Saturday, 19 December 2015

I'm getting ready to go out.

I'm getting ready to go out. Out, out, as in dinner and dancing up town. I haven't been dancing in a club for over a year which is slightly concerning since I'm only twenty two but hey I never pretended to be a Party-animal. I've changed and re-changed my dress three times, I've downed two Malibu's already and I'm cursing myself for not practicing my dance moves a bit more recently. Because tonight the guy I have the hugest crush on is going to be there, and for some bizarre reason I'm a bundle of nerves at the thought of dancing with him watching me. I've been texting my best friend as she get's ready and anyone would think I was a college student fantasising about the guy next door, not a grown woman who's biggest crush is her BOYFRIEND...how lame is that!

This man has seen me naked, seen me at deaths door (...well with a snotty nose), seen me hammered out of my face (apparently! I don't remember that night but I'm told it happened) This is the only man to have bent me over backwards and knows every flaw, every crease-in quite some detail. I should not be this excited-nervous to go out on the town in my best dress with him. But dinner I can handle, it's the dancing I cringe about. A few more drinks and I'll be fine. ...I hope.
no, I'll be fine. I can handle a few wiggles on the dancefloor. Just don't let me fall on my face!
Urghhhh!

Friday, 11 December 2015

Girls..."All about the Bass"

It can creep in unexpectedly, at the most random of times, slithering it's way through your entire being: Self Doubt.

I wonder at myself for letting it in, but it's impossible to ignore. Those moments of insecurity arrive and settle in, pouring themselves a drink and laughing at my expense, the uninvited guests at my party.

Suddenly my weight is on the wrong side of the scales, my makeup cannot fix this face, all my clothes that looked fine before seem to now show all the bad bits. I doubt my confidence, I doubt the feelings of my partner, what's he seeing when he looks at me? is it as bad as what I'm seeing right now? Have I been kidding myself during the past times that I've felt happy with myself? Am I overweight? Is my hair too dull? Is my face ugly by the high standards of the day?

At these moments it's easy to turn to the baggy jeans and jumper combination that hides away everything I suddenly feel ashamed of. But I say no.
No to perfection. No to unrealistic ideals [Insert any model in any media medium]

I turn on an emotive song, for example: "All About the Bass" Meghan Trainor
I crank up the volume meanwhile realising I actually know all the words to this one! wow
I dump whatever I'm wearing and slip on some decent underwear, for example: Hot pants and a little help from Anne Summers.
Then...I dance in front of my mirror, half undressed and carefree and what I see is what I get and there's nothing wrong with that because "Every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top!".
And I tell myself any man would be lucky to have this because not only am I nice enough, real and well groomed, I'm also a good person who cares. "I see those magazines, working that photoshop, We know that shit aint real, come on and make it stop" It's hard to big yourself up when you're feeling crap, but if I don't do it, I can't expect anyone else to. I have to rely on myself to gain confidence. "I won't be no stick figure, silicone Barbie doll" I'll continue to be real, and continue to fight against myself to believe that this is ok.

Then I finish my boogie and sit down to right this blog because I know there's another woman who's feeling the same tonight.



Monday, 2 November 2015

Walking out

I walked out on my job today. It felt great.
I went on my dinner and something inside snapped like a tight cord and I found myself on autopilot, collecting my bag and putting on my coat and then just walking away. I didn't look back once. I was home in twenty minutes and feeling the most euphoric sense of relief.

This weekend has confirmed to me that I've made the right decision. Any doubts I may have had lingering like a bad smell have gone. I know in my heart this is the best decision, the only decision worth making at this moment in time. I'm not just walking away, they've pushed me most of the distance and now I'm just finishing the journey.

I didn't get paid on Friday. Everyone else on the team did, so what's the excuse for not paying me my months wages? If this isn't another element of victimising an individual I don't know what is. Too coincidental. No apology, no haste to rectify this. I spent the weekend without any money, and then Monday morning I received a disgusting 'telling off' from these assholes for voicing my concerns! They expected me to sit there meekly and do another days work without having been paid for the last 4 weeks! Are you kidding me? and to be spoken to like a child again, like shit wiped from a dirty shoe sole, I'm not having it. Not even an apology you know that, not a single 'sorry'.
Their callus attitude makes me feel worse, they have no conscious, they don't appreciate the detrimental effect of not getting paid on time, because they are part of a corrupt and selfish system.

I had made up my mind before now I thought but now it's settled. I don't want to be around those kinds of people everyday. I don't want to be unhappy every night thinking about the next day. I'm done with not being treated fairly. I'm done with being underappreciated. I am worth more than this. So this was my frame of mind when I snapped.
I've walked out and to hell with it all.
Yes I'm taking a risk, I'm also taking my life in my own hands and out of someone else's.

I'll just do what I always do...work with what I have and take it as it comes.
This is life, it's hard, and I'm taking it one step at a time.

Sunday, 18 October 2015

Big decision



I've got a big decision to make at the end of this week. You see, as my previous blog posts have discussed, there's a particular area of my life at the moment that's not going so great. In actual fact it's depressingly awful, not the Monday Morning again kind of awful, but the I'm feeling sick every day and lying awake at night because I'm dreading what bullshit will be thrown at me next.

So here I am, I've been holding this off for three solid months, every week getting progressively worse. I'm on a bridge, on this end is where I am now, unfortunately there isn't yet anything on the other end, so the options are:
Option 1.) Stay on this end, unhappy, badly treated, in a position that's having a continuous detrimental effect on my health and mental wellbeing, also my personal life since I'm coming home every evening feeling like crap and its impossible to hide OR
Option 2.) Jump over the railings, back in the water again.

The Pros and Cons are fairly simple:

I don't want to be poor again. I like having food of my choice, the good razors and the heating on.
I also like having a purpose to each week, I actually liked what I was doing. I just have a massive, mean, bullying CUNT ruining it for me!!
Sorry...Dickhead and Arsehole are just too good for this Fat, Misery-inducing rodent! Urghhhhhh!

On the flip side, I'm being made to question my own competencies daily, when I'm only following the instructions I've been given. I'm being treated like I'm four, talked to as if I am scum scraped off the bottom of a shoe, while all my hard work and extra effort goes overlooked. I feel like I'm being down right bullied by someone who simply doesn't like me very much. There's no genuine reason for this. Maybe it's a psychological issue this person has, they've honed in on me as the weak link and they enjoy demeaning people who are easy targets. Maybe he's just a dick who gets off in making women feel inferior and pathetic. Some men are like that, I've met them before, in my opinion they're one step away from the kind who get heavy handed with their women.

I don't want to keep waking up every morning with this sick churning in my stomach and this constant headache my doctor says is all stress induced. I work hard, I do a good job. I would have been loyal if I was treated the way any person should be, with a modicum of respect. I can't appeal, I can't fight against this within the system, the system is corrupt and the warzone so small there's nowhere to hide. I can stay and continue to suffer or leave and risk entering the unknown.

So here lies my big decision. I wouldn't be contemplating this if I wasn't on my very last legs.
Jones says one day it's going to work out for me. He wants me to get this next book finished and published, he see's me doing great things. He wants me out of that (Quote): "shit hole" just as much as I do. His unshakeable support is amazing. He see's something in me I don't think anyone else does, I definitely don't know what it is. He seems to have so much faith in my ability when I have so much doubt.


Wednesday, 14 October 2015

A book

There was once a time, on the edge of childhood and adolescence, when reading a book was an escape to a sanctuary. No matter the outside world's realities, the book was a doorway into another dimension.
Now, unfortunately, in adulthood, the book is just a book.

Wednesday, 30 September 2015

I'm Eleven Years Old Again.


I'm eleven years old again, the door to the science room is opening, fluorescent lights are bouncing off the clinical grey stools and hexagon tables. My palms are sweating and no matter how many times I wring the edges of my blazer they wont dry, they just wont dry! A warm flush is drowning my skin, reddening my face and I pull my hair in front of my cheeks covering as much as possible as I press my shoulder into the wall wishing to be invisible. Unfortunately, there's nowhere to hide in a classroom, and suddenly there they are, the three of them with matching blonde highlights and sneering expressions; leering at me as I approach my seat. A seating plan has become my jailor, this room my prison and my tormentors await, a whole fifty minutes is going to play out before I can breathe properly again. It starts with a sly kick of my seat as I try to sit down, stealing my notebook so I'm behind everyone else with the work task, refusal to share the exercise book so I can't see the pages and struggle with the questions, jokes at my expense, then the jabs in the ribs, flicking my hair..."You're a dog. You look like a dog. Do you have a boyfriend?...I'm really not surprised, who would want to go out with you. Do you even bother wearing a bra? there's no point. Do you have any scissors? Trim the dogs hair"...pinch, prod, comment. Laugh, sneer, threaten. Over and Over.
I never said a single word. Not to anybody.

