End of the Line

Almost the end of a long and exhausting year. 

I feel like I could sleep for a week knowing what has happened this year. But sleep wouldn't calm my frantic mind; my dreams are wild and vivid these days.

I wouldn't have expected this year to have happened the way it did. So much I wanted to do but never got round to. So much I did do that I didn't plan, both good and bad. 

I spend these last precious days with loved ones; those most precious to me. And yet again it is one face burning my retina, haunting my dreams. 

Changes and resolutions; but it's not prompted by the new year, but by a second chance, a clean leaf. 

January will see excitement and change. February I'll be busy and focused. Then I'll spend March figuring out the rest of my year. Full steam ahead!

And Those We've Left Behind

I want to explain it. Explain how it sits in my head. Why him? To what end, for what reason?

I need to go back to the beginning.

September 2008, first day at university, and this guy bounces into the room and at first I think he seems quite a lot like Dukie.

I got to know him, and they aren't that alike. A few small similarities, in that we have good chats. I can ask a question about a film, a book, a comic, whatever - and we'll have a good half hour debate about its varying impacts on culture and the relevance to our world. I remember that first big conversation, sitting in KFC, I think, discussing Saw.

Also, pleasantries. Like, Duke is a good barman because he can put on a face and only lets people who know him see the miserable grump underneath the sarcastic smile. But catch either of them on a good day and the smile; the humour: its infectious.

I've gone over it before so I'll just summarise that by the end of first year he hated me, and by the end of second year we'd gone through every emotion under the sun and half way through third year something stopped. I gave up trying to get through; felt my efforts were futile. I was in Brighton for 10 months and apart from briefly seeing him at graduation and briefly texting afterwards, all was quiet. I had that weird revelation last year and decided to contact Sophie again and he fell into the same revelation but it wasn't like no time had passed; like nothing had changed. All felt right with Sophie again but with him, it was still unclear, unresolved, and my questions were never answered.

That was in November of 2012, exactly a year after graduation.

The following August, I move into the flat in Bungay. The oppression of living with my parents had affected me weirdly and I did a few bizarre things in those first few months - Black Wednesday being one of the worst. Everything that started with Max was entirely emotionless, and because he grossed me out and disgusted me, it ended very suddenly one day and I decided that there was no point anymore.

But at the same time, Dukie was happening. I think I slept with him 4 times. Maybe 5. And this is over the course of a year of living down the road from each other. And people ask why him? I was relatively sober one of the times, and I've let him sleep in my bed (under the strict policy that nothing would be happening). So why cut Max off, and not Dukie? Granted, the people asking me this haven't had sex with both boys to know how easy a comparison is actually is, but still, it is often asked.

When he's in a good mood, and we've been chatting, Duke reminds me of him. Especially when I've had a drink, I just long for the closeness and friendship from a guy I haven't seen in two years.

Its horrendous because I don't want a relationship with Duke, and I'm sure he doesn't want one either; we have a laugh and we've never been awkward around each other, so this casual thing we do every now and then, it might not ever end. Not whilst we're both single and live in Bungay. And that's why the last time he came round and got in my bed I told him no. I don't want to get this quick fix from him every now and then. Its not healthy and its not right.

Plus, I hate the feeling of Henry judging me. Anyone else can call me a slut and I don't care; when he says it, it stings like shit. The only way to fix that, is to not give him a reason to call me a slut.

the end of the beginning

Something wicked this way comes.

Its neither daunting nor enlightening. It is change, and it is coming. A gradual but inevitable change.

I wish to seize all opportunities. I cannot sit through this current life. Its frustrating and aggravating. I feel disconnected from the person I was before all this began. I feel like I've grown, but what into, I'm still not sure.

I don't know what will happen here. I don't know where I'll be, what I'll be doing. I have no answers, no solutions, only knowledge of change. Sweeping change, like a hurricane.

I like living here. I like my space, my comfort, and my surroundings. Its not been especially easy, but its better than what I had before. I don't know if I'll lose it in the change. So I'm trying to hold on to it a bit; appreciate the finer things. Learn to dance in the rain.

