Contemplating the Silence

15 04 2013

There is a silence in my flat tonight that I am not used to anymore, and I have to admit that I am not enjoying my solitude. You see I have a permanent little fixture who is not with me tonight and I admit whole heartedly that I miss my little four legged friend.

She adopted me at Christmas time, I was looking for a specific type of breed of dog and she was advertised as such, but when I went to see this little pup who was the last of her litter it was more than obvious that she was of a Heinz 57 variety of mix, but I fell in love with the little bundle of jumping trouble the moment I walked in the room.

I’m sure this is when people say that they picked their dogs because they were shy and sweet, or that they crept up shyly from behind their mothers back, but my little puglette was anything but timid, she run up to us with a joy that only the young and unregulated feel and started climbing up my leg and trying to eat my shoe. I wanted her from that very second. There was no way in the world that I was leaving that house without her, and of course I didn’t, and even now I feel guilty if I have to leave her alone (work gets in the way of this idealism).

I, as those who have read my blog will know, was always much more of a no-commitment kind of person. In fact I was always of the Holly Golightly mindset that me and belonging to anyone or anything did not go hand to hand. Funny how a little dependent with a naughty streak wider than the English Channel has changed all of that. Now I can’t imagine being without her, and know I never will be for all the years that we both draw breathe in the same lifetime.

I completely failed at being the alpha of the pack, and as much as I tried I didn’t quite get the ‘dogs join your family, you don’t join theres’ mentality, maybe because I didn’t have a family, but just lived a solitary, selfish home- life. This has resulted in me and my little friend creating a little makeshift family of our own, one in which we seem to have equal shares in the sofas, bed etc. In fact I am pretty sure that she actually rules the roost and i’m just the follower.

But boy does my little leader know how to make me feel like i’m the most wonderful person in the world. There is something wondrous in being responsible for someone that is not you in day to day life, there is something joyful in being depended on, in knowing that the simplest of acts can bring a gratitude that no human has the capacity to feel. I understand for the first time in my life the saying about a mans best friend, for my little terror, with her cute eyes and demanding ways, with her sense of fun, of play, with her basic simple needs, in her quietness, in her noise has brought to my selfish heart the most amazing of human emotions. I went and feel in complete and utter love with a little furry fawn girl with a soul as old as time.



12 04 2013

Sitting in my bed on a Friday night eating a box of Thornton’s and smoking cigarettes doesn’t seem very rock n roll, unless you’re one of those people who abhor smoking in bed (don’t care, I sleep alone), the dog is curled up at my feet …and instead of reading heat magazine cover to cover I thought I would attach the keyboard to the iPad and write something, anything.

I’ve had a pretty lousy week, an incident with my car (not my fault), the norovirus (winter vomiting, is that as ironic as daffodils in the snow? I think not!) and my ongoing battle with paying the bills (not possible for me) so tonight I planned on sitting around and feeling sorry for myself.

An ex of mine, who is still a friend, popped around earlier with a ‘care package’ which included wine, chocolates, magazines and flowers – which I thought was a really sweet thing to do and in my weakened state nearly made me want to reach out to him and invite him back into my life. But I’m made of stronger stuff it seems, and I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong that girl I was is still inside of me and a big part of me firmly believes that sharing my bed, and my body would have been a massive stress relief for me right now but my celibacy remains a truth for the time being.

It got me to thinking about relationships and how as my age creeps up I look for so much more.

I’ve always been a bit of a romantic underneath it all, beneath the walls that I built around myself in my brazen years, I hid a lost and lonely girl. The only way to ensure that I didn’t feel vulnerable was to become the cold one, I ran from beds before I was pushed, as if being the first to exit made me the one in control. I balked at deep conversations in the dead of the night, preferring to silence the words with the warmth of a body. That warmth used to keep my own coldness away for a short time, the blackness of my eyes burnt like coal with physical lust but emotionally I stayed distant.

Or maybe I was just emotionally retarded…maybe I still am.

I find it very difficult now, experience has softened my edges, I find now that I want to talk in the dead of the night, but i’ve never met anyone who I feel would listen without judgement and try to understand. The truth is I don’t want a counsellor, I don’t want platitudes or someone to list all that I should be grateful for. I just want to tell someone my story, how I got to be the way I am without them running for the hills with the craziness of it all.