I look at my nieces, two of them are that age now, and I see how they look at me, the woman I've become and the ideal they know...they have no idea. They don't realise there was ever a time Sian felt like a tiny pathetic bug, or how much effort it took for me to force myself to even pull myself out of crippling shyness and just talk to people. I see their confident stances and bright beautiful faces and I teach them, as an Aunty should, to never ever put up with other peoples crap. To always stand up for themselves and their beliefs. I tell them to never forget their own worth, or let others stamp down on their confidence.
I'm such a hypocrite.

At this moment in time I feel about as big and useful as a blunt nail. Pushed against a hard wall with thud, thud, thud as the hammer comes down and going nowhere. In my entire adult life I haven't felt like this, I actually thought this feeling was something one simply grew out of, but it turns out bullies down grow out of it, and so here I am...Eleven years old again, wishing I didn't have to go out of my front door in the morning because I know what's coming and it's breaking me down, shard by shard chipped away like ice from a car windscreen.

I wanted to be here so badly, I was desperate for any position, so when the only opportunity became available I took it gratefully. Seems I walked right into a version of hell. I had no idea so far along I would be so trodden on and bashed around like this.

Crying alone is one thing, but breaking down in front of the one person you can't stand to show weakness to is quite a different matter. I just couldn't hold it in anymore, and it seems since that day the dam has broken down and the waterworks wont turn off. The thing is I don't want to just walk away, despite how awful it is, this situation is getting worse every week, but I wanted the independence so much! I enjoy the freedom of money. I love having food in the fridge and lots of it too! But feeling eleven again. God I promised myself I would never let myself sink to that level again. I built up my confidence over years, I thought I'd turned into a different person but it turns out I just hid the frightened little bug I was into a dark corner, hidden behind red dyed hair and late developed breasts! The other person is still there, and my make-believe shell is cracking and I wonder how many people are going to see how weak I actually am. I look at some of my photos and think that's not me, because right now that character feels like a lie, a work of fiction. Because the red hair, the makeup, the bubbly personality-it's all a costume, a farce, to make people believe I am a confident, strong person when really I just feel like a bug again. And I don't know how to deal with this. I just don't know.

Tuesday, 1 September 2015

1st September

Today is the 1st of September. As tradition dictates, September is a good month for me. Apart from being my favourite month, it's always proved itself as a time for change. The circle has come full turn, summer is passing, winter is crawling in. Life usually takes a turn too right about now, whether by social structure or personal force. This time it may be force...here's hoping I can roll with the wheel.

This is my month. I will force a change.

The wheel is turning,
the harvest nearly ready,
soon the nights will darken
and the cold will set in.

A time for freshly sharpened pencils
and cinder toffee in the air
a new beginning is dawning
and what's broken can be repaired.

Wednesday, 12 August 2015

Escape to the country


I've always known I don't belong here. I was born here and that wasn't my fault or my choice. One could say 'The Grass is always Greener on the Other Side' but I know in the very core of my soul that I won't ever be truly happy living here.

The counter argument has always been...There are things that hold me stationary. I have family and friends, connections that tie me to this place. I've always thought it would be too much of a sacrifice to leave them behind in search of greener pastures. Recently I've come to realise I've outgrown a lot of my old thoughts, a lot of my old connections. I've started to wonder what it is I am staying for?
I've said countless times, "I'll live in the country when I'm older"..."When I retire"..."One day"
alongside "I'll start my own business when I'm older"..."When I'm settled"..."One day"
One day seems a very long way away, it also feels like it's tinged with 'too late'.

Why am I constantly telling myself, "One day" instead of "Today" !?

There are places I want to be, things I want to do and I'm putting them off everyday but never stop thinking about them. When I walk to and from work, whenever I go around the supermarket, hop onto a bus....I think about these things in great detail. Wishing.

I've come to see that there is only one person I give a damn about spending my time with 100%. Luckily enough, he seems to be of the same mind as me. I know I've been quite ridged in my opinions of moving away and everything that entails, but lately, I really think I've become open minded to the idea. The only thing that would hold us pair back would be the finance side of it.
That brings me to how realistic this debate in my mind is...
Moving to the countryside in England is rather out of our budget.
Moving to the countryside of say...South of France...is well within our budget.
We'd need jobs of course...
Jones is smart, smarter than anyone else I know, I'm fairly certain wherever we went in the world he would be a success.
For me?...As I stated above, I want to run my own little business.
Why am I putting this off? I believe I could do it. I could be a success. A small success maybe, but comfortable. I know I could do it. I feel it in my bones that I have what it takes.
I put myself down far too often, I should have more faith and more nerve to take risks.
Neither of us speak another language...well how necessary is that when most of the world speaks English! We speak English great! We ARE English!

For the first time in my life I feel like I'm really honestly considering all this.
I have a window of opportunity over the next four years...to decide where I want to be, and what kind of life I want to live. To be honest I've already decided. It's just a matter of how we pull this off.

Sunday, 9 August 2015

September Poem

Grace,
 it's that time of year again.
Nearly September.
September is when everything gets better,
do you remember?
When the trees change,
and the wind cools down
the clocks wind back
but they don't take you with them.
There's always a chance
every September
with the smell of freshly sharpened pencils
we can write our way from this prison cell
by the time the amber lights lead you home
and on your lips is sweet apple, salted caramel
the taste of autumn is ripe with promise
things always change for us
so I'll keep you near
it's time for a change,
now it's our time of year.

Nearest Exit. Poem

"Where's the nearest exit?"
I need to find my way out
no matter what room I enter
always the wrong one it seems
But you just can't live on a pocket full of hope
and a handful of childhood dreams

Think fast.

I've made some wrong decisions, and I'll likely regret those decisions for a long time going. I've also had to make decisions I wasn't happy about because I had no other choice. Again I can't help feeling tormented by all this, because I am not supposed to be here. This is not the right place for me. My private life is so blissfully wonderful, I think perhaps it warrants why professionally, academically, I'm not happy. You can't have everything. 
I don't want everything, I just want to be content in all aspects of my life. I've got to fix this. I've got to think fast and find an escape route. Think fast and act faster. 

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

I'm done.

I'm stood with bare feet, and all around for as far as I can see is broken glass and bits of barbed wire. Held above my head is a stilt like contraption, with my shoulders being the main foundation holding up a great weight. I cannot see what weighs me down but it is heavy and the burden grows as regularly something else is dropped onto the already teetering pile. If I move I sacrifice my feet, if I stay then I risk being crushed by the inevitable fall, or dying under the strain. I can feel the burden rocking, I haven't long to make up my mind. A person could run themselves mad thinking this over....

...I got upset today. I'm rather ashamed of myself for succumbing to my emotions but I guess everyone has breaking points and perhaps I'm just the sensitive sort who cracks more easily than others. I think on some psychological level I'm so focused on keeping it together when inside is turmoil that the cracks are actually deeper than I'd like to admit. It doesn't take much battering to smash me apart as the cracks have already weakened what's there. I've said it so many times, that I just don't belong here, it doesn't feel right. I can ignore those thoughts most of the time. At this moment in time however, a chisel has chipped away too many little bits of my resolve. My confidence has slowly but surely been draining away and I can see myself stumbling after it, clawing at what's left but it's like trying to catch smoke. I wish I was a strong enough person that this would never, could never have happened. But the truth is I'm not. One thing after another has chipped away at me, one burden on top of another has been thrown into my hands and I'm like a clown juggling too many balls, when I drop one I get ridiculed and battered down again. I'm battered down even if I don't drop one.

I never handled bullies well at school.

It's been so long I'd almost managed to forget but now as sudden as a rain storm I'm back there, twelve years old, miserable, isolated and mentally beaten down every day. I used to just put up with it, worse I used to believe most of it, occasionally reassuring myself with the promise that eventually I wouldn't have to put up with arseholes like that again. I should have known that arseholes walk next to us throughout life, not all of them grow out of it. Some people are simply programmed to be vicious, spiteful cunts. They victimize others to make themselves feel big.
I am not twelve years old anymore. I am not hideous and I am not stupid.
I shouldn't have to put up with this.

