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.
Sunday, 8 June 2014
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.
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.
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.
Friday, 6 June 2014
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, 4 June 2014
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.
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