Sunday

I had a dream.

In the park I am sitting with a friend with the aimless ramblings floating over us in a kind of hidden wash. Cut to home where shouting and screaming drills through the walls, no source, no anger just me.

Kitchen, I wake.



For the first time in my 24 years I realised I was a sleep walker.

Until it's too late...

I have always been a guilty worrier. Since I can remember to worry I have. The person who smiles daily and has it right up to their eyes- I am jealous of them. In fact I would go as far to say I hate them in some small measure.

We are allowed have a bad day, or month, or hour, minute, phase, episode; whatever. Not because of hormones, but just because we are human. I forget that. Things look good and therefore nothing can possibly be wrong. It's because of the angle we watch things from, a certain height can make the biggest of problems thumbnail sized. I just happen to stare at it until takes over. Slamming and thumping into all other aspects of everything with such force the bruises will never go away.

I walked around Cork this morning and it was good, nice, free. I needed that. I think escape is my favourite fantasy. The happily ever after for my character will probably consist of the the great escape soundtrack, bad hair and hopefully no barbed wire episodic threats circa Steve McQueen....

Tuesday

Poor neglected blog.... how I missed you

Im sorry blog, it has been a while and I know I am to blame. Never answering your calls, avoiding your texts, walking to the other side of the street when I see you approaching- none of it is justified, just know that I knew you were here the whole time waiting.

We moved. Into an apartment with new fresh white walls, big furniture, a suspect kettle, a nice carpet, TWO bathrooms and a nice view from every angle. I will be okay here I think. It's on the top floor and you need two different types of keys to get in- bogie man take that.

Work stays the same, a misused outlet for strict creativity... we take the photo of the natural baby in the natural shot... posed.

My phone broke- this may seem like a tiny thing to the normal person, but my replacement phone remainds me of a time when I wasn't so okay with things, not so happy- the sky wasn't up and the ground wasn't beneath my feet. We will need to fix this immediately.

I sit here in my room feeling bad for not having been here in a while. Not even on this blog but just not having checked in with myself long enough to type about things that are real, that I can touch, feel, smell and see. Fiction is all well and good but too much of it will probably blind me- I should let that happen when I am alot older, surrounded by tesco trollies in my council flat down by the quays- give me something to look forward to.

I'll be back soon, promise.

Friday

If one is to wait for a sign...

I made a decision today- waiting for a sign is a completely useless exercise if action is the desired effect from the overall experiment- that makes sense, just read back on it for a minute. I swear.

I want to do things with people, to share the experience, but perhaps that is the wrong way to look at these things? Maybe the experience I have all by myself is the beneficial thing I should look for.

That's why I went to Rome, see the film I want to see, go out shopping even if others are busy. Be damned with the idea to be alone for a moment is to be lonely, that is not the case. I don't have to prove it, I don't have to will my phone to ring in a coffee shop while I sit by myself. I should be content with myself. After all when everything is done and dusted I am all I have.

Which shouldn't sound like the massive let down that I have implied! I have myself that's a great thing! I think I am OK most of the time when the crippling self doubt isn't messing everything else up.

Embrace and enjoy- it's a novel idea. But a bit sketchy in practice.

Saturday

Weight of the words.

It is not because other people are dead that our affection for them grows faint, it is because we ourselves are dying. Marcel Proust.

I read that this morning when I took a break from house hold chores. It made me sad in a way. I wondered if it was in fact true. The person gone is perhaps not the person lost at all? I don't like that notion at all! It makes me think I am wasting something. I shouldn't sleep in, I shouldn't read that book for a second (or third) time, I shouldn't turn up the television because the birds outside are chirping over the modern drone....

But then- that might be another wrong way of looking at it. There are a multitudes of ways to mess up- so surely in that same vein there must be as many ways to get it right.

I know I have more than one smile, more than one tear and DEFINITELY more than one mood. So maybe I'm not dying Proust. Maybe I am growing further out of field.

The moral might be to perhaps not weigh too heavily on the words a man wrote while he was probably still in bed...

Thursday

And the week that has been..

I feel drained in a way, yet completely rested and calm. It's a ridiculous paradox in a stream of alot of mid day naps, day dreams and searches. Spending over €40 in a second hand bookshop solely on poetry books was the most rewarding part of the week. Realising I don't HAVE to be someone's beck and call at every turn. Find your own feet in a place that's scary- it's all ok to do.