Before I leave, I want to tell them both that I love them. They've been better friends than I would have thought possible, and they've been my normal this year. This year has both been long and tiresome, and equally has flashed past in an instant. 

Christmas is fast approaching. Plans are being made, relatives are coming out of the woodwork, and at some point soon, I'll start making lists of presents, gifts, tokens of love. 

Until then, I enjoy the approaching cold weather. It tells me that things get worse before they get better. It tells me that change is seasonal, its inherent, you can't stop it or fight it, but if you wrap up well, you can enjoy it.

Nine

I'll never stop.


I forgot I had these feelings, and yesterday they resurfaced. I remembered them, every single little emotion, like they'd just been sleeping.

You were my best friend.

You'd talk to me; we'd always have stuff to chat about. I always felt more open; more comfortable being open with you; it came so easily.

You'd sleep next to me. We'd sit together in class; we'd watch films or play playstation and you were so close to me, all of the time.

I know I messed things up; I've said it on here before. But third year was different. When we did talk, you were defensive. And I was on the attack. I'd ask you questions you didn't want to answer and I always felt like I wasn't just talking to you; I was talking to the three girls you lived with too.

I stopped asking those questions but I didn't stop hoping that somewhere in your head, I'd made you listen. I never stopped hoping that.

I still haven't watched saw seven, and stupidly, naively, it's because I hope to watch it with you one day. I'm owed it.

Take it however you want to; ignore it, call me crazy, or decide that I'm just rehashing old thoughts for funnies - but I know you. Or, I knew you. And I'm not going to give up on that guy, and I never will.

Even if we never speak; even if I never see you again; even if I meet a man who wants to marry me; even if you tell me you hate me; I'll never stop loving you.

Autumm

Clear blue, cold and open,
A season of change,
the days pulls in,
and colder still,
the blankets warm my white toes,
the morning post-shower shudders.
But beautiful misty mornings,
slow suns rise over each cold night,
brighten the future, warm the hope,
and yet the mist is lingering,
hazy sunlight, morning or afternoon?
time becomes untraceable, unreadable.
These days we spend, we live at night,
work waiting on friends, drink when bars shut,
and sleep, but never enough.
Caffeine and cigarettes, still not enough.
Cold air slips through single pane windows,
the air catches in my lungs:
it tastes of you; it smells of you.
morning coffee stays on my breath all day,
last night's second-hand smoke still stains my sweater.
But to disappear into stories,
fold away my worries,
pack up all thoughts,
and become that character, that voice, that ideal.
I've forgotten who Laura is, or who she should be -
it's easier to focus on Lily.

Newms

I had another dream about you last night. I feels funny sometimes, because I wake up thinking that you've been there too, and if I text you asking about it, you'd somehow just know exactly what I was talking about.

We were sat in a cafe, it looked a little bit like the lemon tree but it wasn't, I was just a customer.
You ordered a knickerbocker glory. It was fantastic. We were laughing about things, everything felt really normal. Other people were in the cafe. Then Henry came in, in his dressing gown, and sat next to you, and you were discussing a film you wanted to go see. And in my head, I was like 'yeah, they'd actually make sense as a couple'. And then a lady got up from a table nearby and came over to me and was like, "hi, we met the other day?" - it was Bre, the girl who lives next to the Lemon Tree, so I got excited, said I really wanted to hire her, and told her that I'd actually been telling my flat mate how much she seemed to be the perfect person for the job. She then decided to go and hug said flat mate, even though he was wearing a dressing gown in a cafe, and she thanked him, and he didn't understand what was going on, but she smiled and left. I felt really relieved to have spoken to her; a weight just dropped off me.

I told you to come live with us until you got your feet on the ground, to which you said maybe. And we planned to make a vegetable lasagne, and Henry asked why vegetable, and you just said 'because my vegetarian lasagnes are the best in the world'. And right there, it felt like home.


It's funny how things change. I used to wake up from your dreams with this heaviness, this sense of guilt. Today, it was more like clarity, like you'd fixed something in my head. Thank you.

Blackness

That thing when you drink too much and black out a whole chunk of your life. The only fragments that remain are disconnected, make no sense, and don't seem like they were you - like watching a film or reading a book, you feel sure you're remembering someone else's memories.

