster, hidden under the bed
I'd starve myself and freeze, to see you clothed and fed
Your years will drag on, but for me they're flying by
and one day you won't understand why your leaving makes me cry
but I've feared forever, the day you say goodbye.
I hold you inside me now, remember my voice
I'm going to cherish you little one, for the rest of your life.
(Note to my readers...No I am not pregnant so don't start having a panic attack ringing me, I was inspired by a few others)
We used to get our red school jumpers mixed up all the time and exchange back and forth after school. He taught me how to climb up onto my shed roof, which we did many times sharing childhood conversations I cant remember. He was asthmatic and allergic to my cats, he wasn't supposed to come in my house because his eyes would go red and itchy, but he did anyway.
When we got to high school he was the first to know who I had a crush on that week, and I would weigh up the good and bad points with him of his various girlfriends. When I met the Keyholder aged 13, 'Bug's' who was starting to grow out of the nickname, was the first to know and we stayed such good friends to start with. He went out with a girl I made my new best friend, did I have ulterior motives for being friends with this girl, perhaps, but we all bundled along well enough
We got to college, and friendship groups changed and turned over, relationships ended and re-started, but I'd still go and watch him play video games sometimes, and he came to mine to watch movies.
We got old enough to sit in the pub and every time I ventured 'up town' into the club street of Birmingham centre, with the 'goosepack' of friends I was in, I remember the security of staying by his side, and he'd hold my hand while moving around to make sure I didn't get lost in a crowd. By now the nickname of Bugs had died and I called him Tommy.
So yeah, time went by, and somewhere along the lines he changed from my childhood mate to one of the lads, and in that transition he became more interested in being the Keyholder's friend than mine, which I guess is perfectly reasonable, no lad wants a girl as his wingman, that just doesn't work. When the Keyholder and I broke apart, my Tommy turned up first, he did the swearing and the 'I cant believe this!' and he hugged me and gave me a little of that early support I needed, he was the one that came to tell me the news of 'the new one' which broke me up more than anything had so far but I held it together in the car, held on tight and didn't shed a single tear. Then I suppose it was one way or another, I needed to stand on my own feet and I had a group of friends separate from the goosepack, and they gathered around me like a fortress. I could admit I should have tried a little more to hold onto that one friend I'd had for so long, the others disappeared like steam from a kettle, and to be honest I didn't mind as the months went on and I turned into a different person, but I should have forced it more with Tom.
I'm surprised I haven't written about this before because I do miss Tom, and I suppose I'm only thinking about it now because it was his birthday and I always remember that one date, but in my current situation I refuse to let it happen again, I won't lose another best friend. I've said this statement before "when a friend goes down a different path you can either leave them and march on or turn around, grab them and say wrong way bitch, dragging them back onto your road"...well in this case I will be holding on like a cobra, I'll ram my friendship down my current best male friends throat and force him to accept it. I'm not going anywhere. I don't want to miss another dude who's no longer a part of my life. I will learn from my past and try harder this time around.
but I like you too much I'd say
its not love, or even lust
it's ownership rights
like man, and mans best friend.
You're a favourite toy of mine
and I don't want to share
Why should I?
I want to be your only best friend
because you're the favourite one of mine.
You're an arse,
but I need you in my life.
you're more than a phase,
more than an old photo,
and I've never been very good at letting go
Tuesday, 11 March 2014
Anyway the point of this post is to share with those who know or care or follow the on going trial that is my writers block that I have figured it out. This morning while my knees were hurting in bed and my Mr Jones sat up reading I took to book-thinking and I've figured it out mostly. Now comes the tragic element...After sitting for 2 hours thinking and note jotting, I figure it's going to take me longer than the summer to re-write my book to the extent I have changed the style and storyline. You know nothing stays the same but Grace, every time I've edited this book she's the only consistent part, I don't really have a brilliant book, I have a character, and I need this story to grow to be worthy of my character.
So, I have university to pass and graduate, a job to get and an income to earn and save, and somewhere along the lines over the next summer and winter I need to re-write this book to perfection.