New places to see and go to are helping me tolerate myself alot more. Travelling can be a solo opportunity- and how bad?!

Sometimes I don't like who I am in Cork city- I feel a little lost and vulnerable. Anywhere else in the world I can get through most situations without having to run to someone for advice- why is that? That place is supposed to be my home! But it doesn't feel like it anymore, I don't have a concrete there- no where to stand comfortably.

But maybe it's my surroundings that is causing the problem- ergo we move out. Albeit we not move far...

In fact... I don't think we're going to need a car for this adventure....

Monday

Very good, now again.

It's fair enough to say that blogs are pretentious- they have to be.

If I wasn't a wanker I wouldn't spend time writing and then thinking others would actually want to sit down and read it. I am not ridiculous- I don't think you will truly gain anything from what I have to say- but I gain things. Sometimes it's additional thought- or a worry, or a moment in repetition because it was that damn good I want to do it all over again

What would you do all over again if you had the chance? Would hindsight rear up on it's back legs with such force you'd decide against it because of the risk- or would you tight rope ahead and feel that feeling again. The adrenaline rush of achievement, the tears of joy, the scream of triumph, the sigh of content.All the wonderful things that package us together and make the handle with care all the more prevalent.

To repeat is to go back and try and not change, to stay in the same place-would you want that? or would you, like me, worry about going back and messing it up. A world of uncertainty at a hypothetical notion seems a little childish wouldn't you think? Well that's me and that is ironically unchanged. But other things move on, other things evolve or morph into difference, that's why we are here isn't it? That's why I write more, you read more and then you move on again. If you really had such a brilliant day would you do the exact same thing again in the hope of achieving same, or would you do it differently in the hope that you could better the feeling.

I think that's the conundrum (I love that word today and have said it at all given opportunities). Do I want brilliance of the same or do I want safety in the constant. We spend so long happy to complain about our mediocrity that I think we forget that it is us that can do something about the change we want.

Up off the ass and move- that's what someone important said once. I think.

Tuesday

Sex.. ha that got your attention

Jungians would explain sex dreams as a symbolic of the attraction to and urge to merge with polar opposites. So, it can refer to wholeness, psychological completion; union of different aspects of yourself. Frightening, oppressive or unpleasant sexual dreams often relate to repressed or unresolved spiritual problems.
Dreams of having sex and or orgasm are normal […]

The best sex dream I ever had, hands down was the most inappropriate twenty minutes of my life.

I awoke breathless, ragged and grateful that I had not allowed any friends to sleep over the night before. It would seem a wanton woman lies in the sleeping mind of my dream eye.

Freudians would interpret sex dreams as some infantile sexual wish or attitude. Waking event will not enter your dreams unless related to deep-seated feelings or attitudes. Any conflicts about sexuality will be reflected in sex dreams. Many sex dreams are heavily disguised as other activities. For instance, going in or through a back door can represent anal intercourse.

The most socially in acceptable thing of the whole scenario was that the sandman believed it Fey to allow the leading man to be a comforting friend out of the sleep tight comfort zone. A friend, a man I would look on in the most platonic of fashion and a person I would never dreamt (bad choice of word) to possess such an appendage as the male form. However it would seem possess it so shall do and do it well.

The sex dream encapsulates the wanton soul of the person who is inhabiting the fantasy. it does not reflect the idea of belonging or desire, merely the idea that the relationship has changed focus in recent times. This means I am not crazy, in the instance my mind is just coming to terms that I have a friend that I seemingly don't want to shag. Apparently not dreaming about ripping your clothes off and doing it on one of my best friend's bed is when one should start to have concerns.

Therefore research for this particular blog started on the internal scale. What had I to eat the night before that caused such thoughts? Were my pillows at an unusual angle? Did I have a fever? Am I so lustful driven that not even a platonic loved one is safe?

The fitful dreams of a lady of the night; that's how I will be known. Is my mind safe to let me rest.

I'll let you know how it goes tonight.

grrr

Sunday

Lately I have definitely felt that I have needed to change something- I worried about being fickle and that the only person I was actually punishing was myself.

