Archives for the month of: November, 2012

Let me start by giving you a list of the things I ought to be doing…

1) Having a bath. (To be fair, I am waiting for the water to heat.)
2) On-line shopping or even a trip to the local shop for tomorrow’s food.
3) Washing up. (I’m sure the water is hot enough to do that.)
4) Making a cake. (No eggs.)
5) Spending time with the cat. (whom I have recently found I am indeed allergic to.)
6) Pretty much anything else non-blog related. (Like writing my book.)

You may be thinking: why? What has any of this got to do with me? How will all this information enrich my life? The simple fact is, it has nothing to do with you; it probably won’t enrich your life, BUT the why, for once is interesting.

Why? One of the most pointless questions in the universe and probably therefore my favourite. No one could tell me why I had two miscarriages. No one could tell my why my mother went to live in a different continent. Why my aunty died. There where no answers to why I had a lump in my breast, or why my ex-boyfriend was a cold brutal man, or why I endured the relationship for as long as I did, or even why a serial killer savaged a friend of mine and then tried to hunt me down when I intervened. All in the space of a year.

Just as I cannot explain to you why (when the police did nothing to help me) I effectively put myself on ‘witness protection’, changed my name, moved address etc etc I was just 22. I signed up for a degree and forged a career working with homeless people. I did not put myself in bed for a decade (as some women have done). I lived. Some of it is a bit of a blur, but I do have some magnificant memories.

Why? Why? Having overcome all these things, why am I falling apart because I am jobless. I had a session with a Life Coach last night. The fact is, I find myself interesting. Insofaras, the me I am now, is intrigued with the me I once was. I wish that I could look back and find out what my motivations for things were. I did have a journal, but it was full of bad words and I butchered it, burnt some pages, made some pages into a papier mache pinate and some others into a papier mache heart ornament. I transformed them, as I transformed my life.

Here I am, doing it again, turning poison into medicine. This time, when I look back, I will know. As a writer, it helps me to focus. It will provide rich treasure to plunder, in the future. If I have a future. I’m a bit worried that all these people keep turning up from my past, it’s like having your life flash in front of your eyes. Only in slow motion.

The latest to turn up, is the boy (man) I shared my first kiss with (he literally took my breath away). We had some fun times. Mostly physical, if you catch my drift. Innocent, teenage fun. I haven’t seen him for 20 years. I’m sad to learn that he lost his mum in January. Sometimes, we need to reconnect to where we come from. Perhaps, that’s why he is in touch. I’m glad it’s a person I’d like to get to know all over again.

Finally, I want to leave you with an image that I shared with my Life Coach. I feel like a little girl, sat slumped on the ground. I am crying and my tears are making mud of the dust and it is smeared on my face and my dress is heavy with it. If I had not cried, all I had to do was stand up and dust myself off. Now, because I cried, I’ve made everything worse and all I have to show for it is a headache.

Really finally, cry if you want to, get angry if you feel it, but MOVE! ACT! BE SWIFT. At least that way, you will only have wet clothes. If that mud dries on me, I have made myself a concrete tomb. If I had made a phone call a week ago, I would have secured 120 duvets for the hostels I work with. Don’t bottle up or swallow your feelings down, but make sure you live too.

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I’m calmer now, I’ve had some input. I have been plugged back in. Also, scraping some money together helped. Now I can write about my women. I should, as ever, be writing the book. But…

I reckon I have about 10 women who are making a significant impact on my life at the moment. Positively. With joy. Not one of them is crazy crazy, just the good crazy. What do they do? A Sound Artist, a Dancer, wait, two Dancers, a Chic that teaches doctors in return for them patching her up, a Rock Chic (in a million ways, a doer), a Facilitator? (she makes people do arty things), a retired Support Worker (writer and artist), my Mum (as ever), a Doula. This list doesn’t include the other incredible women on the fringes of my life…

And the one that keeps coming back.

She is a good person but she is toxic for me. We argued in March and now she wants to pick up where we left off. No, thanks. How do you tell someone that you no longer want them in your life, with out hurting their feelings? I want to be definite and final, but not brutal, we had been friends for the better part of twenty years.

Letting her go made room for all the women above. One person took the energy of 10 women and gave little back. She never knew and still doesn’t. We parted ways twice before and I thought this would be the last time. She tells me she is moving away and doesn’t want to part on bad terms. Me either, but we will be parting, I am closing the door. I might even brick up the opening.

Me and my women. We play. We laugh. We cry. We shout and sometimes tell each other to fuck off. We hug. We sit on sofas and drink tea (or alcohol). We dance. We walk. We are silent. We are kind. We are strong. We read to each other. We move houses and decorate together. We fall apart at the seams and we sew each other up. We nurse each other. No matter how long it’s been since the last time, the next time is like there has never been a break.

We are not jealous. We share each other and are stronger and wiser for it. I might be the pain in the arse, but if I am they never rebuke me for it. They don’t pander to me either. I am a strong woman and it’s refreshing to have a group of people who tell me about myself. It’s a rare thing and I am a better person for it.

Women!

They are my best friends.

Twenty years ago I wouldn’t have believed you.

