Wasp and the Spider

Today I saw a wasp get caught in a spiders web in my kitchen. The spider pounced on it and I got up to recue the wasp thinking it was an awful way to die. I then had second thoughts thinking: How would I feel if someone randomly came along and took my Big Mac away from me? So I left the wasp and the spider and put it down to natures way. Maybe that spider was starving. I still feel guilty about the wasp though.
This is the extent of my emotional turmoil at the moment, this is how exciting my life is right now that this little event has played on my mind all afternoon. 'Did I make the right decision?' could be construed as a metaphor for my life, but to be honest I think I just feel bad for the wasp.

Don't. poem

Don't kiss me like this,
unless you're ready for that,
Don't blame me when I fall in love with you
and when you're too far to turn back
Don't run your hands down my spine
unless we have enough time
time enough to make it last
Don't lay me down on your bed
unless you're going to let me stay
Don't kiss me like this,
unless you're ready for that.

Strengths and Weaknesses

Thinking about the whole Plan A, B thing there's another thing that's playing on my mind.
I know what my strengths are, and I know my weaknesses and I know what I can and can't do. I think all that is a fairly decent trait to have. I can take some pieces of scrap and make them into something creative and wonderful, I can get a group of bored little girls to get up, have fun and learn, I can build a paper mache mummy case for Halloween, I can recycle just about anything which makes me a little bit of a hoarder, I can grow my own fruits and vegetables and landscape a garden that's colourful all year round.

So I can't count. I don't like pushing people and I'm not intimidating, I don't have the killer instinct or the sharp edge of business. I don't have a head for figures and I've never even wanted to click the Microsoft Excel link since I was 11 and was confused in my first IT class.

Isn't that the point though? In why I studied English in a humanities based campus. I didn't study accountancy or business studies or god forbid maths because I don't want to do those things!! Why would I come out of an English degree, a writing degree for gods sake and try and convince people I'm sales orientated, numeracy hands on and money driven? Surely it's not going to wash with anybody.  I do not suit sitting at a desk with a computer screen of numbers and boxes and what are they called...spreadsheets?? My friends jaws would hit the floor. I'm the person you want to hire to plan your perfect wedding, I'm the person who you run to when you've forgotten a birthday and need a decorated cake ASAP. You leave your children with me while you run to the shops. I'm great for putting you back on your feet after a break up. I know a lot about books and literature. I can't count, I'm not a pushy sell sell sell motivated business shark.

I will settle for something I'm not addicted to, something that's not my dream, even something I don't really like but I'm not going to persecute myself and settle for a job I know I'm not cut out for. I'm going to mention God again, as I do, but frankly God placed me in this world and there is a place for me doing something that suits my abilities and talents. I will get there eventually.
Everyone else can just stop nagging at me.

Plan A,B,C and Z

I have a semi plan. I'm going to drag it out another month, give it one more month to have something accept me and if no appropriate job takes me on by then it's plan B.

Plan A: Apply, apply, apply, become employed by a graduate job earning from £10,000 -£15,000+
Save the majority of my wages while still working towards a writing career and publish my book. Get as much necessary experience as possible. Think about studying a Masters and forking out a ton more money urghhh, maybe, not sure, maybe.  Eventually get a job I love and want writing/editing/proofreading/anything to do with my degree. ....and become a world famous author.

Plan B: After a period of 3 months with no job stated above, lower standards significantly and apply for part time 'normal/non graduate' jobs. Hopefully get one fast, and only work part time so the rest of the week can be focussed on working voluntarily in appropriate fields that will enhance my chances of reverting back to Plan A.


So yep, that's the plan. It sucks a bit but that's life. I never thought it would be easy once I left uni, I certainly knew I wouldn't just walk into an appropriate job. Even so it's a bit depressing contemplating Plan A's and B's and C's. Let's not get onto Plan C. Plan C is where I crash into a pit of depression...just kidding, there is no Plan C. Not yet. Because Plan B should work, at least I'll give Plan B a year to evolve and the chance to work. If it doesn't I suppose I do know what Plan C is which is to do a management scheme I'm not keen on. We'll see. Plan Z would be my published book does extremely well, a publisher takes me on to write several more, a film productions rings to make it into a film, I make tons off the merchandise and retire aged 25 with two beautiful children and settle in the country where me and Jones invest some of my millions into my dream tearoom and boutique shop. Then it does so well we take over Greggs and go GLOBAL!!! hahahahaha!!! ...this is why its plan Z.