It's not just that, it's also the lack of structure. I need structure in my life, it's how I focus. I can't cope with these unreasonable conditions. These random demands. No set protocol, no real procedures. And then the vultures picking away at the carcass of my confidence.

I'm stood at the school gates, I've weighed up the odds. Fight or Flight. Could I come out on top if I stand up to confrontation? I know already the answer is no. I've watched others take up a fighting stance only to be torn to pieces. You tend to find even now, that Arseholes close ranks.
I shouldn't have gotten upset today, even though it was in private. I shouldn't have let myself hit this point. Now I'm furious with myself, angry that I've let people put me down, and that my inner twelve year old has listened and believed it. I promised myself I'd stop being that girl.
So now I'm done. It's time to get moving. It would take a momentous alteration to make me change my mind now. I'm just done.

Sunday, 2 August 2015

45510 words in

Writing my current book:

Not even half way yet, I've had to accept that the deadline I set for myself is not going to be met. I actually don't see this book getting finished this side of Christmas. Times like this I think I'd rather be poor and out of work so that I had the time I'd like to dedicate to my writing, but then I remind myself how much I love having food in the fridge. I could never go backwards. I love having money. Being hungry is the biggest incentive. Even so, I miss the student years, simply for the time.

My mind has suddenly reverted back to its old way of thinking, that didn't take long. I was fine for a handful of months, sort of cruising along the time slipping beneath me without me noticing. Now I've hit that old feeling of helplessness. I don't belong here, this is not who I am. I am so passionate about this book. I feel that it has great potential. I hope I'm not the only one who thinks that when the time comes to share it. These books are my escape plan. Please let it work.

Sunday, 19 July 2015

Writing.

I've been a writer for as long as I can remember. It's all I've ever wanted to do, write stories. The reason why I write is because there's so much in my imagination that if I didn't get it out I'd go crazy.
I also like the control writing a story gives you, in a mortal life there's only so much we have control over, but as a writer you can accomplish anything, become anyone.

As time went on writing became more for me, it became a doorway, that if opened could lead to a different life, I mean that literally. The hope to achieve a different lifestyle to the one I was born in has gradually become an obsession. I feel certain that this area of my life, so significant to who I am is the key. I can't have this imagination, these ideas, this need to write, for nothing. People in movies talk about their destiny's, they walk along a road certain of their fate because they believe they know what their destiny is. I have that belief. Most people would say I'm setting myself up for a big fall back to reality. I disagree. I know I will conquer this.

I remind myself all the time... It's all I have.

35214 words in

I'm 35214 words into the new book I'm writing. Every several chapters along I hit a brick wall. I'm trying to climb over one at the moment. For those who haven't attempted it, writing a story isn't easy all the time, there are gaps in storylines that need to be filled, holes that have to be addressed, roads that are re-routed. It's not always clear why something happens even though you're the one that made it happen, elements don't always connect.

As a writer you need to answer every question that crops up, you have to write as if you're reading and recognise what the reader will notice and make sure they react the way they're supposed to. If a reader asks a question that needs answering, it's your responsibility to provide the answer...the right answer.

In the process of drafting, I don't know all the answers. The story comes to me in dribbles most of the time. It's infuriating searching through my brain like a lost traveller looking for answers to questions I've written. Talking to yourself while making half a dozen cups of tea, desperately clawing over and under mountains of words and ink and paper that makes up the terrain of my mind. This is the half mad life of a writer.

Thursday, 16 July 2015

Insects. poem


There was once a wasp with many words
he said so many things
but his words were lies
and one sad day, despite his words the wasp flew away

There then came a swarm of ants
crawling, creeping everywhere
dirty, rotten twitching beasts
who were quickly swept away

There came after this a bumble bee
big and bronze and strong
hiding the sweetness beneath the power
he flew from flower to flower
and then the bee stung my heart,
and perhaps lost his own
no longer free to roam around
I took the bee back home.

You are. poem

You're like the fear of going to sleep
The heart ache of first love
The need to be in a mothers keep
and the certainty that the world is good.

A stubborn belief in fairies and Santa
a faith in a God in the sky
a favourite pet
a cherished toy
the last slice of apple pie.

You're like the monster under the bed
to look I hardly dare
for I fear one day I'll look once more
to find that you're not there

Poem.

I saw another side that day,
one I didn't like
because like the moon in our sky
there's a shadow we should hide

Several days have passed since
and I just don't feel the same
I don't know what to think right now
or where to lay the blame

All I know is my mind is cloudy
with a fog that just wont clear
and sometimes things just happen to be
closer than they first appear.

Monday, 6 July 2015

New Diet

So I joined the gym and cut down on the crap this April. I told myself I would eat better but not cut out everything I enjoy, and the gym must be attended at least once a week. I gave myself a timescale, if I didn't see a difference in a few months I'd re-evaluate my diet. So it's now July...my tape measure around my middle and the other squidgy areas hasn't changed by even a millimetre. How can this be? I've stuck to my regimented routine, I'm working hard!
I figured it out...I'm 22, that's my answer. The cracks are already starting to show (around the eyes), I'm not a teenager anymore. If I want this, I'm going to have to fight for it every step and squat of the way. It's only going to get harder as time goes by.

I tell myself I want to look like this:

For most of my life.



I NEVER want to look like this:



Ever!

So now I'm re-evaluating. My diet is going hard core, no more junk food not even my little pack of baked mini cheddars with lunch, the only exception to this strict clean eating is ONE weekend treat. That's ONE meal ONLY on the weekend as a 'cheat'. A workout will be completed everyday without fail even if I only have time for 15 minutes.

Complete cut outs consist of:
Crisps
Soda
Cream
White Bread
Sugar in tea
Chocolate biscuits
Jam Tarts (because its a pack or nothing)
Cereal bars
Chip shop trips
Chocolates

Any ONE of these items is classed as a cheat and eating such will result in sacrificing the 'cheat' meal of that week.

I have 9 weeks to get rid of this little bit of 'squidge' around my middle. So game on.
 
 
 

Saturday, 4 July 2015

A Critical Review on 'Grey' (Fifty Shades)

Let me first clarify that I am a true student of English literature, and a graduate of creative writing. That being said, I had refused point blank to succumb to societies insistence that I read Fifty Shades of Grey. Reason being, I've read the works of classics such as Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy, Oscar Wilde, to the more contemporary literature of Ian McEwan, Virginia Woolf, Philippa Gregory...
I therefore think supporting the likes of E.L James is a sin against literature. It degrades the work of the many brilliant writers out there.

In recent weeks though, I decided that I couldn't justly get involved in critical discussions about the Fifty Shades hype without taking some of it in. So finally, I have gone against my principals and sat down to read the new version of the book from Mr Grey's point of view. I turned on my kindle with an open mind, prepared for feelings of shock, disgust, desire, confusion, horror at the awful style of writing which I've heard much about from my peers, but perhaps interest, a little inner argument, maybe some enjoyment (the way a person can enjoy cheap sweets but would prefer Belgium chocolate). I'm building up to say I was setting myself up for a deeper fall into disappointment than I had even anticipated.

The book is, as any well read scholar will know, badly written. I don't claim to be an expert of grammar or even a top notch writer myself (I am after all young and still learning) however the writing style of this author is bland, un-original, amateur.

The character development I'll give is an improvement on the style but not by much. Christian is the typical brooding multi billionaire who is conveniently young and handsome too, his abuse of power and stalker tendencies we'll look into later. The man is rich so yeah, he's Mr Right...? I guess. Mr Darcy? ...Noah from 'The Notebook'?.... Mr Rochester? Well no, but as I said he's rich, it appears rich and handsome is all a modern day woman is interested in from the hype I've heard about this trilogy.

Moving onto Ana, our heroine, our leading lady...I can see where a woman relates, Ana thinks she's plain and boring...ordinary. A little socially inept, shy and clumsy. I think women with self esteem issues around the world are recognising themselves here, so lets give half a star to E.L James for doing what most authors can do in their sleep: Create a stereotypical character people can relate to.
Of course the multi billionaire Christian is head over heels for this plain Jane despite the many sexy blondes who throw themselves at him, because that happens all the time right?

I'm really not here to discuss the unrealistic plot, or the flaws in the syntax. What I want to discuss is the main theme of this book, the BDSM relationship between an innocent young Virgin and an experienced multi billionaire. Oh yeah of course she's a virgin! Heaven forbid a woman worthy of a billionaire's attention should have slept with more than one person! We're not so far into the 21st century after all. (Note the sarcasm please)
I've read erotic fiction before, and can immediately state that the sex scenes of Fifty Shades of Grey do not compare. I'm a woman who likes sex, I like trying different things, I'm responsive. The sex scenes in this did nothing for my libido. NOTHING. I can also say I think Christian Grey shoots the gun a bit early for me to deem him any good in the bedroom. So as 'erotic fiction'...EPIC FAIL.