There must be a deep satisfaction to know that someone else in the world knows the complete truth about you, but accepts you anyway, and more than acceptance is willing to listen to your words of despair while the rest of the world sleeps.

I’m rusty I know, my words do not make much sense to me let alone to a passerby.

Forgotten Nights

4 04 2013

Its been such a long time since I have sat down and tried to write. I am not even sure if I still have the ability to make my words mean anything to anyone but me. I feel like the forgotten girl has forgotten herself, I don’t know who I am anymore.

I am back settled in the UK, three years almost, I have stayed put, I have not run. Its been difficult, I forgot how much the everyday problems that just come with trying to get by over here take up your time. Sometimes I feel like this is half a life but then I have to remind myself that this is real life – this is how life is when you don’t take to the pavement every-time things get rough.

I have a little shoebox flat, just me and the dog. I’ve curbed my promiscuity but I still cannot maintain a relationship even if its all I crave now. I want the normality, I want a family, I want to belong. I’ll be 32 in a couple of months, I danced and drank and destroyed my previous years and I find myself standing before the mirror now and spying the cracks in my face caused by the hedonism, constant cigarette smoking and my weather beaten years, I spy the odd grey hair trying to show itself under the red dye. I see a woman who has experienced so much, seen such vast things but ultimately has come full circle and still stands alone.

I have lost so much, gained so much more. I have evolved into a person who has been jaded, lost, found, the destroyed and the destroyer, a woman who has stood ten feet tall but has also felt the gravel scratch her cheek.

I rarely touch alcohol, prefer the simple life, walking the dog, reading a lot, my words always so harsh in a world full of gentle fake folk have been (for the most part) quietened. I can listen now, I can breathe. I still have that demon temper, those black eyes but a huge part of me is subdued, I am learning to pick and chose my battles.

There does not seem to be any purpose to this post. But I am here. Always I am here.

Belly-Dancing Blues

20 09 2008

I have a long list of things I really ought to be doing.

There is an ironing pile in my bedroom that has been growing for over a month. At the moment its impossible for me to actually look in my wardrobe and see anything ready to wear except a belly-dancing fancy dress costume that I bought last year for a birthday party.

I had this rather weird notion today that it would be amusing if I put on said costume and wore it throughout the day, from when I went to take my coffee this morning, to going food shopping and then on to work (only 12 days left … finding another job is also on that ever growing list!).

It would be interesting to see how people viewed me as I went about my daily business dressed as a cross between a Moroccan belly dancer and a whore (the costume wasn’t supposed to be that authentic!), especially if I made a point of keeping a straight face and acting confused when people asked me why I was wearing such an outfit.

I could always act even dumber and pretend I thought that belly-dancing costumes were this seasons new black.


18 09 2008

I quit my job.

Not the brightest thing to do when you live in a tourist resort and now that the summer is over finding work is similar to find the love of you life i.e. near on impossible.

I keep looking around my apartment, and thinking I am going to lose everything.

Martin quit me.

Tonight I was out with the other half of what was supposed to be our summer foursome. I felt lonely, I felt ugly, I missed what might have been.

I am fed up with being the one always left behind, the thing nobody wants to keep.

I quit pretending.

In a nightclub full of 19 year olds I realised that my life is not going to be fulfilled in that way anymore. I feel out of touch. I could tell when I spoke nobody was interested in anything I had to say.

I finally saw the truth of me and it wasn’t pretty.

I need to quit alcohol.

As I sit here now, after courting the friendship of alcohol I feel more confused and hopeless than I did before. My answers cannot be found this way.

I’m a terrible drunk, manic depressive and aggressive. Its my true nature – its who I am.

I feel like quitting everything.

I’ve waited so many years for something to go right, for something to change, for something to give … to see a change in myself. Now I know my search is fruitless.

As I sit and think about the fact that I am going to lose everything, that my life is crashing down around me I realise that all I ever needed to do was simply not be.

National We-Heart-Kitchen-Roll Day!

16 09 2008

There are something’s in life that you take for granted, that you use everyday and never realise just how wonderful they are. Today I want to pay homage to the unappreciated wonders of Kitchen Roll!

