I

It’s very hard to be happy, it’s easy to be sad, fed up of saying ‘I’ so I shall try not to. 

My soul was ready to move on when my ex extended the invitation to get back together, the door was always open, the love that was there never left. 

Grabbed it, with grubby childish icecream tainted paws. 

But now. I’m scared, how can I trust a man that threw me away or maybe the analogy is like picking up a dog shit, leaving on a tree and wanting to remind your self to ‘pick it up’ on the way back. That shit.

Is me.

Wait, not is all lost

My subconscious allowed this to happen. An orchestra of moments, maestro. No.

Or perhaps yes, perhaps the next bridge will come with a key change of life’s choosing. 

Or mine. I 

Advertisements

Adulting 

My eldest son dropped his contracted iPhone down the loo, his excuse was he wanted to watch other people playing a computer game on YouTube while having a wee and he forgot how big his pee wee was and dropped the phone.

Splash

Ok.

Put in Aldi starchy brown rice

‘Do not touch it’

‘DO NOT touch it’

The wet phone,  not his epically large teenage phallus……apparently. 

I go to work, tired and highly likely to have been hungovered. 

I call home at 15.30 to check in. 

‘Hey babes, everything alright’

Mum, I think I’ve done something’

‘Tell me now…..Right now!’ I start packing up bag and turning off computer, younger son must be impaled on sofa with an Xbox…Wait, they wouldn’t hurt the Xbox. 

‘I heard that putting the phone in the microwave helped’

‘On, or just in’

‘On but it was only for a second’

‘You twat’ Yes, I called my 14 year old son a twat.

After asking if he understood how a microwave works…..He sobbed that he did but he was desperate for it to work and he listened to a mate, called Jack.

I have failed, as a parent 

A – I don’t even know how a fucking microwave works (that will be on sale from Japan soon I’m sure;) 

B- He isn’t scared of me enough to do as I say

C- He’s a numpty twat

Beautiful, clever, sharp, artistic 

But would probably agree to bareback a 50 year old seasoned Czech prostitute, pay her for it, and leave a tip…..And it won’t be to ‘Not eat yellow snow’

So tonight I taught him how to wash his face and tweezer his monobrow while singing Bob Marley and fielding questions on how to chat up girls.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing and maybe we both learnt valuable lessons…………..

Teenagers don’t know how to adult 

And neither do I 

But we will ‘micro’manage round it. 

Ping Ping

Knotted Cord

I’m starting to pick up life’s little matrix glitches, like, coincidence, there is a word for such a thing so it must be real……..

Then again we have words for ghosts, magic, souls, however none can be proven, but still it means enough to be used and in context and by many people over a lot of time.

So, why not, why can coincidence not be a coincidence but little pointers whether it’s the cosmic force or your own subblinally seeking mind eking out what you need without you realising it to be something real, why can’t we look for meanings in things that we hear and see, but without a religious net.

It happens to me, hell it probably happens to everyone but sometimes it’s strikingly obviously. 

Just last week I got in my car to go to work and a song came on – Utah Saints – ‘Something Good’….Great track, get into work and the sample of Kate Bush singing the same song but to a techno beat…Ok, then on my way home the original song came on the radio. 
What is the likelihood of that happening, so I took it as a sign, whether it was or not didn’t matter, something good was going to happen, why the fuck not.

What if we are all too busy with mediocre crap forced upon us to notice that the cosmos speaks to us, dreams, instincts, thoughts suppressed as blasé nonsense could be

Something 

Or nothing 

Or something, I prefer the something, but I’m scared of the something, it could mean that we aren’t masters of what we want but players allowed enough to hang or save ourselves. 

So I’ll rather a knotted cord then a noose any day 

Could be something good.

Day Dreamer

Not one person who I gave the clovers to have won the lotto, disgraceful behavior.

The band Love once said ‘You know that I could be in love, with almost everyone’

I feel like that now, not that I have an enormous sense of well being just that I’m IN love with multiple men, never really thought it was possible to love (and yes in the romantic way) more than one man.

But I do

3

Yes

3

All completely different and I’m not fucking any of them.

I’ve lost it haven’t I, don’t get me wrong I’m having sex, just not with said 3. I think I like peoples minds, how they think, why they do things and just the sheer intelligence of them.

They are all very clever, slightly in love with me, and unattainable, ones married, one has a girlfriend and the other is single but miles away.

Now over thinking all this I could come to the conclusion that I find these men because I can’t have them, alas…One was my boyfriend before and I could have the single bloke if I really wanted so that’s not the case.

Luck? Plausible, am I meeting these people at the wrong time like like like like a record that’s jumped (see a previous blog), that I’m just out of sink of my lifeline, don’t see why not…..

I quite like loving these men, it makes me feel good that they are in my life, for whatever reason and however they are, they just are, and I’m thankful for this, my life is richer, fuller and warmer, but it’s also hostile, barren and cold.

Mentally I can live out my life with them, physically I’m alone, which sucks, so maybe I am choosing to have fondness for the unattainable, as I can have the perfect relationship in a daydream rather than a wet patch and having to remember to pluck my tash, this could be the way forward.

The ability to daydream is one of the most fucking amazing things in this tragic but beautiful universe, why don’t we do it more often? Why doesn’t it have more of a following? Makes no sense to me whatsoever, I’ve even learned how to pause my thoughts like a book and sometimes if I’m lucky I’ll have back stories and subplots and I can do this while working, walking the dogs and cooking, can be dangerous mind you (see what I did there) as the lines could get blurred they haven’t so much before but it does make me like these men more.

