Grace-closing the year.

Grace,
 I ordered the 2017 edition of the Writers Yearbook. I've been promising to study this book for the last two years and not had the courage to order it. Finally it's arrived and a week later I forced myself to open the parcel. Am I ready for this? To submit my work where it counts? Am I ready for a line of rejections?

I've rather lost myself in grown-up life lately. House, Job, Promotion. To most people these things would be huge accomplishments. For a normal-everyday-life. For a normal-everyday-woman. To me, they are distractions, but also reminders. This is not what I want. This life-is not my life. I'm meant for so much more. I wish more than anything that I don't let myself fall into the forgetfulness of grown-up life. To be content with the mundane and accept this is it for most people, why should it not be it for me too. It's just not good enough. Not when the thirteen year old sitting on her window sill writing is still inside me and she's restless.

If you were here I'd have more courage for this. But I think you disappeared when they destroyed our Pond. I wish you'd come back- I cannot think straight without you.

Missing Amy

I miss my friend,
because she's gone again
and surrounded as I am
no one fills that space
there's an empty bird house
I can't do without
And a cup of tea sat unmade
I haven't bought any cake.
Without your face,
I lose my way-
no one to talk to
the way that we do.
We both get lost in life
away from each others roads
but I still miss you
whenever you're not home.

2016 Achievements

2016

I finished another book.
Got promoted at work to supervisor
Made new friends-at work
Visited Rome-Incredible
Visited Corfu-Horrific
Way more confident swimming- about 90% now
Moved out of Parents
Moved into a house with Jones
Started selling my crafts

2017 Goals

2017 Goals

Lose 2 stone
Come to terms with the fact Lion Farm chippy is a thing of the past
Buy more teaspoons
Set up a Facebook page and attempt side-line craft business
Finish writing second book
Finish building Time Machine
Go Back in time to myself now and tell myself I achieve all this because I am totally going to kick this years ass!

Just thinking. again

Having those thoughts again, that this isn't my life.
I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, I only know this isn't it. This isn't all I have to give this life. This very short life we live.
Maybe I just had a bad day, a bad couple of days all blurred into one as the weeks merge together- but I can't fathom how unsatisfied I am.

I worked hard to get a decent full time job.
I worked hard to get promoted and become a supervisor.
I am working hard to do well in the role.
I worked hard to leave home fully
I worked to get this house with the man I adore
I am filling it bit by bit with pieces that will make up our home
But every day I feel like I arrive home at 6 and I look back over my day with a sense of complete disappointment. I am capable of more.

I feel quite alone here, when I'm at home. The Tower is just now starting to feel like a real home with Christmas decorations and twinkling lights, and a fluffy rug we've fucked on- making another memory that binds us together and nearly broke our backs. Yet, I feel a big empty space.
Some people think a dog is what's missing. Others say it's time for children to fill these rooms.
I want both- but it's not that.
I know having those things will be wonderful but they wont change this disappointed feeling.

Everything I have is amazing. Jones is amazing. My friends and my house- it's all wonderful. It's me that I'm disappointed in. Wow...that's hard to say out loud but I wrote it down without thinking. I am disappointed in myself. Knowing I was meant for something better, something creative.
"My business is to create"
My business is to take asshole's complaints and deal with office drama" -yeah sure.
I sold orders of my handmade crafts to people at work and it inspired a new confidence in me. This is what I want. To create and to live from it. Nothing will ever chase this need out of me, but you can't eat dreams, far fetched hopes can't pay the bills.

I'm only 23. I still have time right? Time enough to fix this. I wish I didn't feel as if I'd settled on the ordinary, because I am not ordinary, to pretend to be so would be to accept defeat and spiral into madness.

I wrote some of my new book tonight, after months of silence in my head. I wrote because I couldn't stand the thought of going to bed again with nothing but the memories of todays office work to lull me to sleep, in dreams where phones ring and people complain. I wrote because I still believe it's my way out. My only way. My business is to create.

poem. pointless person

You hide from the walls of the trap
which you set for yourself
on the day you decided to be weak
the time you went without
all the strength you might have acquired
had you decided to seek it
pathetic you are- pathetic you'll be
until you hold yourself taller
hold yourself above me
You cower in the corner of life
hiding from everything
because you let yourself become worthless
You grew up to be a pointless human being.