Chewing gum on bottom of shoe

Quite often I think there is nothing that I like about my parents. Everyone says that because they're your parents you must love them, it's burnt into your brain because on some distant biological wave they made you, but really? Just because a few cells met and did what nature meant for them to do? Reproduction is nothing but nature and chance. It's what happens after that creates emotion and connections. I struggle to think of things I admire and love about these people who 'created' me. I can't even count past my one hand of fingers. It sounds awful but almost everything about this situation I was born into pisses me off.

How can I have the slightest amount of respect for a woman who hasn't worked, not a jot, for the past 37 years? And for the last 12-15 hasn't done much of anything else either. Washing up bowls left overflowing discarded in random areas of the kitchen, dust collected for weeks and weeks, even the garden turns into chaotic overgrown jungle if I do not go out there and keep it in check, which I have grown tired of doing when I get no appreciation for such work. I'm spending this summer searching for jobs and writing my book rather than dedicating weeks to outside like I usually do. Spending most of the day lying on or in bed like a sickly old cripple, staring into space not bothering to occupy your mind or even attempt to do something active, I think it's disgusting.

Then there's a man who is the most selfish person I've ever met. Barely working...sort of self employed but not really making anything under that title. Any bread that does get onto the table goes straight into his own mouth, into his car shit and stuff he wants. I've watched my father put his pathetic earnings into crap while going past my birthday without even a glance up, going through Christmas since I was eleven without acknowledging me or the season. Bare cupboards and empty fridge that if I don't fill doesn't get filled. I can't pretend I'm not bitter because I am. It grates against my skin that my 21st birthday didn't even get a "Have you had a nice day Sian?" from my father, not a penny, not a sentiment, nothing. ...then a few weeks later and it's fathers day, did I do anything? When I'm struggling to feed myself and everyday I am up at 7am job hunting and applying....
...no I did not. Do you blame me? Do you read this and think I was unjust to not bother. I bought him a cake back from my weekend away at least, what did I have to listen to?...."It's fathers day, where's me stuff. Only tha one brotha has even come down, none of the others 'ave bothered."

Are you kidding me!!??

I was 21, that was what most people regard as the biggest birthday you have. I got jack all and you expect things from me? I wish I could say that he was joking, and the tone he used was casual and filled with humour, but it wasn't. I don't blame my other siblings for not bothering either, because they get sod all too, their children get nothing from their 'grandparents'. When he bought the new items to go on his bike, (completely unnecessary) he could have thought, oh it's my only daughters birthday this week, I won't buy this I'll save the money and give her that, or even...I'll put this money away and put it towards a new washing machine. But no, that isn't the way my father thinks.

 It's been two solid months now that we haven't had a washing machine. Don't get me wrong, I'm not so upset because of the lack of something so necessary in a household, we went six months without a washing machine before...it's everything that bothers me. Everything about this place and these people. I'm so angry when I'm here I can't stand it. I cocoon myself in my room barely venturing out, and hardly dare ever use the excuse for a kitchen downstairs. I'd rather starve!
  They don't understand, they can't digest what I find wrong with this situation. Growing up with next to nothing was bad enough, being picked on in the playground for having 'lazy' parents and not having money was one thing, growing up in high school was worse, but to be an adult and still be stuck here hating every second is frankly a little overwhelming. It's a tad dramatic to think of myself as a princess locked in a dungeon and needing a prince to rescue me, my prince would be a job, my castle somewhere clean and tidy and functional.

So people say they're your parents, you have to love your parents. I feel like smacking those morons in the face. I hate them more because they're my parents. Because that means these people brought me into the world, and what? I should be grateful? I'm tied to these people until they die, I can only hope I can shake them off once I leave, like a dirty scrounging mutt attached to your leg or a piece of trodden in chewing gum you scrape off the bottom of your shoe. They're just two people who's reproduction made me, it doesn't mean anything and it never ever will. No one will understand completely because you're not me, you haven't lived here with them for the last 21 years hating every moment since you were seven years old and became aware of what it was like. I've wanted a job and a career and to publish books since I could write because that was my escape plan. That was what I was sure would grow me wings.