The BDSM theme, I expected to read about the complexities of such a relationship on a psychological level, the fine line between pleasure and pain and how it can be explored in such a relationship that revolves around a legal contract of yes and no's. I can understand from a 'bedroom' perspective that when your senses are sexually heightened a bite can feel like a kiss and a tug on the hair can feel like a tingle...this is a subtle example of testing limits. The BDSM relationship is taking that several steps further for both partners enjoyment, experimenting with limits in a safe environment with safe words.

The control factor everyone can relate to. When a woman straddles a man she's taking control, when a man switches it around he's taking control, and both offer elements of satisfaction for both parties. The contract between a Submissive and Dominant is more intense and a one way street, giving all the control to one person (Dom)  while the (Sub) is consenting to giving up total control. I thought this book would explore that gently, as Ana is new to the 'lifestyle' I thought the book would highlight that this relationship is for consenting adults who both get enjoyment from the acts involved. If my boyfriend says "get on the bed", hell yeah I like that, but that's because I know there would be no negative consequences if I said no. And he knows that too. That's the definition of a trusting loving sexual relationship.

It's not like that in Fifty Shades.

So anyone that says they like the 'love story' between Ana and Christian is an idiot. There is no love story. The pair barely talk except for email flirting and of course talk about sex, Ana talks about herself when Christian asks and usually gets the control freak attitude in response. She can't have a man look a her without Christian seemingly considering murder. She can't be friends with a guy she's known for years, she can't visit her mother without being followed! Christian doesn't say a lot. He refuses to communicate mostly about his issues and things that happen in his life E.G. friendship with Elena, things at work, you know normal stuff like "Hey babe, how was your day at work?"
"Oh well I had a meeting and this happened......."
... a response in this book goes more like:
"Hey babe, how was your day at work?"
"I want you in the playroom in five minutes Ana."


 Whenever Ana tries to get him to communicate, he initiates sex, which apparently she can't say no to, in terms of the contract. "he wants her whenever and wherever he wants" so basically he wants to rape his girlfriend even if she's not in the mood, but he wants a piece of paper that says this is cool.
My main issue is the difference between sexual play-pleasure pain and the testing of limits I discussed above and physical abuse.
ABUSE is a word that should not feature in a loving relationship, sexual or otherwise. Abuse is what I read here in this story.

When a woman says to a man with uncertainty and fear "Are you going to hit me?" I class that as abusive. The fact that man can so easily be comfortable with himself when he's asked this, is gross. There's a difference, a great difference, in giving pain for pleasure purposes to just wanting to hit somebody.
Example: giving your girl a spank across the backside during sex because she likes it and you get off on seeing her enjoy it, is one thing.
Hitting someone, hard, to the point it leaves marks on the skin without any sexual act going on at the time or because of, and simply because you wanted to hit them is bullshit! ok, this book is bullshit!

What self respecting, modern day, educated woman would put up with that shit?
What kind of example is E.L James setting for our women?
That because a guy has a helicopter and kisses you afterwards that it's ok to belt you?
If you hit anyone (man to woman, woman to man) because you want to hit them and cause them pain, then you're being abusive. Christian says several times, he wouldn't hurt her past what she could take...
That's supposed to make this better? I can take the pain of a blood test, it doesn't mean I'd go and have one for no good reason. My disgust is in Christians argument that he 'needs' to be like this, 'needs' to do the punishment acts. What the F!
Here is a character who wants to be a partial rapist, and abuser of women and is using psychobabble and his dark past which he wont discuss to make it acceptable. This is a story that says because there's a contract between them it's ok to beat a woman and demand sexual acts at will and on whims. I hope E.L James is using her money to pay for a good therapist.

I quote from a scene of punishment: "I smack her again, and trace the pink handprint I've left on her skin. her ass is pinking up nicely. it looks glorious....I smack her again, she cries out again. I spank her over and over-the same pattern, she yelps each time. My palm is stinging, and my cock is rigid."

Smacking someone to leave a handprint, so your palm is stinging...does anyone else agree that this sounds sick? He wants to see her skin hurt, he wants to cause her pain but oh nothing she couldn't take! And he gets aroused by this. I am a firm believer that if you care about someone you never want to see them in pain, if you cause the pain you feel guilty and awful even if it was an accident while having a play fight or you stepped on their toes while dancing.

Moving onto the control factor, Christian is not just a control freak. He's a stalker and he's obsessed. Ana can't go five minutes without texting him because he freaks out. He monitors everything she does, what she wears, what she eats, how much she eats, where she goes, how she gets there...absolutely everything. Is this modern day slavery? Are we saying it's ok?  I don't see anything endearing in his attitude or his low self-esteem which contributes to the jealousy if you want to go down that route. He's an absolute weirdo, and it's only this bloody contract he wants her to sign that stops this man being arrested for rape, abuse, stalking, and slavery.

I'm not angry with E.L James for writing this. Perhaps she had inner issues she had to get out and writing this has given her something other than all that money and notoriety. I'm actually angry at the many women in the world who have confessed to 'loving' this book, being 'addicted. 'loving' Christian Grey.  Are all those women saying they would let a man hurt them and use them, degrade them and control their lives if he had money to lavish on them? Is that what our sex have come to? 2015 and women are still in the mind-set of being cattle to bargain and auction off to the highest bidder. That's the image I'm getting. Maybe you disagree, maybe you enjoyed the book for other reasons, maybe you haven't read it. I'd love to hear from you whatever your opinion. I want to understand the hype and why, why so many women like this book?
I don't want to believe my sex is so disrespectful of themselves never mind the English language and the form of literature. I will end here. I could have said much more, I have kept this short, believe it or not, because my thoughts on this could easily fill a short book, and it would probably be more interesting than E.L James work.

Signing off.



Friday, 19 June 2015

Thoughts on my current book

It's been a while.
 So much real life is consuming my time that I feel myself becoming more and more grounded. That's probably the problem with my book recently. It's been more than two weeks since I've written anything fresh, my heads getting clogged and I can't focus. The weekend just isn't long enough, and I can't seem to relax and clear my mind for long enough to allow any ideas to develop.

I was so excited about this story, and now I can't seem to figure out the answers to the questionable gaps that are appearing. I need this book to be a good one, so it reminds me who I am, and drags my mind out of the whirlpool of reality.
I'm utterly lost. Even if I knew where the answers were I wouldn't have time to find them. a nasty little voice is snarling "Welcome to adult life" and no matter how many pencil skirts I wear or skills I learn, a part of me is just not ready to be grown up.

Saturday, 13 June 2015

86.) Make an Alien feel welcome on Earth

Who's seen the movie Paul? No...watch it and ask yourself if you found an alien, would you turn it into NASA for a ton of money but likely get murdered for data protection, or would you make the alien welcome on our planet?

I gave an Alien a true English welcome, this is Pauls year on earth:





Please meet Paul.
(Halloween Party)
 

Pauls first Christmas

Summer took Paul by surprise, space is a much colder climate than here, however he did enjoy a Smirnoff Ice

Me showing Paul the fish pond, he was very interested in other species.
 

Walking with Paul

Paul helped with the gardening, he was keen to see how our plant life grows

Me and Paul: By the time Paul needed to return home, we'd made a real bond.
 
 
 
 
 
 











Tuesday, 28 April 2015

Gym Membership.

My favourite jeans...they ermm shrunk in the wash right.
And that little bit of wobble around my middle is just...well...winter warming you know!
None of it was snapping me back into fitness, even when someone who was once a close friend, now almost a stranger said to me that I had put on weight, you know what let's quote: "Isn't it funny how you've gotten chubby, no longer a size ten ay"
Even as angry as that comment made me, it did not damage my confidence.

Let's clarify, I am not fat. My BMI is tip top, but yeah, I've put on a little chub, and the hard smooth lines of tone are nowhere to be seen. I've let myself go a little while making excuses.

In the end it only took one moment, one dress:
 One dress, one perfectly manufactured, new in season, pink (I never wear pink I know! but it was pink) pencil skirt cut, strapless, sleeveless, sexy, cotton candy, Marilyn Monroe dress. That dress, and me in a moment that felt like the beginning of war, staring in a floor length mirror, that dress and myself. The dress was faultless, I however...had a lot to atone for.
The word 'Whale' came to mind, then I decided I was being a little harsh, so I downgraded the word Whale for Seal. Blubber, and squish, and wobble.