It's true, that's the exact way of it.

But yesterday and today I realised something and I am lighter because of it- not to have too much of an Oprah moment or anything, but I don't actually need anyone other than myself to function- why have I always thought the opposite? I am 24 years old! I don't need a routine, or a rut as it has become known to me. If I have an opinion and I feel it in my gut that it is right then why shouldn't I stick to my guns? I can do things by myself. I have challenged myself in the last year and tried to consider things that I would never have dreamt of attempting before now.

It's ok that I do not understand people- they rarely take the time to understand me so it can lead to a bit more of a balanced existence- hopefully!

It's the culling process I have mentioned before, I really need to stick to the aforementioned guns. It won't always be pleasant, but I think it will be good for me.

I sit here at home in the sun while my mother is gardening in the over grown jungle we like to refer to as "the lawn", my father and brothers are trying to bring in the hay bales today as everyone is going back to their "real jobs" tomorrow and my sister is... well she's married now so she doesn't count (joke...cough).

My mother's ideas of human behaviour are always what I try best to stand by- if you are being treated unfairly and are not being viewed for who you are then you need to get out of the situation while you are still able to walk away comfortably.

She's the hairdresser of my split ends it would seem... but I think it's going to take a little longer for me to like the idea.

Saturday

It's been a day of busy heads and fast thoughts- but a good conclusion.

I feel alot of sorting out and tidying must be done this Summer. Unhealthiness must be culled out of my diet and mind. I know what I want and who I want with me while i achieve it- unfortunately i means a few more distasteful "we need to talk" conversations...

but it's all for the greater good.

whatever that is!

Friday

Is it ok?

I just realised I have this blog four years... odd.

I remember the day I started it and why and it's funny because all those problems are gone- wrapped up neatly and tightly stored under the bed.

But the stuff that is messing it up now...

it's everywhere.

A day of words and silence padded throughout with a misrepresentation of my own thoughts-

there's a mouthful for you.

I think I have an idea of where my head should be at each day. On a day off I should sleep until a certain time and then engage in social outings, be it alone or otherwise. I conform to what my own head tells me is right- laughably I attempt rebellion.I'll try and snap out of myself and be sensible and try as I might I will not achieve as much as I ever would have deemed acceptable.

the way I misunderstand people reflects hugely on the way I feel of late. I really do not get you. I do not understand the lingers, the thoughts and the emotions- it frustrates me as I realise that I am most certainly broken. No doubt the normals feel what the weirdos cannot. I dislike bundles "we, they, us, them". Each is singular, do not lump me with you, I am not an us, a them, a we or they. I wish I was, oh god I wish I was. But I am a me, an I... I'll get used to it if you will.

Today I wrote my obituary- I can't actually tell you why I did this. An experiment a trained professional will no doubt raise his heavily cynical eyebrow at- but I did it. I may publish it here. Once I see myself pass the idea of my fictional and fantastical death- I am stomped to death by a heard of over sized Koala bears in the middle of the giants causeway while marching for the freedom of incarcerated pigeons all over the world.

In case you were wondering.

Monday

tick

It's like a bash in the head- this series of nothing. An ambition that is so far out of reach the height above my head is laughable, craning neck worth of silliness. I wish I had a plan, a responsibility, a notion, a helpful hint as to what it is I should be doing right now.


I should write, I know this, I know I should and it would be in my ultimate best interest to steady my hand and my mind and pen to paper in the most modern of forms and shelf every other issue in my head.

But I can't.

I lack the the lustre of steadiness. I miss things, people, thoughts and memories. I don't understand the simplest of people and am truly perplexed by my own head right now. Is that OK? Writeable- No.

A plan for the Summer, we all make them. They are the new years resolutions we try to rekindle. I have a reading list, a set of challenges and a bravery gauge I wish to undertake in order to what exactly? Why am I putting a time limit on things. I can still achieve these things if it is raining outside and dark before 6pm. I am not a child, the Summer freedom is not an easy breeze now- it doesn't exist.

I think I hate the people I love as well as like, loathe and tolerate them. I am an all rounder in terms of emotions it would seem and the only person who can stand by it for long enough and put up with the motion sickness? ah, that will just be me then.