A couple of days ago I finished my exclusion diet, had a blood test and then bought pizza. You know I made myself poorly with this, don’t you? It was inevitable. Two days spent in agony and unable to sleep.

I am ridiculously poor, the social have decided to give me some money for interview clothes. Being ill I was unable to get them and as predicted, I split my trousers during the interview. I’m running ahead. I didn’t get to sleep till about 4 or 5am. I will not be eating dairy again. It simply isn’t worth it!

I dragged myself out of bed five hours later, missed the bus. £5.50 in the taxi. Fuck. But I remembered my soya milk, so at least was able to have a cup of tea. Wonder what they thought of my Alpro sat on the table? It was an all day assessment, 50 people eye-ing each other in a fight to the death for 8 jobs.

The morning did not go well. I was tired, stressed and hungry (missed breakfast) and the lighting in the hotel was migraine inducing. Started to get snappy, especially at the fella who proclaimed that “everyone has a lap top these days!”. I wanted to point out that some people didn’t have homes these days and ask him where they plug their laptops in, instead I gave him daggers.

Yesterday, I was accused of being elitist and arrogant (overtly) AND bigoted (backhandedly) over a single line in a post on a social network. I was condescended (“my good woman”) and my ethnicity was brought up, all by the same person in one response (What does he know about my ethnicity, I don’t even know what it is!). I told him to fuck off and called him a cheeky twat. Then deleted the comment and apologised to the friend who’s ‘wall’ it was.

As I was giving the fella daggers, I was even more incensed at the injustice of those remarks, did he really believe that I was that kind of person? The specific line he pointed out did seem a bit wanky, but I thought I clarified my stance in the rest of the post. At least I don’t think that everyone has a lap top. After the interview I was out selling my gold. In seatless fucking trousers I might add! Very elitist.

Lunch and I high tail it out so that I can breath and get some grub (last nights tea). On my way out, I apologised to the man I had been giving daggers, because I was contrary with him all morning. I thought shite! They are watching my every move here, better behave. But really I wanted to poke him in the eye. In the afternoon I was moved to another table. With a guy who had been receiving a lot of attention, so that could be good or bad.

After, I went to sell my gold, the first offer I had was £25. I thought that was OK, but half what I was expecting. The further up the hill I went the more I was offered and in the end sold it to a small independent shop, who offered me £53. That is going to feed me for a good few weeks. You know how I didn’t want to go to a food bank for fear of running into a client? Yeah… Third shop I went to. I blagged it and pretended that I was buying. Sodding hell.

I skipped down the hill and made plans to ask mum if I could sell my 21st birthday present, I never wear it and it weighs 20g, that’s £200 folks! I feel horrid. Yesterday, I was asking my volunteer group if I was successful in getting the funding if they would release the money all at once. I hate talking about money. I never borrow. I hate being asked to lend money and generally do anything I can to avoid conversations about it, even down to bill splitting, I always have a separate bill. This month I have had 4 conversations about taking money off people .

I put £35 pounds in the bank, passed my Big Issue seller and gave her two quid. I’ve been avoiding her for a while. We had a chat and a cuddle as per and then I ran to get my bus. I have a friend coming for tea. £2 for a ticket home (That’s £39 pounds). Oh yeah, I got a McDonald burger for 89p. I did go in Holland and Barrett’s for something, but came out sharpish, their prices have nearly doubled. Clearly, my ethics are beginning to slide into the abyss, along with my self esteem.

I went to shop, got to the check out, was asked for £19. I put all my shopping back, sent through the essentials for this evening and gave them £12. That leaves me with £2, where has all the money gone!? It’s okay, it’s in the bank paying bills. I bought cheap toilet paper. I want to cry. That is my one. That was my one line in the sand. I WILL NOT WIPE MY ARSE ON CHEAP LOO ROLL. Fuck.

I walked the mile home, did some washing up and made a curry. So, you know, at least I have some of my energy back.

I have a cup of tea.

I went to the shop and bought 4 cans of lager and I have a cup of tea in front of me. One of the cans is to the right of me, looking at me. It’s a bit like the staring contests that I get into with my cat. I’m scoping it out of the corner of my eye, watching it glare at me.

I’m in a weird mood. I didn’t get to sleep till about 6am and woke at 10.30. I got up, answered a text, had a glass of water and plodded back to the bedroom. 11.01. I awoke at 3.56, feeling like crap. I knew I should have got up. As a consequence of making myself go back to sleep, I have lost the day and I feel weird.

I have started a new book and I like my character. I have a fresh moleskin just for this book. This is the one. Here is the first line “Rudely awoken by “That Bastard Spring” she rolled onto her stomach and pressed her face into the cold flat pillow.” I have already introduced another character and I can see the end in my minds eye. I have not been able to visualise the end of a book before.

Why am I not writing the book? Truth be known, I don’t know if I can in this mood. What will happen to it? How do you know if it starts to go wrong? What if you invest so much time into it and then you can’t hack the dross to save the good stuff? This is the story of my life. I am not very good at knowing when to start, when to stop and when to cut cords.