Monday, 10 March 2014
I hate that I feel clumsy during sex, I'm most definitely a Sub. Christian Grey and me would get on like a house on fire, I'm suited to the role. The funny thing is I can talk the talk and I wiggle in the walk, and I can pick and choose and wear the sexiest underwear/outfit/costume that you throw at me, I could even win an Oscar for a role play performance if someone sent me a script and instructions, but put me in the drivers seat, hand over the controls and watch me buckle under pressure. A self conscious bundle of clumsiness and no matter how much research and reading I do to try and remedy this and enhance my sexual technique, or more accurately, lack of, I still feel the same.
It's been a god damn year! I expected progress. Maybe when I'm 30 I will have nailed this seduction thing and then I'll be a cougar, but to be honest the thought isn't particularly pleasing. I'm 20 years old, I am in the prime of my life! I'll never look this young, thin and firm again! I have 5 years tops before it starts going downhill with sag. I want to be a sex bomb now! I want to be worthy of Marilyn Monroe. Sex appeal...it's a strong concept, and I want it!
Thursday, 6 March 2014
Sometimes all you need is a friend. Someone you can vent everything out to and know they're on your side and will nod and sympathise. Make the odd joke and laugh to disperse tension, someone who you're comfortable enough with to tell everything to. When a dozen things are getting on top of your shoulders it's nice to slip a few things off. I never thought we'd be this close when we first met, but this bond is one of the best things I have in my life. Nights like this make up for any failures or low points. Female friends are easy to make and keep when you're single and dislike men, its easy to bond, but real girl friendships take effort to last when men come into the equation. I really appreciate talking so much stuff out. There's not many people I'm this honest with. Love you Pidgin.
I had another awful dream last night. What's my head trying to remind me of? Do you think I don't remember, of course I do, I do not need you reminding me in my sleep. Why do you keep putting me in this scenario? I hate dreams that torment me, it's like your mind is your own enemy.
I wont feel a thing.
You think I didn't see you aiming for the heart
you think I will desert, go on take the shot.
send your grenade flying through the air
I'll catch it with both hands
I wont be the first to fall on no mans land.
come on, fire away, I'm ready to take the hit
I dare you, put the bullet through my head
Come and blow me to bits.
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
You're going to make it rain,
rain isn't good for either of us,
Stop crying, I'm here
I'm still exactly the same
you know me better than anyone
can't you remember the day we met?
It's you my girl that has changed.
You can't find me because I'm trapped in a mirror
when I used to be written on the page
a lost and miserable girl wrote me to escape
remember how much you cried back then
together we were going to run away
I promised, we'd leave together one day
I still promise it now, stop crying
I'm waiting for you, outside
pick up your pen, come join me,
we agreed we'd learn not to cry.
I really thought I could walk away you know, I really felt and intended for the experience to be in my hands, in my control and dance to my tune. Instead the memory of me in some black nightie completely out of my character and falling asleep snuggled and warm in a strange bed in an unfamiliar room with a man's arm around me and me thinking, not saying, I Love You. I remember that feeling like I remember the rushes of adrenaline on the back of dad's motorbike, free falling in my skydive...I remember biting my lip and feeling a fog of unease settle on that warmth, I remember thinking I was crazy, and caught in the moment, but on top of that I felt like it was true with everything inside me.
I have thought, and don't think I haven't, that perhaps I should have stopped it that next morning. I should have gone home and never gone back and then I could have passed it off as a romantic thought in a dreamlike state, I could have saved myself.
I think in a psychological analysis of myself I crave certain things like I'm sure most women do. I crave affection and a feeling of worth in someone's life other than my own, I crave stability, protection, reassurance. Reassurance that I'm ok, that life is ok. Respect, for myself, my things, my nearest and dearest, my dreams and hobbies. I crave a certain leadership and mainly I crave a feeling of being cherished and looked after, I want to feel loved, really loved. When this package of requirements was offered up so effortlessly I must have been a moth to a flame, and that was my downfall. I was caught in a jam jar, an ant to sugar, a bee to honey. Out of my control and nothing dances to my tune, I feel conned, conned into falling in love and into a hopeless state.
12 months I said, it will be 12 months at the end of this one, if it gets past there I'll have lost all confidence in my own promises. I don't know why I'm still waiting for something to go wrong, I guess when you believe you're safe that's when the walls crumble. I don't want this to end, more I just want solid reassurance that it wont, before it goes any further than the limit I gave myself. Once we hit that mark I have no excuse. I'll have lost a bet with myself and will need to accept that this is real, but then I'll be more at risk of serious damage if it does then crash and burn.