Sit in a room with the clock ticking, the time drips off the wall like rebellious paint which point blank refuses to dry- but I will watch it. Sitting in a old musky chair so past it's youth of fashion it is unrecognisable in function. Waiting for... the wall to paint the right colour? The paint to drip off completely and puddle at my bare feet in the hope of colouring something? The batteries to run out and the ticking to stop?

Or am I waiting for nothing, but am so far beyond realising that there is nothing to wait for that I hide it.....

Saturday

A letter to no one

I am a letter to no one
A cry in the dark
A knock on the door of an empty house.

It's an eventuality of fiction that everything has to end, and more so now reality bangs up and stops us in our tracks. A song, a play, a book, a meal, a conversation, a wistful giggle at the most wonderful moment. To last forever is to morph it into a constant. A thing that we take and take but never think about it until it has run out and we are left without.

It goes for good and bad, light and heavy, the weak and the strong. We last forever in one way and never exist in another. A thought to dwell on and ponder but not in a worrying strife. Perhaps we know too often when things will change, and thus like it that bit more.

My hair never behaves better than on the day it will have the chop. A book never gets so good until the final chapter. Some one's smile is always brighter on the final boarding call of a flight embarking halfway across the world.

I've made all these decisions to change- did you know? To be tougher, stronger. bite the bullet and beat the drum. To march to my own music and seek out the fear and laugh in it's face. It's a change, it's different.And as I embark on it, my old life couldn't love more appealing if it were wrapped in a blanket, cuddled on a bed in the middle of a softly lit room just waiting for me.

Friday

I write emails that I wish I was brave enough to send. Smart enough to click the button, but I can't.

It would change a million things in one tiny second.

And yet if I do want this change....

Thursday

Avoid eye contact

The first time you walk the corridor you meet a stranger. A smile flickers shyly and a friend is made. Whether it be through association, off the cuff brash bravery or sheer boredom that allows the courtesy of friendship to unfold. It is real- it is felt.

Then; unbeknown st the feelings fade, the flicker dims, the smile is more tightly formed. The corridor lengthens with a time spent apart, the meetings along the way to each destination become briefer, less define. Less there.

Avoidance becomes necessity to negate to awkwardness that crusts over with time. Cautiously watching steps, checking ahead, side stepping and hurrying so as not to encounter the once cherished friend.

Lets not deal with the;

"Hi, how are you?"

Hit with a wall of lost time conversation takes its last breath and reminisces to a time of easy laughter, bright eyes and brighter tales.

Off the wall we are met with perhaps sadness, change almost certainly and a finer sense of what was gained and in turn lost.

A friendship formed is never done. No matter where we walk.

Tuesday

No.

I need to change this blog, it's decided. The thought is an action.

The page looks hurried, uneasy.

The words aren't what they should be.

So change.

Good plan.

There's no thought without thought

I spend ages concerned with concepts, ideas, plots, other people...but seemingly, and more so unapparent I spend less time in action. Doing something is far more tedious than the thought out process for the procrastinator in me.

Recently I have taken to deleting some of my blogs and keeping it within the range of "self thought" and preservation. There are 145 blog entries on this page- are any of them really... OK? I don't want to delete them all in a brash cry of impatience. Even though, lets face it the loss would not be so great.

I've started to look at what I write with a less critical eye and a more productive air- instead of immediately wanting to delete all the words and being impatient with myself I like to think what I could add to make it more readable and what I could take away to make it less a dramatic cry of pretension (although the last three paragraphs are certainly up there with the best of them).

I will always love and use words- there will always be a string of sentences I want to pearl together. Not just for pretty thought sake. It's more so out of necessity. If I do not write everyday I will be restless. The thoughts in my head will build up to such an extent that I will not have room for anything else; just thought. And while that could be a worry, I don't think it is something that will ever happen. There is always a scrap of paper, an almost run out pen. I will always have the ten minutes to scribble down the thought.

Then later on when the day is sleeping and my mind is ready to tell me stories I will look at the crumbled receipt, wonder why I kept it, turn it around in my fingers and find the line. The line in my head that is now a full story.

I'll sigh, start up my near death bed stricken laptop and run my fingers over the letters. Hopefully the string doesn't knot me up in some hopeless case of all night exhaustion.