Its just sits there in its holder on your work tops, largely unnoticed, used for so much but never paid tribute too. Bet you never stopped to think that this wonderful creation has been around since 1931 without anyone showing their gratitude. Ungrateful world we live in.

I think its about time we showed it some kudos, no? Just for a minute sit there and think about how much you use it for.

v Want to clean glass or mirrors without smudges? Kitchen roll is your tool.
v Wiping down your sides? Reach for the kitchen roll.
v Need paper napkins? Kitchen roll has multi uses.
v Drying fruit? Kitchen roll will do!
v Dropped something that you don’t want to touch? Kitchen roll can be used as a glove!
v Mouths/hands need wiping (children, old people, husbands)? Kitchen roll to the rescue.
v Need to soak some of the fat off chips/sausages? Reach for the holder!
v Want to blow your nose? Come on now, you know its thicker and nicer than toilet roll!
v Cooking? Want to put the spoon covered in sauce down? kitchen roll can be used as a placer.
v Cook bacon in the microwave? Only on kitchen roll darlings.
v Make up smudges? Feels nice against your skin ladies!

I am sure there are a thousand more uses for it?

Kitchen roll has it all – more hygienic then conventional towels, disposable, cheapness … I know someone is going to remind me of environmental issues, but sorry guys and gals today I am not listening, I have officially christened today as national we-heart-kitchen-roll day!

There is also one more use for it guys … though I don’t recommend this as it doesn’t dissolve like the conventional use-for-this-reason paper, but if you’ve run out of loo roll it makes a good stand-in, far better than the alternative anyway!

Standing Down By Being Stood Up

31 08 2008

There are quite a few things you have to be conscious off when you get the desire to start cleaning your apartment at four o’clock in the morning, mainly the neighbours, though why I am giving them a second thought I know not. Seeing as these are the same neighbours who I labelled ‘coffin builders’ because for months on end I was woken at all sort of odd hours with them banging, or using electrical noisy machinery outside my bedroom window. And trust me, when you work long and late hours sleep becomes almost holy and anyone who dares wake you from it is immediately cast as demonic.

But anyway, that’s what just happened to me, I was sitting there all dressed up and nowhere to go (literally) after I had been let down by my work friend. The same friend who introduced me to the young one.

He asked me to go out with them all tonight, and at first I didn’t think I really wanted to but he seemed keen and in the end I thought why not, August has been a long month for us that work in tourist towns and celebrating the end of it seemed quite an exciting prospect. See I leave work, go home and change, and sit and wait for him to call … and wait … and wait. Finally at four (I did tell you we work odd hours, we finished at two!) I gave up.

To say I felt a little put out would be an understatement, you see when something like this happens, I don’t think how other people think – I don’t put a logical explanation like maybe he fell asleep, or they didn’t go out, or something else. No, my first thoughts are ‘what did I do? Why don’t they want me out with them? Is the young one trying to avoid me? Did they ask me out of pity? For a laugh?’

Then instead of getting an explanation tomorrow and going with it, I will just think its an excuse. I can’t help it. Paranoia is something I have had in heaps ever since I can remember, it’s the bane of my life and something I get accused of having often, which in turn makes me paranoid about having such obvious paranoia.

So I’m sitting here, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. When all of a sudden I start to get hypercritical about the state of my apartment, about the dishes on the side, the floors that really need sweeping and cleaning and I want to fix it, but being aware of making noise and pissing people off, I just (quietly) put the dishes away, bring in some washing to fold and start planning a major de-junking of my living space.

Its while planning that, that it hit me what my intentions were – you see when I moved out here (one year and three months ago) I came with a suitcase and holdall, I had sold everything that I had acquired over the years in the UK ready for my new start – so here I am living here for over a year and I have acquired junk again, I could not fit what I have now in that same suitcase and holdall and I think that’s what scares me.

Realising the fact that if it all went wrong tomorrow I could not pack up and leave just as easily as I arrived worries me, in knowing that this is worrying me I am seeing that I want to run again. When I was younger I ran away to my mind, to the secular living of non-reality, as a teenager I hid myself away at home for almost a year, as a young adult I escaped through drugs and drinks, sexual relationship to sexual relationship, moving from job to job, friends to friends, now I literally flee for real. Gone are the days when just moving on in my mind or local surroundings are enough, now I need to change towns, cities, countries.