There's something about changing rooms, all those mirrors, and those bloody sales assistants who are no bigger than a size?...what! what size are you? There's no stomach, there's just air and something a bit like a stick! There's something about the damn shop not stocking more than ONE size 12 but having several 8's that makes you feel like a lump of lard rather than a woman.

I know about fashion, I watch Gok Wan, I know there are certain dresses that look Bond Girl Gorgeous on one woman's figure while making another look like a tin of beans, it's a lot about body shape; apple, pear, hourglass, pencil...you just throw it back on the rack and find something else. But this wasn't like that. This pink dress should have looked ok, I should not have felt like I was holding my confidence in tatters as I stuffed myself back into my jeans and boots-the mountain hiking kind of boots, not the sexy knee high black ones. I've worn my jeans too much lately.

I wanted that dress so much I think the blood was being squeezed from my fingers, I could have bought it too, the money crisp and ready to be spent. But I ruined it, the sex bomb I wanted to look back at me from the mirror was instead a young woman looking a little bit devastated and a little bit ashamed...a lot ashamed.

So...to hell with that! I left that shop with a mind to fix this...this pathetic moment I had found myself in. No way in hell was I going to be the woman in a changing room feeling like a lump. I wont have it. I stopped the excuses that day, signed up to the gym that week- no shortcuts, no halfway attempts. This is hardcore...I'm paying monthly so I know I'll go and get my money's worth, regular days plus any extra I can do too. Cookies for breakfast are banned, treats during the day demolished. I'm on a set diet with mainly fruit and a lot of tuna-I like tuna. I've got my goal in place, I know what I want to be and when. I'm 1 month in, another 3 months until my goal date.
Tonight after work I wasn't in the mood, but I forced myself out of the door. Because this is the first time I've ever really wanted this. Before I just wanted something to do, something to be a part of. This time it's serious. I wont stay in that moment in the changing room. I will defeat that moment and succeed.

Sunday, 29 March 2015

Anniversary poem year 2

From across the hall, my sister sees
a man unknown looking at me
in my sweatpants and baggy T
surely it's not as it seems
for a man like you to look twice at me
two years have gone by
and still surprised am I
that an insignificant clumsy girl
became the woman in your world

Wednesday, 18 March 2015

I was back.

I was back at school, fourteen years old with hot sweaty hands trembling beneath the table strangling a biro feverishly. Wishing...just wishing, over and over again, to be anywhere else but here. So many eyes watching me, making me feel sick to the core. My face burning red as I tried and failed to say something, anything. Stand up for yourself! Someone was screaming in my head, a voice I recognised but I was frozen with humiliation feeling myself shrinking smaller and smaller like Alice with the mushrooms. I hate this. I hate you all. I want to go home. I want to home. I never should have come. I want to go home. I wanted my hair down, to cover my face, to hide away. They were laughing at me and memories were flashing like club lights, being pushed and pulled and taunted one way then the other, stabbed with words after hurtful words. Uncertain, uncomfortable, lost in this sea of swirling misery. Why are you listening to this? This is bullshit! The voice wasn't shutting up trying to drone out the voices around me, I realised who it was speaking inside my head....it was me. My voice, grown up me, the me that I am now. I'm not fourteen anymore. I'm not a dog. I'm not pathetic. I'm not small or invisible. I don't want to be invisible. Pull yourself together

After I left I felt like I could breathe again, and the cool night air was blissful. My head was hurting a little and my own voice was stern, I was angry with myself.
"What the hell was that?"
"Grace?"
"You completely lost yourself back there"
"What was I supposed to do? argue, let loose and storm out?"
"If it was anyone else talking to you that way you would have done"
"This is different, it's real life now"
"That's bullshit. You let yourself down there."
"I don't have a choice right now. This is the best I've got"
I was almost at the taxi rank and the glaring white lights were comforting.
"There's always a choice. You didn't have to take that just now. You let them make you feel stupid and you're not stupid."
"I just clammed up."
"I know. But you're not a kid anymore, no ones smashing dictionaries into the back of your head or stealing your stuff"
"I'm losing my mind here. I hate this"
"Finish the books. It'll turn out alright."
"It's going to take me years."
"Well that's all we've got. Look it doesn't matter what happens here, we've been through hard times we can go through them again. Just don't let tonight happen again, do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Say it, say what you should have said back there"
"I am awesome. I will succeed"
"You are awesome. One day they'll realise who you are, and they'll find it hard to believe they knew you."
"I don't care if they forget."
"They'll remember. Because...?"
"Because we are awesome, and no one will make us feel insignificant"
I sat shivering violently in the little booth waiting for my taxi, the security camera glared down at us both but only caught me on the film. Though honestly for the conversations in my head there might as well have been her sat there in the seat next to me. When the driver pulled up I got in and proceeded to tell him about my awful evening and the C***s I'd spent it with. He was nice. Backed me up 100% the way a friendly stranger does. I had a consistent headache for the next 3 days and I knew what it was, it was those bad feelings hammering away at my confidence, my dreams struggling to force their way back into sunlight, and Grace helping me tread my way through the debris, picking up a crumpled piece of paper here and there.
Finish the books. That's all we have for an escape plan.

Losers and end of the world

Maybe I've watched too many episodes of The Walking Dead, and the end of the world scenario plays over in my mind too often, but I'm just not interested. In their conversation I mean, how has it come to this? After years of discussing literature, psychology, the arts and science, the world and religion and serious issues and why we're here and basically 'cool stuff', to suddenly being surrounded by people whose main topics for stimulating conversation are:
Getting drunk
Being drunk
Getting laid
The Football
Meet the Kardashians

I've never been the most socially inept human being, at times I'm very nearly invisible but I've learnt to be more sociable over the years and forced myself from the shell. This however, this is excruciating. I sat there, wishing a hole would swallow me up, I was meeting eyes but not really looking at them, and eventually that slow-motion movie moment happened when the lips are moving but the sound is almost muted and your own thoughts take over, I was thinking: I don't give a shit about you or anything that's coming out of your mouth.
I wanted to walk out, but that would be 1. weird and socially unacceptable, and 2. rude and jeopardise the current situation. I sat there thinking about the end of the world...again, and if it happened as I think it will happen how fucked these people would be. How utterly pointless and trivial their lives are.
ok, ok, I don't pretend that I would be some kick-ass survivor if shit went down, and I don't exactly have a fulfilled charitable life that people will remember when I'm gone, but at least I'd go down fighting. and I have a more substantial life than these losers. losers that's the word. LOSER.
You think there's something wrong with me? For reading books and learning crafts and developing skills. You think discussions about science and a love of the discovery channel makes me a freak...it's like being back at school. I'm not the loser in this equation. I am learning such small irregular details of life since being an adult, they are few and far between, seemingly useless and yet they are in my belief the most important facts I will take with me until death, I will list them now...

1. Disappointment and disrespect is going to hit you in the face most of the time
2. Nobody really gets it, or gives a shit about you, except you.
3. What happened before doesn't mean shit, it's what's happening now that counts
4. If there's only one person who can make you tolerate each day then that one person is precious and you wont find another one, so keep that one alive and with you.
5. Washing machine, cooker, hot water bottle, food, a good pair of boots and a stapler are really the only fundamental things I will ever truly be unable to live without (again).
6. Friends aren't people you see all the time, or have lengthy chats with, they're the people who remember you.
7. Sex is epic and a necessary part of a happy healthy life
8. No one appreciates your time, because they're too selfish with their own
9. Everyone thinks that they might be the one the win the big time on the lottery, regardless of whether or not they actually play it.
10. The few people in this world I'll ever actually like spending time with I think I've already met.

Sunday, 15 March 2015

Writer Poem

Writer is another word for liar
don't you realise that?
I can spin a tale like straw into gold
I can write characters like mad men in hats
I can tarnish your reputation, with my written word
Or bring you fame if you prefer
I embellish, I mould, I make life my own
I can leave you lost deep in a wardrobe.
We're all liars here, we are Gods in our right
in every word you read throughout your life
You think you'll reshape me to fit your world
But one day my own story will be retold
they'll remember me, they'll forget you
I'll be the champion that much is true
Because writers can be liars,
we're good at that you see
I'll lie to you until the day I'm free
I'll always be a writer
You can't change me

You watching me. poem

You watch me
I see you watching me
though you think I haven't noticed
You cannot tell, because I do not show
to what I am devoted
You'll never know, you don't know me
stop trying to deceive yourself
you can't read me because I'm not a book
that sits on your shelf untouched.