This is why I am single. And today, I am feeling the loneliness of it. Songs: The Flamingos, I Only Have Eyes For You. Jeff Buckley, Everybody Here Wants You. Otis Reading, These Lonesome Arms. Sam Cooke, Wonderful World.

OK, lets not dwell on that, we are a long time dead aren’t we? So, I have an interview for a fundraising job and the money is good. Fingers crossed. I have been invited to Compare a Burlesque show. I’m not sure how I feel about this, but I reckon to make a proper judgment about something you have to walk a mile in the shoes. I just hope I don’t go the distance ;o)

I went to my theatre yesterday. It has a new Director and he seems OK. It was nice to be back in the space again. Refreshingly, it didn’t ‘have’ me like it used to. The ambivalent feelings that I used to have were gone, I don’t know if this is because I knew my ex would not there, or because emotionally I have moved on. I’d love to take the show back. I want it to be like it used to, but they say you can never go back. Is this true?

I don’t think I know who I am anymore. The basics are all the same, after all leopards don’t change their spots. Is it more that I don’t know what I want anymore?

Having just typed that I know what I do want! I have an another ex that shows up from time to time, I may have mentioned him before, or might have in the mighty long blog that I was going to turn into a tryptic but didn’t. Well, looks like although I have deleted him, he’s still subscribed to my posts. RATS! I wanted him to love me so desperately when I was 15. Thank god somethings change.

This is the source of the weird mood isn’t? I’m on the precipice of my future, treading water in the present, cutting the weight of the past free.

Thanks for listening!

This weekend I was supposed to be hosting a reading party. I had invited about 15 guests to come over and help me choose some work to send to publishers. Why? Because a friend said I should. I felt obliged to do so, as I have been very liberal with my advice of late and it’s about time I took some.

I made a facebook event and left it at that. Did I type my manuscripts? Did I do any shopping? Did I properly invite people by ringing them and verbally conversing? I have rescheduled for January or February. Why does February always look wrong?

A friend of mine asked me if I’d like to contribute to a local Zine again. I remembered that I have some stuff typed from ages ago and then I remembered that I left loads of things swinging in the breeze with the blog, in relation to my dating antics.

So, in time honoured fashion, I’m not going to tie those ends up. I’m cooking tea (pasta with tomato and basil sauce) I don’t have time, or the inclination. As I’m writing this, I’m thinking of two men. The one who inspired the prose that will follow and the one I don’t act up in front of.

I’m also thinking of my friend who’s in the process of splitting up with her partner and I’m thinking, does anyone actually win? Which makes me think of the line “This love game’s expensive”, (It’s Too Late, The Streets). I just re-read that sentence and my grammar needs serious attention.

I failed to get to interview stage on a job. I spent 4 hours filling in another job app. and think this time could be better spent writing my book (now ten whole pages long!). I wish I had the balls to go self-employed.

I have decided not to edit any of my old work.

Having just proof read this, it is apparent to me I need to meditate. And I absolutely must stop doing things whilst I’m eating.

(currently untitled)
My love is deep, my love is profound. I did not choose you to love. You chose to be receptive to my love. My love has always been there. I do not judge, I only wish for you to love deeper. To be in touch with the spirit that is alive and breathing in this world. You say that he has 99 names; I say he has a million.

You say that I take refuge in music. I say that music takes me closer to God. Deny that you hear his heart beat in this song and I will never sing again. I’m alive when I hear the hum of his being. I can see the strands of his love beaming from your heart, to mine, to the rest of mankind. We are all connected, we are all one. I feel hope well up inside me when I hear the music of the universe bridging the divides between us. It’s only a matter of time before we are all one again.

Sometimes I lose faith and I allow doubt to reside in my heart and it dulls my love.

Then, he calls to me.

Sometimes he sings and sometimes he sighs in the whisper of the wind through the trees. He is never far away. It’s just that sometimes I am deafened by the roar of dogma and arrogance.

He lifts me up when I am low and he lifts me highest when he speaks to me through my brothers and sisters, in music.

Deny that you hear his heart beat in this music and I will never sing again.

I ought to be dressed and in town picking up some cat litter and Almond milk. Oh wait! Be right back.

Just sent off a funding application for a project, and turned off the bath. Checked myself in the mirror and I look pretty fit today! Hair is totally wild and needs a good wash, but it’s big hair and I always prefer that look…

Anyhow, I’m writing a blog when I should be having a bath. I have my volunteering in 2 hours and I need to go pick up my manuscripts before I get there. Something tells me I am not going to achieve all my goals today…

I’ve been listening to Bat for Lashes (particularly ‘All My Gold’)and Pink.

I have started writing a new book, did I already tell you that?

And my piece of pure me-ness for today, is emptying the vinegar and dill from an empty jar of gherkins in to the toilet (so that I can recycle the jar) and then going back into the bathroom (after putting the jar in the bin) to turn off the bath, catching the colour in the bowl and having a mini heart attack. Oh my days! It’s OK! I’m OK.

Friday is the last day of my Non-dairy diet. I have to say apart from the first few days, it’s been really easy. Stopping smoking is the best thing I ever did, now it’s my mantra… “If I can stop smoking I can…”