I remember the fire and making Ollie storm off, and proceeding to cry, because someone (either Henry or Rowan) told me off for trying to talk to Ollie about family things. Whoops.

I remember being in the maze and not wanting to lose sight of Ben. Like, I knew he was my beacon.

I remember throwing my wine down, knowing I'd had too much.

I remember Rowan kissing me.

I remember being in the toilet, and his face was completely terrified, and he told me he hadn't enjoyed whatever it was the had just happened.

I remember falling over. A lot.

I remember trying to run and running out of breath, and being angry at myself.

I remember yelling at Rowan. Screaming, yelling. I think I punched him. I think I was defending myself. And I think I told him to hit me back. I have lots of bruises, but I don't think he hit me.

I remember the dark cold road, and walking away from Rowan as fast as I could.

And I woke up, in a car, no idea how I got there, or who's car it was, or why it was even open, or what had possessed me to try opening car doors in the middle of no where.


Its messy. My family know and think its awful how drunk I was; they don't know how frequently I've been so drunk that I've blacked out the whole night and 'Drunk Laura' has taken over. Black Wednesday is the best example of this. And fuck my family ever knowing about that one.

I want to stop drinking, because its awful feeling like I don't know who I am or what I did. I know I shouldn't refer to 'Drunk Laura' as a separate person (an episode of Perception recently brought light on this) - but she is very different, she does stupid shit, she screams a lot, she cries, she sleeps with people A LOT (like, I've not had sober sex in A LONG TIME, and it hasn't been a massive amount, but its always drunken) - and worst of all, in the morning, it's me who has to deal with the shit that she does.

But, my need for alcohol is rooted deep in my psyche. Its almost hereditary. I can't scratch the feeling that succumbing to the wine means I'm accepting the fate of becoming my mother. I want to break bad habits, and try solve the problems that life throws at me in a sober, democratic, sensible way.


I'm not going to necessarily 'go sober for october', despite it being for a good cause - heck, I think people would sponsor just because they didn't believe I could do it - I want to go sober, full stop. One or two, yeah, but not two bottles of wine in less than two hours. Especially not in the middle of the night in a pitch black Maize Maze with a boy I barely know, when highly emotionally charged. Recipe for disaster, right there.

Here's to a new leaf. I hope it doesn't turn brown and rot half way through autumn, like the rest of them.

Feminism

Why does it feel like something I need to address every time I write something? Why do I feel I need to justify myself as a writer because I'm a woman? 

The best why? Why can't men make me feel the ways these women give me chills. Fuck beyonce, and any other 'feminist' who still makes money from selling themselves as a woman. 

Ruby Rose is full of normal, human feelings. She just wants to dress how she wants, look how she wants, and for it to not be a problem. In the beginning she's pretty; by the end she's beautiful,

This girl makes me wish I'd continued writing poetry. The fact that this poem has people asking 'why do people think you're so special & brave for saying these things'. The fact that she's personalised one of the most impersonal 'acts'. We're brought up in a world where abortions are still so taboo. I hope that soon, a generation will be able to talk about this stuff. Boys will have a say too. Bodies, sexualisation, contraception and the moral choices we make can be discussions not arguments, and thoughts can be shared, not stopped.

Carrie isn't exactly 'feminist role model', but she's got the right give to just say what needs to be said. She's working in a world where woman are literally simplified - characters, disney princess, they all break down into the basic forms of what a woman is. She's fighting for those female roles which have more punch, more fight in them. 

I'm constantly looking for these women. In my outer conscience I'd tell you it's for my dissertation, but on the inside, it's because I lack female role models in my life. It becomes more and more apparent to me that my mother is not one, at all, and if she has influenced anything in me its the stuff I need to now straighten out. No person is perfect, but having a few strong women to look up to is a much better place to discover yourself than to have three women who literally question your life decisions at every turn.

It's not perfect, but this song, and Santana, help me when I feel completely shit.