I have no sympathy for you
I cannot care for how you go on
people like you always linger longer
like bad smells- we try to be rid of
You wonder why I am stronger
why I succeed above you
because I chose to drag myself up
when you sat panting at the bottom
I choose not to be pointless
I fought my way to myself
You my pointless being,
have only to blame, yourself

catching moments poem

Catching moments is our sport-
like fireflies in jam jars.
The sound of the latch on the door
the brush of a morning kiss
two minutes left on the alarm
but not enough is it?
Half an hour on the sofa- desperate to stay awake
or that final cup of tea, which you should probably make
I wonder, if we counted the moments that we have to snatch this way
will we collect a life time,
before the fireflies, fly away?

A moment you catch when your arms curl around me
and another I hold onto, when I come home early
These moments we chase around this house
and up and down the street
moments we run after, every time we speak
We stretch ten minutes before bedtime,
into an hour of sleepy catch up
it's all we have sometimes,
to remind us, we're still us.

Across the world are people catching moments
people so in love, people just like us
for the time we have is just not enough
but the time we have is everything.
I'd rather catch a moment of you,
than a lifetime of anything else

Chasing shadows poem

In the Tower, chasing shadows
of souls who don't live here.
Waiting, still waiting
as time slinks by like the dresses I used to wear.
Eyes wide open, so not to miss a moment,
this easy time we live in, where so much is forgotten.
I forget to remind them to love me
I forget to love them back
but you and I kiss each morning
you and I remember that
We live off each other, you and I.
For who do you have, if not me?
and who do I have, if not you?
We reach for each other while chasing shadows,
of which there are too few.

Kettle's Boiling. Poem

There's a crackle from the kettle,
boiling for one
A bitterness in the tea, made too strong,
stewed too long
while I thought about you
an unfocused gaze, towards a black window
the garden is lost at this time of year
I think, somewhere, there's a book to write
but ideas are lost, like my thoughts
in the recess of my mind

Missing Family. Great Barrier Reef

My two youngest brothers came by this evening to put up my wooden beam and curtain pole. I'm sure Jones could do a fine job of this if we stocked him up with power tools, but I selfishly prefer to save these odd-jobs for my brothers. I worry if I didn't have something for them to do I'd never see them. Having them here reminds me childhood, and reminds me of a home I don't feel The Tower is yet, a home I've never really had.

I miss my family. I'm only a twenty minute walk away up the hill but working 9-5, usually over time too, cooking dinner, cleaning the house, constructing crafts, trying to write my book, (living a standard life) the little energy I have left over is absorbed into the sofa come 9:30 in front of the T.V. I don't have a family of my own yet and the emptiness of the house can be oppressive, but it's a peace I know I should savour. All too soon I'll look back on these days with a wishful eye, or so that's what my elders tell me.

I still feel alone, alone with my thoughts all too often. Unsure about my life and where I am heading. With every new venture, every good turn of events, there comes an overwhelming amount of questions and worries attached. I wish the week away like everyone else, waiting for my the time that's my own, to do as I like, that's so precious. We wish our lives away that way. The clock keeps ticking and I'm always thinking I'll run out of time to do the things I want to before it's the end- grim, I know.

But Jones put this documentary on the other night which showed just a small result of our global warming. It crammed together as much horror as it could into a two hour slot, the abuse of our planet for profit and the bit that choked me was The Once Great Barrier Reef- half dead and rotted beneath the ocean, what I used to look at in pictures now deteriorating. I don't know when I might have gotten to Australia, I still don't feel confident swimming, but that dream of diving on that reef feels painfully shattered. The little colour and life that's left I don't know if I'll have the time or the funds to ever see before it too disappears beneath our own vile corruption. I worry about how many other dreams will go unfulfilled.

I think if I had voices and joy around me I'd not worry so much about the bigger stuff. Missing my family makes me think about that. I envy the distraction they have in their own little families. If I could fill these walls with enough distraction I wouldn't miss the things I will inevitably miss out on. Does that make sense? Does any of this make sense to anyone but me?

I have to wrap this up. Pie in the oven is almost done. I have to dish up dinner.



A rough example.

Before Humans

After

Miss You. Poem

I miss whispers of the house
you make when you're around
the creaking of the floorboard above
the patter of feet on stairs
I miss the tone of your voice
and the glint in your eyes
The way you catch a look at me
when we simply pass each other by.
When you're not here,
I'm not here
because part of me is always with you
And although the times are few
the thought terrifies me sometimes
if you didn't come back
what of me would be left behind?
What would I suddenly lack?