You can't see what I don't want you to,
I hide what I choose to hide
and one day I will walk away from you
and leave this prison behind.


March

It's been a while, I suppose not only because my time is very nearly exhausted, but because when I write on here it makes it true, it makes it concrete and I have to face it. When I write my thoughts onto this page they no longer can be turned over in my mind with a label that says: uncertain. On here it's certain, I can't lie to myself when I write.

I'm not only lost, although lost describes this feeling of hopelessness very well, I'm angry. So angry it's past the point of rage and shouting, it's reached that point of quiet near acceptance. It's the bitter and twisted sort of anger. I'm angry at the way life keeps testing me, and when I think it can only get better in the next stage it doesn't, it stays the same, or it feels worse. I'm haunted, that's the word, haunted by a thousand ghosts rattling their chains every night and every day, ghosts of dreams and hopes that were once substantial figures and are now fading into mist but their terrible cries linger on. I'm haunted by the knowledge that I'm not supposed to be here. If I didn't know better I'd say I was a lost time traveller who's machine has been stolen. Or I'm a soul that hasn't moved on, but has been left behind after the angel took the others. I'm not supposed to be here, I know it inside and it's ruining everything else.

I can't talk about this to anyone, not really. It's easier to explain with a pen than with my voice but there's no one I can really talk to about this.
Not even Jones.
Maybe it's because he's older or he has a more logically wired brain, maybe it's just that he's experienced enough to know some things wont change, and as they say "That's just life, get used to it"
Well I can't get used to it. I won't! Inside of me is the 5 year old who wanted to write stories and who spent the next 16 years being certain, absolutely certain that things were going to change. I've been pumped with too much expectation, too much hope to just accept this that is now. I sound na├»ve, I sound like a little girl who hasn't yet realised you can't grow up to be a princess. I don't care. Because there are some people in this world who won't accept the norm, they wont lie down and let life do to them as it will. I am one of those people. I wont be unhappy most of the time, the least we can hope for in this life is happiness and health. My health is shot to pieces...every day my arthritis aches and burns. I wont let my happiness suffer the same way.

I have to believe that there's more to life than this. There's got to be more than this mundane miserable routine.

I'm a writer. One of my lecturers said to me in his office before I left university:
 "Don't forget you're a writer, because in the real world it's easy to forget that. Write everyday, force yourself to remember you live to write. Otherwise, you'll go mad"

I'm a writer. I'll write myself out of this. I will. I'll always be a writer

Sunday, 22 February 2015

Losing Count

I've lost count. I feel like all I do is count...the minutes of the day, the days in the week, the weeks left until another year has passed and I am closer to what I want. It's nice to lose count and it not matter. I'd say 30 at least, 30 hopes and dreams I've sent my details to and will probably end in nothing. At least I'm trying. Trying so hard.
   I'm genuinely uncomfortable right now. Depressed is overly dramatic, upset suggests a fleeting feeling, so uncomfortable is the description I'm giving this situation, uncomfortable and sad. Other than keep looking and trying I can do nothing, which angers me. I want out of this situation. It's unlikely I will ever be eaten alive by anyone, this is the closest I imagine to what that feels like. I am metaphorically being eaten alive, one skin cell at a time, one drop of blood and mucus a day, one chip of bone and gristle with every damn passing week.
   On reflection...uncomfortable isn't a strong enough word...sad and painful. I'd say this is painful. Being eaten alive is painful. I could cry. Every morning I am not being who I want to be I feel that gut wrenching choke as if I need to cry, the way only women ever seem to understand. But I don't. I get on with it. That's another thing we women seem to do, get on and mend. Grit our teeth.
Because so often we don't do what we want to do. We do what we have to do and pretend it's what we want. I can't pretend forever, I can't pretend for a year. I give it until the sky darkens again, the next time the leaves have turned...that's my deadline. Longer than that I'll walk away anyway, despite the weather outside.
Grace?
I Promise.

Friday, 13 February 2015

Valentines Day. Poem

We have a plan,
My heart, it's keeper and I.
Yes we have a plan
that is nothing whatsoever to do with you!
No roses shall wilt on my window
No chocolate will dimple my thighs
No false love shall be shared around
for everyone's benefit, but my heart, it's keeper and I.

We loved each other yesterday,
we still will tomorrow I bet
there is no need, on this one day
to prove, or fuss or fret.
I love you?-yes
you love me-of course!
We don't need a Valentine
My heart, it's keeper and I

christian grey poem

Christian Grey,
what can I say?
You've captured us all
whether with love or disgust
most have admittedly gushed
you're now on the screen
every woman's dream?
I think not
because in this film,
there's no C***

Wednesday, 11 February 2015

Tired ramblings

I'm forcing my fingers to play the tune of creation against this laptop keyboard, occasionally rubbing my palms up and over my face as if I could wipe away the weariness. I'm tired and it's early, and it's my first free night alone in a while, in my god awful room, behind these god awful four walls. Save for a few half hearted notes during breaks I haven't written my books in over fortnight...I'm already sinking into a glazed-eyed, monotone sound of a heartbeat, thumping like an engine, just running but there's no one driving off down a long un-travelled road-The driver has passed out, having inhaled ten minutes of the fumes that recoil against the four walls and curl in through the open car windows.

   I'm so ridiculously tired, but it's not exhaustion, it can't be....it's more that I'm tired because it's difficult not to just slip into a coma of sleep and waste the remainder of the week away as quickly as possible until the weekend...when I come alive again.

  It's certainly no excuse to have not written in the last passing weeks, no excuse at all. I've let that disappointment and anger push away Grace and that's not right.

   Grace, I made a note about your story the other day. A good one. Such a slow progress, we've been together on and off for the last...?... nearly 7 years. But your story unfolds like the pages of a very old, very secret diary...I can't rush through it because the pages might crumble and all will be lost, I have to trawl through gently, letting the truth come out to me when it's ready.

We have a plan, my heart, it's keeper and I...we have a plan that seems very far out of reach right now but its there, waiting for us to catch up with it. It keeps me awake, in a world where sleep seems to be the most enticing place to be.

The Luxury of Thought. Poem

Sat in the mindless clock that pushes my time away like
an unwelcome lover in the tangle of soiled bed sheets;
   I reflect on my ever changing disappointment.
It moves and morphs from one area of distress to another,
 but although its different,
it's still a disappointment.

And thinking has become a luxury, that
pays for nothing and accomplishes very little,
 yet the only luxury I have.
Would I rather be without thought? A mechanism of action,
 dead behind the eyes and ignorant
of this programmed torment that is average life?
are my thoughts keeping me sane?
or driving me slowly mad?
thoughts remind me of what isn't.
they also offer the smallest escape
 into a world where hope hasn't yet given up
...and packed his bags.

Sunday, 25 January 2015

Fudge from the snow

I have a steaming cup of tea and I'm sucking the lingering sweetness of fudge from my fingers after every creamy bite. Things are changing, our group is drifting as expected, I have too much troubling me already to worry myself over this, it's only the natural order of things after all. I do miss my friend, it seems strange that you can maintain a bond with someone who is four hundred miles away but drift from those who are less than five minutes from you in any direction. I guess that's proof for you...that some people are linked to us through time simply because 'it's meant to be'.

I hate to think of how much might be different in September, who may have chosen to forget, what choices will have been made, I do hope that good changes have happened by then though. I hope September will come and I'll be settled. It would be nice that in the eventuality of a full years changes we'll still be as close as ever and I will have some happy changes to report along with the difficult ones.

   I write this blog to put things into perspective, because too often I feel lost if not alone. But this fudge, it tastes like cream and butter, cocoa and vanilla, it also tastes like concern, support, friendship. Friendship that's miles away and half buried in the snow but as powerful as it can be. I needed this reminder. I love fudge, it's one of my favourite things in the world. I'm on my last piece, but it tastes like support and it's support I feel like I need. :-)

Brick Wall

  I feel as if I'm banging my head against a brick wall, thumping my fists into the brick and blood from my split knuckles is starting to glisten on the cracks and crumbs of the burgundy rectangles. All this effort isn't making a door appear in the wall, the ground beneath is too hard to dig through, the wall itself is too high and too long to either climb over or walk around.
   In this world right now, there's just me and this wall. I can't see the grass on the other side, but I know that there's no grass on my side. Nothing grows here, it tries, but then it withers and dies. Because although I watch the sky turn from black to blue to black again I never see the sun, the wall is so high it blocks the sun like a constant cloud. But I wont settle. I will get through this wall. Watch me, and I will get through this.