Brainwave

On the train journey back to Birmingham from Cornwall I had a brainwave, it hit me with a sudden obviousness that I could have banged my head against the wall for not seeing the solution before. The solution to the ending of my book, Grace. I have worked out how it all fits together, how it's going to make sense and how the ending is going to work. I have my most recent novel to finish and publish and then I will get working on Grace again.

Weekend away

I've now travelled the furthest that I've ever been before, down to the south of our country into St Austell, Cornwall. We knocked another thing off my bucket list and visited the Eden Project. There's no one else I'd rather go anywhere with than Jones. A five hour train journey through scenic countryside with just each other to pass the time, the Eden Project, check into our gorgeous high class room at the beautiful Boscundle Manor and then we took a walk to the coast and sat in front of the sea. A trip to Tesco! Snacks and treats and hurrying bags of stuff into our room like proper Blackcountry sneaks ;-) Jones is completely my match, the imaginary person I described to my brother well over a year ago who likely didn't exist actually exists in him. We can go for a pleasant weekend away, we can stay somewhere wonderful and get on like the oldest and best of friends, we can walk around aimlessly just for the fun of it, turn around every corner, I can rattle on about all the different flowers we're passing and talk about how well they do in a garden, and there's no negativity around us. It's the makings of happiness.

Sex scene of my new novel

I'm half way through writing my most recent novel and I've hit a snag. Considering all my friends think I'm a sex addict and I've been named as a 'sex writer' on several occasions it's the sex scene I've gotten stuck on. The first time my characters go to bed with each other is a tricky business, and so many books get it wrong, it needs to be right, sex but realistic, hot and make you want more but not giving so much detail that it becomes disgusting. It's very tricky. For now I've left a gap with red font reading : Add in sex bit and then I've continued with the rest but its nagging at me. It needs to be right and for once in that department, I'm not feeling inspired.

Cinderella, no magic

Weighing up your options is never a pleasant experience. On some level or other you're admitting that you're doubting one option in order to be considering another. I think it's all about feeling like you're right for the situation, it's well and good having something you love and adore, it's easy to accept that you don't want anything else, but the misery comes when you don't feel up to scratch for them: the job that you're under qualified for, the house you can't afford to design properly, the person you're in love with.

Constantly feeling inadequate grates on you, it's a dark cloud looming over what could be a perfect sunny sky. Constantly wondering if you ought to jump ship and desert now and save the pain of the abandonment that's surely only so far away. Sometimes I think I should settle for something less special, less out of my league. I wouldn't be as happy but at least I might feel as if I were important to them, that they couldn't make do without me, instead I feel like I'm on eggshells, barefoot in a beautiful room where I don't belong. People are looking at me thinking, why is she in here? I feel like I'm at the Cinderella ball but without the gown, the slipper and the magic. The prince shouldn't be with me, I should fade away and accept what I always felt all those years wasted before: I'm not good enough for this.

I wish I had a window, just a glimpse every now and then into the future to see if everything's ok. Sometimes I feel so pointless, not so clever, not so pretty, not very special. I don't stand out. I feel sure it's only a matter of time before someone else who does stand out eclipses me, I'm a small star but no matter how bright I may shine I'm too far away for anyone to see. By the time my best twinkle reaches you I'll probably not be there anymore.

and so forth comes the tears, I knew they weren't far away.

old habits.

I'm more religious than I like to admit openly. I pray often I think, I try to live by good Christian example. I don't believe every word in the bible, I don't agree with everything written apparently by God, but I do believe in something and I look up to a higher being than any that walk this earth. I may be thinking of the moon which looks down on us with it's friendly face, or the angels that sit behind clouds, a lot of pagan/wiccan icons and yet I sit on my knees and fold my hands and I pray to God for the well being of my loved ones. God seems the most convenient name to call whatever IT is.