The Tower

So my Mr Jones has done it again. What he always does, what seems to be his instinct whenever my happiness is at stake. He rode in on his white horse, wearing his shining armour, and he saved the day. Jones is the hero of my story, and while he continues to light up new stars in the sky of my world he’ll never lose that title.

I couldn’t stay in Connie anymore, the little bubble that was my beloved sanctuary had burst, an invasion of my fortress left me bereft and confused. Jones fixed everything. He’s found us a new castle. A place we can set up home in more than one bedroom and a 6 foot by 3 kitchen. Here we have a Keep, with a kitchen big enough to dance in, with windows and stairs and a garden. I have a garden again. I have sunshine flooding my garden, painting it golden.

I have named this place The Tower. My tower. Ours. Just us, no one else. Just us in our new sanctuary. No shouting, no interruptions, no wreckage. Everything is just right, because we are right.

I’ve felt a tug on my heartstrings to leave Connie behind. The place where I got to know Jones, where I felt at home, where I could escape to, where we fell in love. It’s only a room and a 6by3 kitchen but, it was special to me. I will never forget the memories of that place. I look ahead now with an open mind, and a full heart, despite that my Tower is almost empty ha! We have spaces to fill, memories to make, a family to think about-not too far away.

We don’t have internet for a few weeks, I’m off the grid. Writing this up on my laptop to post on my blog at a later date. So Jones and myself are just here together, getting used to this new found home without any interruption from the outside world. We’re at peace.

I’m warm, I’m fed, everything works, and I’m safe.

The Tower: You mean a lot to me, and I will treat you well. Treat us well, and keep us happy and safe.

Connie. Memories Poem

Into the last memories of this place
we travel together, yet apart
for this room has never been
to you, what it is to me
a happy place, a sanctuary
and now we're soon to depart.
This place has swept me up
the first taste of home,
a sort of wonderful simplicity
only I have known,
here is where I found
what I never knew I'd lost
here is where I gave up my heart,
In this room I handed over my innocence
in this place we fell in love.
We've been at peace,
and been at war
everything of us, absorbed in these walls.
Connie has been a silver key
Connie has stolen a part of me
and now we move onto something new
But here in this place I became Me
because in this room I got to know You.

I'm stressed poem.

I'm stressed.
Pulled taut as a hairband ready to split.
The ability to shake this clutter of thoughts
has vanished with the broken promise to keep shut up.
Shut up were these wishes, in a cupboard where the door's now ajar.
Shut up I have been a time too often here
Within these four walls, where the mould and cold creeps in
not another winter, will I put myself through this.
A coiled spring, rusty with grief
pulled taut now
awaiting relief.

Unsettled

I've had something new on my mind all evening. It's sort of like a seed that's taken root but I'm refusing to water it, as if daring the plant to shrivel and die before it grows anything substantial.

I don't want to feel gleeful over something so difficult. But it's hard not to keep thinking about it. You can want something so badly that everything else seems insignificant and that one dream feels achievable. I just want to feel at peace. My peace has been destroyed so rapidly I'm waiting to wake up and feel normal again. Instead of walking across a tight rope of pent up emotions.

Things like this don't really feel achievable. I'm just kidding myself. Too nice an idea to be realistic. For so long these thoughts have been wispy dreams and I don't think they will ever happen overnight, or for quite some time unfortunately.

God, I'm so unsettled.

I've lost all motivation for anything right now.

Grace poem 08.07.16

Grace,
Are you there?
It's all falling down around me
just like you said it would
and I am sat here crazy
bottling it all up.
I can't feel you around me
because I don't feel myself
I've lost sense of so much
manuscripts stacked on a shelf.
The Pond has been gone so long
and I miss it, but I miss you even more
sometimes now I forget what it was like
when it was just us.

You know what we've been through
you remember how it feels
to be here all alone
amidst the cold, the fleas, the mould
feeling so cut off, lost in this world
born into a situation, out of our control.
I thought we'd be away by now
you and me and a pen
I fancied us on a train ride, rolling through England
feet in the sea, or a field somewhere.

I had it all worked out
even though plans changed
I knew you didn't like it,
but I did it all anyway.
Everything was just fine
but I remember what you said to me
You said "Give it Time.
It never lasts forever,
we're just not that sort
Things fall down around here,
everything breaks a part
sometimes I think we'll make it,
but that's just a writers heart."

Poem #Back

Sitting once more,
within these four walls
Head in my hands
because I can't stand the anguish
I feel inside, cannot abide
the reality.