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Trials and Outcomes

When I started work as a waitress I hated it. Down to the core, every shift, I want to leave-hated it. During the first week I got upset before the start of a shift, no one knew, because as I state often: I hate crying, I don't cry in public, I deal with emotional things alone. I went into the toilets and had a bit of a cry and then pulled myself together asap. As I wiped any makeup remains from my eyes in the mirror I remember quite clearly looking at myself and inside my head I said: It's not forever, this is just temporary, I will stick at this, I'll give it a year. I can do that. If I still hate it after a year I will quit.

At the time, I was cripplingly shy, I struggled to keep eye contact, I very nearly hated socialising, and I couldn't hold up a conversation with most people. People don't describe someone as quiet and confident in the same sentence. In my first job I was forced into a customer service role I felt lost in, I had to be the bubbliest, friendliest, most approachable person I could. I needed to serve and serve well, I didn't just hand out plates, I handed out myself. My smile, my enthusiasm, my passion to please. It was all a lie, to begin with. To get through, I told myself in a rather childish way, that this was another game I used to play when I was little. I was pretending, make believing that I was confident and great. I pretended I was an actress, and this was a part to play. Eventually it stopped being an act, it became true, I became the person I was pretending to be.

Today I am still that person, yes I left after a year, but I stuck it out for as long as I said I would. I made friends and I became a stronger, bigger, better person. Someone I liked and respected. The point that I am getting at is: I never stopped hating the job, the heat, the work, the late hours, the everything! But I had a brilliant team of people, cute guys to learn how to flirt a little with (something I'd never ventured to try before) I had certain things I enjoyed, a systematic structure to every shift and I like routine. Even though I fantasied about the day I would leave, even though I had to remind myself it wasn't forever and that eventually I would finish here and never ever go back, the experience there changed me forever. That part of my life was a struggle at the time, and at the time I didn't appreciate everything it was doing to build my character but now I am deeply thankful.

So now when I have trial after trial, and what seems to be spirit crushing, life destroying, soul splitting...I have to look in the mirror again.
This 'ordeal' will not last forever, I will get through this and come out the other side a better version of myself.
Most of the events I class as 'trials' in my life, have all been the biggest events/areas of my life so far. I haven't enjoyed any of them 80%. I'd say I tolerated them and happiness rated at 20% but I want more than that. My Mr Jones is my 100% my 100andEverythingElse%. The girls are my 100% My hobby, and my dreams.
Everything else is really struggling.
I feel as if it's trial after trial after trial...when are the 'wow what a great time of my life' things going to turn up? I know I have something others aren't lucky enough to have, my boyfriend and my family mean everything to me, they've become everything to me the last two years. But I can't balance my miserable-happiness scale on morning-evening Monday-Friday=miserable and happiness only comes between the hours of 6:30-10, and weekends. I can't put up with Part-time happiness forever!!!!
I am going to fix this. I will stick at this new trial for as long as I have to, but I will fix this. I won't settle. I just know there's a bigger plan out there for me.

walking past the chip shop

Walking home hungry and annoyed and not giving into temptation is an epic win on my part...
On the walk home are two chip shops, you reach a set of lights and the salt seems to be in the air like snowflakes, you can almost taste it on your lips which you catch between your teeth biting down on a wishful sigh. You inhale a deep breath taking the scent down to your stomach which gives a rebellious grumble of appreciation...then the fantasy starts: Rich, oily kebab meat strips d...ipped in curry sauce and wrapped around those golden, oh so glorious, deep fried potatoes. A pie, with dark gravy bursting from a crispy pastry top, and more chips. Salt and Vinegar galore. A hiss, as a can of coke cola steams into the air and the bubbles cascade over your tongue sending an immediate sugar rush to your head and fizzles inside your nose. The most perfect ten minutes, the most simple of pleasures.
And I walked past it all! I could shed a tear.

Monday, 19 January 2015

Life Objectives

Life Objectives:

Number One: Happiness
Number Two: Health
Number Three: Home

Areas of concentration: (* star indicates achieved, >> arrows indicate in progress)

  • Happy in love, (better than the best kind of relationship) *
  • Enjoyable Career
  • Friends *
  • Family *
  • Own Home
  • Children
  • Author recognition >>
  • Adventure/exploring (Bucket List) >>
  • Security (Savings, good locks and alarms)
  • Independence (Driving, income>>, Swimming)
  • Health (Keeping arthritis under wraps, fitness,fairly good diet) >>
  • Hobby (crafts topped up regularly, really need a sewing machine)
  • Home (warm, safe, with stuff that works)
  • Sex (never boring) *

Ignoring own instincts


I made a decision today. I've actually thought of little else for a while now without confiding in anyone, but now I have officially made up my mind.

You see, I've said it before, I didn't want to go to university, I didn't even want to study English.

There are memorable moments in my short history that stick out so brightly as if printed on glossy new paper in an un-opened book. I wanted to study Art, for a start. I'd already chosen my course of choice, and then an authoritative figure in my life at the time persuaded me, almost with brut force to change to something more 'suitable'.

A year and half later, I didn't want to go to University. I'd grown out of that passion to please in class, I'd stopped enjoying the academic society, I was not applying to university.

My social circle (who thought they were acting for the best, because university was the 'done' thing to do at this time, started hauling on the pressure), an overly controlling boyfriend, and every tutor I looked up to and respected, even those I didn't, wouldn't let the matter drop, they too hauled on the pressure. Even though I was looking into alternative plans, even though every instinct I had was screaming that this was the wrong choice for me, I applied.

I didn't want to stay. My first week I cried in the bus stop waiting to go home my hands trembling on my phone because I did not want to be here and I felt deep down that it wasn't right, and the voice on the other end was telling me to shut up and get on with it.

I got on with it, every last excruciating lecture, every assignment, every book. I trudged through, detesting this choice that had been made for me and to be honest feeling resentful about the whole thing. I knew I didn't want to be a teacher, I also knew that anything else was either out of reach or dying out. Yes I'd happily work in a library all day every day, but in a world where machines are replacing a quarter of us in the workplace, was this realistic? Yes I want to write, I want to publish, but my own work not someone else's. In a world where everyone thinks they have a best seller in them, how realistic are the dreams to be self sufficient on an income from book sales?

I finished university coming out with nothing I hadn't already gotten when I went in, only now I have a piece of cream card that says I'm in thousands of pounds of debt for a number on a page I see no worth in. My confidence, you might say, if you know me well...came from a waitressing job in a restaurant where I worked with some of the best people I've met, and some of the worst. My ability to stand up for myself, my resilience to critique, my bubbly bright personality all came from that job, not university. Friends? My friends are still the same people I knew at school and grew to love at college, the same circle of individuals who had nothing much in common but a high school history and the same table in a cafeteria. I only realised they were even MY friends when heartbroken and crushed they gathered around me, and stuck with me. University offered few friendships I could tolerate, in fact I count only five, and even so facebook friendship doesn't really count.

So I am resolute in my opinion. I knew the best option for myself and time and time again I ignored my own instincts. I shall not be so weak and easily persuaded again.

I've decided where I want to be, what I want to do and how I'm going to get there.
I know it wont happen by next week, but happen it will. I'll spend more money, more time, more hope, but if I succeed it will be worth it to be happy everyday. Yes it's probably competitive, but that means nothing anymore, when a handful of graduates can't even get a job as a part time cleaner, competitive becomes a word of little meaning. Everything is competitive, there's a market for everything especially employment, employment in general is the most competitive game to play. If I don't pursue this because it might be overly competitive I'm holding myself back on a feeble excuse. If my degree is wasted then so be it, it's not important to me! If people think I'm wasting myself then they don't know me. Because I've had it up to my eyeballs with people telling me what I am and what's best for me. I know what's best for myself. I know myself better than anybody! I know I'm not the brightest bulb in the box, I know I have my weaknesses but I also know where my strengths truly are. It's listening to people who think they know me that's gotten me here in the first place; Annoyed, resentful, wishing I could turn the clock back and in no better position or happier than the day I left school. I'm only 21, I have time. The one other person next to myself who knows me well enough is the one person I can guarantee will support whatever decisions I make, the ones I make on my own.

So that's it. I've gotten all that off my shoulders and now I feel much better. I will do this. I will make this happen. Life Objective Number One: Happiness.