I twiddled my thumbs, I twitched my fingers, as I wandered restlessly through the house I murmured over and over again the magical chants and drew in the air the symbols of protection I learnt a long time ago. You never quite forget things like that, the Celtic wiccan faith contradicts Christianity but I mix the two anyway. I finally sank to my knees and prayed, prayed for someone who doesn't even believe in any of this, but I do and old habits die hard.

writing

I love writing. I love it almost more than anything else. Food and sex are swimming around with writing in a threesome of happiness and I can't quite decide which to put on top. Sex I suppose, it is truly remarkable. Food however is necessary and I love eating, I should be a fat person by nature. Sex and food make up the perfect day, if a  day holds both these things its pretty awesome! anyway, I'm talking about writing! I love writing, and not the stuff on here. I love it when I'm writing my novels and they're flowing out like musical notes learnt years ago on a piano often played, it fills me with satisfaction because that is what I'm good at and I'm enjoying it. I am writing my most recent novel and it's going so very well that it's filling me with joy every time I'm sat down with it. If I'm writing I will be fine. I know it inside.

idiots and Coniston

In these four walls I am surrounded by idiots. It's like they've watched me for the last four weeks with absolutely no clue as to what I am doing or what's going on, and more importantly they haven't bothered to ask. So I've told them, I've said what's going on in my life, what I am aiming for and what the situation is right now. It went through one ear and out the other. When a person has no money, it means they have no money. Not for electric, not to buy a new washing machine, not to take a day trip to the shops and have lunch with you since I will be paying. For Christ's sake get a grip.

I hate the fact that not working is a normality here, and it sickens me. You think I'll roll around bumping into these four walls like you for the rest of my life with nothing to achieve or aspire towards. Piss off. It's like living with children sometimes. "Don't you have savings?" ...is that a joke? You think I have money tucked away somewhere, from when? from what? You've watched me scrimp everything together for the last three years, watched me eat barely anything at times, seen me cancel things and go without bare necessities, you think I would do that if I had anything left to save!? I buy the kids Christmas presents every year because you don't and you've watched me pull everything together to manage that!

It's a constant headache here. It's so suffocating. Coniston has become a sanctuary. As soon as I step through the door, whether there's bits of nerd stuff everywhere, or wrestle mania noises flooding the small space I feel at peace. Even with the ghost it's peaceful and comfortable. I wish there was room for my sewing machine and fabric box but there simply is not, but one day we will change from Coniston to another place, somewhere bigger and I will have all my little loves and luxuries. but for now, it perfectly fits my little place of joy.

Crying moment and a nice hug

Today I cried for the first time in front of Jones from genuine emotion and misery and not just the crocodile tears that come from watching Forest Gump. I had that dream, the one I wrote about earlier and it haunted me for the rest of the morning. I was thinking about Brett and the fact that I miss him and barely if ever hear from him these days. I was snapping and Jones noticed, then my voice clogged up and I'm retreating into the bathroom to be alone. I hate crying. I hate being upset. The weakness of the human body when faced with overwhelming emotions pisses me off. We're to built to survive so much and yet we break down when we're upset. Jones did something rather unexpected and rather nice which was to get up and cuddle me. It took a few seconds for me to except the embrace and cry a little on his shoulder, moisture from my nose dribbling onto his shirt.

He doesn't understand why I miss Brett because he doesn't fully understand my inner fears and hang ups. But at least he did the appropriate thing. This was the first time I demonstrated a real weakness. I've been a little angry, and I've been annoyed and hit a few childish temper tantrums a few times but I've never had a crying moment and thankfully this episode didn't last long. I pull myself together rather quickly when someone is comforting me, because I feel god awful being upset in front of anyone. I never wanted Jones to see that side of myself with puffy shadowed eyes and miserable barely audible mumbles but I suppose it was going to happen eventually. I fell in love with him a bit more during that big masculine hug. Perhaps it's even pushed me roughly over the point of no return.

When you like someone so much because they are simply the only person you can tolerate on a daily basis and they're your favourite person to talk to that you pray every night to God to keep them alive. It's like owning a god damn goldfish! I'm not even 100% certain about God but I'm praying to some almighty being! Just keep him safe and alive and with me.

sex=good mood

Nothing puts me in a better mood then sex. I've been 'at it' for over a year now and it still thrills me to the core, the thought, the act, the aftermath. Whatever kind of day I'm having, or whatever mood I'm in is completely overridden when I'm tossing around in...dare I quote a novel...'sexual bliss' and afterwards the world is brighter, I'm happier than at any other time. I don't think this makes me a Nympho! I certainly wouldn't refer to myself as such. I just like to orgasm, who the fuck doesn't?
And since I do 'cum' every sexual encounter we've had, except for the first twice when I was a shuddering novice breathing through the pain, well is it surprising it's my favourite thing, ever!