Half way to the wall,
to be dragged back inside
a kicking screaming bundle
of half hopes and told you so's
just leave me alone
I have gone back now
to several years ago.

C word #2

It wasn't nothing.
It was something. Something dark and dangerous. I feel so detached, as if viewing a stranger handling the situation from behind a glass pane. If this was one of my own, if I had any feeling what so ever I would know exactly how I would react, what I would say, the action I would take. But thank God it's not one of my own. My dear ones are fine and I feel guilty for the relief I feel because it's not one of them.

I feel like I am a bad person because of the way I am reacting to this news. The way I am feeling.

I cannot help what I think.

The fact is, things are changing, and I cannot abide change like this.

Someone has Cancer and everything is going to change.

Bonsai. Contact List. Pidgin

I have the best friend in the world.

As Elizabeth Bennet said: “There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well."

I love very few people. I tolerate most people with a throbbing headache and a fury against the world. So I have chosen my dear ones with care. I have, I hope, focussed enough attention and consideration into nurturing these bonds to keep them strong. I love my best friend Pidgin. She is my only female friend, (non-relative) and that is because she's the only friend I chose to keep. I let others drift away or quite literally pushed them away, frankly because I don't want them. But Pidgin, I care about. Our friendship is much like a slow growing bonsai tree. It takes time and care to establish, it then requires very little pruning to maintain but it must be respected and treated with care. Our friendship is strong as a hundred year old Oak, but fun, easy and simple like a potted plant.  The miniature tree. The Bonsai.

I can be so honest with Pidgin. I am so relieved this evening to have been able to unburden all this drama of the past weekend and confusion and annoyance and just breathe.

I don't want Pidgin to leave again. But I'm so proud of how brave she is in going to new places and doing what she wants and facing walls and finding a way to climb over them. I'm not like that. I wish I could be, but I don't think I have it in myself. I always see the worst.

I sometimes think I would go crazy if I didn't have the right person to talk to. Jones is my rock but you can't always talk to a man the way you can talk to a girl. Sometimes men just cannot even pretend to be interested in what women have to say. This is when you need a friend. Simple.
But as I said, I choose my dear ones carefully. I don't want any more, I don't want random add-on's. I like who I like and if I let you in it's a big deal to me. I love my Pidgin. I have my person. I can't be best friend to anyone else. I am just not 'big' enough to handle it. This bond has grown over years and years, as with all my personal bonds.
I cannot magic a connection over a weekend and a 2 teas. I can't! I'm sorry.

There are no openings on the Miss Siviter close contact list.

Thoughts on new friends

I feel like I've met some really lovely people at work. I have fitted into my new job and genuinely feel at 'home' there. I hope it stays this way.

A few particular individuals are so caring and friendly I'm touched emotionally by the experience. I'm not usually a touchy-feely person, I'm not the agony aunt or the drama queen but I can appreciate that I have people who I am beginning to care about and that they possibly care for me too. In a work colleague/friend way. More than just people you have to 'put up' with all day. I enjoy the company 9-5.

It's nice.

Monday mornings still suck, and I still wish I was a billionaire. But for now, I am quite happy with the way things are going.

I like these people.

Poem Clingy.

You close in
as the nights will soon
a hug of fire, you consume all
taking in the air
as you live from my life force
you drain all I have
because you are a cuckoo
pushing out all others
until there's only you.
You won't let go
and I can't cope.
...You need to let go.

C word

I'm in one of those grey moods again. It's been a while, I count several things this Sunday that have spiralled me into a dark cloud.

 Jones is away and I have grown so used to seeing him so often the separation, however short it may be, is difficult.

 I was unable, due to unforeseen circumstances, to do what I wanted to do this sunny day.

 I have retreated to my room now, but it doesn't feel like my room anymore. I have tried to rectify this by adding maps and note boards to the wall behind me but it hasn't helped, not really.

 It's Sunday and I have work tomorrow-so everyone always feels the Sunday night blues.

 Miss Havisham has opened up to me today and it's rattled my bones. I'm not good with counselling. I'm not the best friend type because I'm not the person who can always be there for you, who drops things instantly for others. I am too often consumed in my own little world, I lose myself in fantasies and have little-to no interest in the politics of everyone else's lives.

  I listened and tried to react appropriately but all I wanted to do was return home to my own mother and confide in her, hug her, and tell her not to ever keep anything important from me. No matter where I am in the world she is still my mother and I will be there for her if and when she needs me. This is what I was thinking as Miss Havisham spoke to me, I wanted to retreat but I felt like I was all she'd got, so I couldn't turn away.