Jesus, I sound like a stalker

Well I guess I am but in my head…perfectly safe

I think

 

 

Lucky

It would seem I have innate ability to see things which others don’t, as far as super human powers go it’s pretty shit.

I can spot a penny on the floor 400 metres away, a lost earring, not normally my own, I notice single white hairs on people I’m talking to, or a corner of a shirt they missed whilst ironing.

I can find four and five leaf clovers, I shit you not, I have about 10 and that’s minus the ones I’ve given away, it’s like my brain functions in a slightly tilted way.

So for all my clovers, five leafed or 4, my luck is pretty poor, if you believe in luck that is.

Is luck something that you can blame for mistakes, can they be blamed for a ‘lucky’ escape or missing the dog shit you were about to tread in or meeting people at certain times…

Is luck like the sister of coincidence? Could they been seen to be Gods? Are they Gods along with fate and serendipity, do they all sit down after a hard day of helping and hindering our mere mortal lives?

I hope so, as that means my fucking clovers might start working, they just haven’t got to me yet.

Or is there no such thing, are we all just getting away it. 

Or not, if that is that case. Could it be that wishful thinking (who was on holiday but just came back for a cuppa and a pensive gossip) can join in and if you have this, or them on your side then you can make your own luck, your own karma and your own destiny, with help of course.

It’s quite interesting really, I should feel luckier, as we have all grown up believing in lady Luck, hell I even took a Rabbits foot with me on my driving test (yes I passed first time), is the holding of a talisman that propels us to think we are lucky so therefore we become lucky, so in which case I must be the luckiest  girl in Oxfordshire.

I don’t feel it though, I don’t feel it at all.

Perhaps I should start believing in myself and the little green 1 in 20,000 finds, can’t prove it won’t work and I can’t disprove it will.

So this Xmas I will be giving them away as gifts, maybe the people that get them will feel just a touch better carrying it around, maybe that is what my odd gift really is, it’s not for me but to spread a little ‘why the hell not’.

 

As long as they remember me should a lotto win happen, hey, it’s worth a try right……

The Dark Outer Hue

Talking to a close male friend recently (yes I have, no it wasn’t, yes probably) about a theory I have long believed to be true.

That some of us have an inner or maybe an outer hue, a tinged off colour, just a smidge, these are the people that have no trained guilt, no empathy or a very little, a swathe of naughtiness, a glow of indecency, a graze of badness.

I’m not saying that these people are bad, oh no, far from it.

I’m saying they could if they wanted to be, they might be thinking vulgar thoughts as they kiss there mother in laws, or a sneaky wink to the waitress, or lusting over married men.

I can spot them a mile away.

Give me any line up and I can sniff those fuckers out.

As most of the time, that is me and that is my circle of friends.

They are the smokers behind the bike shed, the one taking in the surroundings in bar.

They are the people I love.

I have had some trouble of late, trying to battle my inner/outta darkness, I have tried to think clear and good thoughts, stop to let people cross the road, help a kid with a push up lolly, give money to charity.

But I just don’t think that life, if it’s programmed or destiny does not want me to have an easy ride, it wants me to have an interesting ride and what if making war with yourself is counter productive, what if fighting the wanton demon is the wrong thing to do.

To cover myself I have apologised to people when really they should be grovelling at feet, I have cornered my feelings about various times and relationships and started to expel them, like an exorcism, just to make sure my score card is clear, alright, alright, that can never happen but it’s a start.

Trouble is, I quite like my burnished body armour, I think I’ve been prodded and poked and belittled far more than most in the last 18 month and it’s still there, my rough, spiky, hot to touch bubble is still there, I just need to jazz it up a notch, dust it off and start rocking it like I used to, stop being afraid of your shadow, literally, embrace the minx inside.

I have written about this before, but it just seems like a good analogy, more than that, it really does exist.

Time to start liking it, before the dust, turns to rust, then your fucked.

 

11 Months

I have now been single for 11 months.

Subconsciously I gave myself 12 to get my act together before embarking on another relationship of the emotional kind.

I’m not saying I have not ‘dated’ because I have, I’m not saying I’ve been a nun because heaven help me I haven’t.

11 months, 11 months is just enough to get set in ones ways, to pee with the door open, to scratch ones butt whilst adorning P’J’s and sipping left over rum (past 12 O’Clock somewhere I’m sure), to talk animatedly to ones self and to get used to the dogs sleeping in my bed.

What the fuck would I do if a man suddenly came into my life and wanted to see me in succession or for a full weekend or to MOVE IN! Ok so I’m jumping ahead but you know what I mean.

Would I forget that he was there and do something that might seem odd to them, but over time has found it’s way to be perfectly normal to myself?

This is actually a horror factor for me to worry about and I don’t even have a date lined up, neurosis eat yeah heart out, or head in my case.

So not only do I have to worry about dating, not dating, falling in love, never falling in love, never spending time with someone AND spending time with them, I’m surprised I’m functioning at all.

One second I can be contemplating going back on a dating website or 50 (so many, so little time and even less inclination) then the next moment I’m bristling my inner lady with thoughts of feminism and man hate (I know they don’t go hand in hand, calm down), what I do know however is that when the………. not right……. no….. but when the suitor with the biggest backbone and common sense comes along, I will know it and unfortunately for them, they will too.

Perhaps I should write a Health and Safety leaflet with evacuation (take that as you will) procedures and where to smoke after, I could have various levels for how long they stay over or we continue dating, I could show a route from the local pub in case we get trolled and also where my clitoris should be, might be, just go for it and see what happens….

Perhaps I should set up a template for all ladies and gents alike that have been out of the game too long, copy and paste whats needed and add in the details to suit ones self.

If interested, message me, I’m sure I can help;)