It's not just the excitement and the sheer pleasure of the whole experience it's the fantastic mood I'm in afterwards. If every morning started with sex and then a decent big breakfast I'd be the happiest person alive! Every day would be an awesome day.

better as memories

We don't talk anymore
or walk together either
want to tell me where you are?
and why it feels so far
better as memories
then as best friends

You stole my toy!

I dreamt again last night, about being abandoned. I really need my conscious to get over this. My dreams were an infusion of past and present, it seemed that I was pulled from one setting to another. It began with the Keyholder, half a memory and the faces of two girls who were to bring me torment and between them take what was mine. The faces changed, they morphed into the two most recent girls one of the same name who are successfully taking what I felt belonged to me. The keyholder became Brett and he left with his new ones, I was tossed to and from the different scenes. a shopping mall, it was raining and we headed to a taxi, I was with the keyholder again but I had no shoes, they were leaving me behind. The Keyholder became Brett again and I was getting confused. How could I run after them all with no shoes? I cut and scraped my feet on the pavement and as they bled I remembered my wolf, my bear, my daffodil. So many names I've given him in writing and I cried his name. In the dream I demanded to know where he was, why he wasn't with me? I remembered what was in the past and as my head made the distinction between past and present I woke up.
   Jones was sleeping soundly and had rolled over onto my side with an arm heavily on top of me, snuggling close. I lay awake a while grounding myself and clutched his arm possessively. I am possessive. When I'm in his bed it's worse than at any other time, this fierce almost angry emotion that he is mine.

I can't pretend that recent events haven't effected me, in such a way that I wouldn't really discuss with a person. I write it out and that is all. I am upset. I am deeply upset that I seem to have a habit of losing the men in my life. Am I being dramatic? I don't think so. I lost my brothers to their own families and became a little girl alone in  a house that was once full. I lost the Keyholder, and with him he took the Goosepack. He took Tom. Who I still think of from time to time and miss.
    Brett was the best thing and the closest thing I've had to being the man in my life since college, as the Keyholder and I grew further apart, Brett and I grew closer together. Meeting Jones didn't change that. Slowly but surely Brett's moved on, another man who I loved has been spirited away by two girls and the similarity of the past is sickening. I hadn't realised how the situations mirrored each other until I had that dream last night. It seems my conscious knew.

People grow apart, people change and wanting different things in life, aiming down different paths just means you have to accept things wont always be the same. I can accept that can't I?
I still feel this nagging in the back of my skull, the pressure of it threatening to crack the bone...he's going down a separate path, I should march back there and drag him back down mine! But that's not fair is it? That's me being selfish, because I don't want to admit that I couldn't hold onto another man in my life who's sodded off. I'm only twenty-one, and I feel as if another person abandoning me will be the end of me. My favourite toy has been stolen by another child. Getting it back with a fist fight isn't what worries me, it's excepting that maybe I've outgrown such toys.

four walls again

I'm in these four walls again. Every time I'm here the place feels more and more alien, the house is losing its familiarity, my room is losing its comfort. Tonight my nephew is here, its the first time in a while that he's been here at the same time as myself, since usually I'm settled in my little cube of heaven with Jones every evening.

This place always feels better when my nephews here. It must be the sense of another presence but it's a comfort, it's nice to feel like there's someone else here, a person who is more agreeable than my parents and nearer my age and wave length. I miss him when he's not around, it was a great treat when he lived with us for over year. The whole thing just strengthens my desire to live in a full house, to have a family of my own in the future.

More broke now than when I was classed as a student, and without any luck on the job front the only thing I'm really positive about right now is my book. It's going so well I feel as if it's a sign, as if I'm finally back to where I'm supposed to be. Lets hope it pays off, let's hope someone reads it.

Graduate

The weeks of this summer are flying by quicker than I've ever known them to before. We're already a week into June. I find myself drifting unconsciously back over the summers I've had, from being ten years old and jumping from a tree to prove that I could, to sitting awkwardly alone on the grammar (the green) while my best friends snuggled with boyfriends near by, crossed legged and reading on the estate fields while the lads played football, then onto college and we were walking up Clent and sitting in beer gardens drinking pop. Three years of university have evaporated like steam from a kettle, a few moments of action, change, and then it all disappears and we're left with a stillness as if nothing has happened. This summer isn't to be like the others, there's to be no lounging on the grass, no grouping together every weekend,  no dreaming about the future because we're in it, living it.