I listened to Miss Havisham and it was difficult for me. I don't do this. I don't want to do this, but I feel obligated. Then to throw a bit of a bombshell on me I kind of had to hold myself together and be regimental about the whole thing. I wanted Jones. I wanted his logical approach to a situation like this. It might turn out to be nothing. It may well be a false alarm and all will be well. I hope it's nothing. I do not want to be the person facing this, if it comes down to it, because I'm not the right person for it. And I have no idea how He will react to this sort of thing should it be that.

But inside I think I'm morally contracted to deal with this if it turns out to be that dreaded reality. What if this is some sort of unearthly calling? What if I am the one chosen to deal with this because I morally cannot turn away? Because I know the right thing to do. I am the sort of person to do the right thing.

I am not the support type. I'm not the carer, or the advisor. I'm not a shoulder to cry on or a therapist. I just don't have it in me. I don't even believe in half of the issues people claim to be dealing with in their heads every day. But I do believe in Cancer. Everyone believes in Cancer.
I don't know if I believe in God. I can never make up my mind.
But I pray to something that this is nothing. It all turns out to be a false alarm.
Miss Havisham will be fine and I can go on the way I was before.
Please, please be a false alarm.
I have no idea how to deal with sort of thing if it does turn out to be that, and death frightens me. I cannot watch people as they lose people. I've watched several people say goodbye to their loved ones and each time I've had zero idea how to even relate to the situation. I have never lost anyone and I feel as if this might be a vile trick Death is playing on me. Waiting until my guard is down before he snatches away people who I love.

I don't love Miss Havisham. But I know someone who does, and I don't want to witness their grief. I'm not even thinking about Jones, I have a rough if perhaps jaded idea of his opinions on such matters. It's the bulldog of the family I am concerned about.

Of course I cannot keep secrets from Jones. It's impossible. She doesn't understand that.
He's away and it's driving me to distraction, into a grey mood because I know and he doesn't.
I won't spoil his trip. The bulldogs with him too and I couldn't bare to consider his reaction. Please, please turn out to be nothing.  I will wait until they're back. In the meantime I have to deal with this dread, just her and me, and hope it turns out to be nothing.

Losing it again

I've only been in these four walls for a day and I am tearing my hair out. I feel like a stranger in someone else's house. The older I've gotten the less patience I have, the longer I hold grudges, the more I detest peoples interference and opinions. I am sick to death with people telling me what I can and can't do. What I am and what I'm not. What I should do and shouldn't do. I'm sick of it! I don't care how 'well meant' it is, because I didn't ask for your advice. I don't care how much you think you are 'looking out for the best for me' because I did not seek out your opinion.

I cannot stand being spoken over anymore, my words shunted and what I was going to say is irreverent because they can fill the gaps themselves with what they think I am going to say. I sit in these situations and my head is spinning because I don't fit here.

I'm sick of people putting false words in my mouth.
"Yeah but you're obviously not going to have kids"
"You're not interested in America"
"You're not going to move far"
"You're not going to be able to get a house"
"You don't eat stuff like that"
"You can't climb that mountain"
"You don't like dogs"
"You wont cope in that situation"

On and on and on....the more I seem to accomplish, the less these people believe I can do. This makes no sense to me. Are they in denial? Why am I not taken seriously? I feel like I can't say anything without being looked at and spoken to as if I am five playing at being 'grown-ups'.

If it's not my life choices it's the fact that I dye my hair...I feel like screaming at people that I am a grown woman! It would do no good. There are, now, only two people I am close to and feel I can talk to without fearing judgement or having what I've said twisted and turned and repeated to someone else. Those two people are Pidgin and Jones.

If I mention cutting back on sweet treats to Pidgin she doesn't start spreading around that I am anorexic and dissecting my motives. If I don't want a dirty footed dog climbing over my clean and new dress these two doesn't start spouting crap that I don't like dogs. If I travel to a famous city for a weekend break it does not mean I don't like the wilderness and have no interest travelling around more rural places. Where do these assumptions come from?

It's all absurd! and I am unfortunately crammed into the middle whenever I am in these four walls. So I escape, I stay away as often, for as long as I can. Connie is my respite place.

I think I would have run mad in the head if I hadn't found Connie when I did.

Veil

I've almost given up poetry altogether several times, most particularly when my tutor said I wasn't any good at it and ought to stick to prose.

The fact remains, I write what I want and when I need to. This is regardless to popularity or ambition.
I am no poet.