Ever feel an unnatural intense force to push someone away just to see how long they will stand strong? How many blows can a solid brick wall take before it crumbles? You push and push daring them to walk away and prove you right, and when they don't it feels worse because if they had you'd say "Ha, see told you! Wasn't I prepared the whole time? and I'm fine for being so ready for it!" instead you sit there contemplating if it does happen if you will actually be prepared, because every time they don't move you step a little closer, and eventually there will be nowhere to run and hide, and a heart will be fully in the line of fire, god help us both if it gets blown to bits.
The Wall I've mentioned before, well even that, although sturdy and everlasting out there, that too has crumbled in my affections. I have no use for it. A garden so lovely once, that I myself have worked on is ruined by other influences and frankly I want my own. I want my own little patch of grass and my own kitchen to keep clean, when I know it will stay that way, it's not long now.
Until a year ago there was nowhere else to go, no escape for a long period of time, but now, down there, Coniston House has become a sanctuary, just for the quiet. The quiet and the undisturbed peace and the comfort. It's a warm room, with a comfortable bed with a carpeted soft floor and modern facilities that work consistently. There is little essence of myself there, unlike the damp four walls of my bedroom that carry my collected life, in the corners, on the walls, in books and on shelves, (not a lot really for a quarter of a life past) And Connie is certainly not by a long shot what you'd call 'Home' and but it's the closest thing to freedom I've had so far in my life, and I cherish every second there.
Monday, 3 March 2014
Of course that's where that ends, right there. I know plenty of people who live by the statement "There's no harm in flirting"...well of course there is! You slut! It's rude and disrespectful to your partner, and completely inappropriate to lead someone else on when you're not available. I am very much against cheating of any sort. Yes I love gossip, yes I'd adore to hear of one of my nearest and dearest embarking on an affair with the man at the Sainsbury's check out but I have double standards, I'd never want to be the subject of such gossip myself, provided it were true. So a polite "Thank you very much but I'm officially taken," and a "here, check out my single friends!" puts that correspondence back on an equal footing of understanding.
Considering I've felt pretty rubbish lately, with arthritis flare up and the remains of a cold, and the fact that I've put on winter weight and stressing out over uni, well this little boost was a nice spoon of sugar in my tea. It felt very good to feel unexpectedly attractive and my confidence took a little skip in the air, just a little. I have a long way to go before summer. I intend to work hard and seriously. This was a nice tiny boost of encouragement. Men can be such darlings when they want a shag, it's such a waste of their darlingness when its never going to happen in a million years but I appreciate the effort. Thanks guys.
Something I do want to put out there is:
I've never been so happy as I have this last year, and I can't believe I put up with such a rubbish life before, that I let myself think I could be treated any differently to the way I'm treated now. Mr Jones has really changed my life and my perspective on life.
Sunday, 2 March 2014
Saturday, 1 March 2014
We certainly don't do each others hair, which is a blessing because I hate that sort of thing!!
We most definitely don't see eye to eye all the time, and our opinions and tastes can clash like rain and sun but it doesn't make a difference, we're the rainbow that comes in between the two.
We don't do the whole "omg show me your boobs!" thing, we don't feel the need to get drunk to feel comfortable with each other and we don't flirt with each others love interests because our taste there is completely different too!! haha I never cried in front of Pidgin about the Keyholder and I was glad she never pressured me to break down about it. We don't do the whole tears and hug thing. I cried to her about my uni results once, but I pulled myself together pretty damn fast! She's the one person I know I can get upset in front of if necessary. It doesn't matter if my eyes are puffy or I have no makeup on or I'm in paint covered jeans. She's the only person other than Jones who I'm comfortable sharing a bed with! I have no other friend I can sleep soundly next to. She's hilariously funny too, funny in a way and at times when I think: really? did you really just say that! and I feel like that funniness isn't always on display for the world, and I'm privileged to witness it so often.
I don't think I appreciate her enough, or show my dedication to our friendship, but it important to me that we stay friends out of everyone. She's the only girl (non family) who I really really like, all the time even if we have a quiet patch or even maybe cross words or conflicting issues, I still really like her. She's awesome.