But if it does, so be it.

Sunday

Happy Birthday...

My When Will I Die Quiz results:

I have 53 years left to live.
I will die in 2063 at age 77.
I am behind the average lifespan for someone my age by 4 years.
To put it another way, I have the health of a 28 year old woman.
I have lived 31% of my life already.



Surprisingly reassuring...

Some things you just don't realise...

My sister and I rarely speak in our own accents when we are together; sometimes we're English, Australian, American or almost racially acceptably French or Italian. We also spend most car journeys singing or in morbid silence in between her outbursts of road rage.

There's a black fleck on my right thumb, no matter how much the nail grows it's still there.

On the left side of my head my hair has alot more curls.

I have a squint in my left eye.

My grandmother told me shrugging is for stupid people and even now I stop myself doing it.

One of my best friends likes to tell me to put on "our song" when we're in the car. It's Noah and the Whale, Sun, sun, sun.... because we probably won't like each other in five years time as the lyric suggests. Ever so comforting.

If I rotate my wrists they click.Same goes for my ankles.

I cannot stand The Cable Guy, it makes me very very angry. Much like reality television, Laura Woods, Eddie Hobbs, Winning Streak and ring tones.

I prefer ads to regular scheduled programming.

I made a friend move furniture around my room this morning just because I don't like how I can see myself in the mirror every morning when I wake up.

I love wrapping paper more than the present. Always.

My favourite flavour is orange or strawberry. For a month every Summer I like to live solely on ice pops.

I would like all my meals to be in picnic form.

I only like being social with people every so often. More often than not I like restricting most contact to text form.

I will never pick up the phone to a private number.

I will always pick up to my parents.

I keep my phone on silent at all times as when it vibrates to notify me I have a message it scares me. Therefore the picking up to my parents point is pretty much moot.

There's a cat in our back yard and I fed him tuna even though my brother told me not to.

I like black and white films.

I love all french songs even though I have no idea what is being said.

I have poor reflexes... means I fall over alot.

My mother calls me the baby even though I have two younger brothers. Those two call me the child and my older brother and sister call me sweetie. All in all my family think I am 7.

I hate the word goodbye and bye. Very final.

I gag at the thought of velvet.

I like to make up stories about people I see on the bus.

I read over 200 mills and boon books in the last 6 months. I only kept reading them as people has a genuine problem with it and it intrigued me.

I have a teddy bear called selection box and I bring him everywhere with me. He can often be found in my handbag.

I can recite certain paragraphs of To Kill a Mockingbird, Macbeth, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice and The Bell Jar.

I go through phases- I have been obsessed with Mandella, Sinatra, Joe DiMaggio, Humphrey Bogart, Ted Bundy, Bobby Sands, Polly Klass and Charles Manson.

I read all public documents to do with the Veronica Guerin case when I was in secondary school.

When I blink my eyes click.

When I was younger I wanted clickity grown up shoes.

I don't like labels.

I like sunglasses.

I think Tom Cruise is misunderstood.

Sometimes I like to do long division when I am bored because it took me so long to grasp it in school I'm afraid I will forget how to do it.

I like graveyards and usually find the names for characters there.

I hate selfishness, loud noises and when it's dark.

More often than not I fall asleep to the voice of Stephen Fry reading Harry Potter.

I dream of people and there is rarely a location around for long enough to focus on it.

First thing I do when I wake in the morning is check my phone, text my mother and delete email spam.

I have an off white tooth that will not whiten no matter what I do.

I can cook but I cannot bake.

There's a rocking chair in our kitchen that I don't like to rock on in case I break it.

I like stretching and curling my toes.

I like to play with people's fingers. When I was younger I would spend hours playing "princess trapped in a dungeon" while I sat on my father's lap, his hands were the dungeon.

When I was small I cried because I didn't have an Adam's apple.

I was too small to go swimming in school so I went to "daddy and me" classes.

I had a stutter which sometimes causes me to roll my "th" sounds.

I love poetry.

When I finish something I like to know there is something wrong with it that needs to be fixed before I show it to anyone.

I would love to have a little girl called Moxie who liked to play outside all the time.

Lastly-

I do not like to shake hands with strangers.