I only write poetry when I'm unhappy.
The contents of the poems are irrelevant, they do not always reflect my thoughts at the given time but I write rhymes as some form of expression I guess.


Currently, I just miss Jones. Late shifts have meant I've spent the week alone, and no one else can fill this void. It's absurd really, that I've allowed my heart to become so infinitely entangled with another person that I cannot be without them. Even for a short time I feel lost, uprooted.

I've reached a point in my life, where I know and I know for sure there is only one person I can truly be myself with. I've thought at times that there were friends, family members who I could share myself with. I was wrong. There is always limitations. Always a veil no matter how thin that hides parts of myself others would not approve of, or would fail to keep to themselves.

All except Jones. I can be exactly who I have always been, but also the person I have grown into. I can voice every opinion, no matter how controversial, uneducated or wrong. I can show everything, share my whole being; mind, body and soul. It's a freedom I imagine many people live their lives without experiencing.

I have a wonderful relationship. Full of real joy, and affection. Although the presents, surprises, trips, all endear this person to me, it's really this freedom that I love most. No one else knows all my thoughts, all my secrets. No one else has seen or touched every single area of my body and made me comfortable in all physical things. The openness of my soul to this person is dangerous, I'm completely exposed.

So when I have to endure days away from him, and I'm forced to hold the veil indefinitely over myself, giving out the persona that's acceptable I start to lose my mind! I need my friend to talk to, to be real with. So that I can feel alive. I'm numb at the moment. A waxwork dummy going through the motions. I only live when I'm real, and I can only be real with Jones.

poem. Porthole

Night pulls in like the tide
crashing darkness against my window
the moon; a distant sailboat
anchored at it's bow.
If I could swim across the sky
I'd dive into this night
yet I am without good reason
inside this porthole prison

Poem.

Upside down teardrops,
bloom fresh upon our tree
pale in the moonlight,
where you first kissed me.
it rained yesterday
it smelt fresh in the dry city
and I wondered if you were caught in the rain
as if you were with me.

Poem. Lighthouse

There stands a lighthouse amidst the sea,
it holds the light that governs me
Though there are those who would knock it down
the tower remains rooted,
it's walls of strength impenetrable
no door to let in the doubt
a princess sits at a window sill
reluctant to be let out.
Crash violent sea,
as intrusive as you can
the lighthouse will continue to stand.

Poem. Thoughts

My thoughts, they flee,
from the confines of my mind
to dance upon walls in the train station
I hold the forefront of my mind
in reservation
for you alone, own my heart and soul
I cannot compose alone
I can no longer write without the respite
of being in your presence

Dandelion poem

Most little girls wish for love
they wish on weeds in the garden
A breath of faith, a giant blow
a hundred seeds of hope
they scatter all around us,
like fairies in the wind
growing, blooming, offering
more wishes for almost anything
My wish granted, forged in iron
a wish I wished,
once upon a dandelion.

Dear Heart poem

Dear Heart,

 It's been a while since we've spoken
I hardly know what to say
you've really done for us both
thrown us under the train.
How could I live without him now?
We're bound in all but name
With each passing day, we're falling faster
and soon we'll hit the ground.
There's no getting up, no going back
You're losing the chance to turn around!
You've dragged us to the firing squad
Laid down your arms of iron
Our life depends on wish now
wished once upon a dandelion
It's dangerous where we are now
If ever things were to change

we're done for, six foot under
We'll never be the same.

Away from Connie

I cannot stay here for the rest of the week. It's only the first night and I'm going insane. The shouting, the chill, the damp, the mess. God I hate the shouting. It's been too long, I've become spoilt.
Right now these hateful four walls remind me too much of memories I'd rather forget.
Here I'm too close to people I don't want to be near.
I don't belong here, in these walls or with these people. If I ever did, I absolutely don't anymore.

I want to go home. Home to Connie, my sacred place of happiness.

Never before has there been such a place
for me to hide my soul inside
a place where I don't feel alone,
my sanctuary, I call it home
As if some inner heart beats within
and when away, only half of me seems to live
I miss you most on nights like this
because Connie is where my heart is.

To those who interfere

What is that?
That, there, sticking into my business?
Oh...it's your nose! Well, how very rude
Your opinion? I couldn't care less
I don't need to hear your views.
In fact... what is that behind you?
Oh! It's your life
Why don't you look at that instead?
Keep out of mine
and stick your nose, where the sun doesn't shine.