425. Life Line.

So it's been 7 months, 7 Pencil skirt days, 6 Phone interviews, 3 un-paid work placements, 2 volunteer from home positions, 2 offers before changing their minds, a few tears, a few broken friendships and 425 applications later...
I've finally been thrown a life line, been pulled out of the water. I may have landed on a pirate ship, I might be about to embark on an even worse situation than the water proved to be, but at the moment I'm on the rope and being hauled up. Whatever happens when I'm on deck, I'll face it hands on.


Thursday, 15 January 2015

Life options.

You come to realise at one point that for normal average every day people, we have to choose one path or another. There's only two options and you can't head down both.

1: Work and save until you realise you'll never be able to save enough and still eat

    Equivalency Test in Mathematics =£450 (would probably still fail)

    Masters=£3300, over 2 years part time while you work

    Keep trying to publish books in pitiful spare time and give up because you don't have the brain power left over.

    PHD=5 years, never mind the cost, part time, thinking that now you've failed as an author, you'll eventually be a lecturer and get paid lots of money to teach other aspiring dream-blind kids how to write.

    Throw in trying to get a mortgage somewhere

    Add a car and everything that comes with that

    Remind yourself you're still not in the career you'd like because you're still studying part time and cramming in exams and prep every evening after work.

    Eat crap food because its quick...get fat...try to go to the gym but fail because you don't have the time unless you sacrifice 2 hours of precious sleep on a Saturday morning.

    Attempt to edge in a few holidays so you can pretend to yourself you've travelled

    You want a pretty wedding on the tightest budget you can imagine and still end up being in debt for £15,000 on top of your mortgage and student loan so now any hopes of saving to move to the countryside one day are shattered. Regret wedding. Blame society for expecting it of you.

    By the time you're qualified enough to get a job you think you have wanted your whole life, you work a year realising it's not all its cracked up to be, you never switch off, it effects your semi-happy marriage and you're stressed and wrinkles have started invading your face.

You look back at all the time you've wasted building towards a better life not realising a dream has taken over your actual life which has passed by so quickly.

   Then the doctor says you're struggling to conceive because of this, this and that and you feel as if you've missed your chance. Maybe you finally strike lucky...

 Then you have to go back to work because after all what was the point in all that hard work, money and waiting. You rarely see your kid, who almost calls nanny, mommy, and runs to someone else when they're upset.

You finally think you can start saving a little towards a dream home in the country and an early retirement when suddenly the rest of life leaks all the money you can possibly earn out of you.

You get a painful divorce because of reasons such as: we've drifted apart and not truly spent our marriage together but fucked every once in a while and said have a nice day in the morning.

 Mortgage on a home you once loved goes down the drain.

Dreams of your perfect life are gone

Your kids don't really like you much or bond with you because you're a 'work-a-holic' who never made their Easter bonnets with them.

You're thinking this all over, asking: "What happened to my life?" when you're hit by a car and die. And you didn't even get to dip into that pension you saved so seriously.

Ok...so I'm having a little bit of a down-day, but this is what happens when you try to juggle the idea of doing everything.

Plan 2:
  Work and save
   Publish more books
   Don't bother with the whole career building, using my degree stuff-I wish I hadn't gone, too late, can't change that now.
   Manage to get a small home eventually, and can afford a few holidays-good enough
   If you hate your job, try and get a different one but not so different you have to re-train.
   Alternatively-Train part time in a lower level course than a degree in a new career you've given thought to which doesn't require a degree in that particular subject...that could work.
  Get married but not with a wedding, just a bbq at home afterwards. Use money saved for a little more travelling.
 Work 9-5 and you're not too thrilled with it but you have the rest of your time to enjoy with your partner- relationship stays intact and wonderful because you both respect each other, both bring in an income, and still have time for each other rather than selfish needs.
Have babies before your face is falling off with middle age.
 Change your job to a part time one (whatever that might be) so you can actually raise the kids you've birthed
Kids go to school and you can return to work full time, or perhaps now is the time for career change, you've studied etc in your length of time being a part time home mother. Maybe the cake course, and small business course.
Spend life saving a little and work towards that comfortable early retirement in the countryside somewhere.
Open a shop and sell stuff in country-ish village. Including cake.
Look after grandkids often.
Die.

Friday, 9 January 2015

The Suits.

The moment you don't want to think about something too much, it becomes all you can think about.
The ghost of broken promises, the memory of hope, long gone and lost down a drain on a rainy day when I had no umbrella. The Suits seem to find too much enjoyment in picking up your puppet strings and dictating the steps you dance, until your feet bleed and then they drop you, heavy as a burden, as insignificant as a gust of wind.

I don't believe you. I set no expectations of anyone but myself because I know I'm the only one who won't disappointment me. I wont take anything from myself that I can't give back. I am the only true friend, the only honest answer, and I will trust my judgement. I have my best interests at heart.
You, may feel a sense of ownership towards people like me, but one day You will be easily replaced. While I am one of a kind.

Tuesday, 6 January 2015

Rooftops

There are certain things you only learn later on, and by then it's too late. All you can do is keep moving forward and take what you've learnt with you, teach it to the younger generation and pray they do better than yourself. You can hope for new bridges to cross and decisions to make that you won't screw up.

I didn't know myself back then but now I do, only because of the various trials I've come up against. I know roughly what I want, more importantly I know what I don't. I've gotten this far and that must mean something is on this path for me, though it doesn't feel that way right now.

Everyone wants to fly, I once touched the sky, felt it rushing through my gloved hands but then I fell back down. How do I keep afloat? Not in the clouds or the stars, but just above the rooftops? I'm on the ground now, and the rooftop seems to be a great height to reach with no ladder. If I could stack up enough books, maybe I could climb up those.

Saturday, 3 January 2015

There's time.

He's in the shower. That's twenty minutes of utterly dangerous alone time. Power ballads from the 80's are playing and she cranks up the volume to the dirty dancing theme tune like a woman on hyper-drive. Ripping her own clothes off, casting what's on the bed aside, work can wait, she's already wasted four minutes, how long will he really take? Fifteen, half an hour tops! That's long enough when she's felt hot all damn day. She throws herself across the bed, and ear trained on the door if he gets out early. She needs this private moment, she needs to get the job done herself and quickly if he's going to be too busy for a few days. Some things need to happen or you'll go crazy. You'll end up getting ratty.
She rushes the first one, working herself up and hurrying it along with the practiced thrumming of her fingers, the brief thought of 'why didn't I ever learn to play guitar' scattering across her heated brains. She thinks about a desk, it's always a favourite, a hard wooden desk and a pencil skirt, he rips the skirt in half tearing the slit at the back until he has full access to all regions. Her breasts are spilling out into his hands as he fucks her from behind and she bends over the desk embracing it for support like an old friend. harder, harder, and breathe....
She takes a few minutes to relax, lounging on the bed, giggling in the badness of it. On his bed, in his room, a little secret.
 Is there time? There must be time, the second time was a little slower, better, no need for the fantasy this time just a few dirty sentences whispered in her mind she craves, filthy, dirty, no choice about it sentences. Through two doors she can't hear the water running, she's no idea if he's doing the same thing to himself in there. The thought pushes her over the edge and she comes gripping the pillow and stifles a groan.

Afterwards she gets up and stretches, always feeling sexy in front of the mirror afterwards, never before but afterwards...she drinks orange juice from a wine glass and eats a bite of chocolate walking around the bed and catches a glimpse of her half naked form in the mirror. She laughs at the wine glass, and recklessly turns her attention back to the computer. A good seven or so minutes goes by of cooling down from the high before he comes back in wearing a towel, smelling of fresh summer scents. He disturbs the peace but it doesn't matter. She tries not to laugh because he doesn't know and its fun. The next time he wants her she'll be overwhelmingly into it, she always is after she's touched herself. Touching herself makes her feel sexy. And she thinks...thank god for that.

Friday, 2 January 2015

Reading and writing

Jones bought me a kindle for Christmas :-) I'm finally a modernised reader. Which means I've had the opportunity to read for pleasure conveniently. I'm a fast reader, an avid reader however I started four books and only deemed one tolerably worthy enough to finish since Christmas morning. The lesson I am quickly learning is that my own writing, my own imagination and storylines are remarkably better than most of the crude already published out there. I am beginning to think everything worth reading in my favourite genre of fantasy I have already read. I am beginning to truly believe in myself and my writing as having true potential to be great. I know I sound like I'm rooting my own horn but I'm fully convinced that I have something special here, something real. I won't ever give up on this. I know I can succeed.