Friday

Curtain

Everynight when I come into my room I do the same thing. I close my curtains, change into more suitable snooze attire, open the curtains again, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, return and clothes my curtains.

It's a habit, means nothing. But this evening I decided once I closed them and had them draped tightly closed that I would leave them that way.

Old habits die hard- curtains open. It makes no difference to the room. i am not keeping anyone out and keeping something in. It just feels better that way.

I must really up the dosage.

Thursday

I've never dreamt right.

It's selfish to say people don't understand you- did you know?

I dreamt about a little girl painting a picture of her house, there's a man sitting on a couch watching and asking her questions. She ignores him as she bows her head in concentration, her hair covering her face and her little tongue sticking out in stark focus. When she stops painting he picks up the picture and the page is blank.

Why is it blank?

She just smiles at that question.

Then my alarm goes.

Monday

Oh now.

I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a grating metal like feeling- some kind of panicky steel that is worrying me. I think I have forgotten something, or something is going to happen today and I will not be best pleased with the outcome.

Being a habitual worrier I know that this isn't unusual and for people who know me it can be somewhat boring, however why does a mental state of anxiety always have a physical aftertaste.

I decided to research a little before blogging, so then it would not just be a selfish rant of sorts- a little education seemingly goes nowhere however...

Anxiety is a contraction of stimulus both psychological and physiological... but apparently it happens without reason. So that means it's so grey it's hidden- frustating.

Therefore I will try harder to think about why I am worrying.

I'll worry about why I am worrying- seems healthy enough.

Tuesday

Windows is processing...

I really need a new laptop- this poor mite has been struck down by every type of problem it can have- besides being purposely lit on fire. I haven't reached that stage quite yet.

It's slow, annoying and won't do what I want.

Oh wait... it's a man.

BURN.

I've spent the last hour reading about fear and rejection. For no real reason; I was curious and there was nothing on television worth my attention.

It seems to all boil down to people being afraid that their own expectations are greiviously lower than the spectator. I am one of those people who just believes being mediocre is perfectl acceptable and any compliments after that should be taken on the chin, empty gratitude served back over the net to the player and then it's 40 love (that's a sport metaphor...).

Mark Twain was apparently so afraid that people would expect such heights from his writing that he often hid it from his most avid readers, Padraig Pearse had a nervous twitch when he spoke in crowds due to the heavy anticipation of being jeered at (thank you for telling me Mrs. History teacher) and JK Rowling still blushes when walking past her own book on a shelf.

That seems crazy. The most succesful and inspirational people in the world thinking they are not good enough to function in the worlds they have made for themselves by being so obviously talented.

I guess some things will never change.

Tonight I read To Kill A Mockingbird. Again. I'm just at the part where Scout has her new gun targetted at Miss. Maudies behind. Atticus will intervene before she takes up aim. I can always depend on him.

Saturday

Feb, 1, 2010 (forgot to post)

If there is one book you deem worthy of reading this month, year or decade I would lobby it to be Schindler's Ark. You stomach it without tasting metal in your mouth at every injustice over every leaf and I don't think I want you reading what I write.


Today I spent much of my time in solitude. I have not been sleeping due to weird dreams that I refuse to have, in my refusal it seems sleep and the occasional nap has been taken away from me. I can deal with it so long as I get my five to six hours of quiet time every 24 hours.

Perhaps change is the key Watson...

If there is one book you deem worthy of reading this month, year or decade I would lobby it to be Schindler's Ark. You stomach it without tasting metal in your mouth at every injustice over every leaf and I don't think I want you reading what I write.


Today I spent much of my time in solitude. I have not been sleeping due to weird dreams that I refuse to have, in my refusal it seems sleep and the occasional nap has been taken away from me. I can deal with it so long as I get my five to six hours of quiet time every 24 hours.

So I toook the time today to set up a new blog (ooooh shiney) I hear you say. I will add the link onto this page as soon as I have a little archive together.

The mish mash of nevertoolate is all well and good but it doesn't sit well with me when I want to have a tudy and clean piece put together.

I also had a brilliant idea today- not going to actually tell anyone about it just yet, but just know... it's great.

Have you ever...

Had what you thought was a really good idea and then be told it is on fact terrible? And have that person, the bringer of reality, be a paid medical profession type person??

Yeah, me neither.