The Shadow in my life

There's a person in my life, who hangs like the shadow of an unwanted guest at a funeral. You can't ask them to leave, you feel obliged by them, but also at certain moments, you need them. You resent needing them but you always will occasionally.

This shadow follows me, it lingers in areas of my life I have left behind while trying to influence those decisions I have yet to make. It tries to hold me back in the darkness of the past, keep me frightened of the creature under the bed. It needs me to need It.

I feel suffocated and angry, because I need to breathe. This shadow haunts the doorsteps of those around me, sneaks distrust and ridiculousness into their words. I feel guilty for growing up. I feel wrong for standing alone. They don't understand. They pick and choose what to see and hear.

I can't pick and choose. I love this person like one loves a favourite old teddy bear, you used to need it, you couldn't imagine a time you'd be without it, but time has gone by, you've grown up. You leave the teddy behind, though you still hold it affectionately in your heart, you don't want it with you now. So the teddy becomes the shadow, the creature under the bed, grappling at you, trying to snatch you back.

You can't go back. You can't stop growing up, especially when it happened several years ago.

The Home of your arms

I don't know where it comes from
this feeling, that I have to fight
they push and pull, on and on
because why should I be right?

My choices are my own now
my life is a scrapbook to fill
and yet hands, not my own
turn pages at will.

They'll lose me, you know
they all will
because I wont give this up
this feeling of belonging
in the home of your arms that you've built.

The world can burn away
to ashes and dust in the sky
I'll never want for anything more
nor be tainted by guilt
so long as I can stay here
in the home of your arms that you've built.

I will follow you

I think about you all the time, from the moment I wake up until I sleep you plague my mind. I'll find you walking into my thoughts intruding on ideas and problem solving to just look at me with those brown eyes and send a hot flush racing towards my heart. When we're apart I count the passing time like precious rain drops that don't reach the desert sand.

You are the vessel that holds my happiness.
I don't think many people around us understand this. They don't know what it is to be You and I. Me and You. Together.
I don't understand it either, I just know that you're my favourite person, I can't look at you without thinking this, and I've never had such a good time as when we're together. All the things we do, all the experiences that are binding me tighter and tighter to you. I've never been so happy or had so much fun.

I was thinking about this the other day. Turning it over in my mind as I sat on the bus.

I would follow you anywhere, leave everything else behind.
There's nothing and no one that could hold me back.

If it's into a black hole in the depth of space, or just half way across this world.
If it's only you, stood with nothing but the clothes you are wearing, I would follow you.

You know this already...don't you? And despite this, you still ask me where I want to go?

Writing is my rabbit hole

Being someone who enjoys creating, you are your own worse critic.
Notoriously harsh, unforgivably rude, and difficult to please. I describe myself of course. I am so close to completing my new book, so close that the fear has started setting in like damp on a wall.
This is all I have ever wanted to do, and the possibility of my work being negatively received is the hardest mountain to climb. I tell myself the storyline is interesting, my characters complex and real, my words are well written. I've certainly read worse. Yet I slow my pace, I am suddenly in no rush to finish. I dread the day I send this out into the world, only my eyes have seen this draft. Only I have absorbed it's content and it has become a part of my soul. A year of my life has been imbedded within this book, every spare minute, every other thought has been for this story.

It's been a hard year for me.
As I wrote the above sentence I paused afterwards and realised how true that statement is. It has been a difficult year in some parts. I have questioned myself and others a lot. I've met new friends but also lost some. I let someone damage my confidence. I regained my strength only recently.

I feel that a lot of last years experiences have slipped into my character and fed the book with much needed nourishment. Because I remembered this is my escape. My only way out.

Writing is my rabbit hole.

If anyone reads my book, they will touch a piece of me. They will be much more than a reader. For this book, reading it will mean that year with it's hard weeks will have been worth something.

January Fat.

Being hungry is terrible.
Feeling fat is about as worse.
I think women feel the emotion behind weight differently to men. As a woman you feel upset and lack confidence because you don't match others or your own expectation of what you should look like, but you're so hungry, and you crave all the wrong things. Then you feel angry and upset that you can't have those things, you can't fill that empty space. If you struggle on it's exactly that...a struggle. If you cave then you're worse off than when you started because that packet of biscuits, that extra portion of fries, it all mounts on bit by little bit.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Is it really because the media presents us an idea we desperately want to match? Or because New Health Magazine says it's good for you and your health to change your lifestyle? Bullshit. Is it because we want someone to look at us and feel something positive? To be looked at and admired? Is that so shallow? Is it because the media and men and every second person out there has made us terrified of being undesirable?
I know for sure life seemed easier when I was a set, consistent size 8. But that was seven years ago, and if you learn anything growing up at the bottom of working class it's that nothing comes for free.