I got my final results, I praised the sky that I'd passed everything and all was well. Just a few marks from my overall grade being a 2:1 would piss a fair few people off but honestly I was happy to pass. A 2:2 is a perfectly respectable grade and I'm frankly chuffed about it, it's a shrug of the shoulders after knowing I've passed, passing was all that mattered. I could have keyed the vehicle of that poetry bastard though, (which I can say now its all over) when I saw the pitiful mark he gave me but sod it, I still did better than I expected.

I felt no need to jump onto Facebook and tell the world, I text those who really cared, a handful of people I wanted to share this with me. In fact I felt a little disgusted by the facebook parade. Where is the line drawn between your own genuine happiness, and the happiness of just telling people? I reassured myself recently that my books and my ability to create a story is awesome. My most recent novel is flowing wonderfully, soon I will publish it myself. I know my own worth, I always have, I didn't and don't need a piece of paper to tell me what that worth is. I never much liked numbers. It's my imagination and my creativity that keeps me breathing, keeps me burning for life.

I detested university from the first week I started, I knew immediately that I'd made a mistake but I pushed on because I was there and I wasn't going to quit once I'd started. I am relieved it's all over. People who say those were the best years of their lives I feel sorry for. The best years of my life are yet to come and they will be magnificent.

It's over, I am a graduate.

Do it for You because it's You that counts!

Bootcamp


I've been neglecting my blog lately, not writing anything of particular interest recently so I decided to take ten minutes to compose a post that's been on my mind a while. Last year I dedicated quite a lot of my personal time to fitness, rock climbing once a week, dancing on the weekend (without alcohol! so it does count) a run once a week, bootcamp and plenty of walking. My motives for such hard work I'm almost ashamed to say were not the right sort, I was upset and hurt and my confidence was buried six feet under. I wanted to be able to say, "Ha! I'm fine, stick that in your weak tea and drink it!" I wanted to show everyone how busy I could make my schedule and how awesome I could be.

It worked.
I not only grew more confident, healthier, fitter and felt great, I also met someone who is now constantly in my life a reminder that I am worth so much more than I ever gave myself credit for.
but then I got lazy...

I know! it was Christmas! There were chocolates everywhere! Damn ASDA and their special offers! It was cold and I snuggled in my onesie which slowly but surely grew tighter and now we're back to our beautiful summer time June and the rain is pouring...but the bikini is beckoning and I find myself in a new frame of mind. Stopping fitness was a huge mistake and one I shall not be making again, not only did I lose my tightness I lost most of that confidence that had built up. Getting that extra bit of weight off isn't all about being the supermodel, it's about feeling good. Feeling AWESOME.

 I'm back to attending that awe inspiring class of Bodyfit Bootcamp. I'm back to feeling enthusiastic about my fitness levels. I'm already sleeping better, I already wake earlier, I feel energised every morning and this time around I wont be quitting because it gets chilly and that bastard Mr Kipling is taking advantage. I am going to keep this up because this time around I have better motives. I'm not out to prove anything to anyone but myself. I'm no longer bitterly wanting to show off in front of others, I want this for me. I want to be that person I know I can be.

My fitness instructor is a true inspiration not only in terms of health and fitness but because of the person he is and the values he holds. He wants to push people to better themselves for their own well being and their own self esteem. It's easy, especially as a woman, to tell yourself you want to make yourself slim and sexy for your partner, but it's harder to admit that you want to do this for yourself! It's not a selfish act, it's a matter of personal well being. Bootcamp man encourages this way of thinking, do it for you, because its you that counts. It's nice to attend a fitness class where the professional isn't hammering into you because he thinks fat people are the devil, instead our bootcamp man wants you to do well because he wants you to wake up each morning loving the person you are. If that's not the right sort of encouragement I don't know what is.
Do it for you because it's you that counts. That is my new way of thinking. I hope I've inspired you dear reader. I'm certainly inspiring myself and I intend to keep on doing just that.