Friday

I write it better than you ever felt it.

My resolution bit the dust five days in. FIVE DAYS. That cannot be a good omen for the rest of the year surely? However I am far too good a mood to let it thwart me. Today is good. I spent the entire night writing- all night long the only sounds were me typing, swearing when I needed to spell check or look something up, pacing a little and sighing contently when it was all out of my head and printed before me. 12,000 words later (give or take syntax.... and grammmmmmar) I am lighter than I have been in weeks. I will never show anyone what it was that made me feel heavier. It's for me, but the fact that I had the follow through to start what I began at 11pm last night gives me hope for this year. Writing in a blog daily will not give me the satisfaction that is desired if I am not writing what I want to be read.

Today I spend it reading and doing exactly what I want to do. Selfish? Almost certainly. Necessary? More so than breathing!

I have spent far too long being concerned with others; friends, family, random peers. They don't care for my opinion, and that isn't being deprecating in anyway, that's just fact. I will try to worry less. Reduce the stress somewhat. Talk to who I want to, be with who i want to see and then see where I feel I am standing after this is somewhat continuous.

No more annual resolutions- who is to say I don't try something for a month and then pick up something new after that? Far more productive and useful for the restless person in me.

The irony of this good feeling.... my internet just died... COUGH. Fear not I copy, I paste, I save...

Sigh.

Tuesday

Definition of a bad day:

While walking to work this morning I trundled across an open and used pregnancy test at the bus stop, it was positive. Beside it was a half eaten bag of crisps. Made me sad...

Monday

Jude Law has a bad hair line.

For the first time in our relationship Law's face didn't annoy me.

There I said it.

This isn't a blog, more so a confession, but I have no more to say this evening....

Sunday

There's nothing on television...

Therefore I am deleting rubbishing from my email... and the lazy blogger in me was grateful to find some ramblings....

Hopeless travel writing attempt.

18th November, 2009.
Krakow, Lesser Poland.
After very little sleep, more than a healthy serving of childish
excitement and far too much hand luggage we have arrived. Katowice
Airport is cold, sterile, overly bright with florescent lighting and
seemingly completely devoid of anykind of polite social interaction.
Tired, cold and a little bit lost in a foreign country we were
released from the airport and found ourselves crammed into the back of
a small blacked out mini bus with the good fortune to be driven by a
man who was more than capable of conversing in Russian. Without a word
of polish we were dropped at Krakow bus station and pointed in the
direction if the nearest taxi. The most important thing to remember
about taxi drivers in a foreign country is that they are more than
happy to help the stranded but they know the longer it will take the
more money they will make. Therefore at 2am this morning we were
privvy to the fast paced conversation of how best to get us to the
main Market square. It took too much time, a bit of money and brute
strength to get us up the three flights of stairs to our ryjneck7
hostel. Ironically we can be found in room 7....

Saturday

Gasping

With a head held high above water;
proud, stiff and arched.

Blurred by the black spots blinding the vision
the wait would not be long.

The cold waves lapped and splashed off the surrounding walls
the only sound in the place.

Except your breaths.

The darkness was as iced as the water clouding the space.

Your feet are frozen weights fighting your pull,
your fingers,hands and arms as numb as the fear that is holding you there.

Bobbing like a hopeless cork.

It won't be long now.

Day 1...

When people get married I imagine it will last forever. The happily ever after idea. Today I learnt that some married couples aren't like my parents. They may fight at times, my mother may scream at my timid father and he will concede almost immediately and they will make up as if they had never had a disagreement in the first place. They aren't overly affectionate, but it's clear she has no intention of killing him in his sleep which is comforting.

So far my new years resolutions have taken a hit- I haven't, as far as I can see, lost a million pounds, I haven't written my Pulitzer prose today, I didn't walk from town home and I most certainly haven't looked up anything educational online to benefit me...

So far onto a winner.

Friday

New Years.... uh oh.

Everyone attempts to think of and keep up a resolution- lose weight, gain weight, exercise more, eat less, read more, watch less television, listen to classical music, swear less... etc.

Mine is to write in this thing everyday, more importantly to make sure it's readable.

I also vow to lose/gain weight, exercise more, eat less, read better books, listen to Chopin.... but I am not telling you that.