For me, I dislike my face. *Shrug* It is what it is...people didn't call me ugly for the first eighteen years of my life for nothing. I wouldn't agree with ugly, that's harsh. Plain is a kinder word. I can't afford surgery, and yes...I would pay to change my face if I could so knock that judgemental expression off your face if you disagree with cosmetics. I can change my body. I've kind of thought since I turned nineteen that if I kept my body looking "Woah!" then it would distract from what's going on above the shoulders.

I have my ups and downs you know...sometimes I feel fine about my body, but it only takes one person to make you feel fat and suddenly you're bothered by this idea daily. I've put on two extra inches around my middle section. This may not sound like much but it's the difference between being comfortable with your stomach and not daring let it peep out to the public! Your skirts get longer, your sweaters get bigger and you shrink in on yourself like a turtle.

This is what has spurred my January change. Someone's made me feel overweight and the measuring tape has confirmed the boogie man of pounds has sneaked up on me over winter. I'm babbling, I know. I just needed to get this out. I'm so hungry. I'm angry that this extra weight doesn't feel ok. I'm upset that while wearing my favourite dress last night I continuously felt conscious of what those extra inches looked like. Going to wrap this up now...I've ranted, I can't count how many women are likely out there this January feeling similar and are right now unsatisfied and hungry for something. You are not alone. I am not alone in this.

It's shit.

It's shit.

What else is there to say? I'm not really in the mood to rant on for a page and a half.
I'm so glad it's Friday, I feel like it's taken a lifetime to get here.

I'm totally pissed off right now, with just about everything, even this stupid sodding McAfee app that wont un-install on my computer and continuously asks me to renew. Sod off!

In fact the only person who hasn't pissed me off right now is out of the country. I'll have to get used to that, my wild Pidgeon is a flyer! Already wish you were back, because as I said, I still like you and I need advice.

Tonight I miss the days when my biggest concern was remembering my homework and how the hell I was going to get that love letter back from that year 10 hottie! (I never did get it back) God that was embarrassing. Those days I had time to put things off, now I feel like I'm running out of time. And now the mouse-pad of my laptop isn't working. -Bloody Hell!

There's only one answer. There's only ever one answer that I have: I need to finish writing one of my books.

Happy January, year 2016

For the second year running I am starting a new job in January. While I'm certain I'll draw on the skills I developed in my last role, I can only hope I don't have to face the same challenges this time around. I'm keeping an open mind, and remaining positive, after all, what other choice do I have?

The pirate ship I was on for my last job has given me a tainted view of 'The Workplace', one I hope will be proven as an anomaly. This new role is only temporary, I'm keeping that in my mind in case the role drives me crazy as I have little doubt it will.

My brother thinks I need to accept the life I have. By that he means: stop putting so much focus on dreams. Get used to the thought-numbing day-to-day process that is average life. I know what he's getting at, he thinks I'm prone to depression in later life when the dreams are still in the clouds and my feet are on the ground. He's grown to believe the dreams are unachievable, because none of us, my brothers, my dad, and I have ever been satisfied with ordinary life. We crave more, the American Dream. The freedom. Seaside homes and work that's a hobby.

My brothers have more than ten years on me, they have set out paths for themselves that cannot be re-directed in any which way. I suppose I have too, in some areas, but I refuse to accept reality. I've said it so many times, they don't believe me, and Hell sometimes I don't believe it myself but times like that I have to give myself a stern talking to: "I'm a doer, not a dreamer"
I will accomplish everything I set out to do.
I jumped out of a plane at 15,000 feet. One of my biggest goals and one of my first. I will not settle for this average exsistance that suits so many others. I will conquer.

So this new job is temporary.
I'll publish my books, I'll build my own business and give it a good go, I'll tick every box on my list.

The mundane day-to-day, the weekly supermarket run, the bus timetable, the counting pennies is not my life, it's just a small part of surviving.
My life is new experiences, it's heart pumping while riding a horse, floating in water bluer than Aftershock, inhaling clouds at 15,000 feet, it's taking something plain and crafting it into a thing of beauty. I'm alive when I'm discovering, when I'm writing, when I'm in the clouds.

Happy January, year 2016...I have another year of dreams to tattoo onto my soul.