Katniss Everdeen. Just, all of what I know about her in the films. Jennifer Lawrence. Strength and courage, beauty and bravery.

http://mic.com/articles/89191/dear-women-you-are-being-lied-to?utm_source=upworthy.com&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=pubexchange_facebook

http://www.upworthy.com/that-one-body-part-were-too-scared-to-talk-about-isnt-really-that-scary?c=ufb2

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big bang season 8 episode 7

Insomnia

I don't want to sleep.

I know what happens when I sleep. My mind allows my brain to connect the dots of thoughts I've been having. When I sleep, all the monsters, demons, angels and imperfections come seeping out. It's no longer staying awake to have something in the day worth staying up for; it's now staying awake because it's not worth waking up, knowing what it will feel like.

Ill. Bunged up, heavy, cold, too hot, struggling to breathe, wanting to be free from all the pain in my chest.


Today is fucked up. I had a dream that my mother kept trying to kiss my dad and he just pushed her away, awfully, each time, in front of me, my flat mates and my best friend. I hated him for it. I hated for obvious he was, how cruel he was, and how I couldn't do anything to change it, stop it, or make the feelings in my gut go away,

Then, in real life, feel ill and groggy, I speak to my sisters about obligation, responsibility and commitment. We talk about Helen changing names on papers so that its her, mum, and if we want, me and charlie. We talk about power and change and positive input but then she tells me that the day before she left, when drunk, mum starts crying. They're alone and its gone midnight and mum tells her she's scared that dad's going to leave her. Charlie changes the conversation and within three minutes, they're gone again, into the empty abyss of being half the world ahead of me.

I can't deal with this one.

I've known it. It's been coming, I've felt it, Ben's heard my voice cracking and I've tried to not talk about it too much but it's this big inevitable shit that I can't deny anymore and I don't know what the hell to do. I want to help my mum fight her battles, but it's not my fight, and I want to tell my dad to fuck off and rot in a small ball but I love my dad and I can't really do that. I miss my brother today; he's the voice of reason, he's the middle ground between dad and us, and I wish he was here to help me. But none of them are. And every day I go to work, breaking my back for their company, lying through my smile to customers about the importance of locality and how good a family-based company is. The more I have to do it, the less of a shit I give.


And I knew it was today. I knew today was the day to stay out, have that beer too many, and have that talk. And of course, like every other thing since I broke martin's heart on his birthday two years and four months ago, nothing ever seems to happen the way I would hope.

I'm sick of love today. It just fucking hurts.

What do I want?

It's an impossible situation I've gotten myself into.

I hate when he's not around for any length of time, yet when I'm alone in a room with him I just can't focus on anything. Like, there's a third conversation happening, apart from the one between us and the one on the tv screen, there's also this voice that reminds me to look at him, wonders stupid things like if his beard smells like cigarettes, or what his hair product feels like. And that voice is more audible when I'm drunk, so frequenting the pub certainly doesn't help.

I think I'm addicted. But to what? To something in my head? Or just to him as a person? Is the crave for more, or is the crave just to feel connected in some way?

I'm thinking about the next few months. I wonder, would it be best if I moved to framlingham? The flat is more than likely going to be empty. Its a big decision and it all sort of hangs on how things shape in the next few days.

And yet again, the fun kick of the inferiority complex kicks in. I know its an 8 year old record, but Lucy sure made her way around the local boys. If its not Thomson or Smithy or Barnaby, its Henry.


Christ I miss Sam.

Even If It Kills Me

Starting something new this week. Would have started it today, but been bed-bound due to a hangover that feels more like impending death.

No more drinking. An occasional glass of wine is okay, but no more ridiculous drinking and no more hangovers. I feel so old and useless and its such a waste of a day being hungover.

Food changes - no more wheat (barely eat any, but just to say 'so long sucker'), very little diary, and much more fruit & vegetables. Like, replacing cereal with watermelon, replacing toast with sweet potato, cooking smaller amounts of things like rice and noodles (rice noodles) and not having the main thing on the plate as meat or fish, so its cheaper, and food goes further. Its both my purse and my colon I'm thinking of here.

Speaking of colons, I've heard of this thing called Salt Water Flush. I'm going to buy some posh salt and try it out, as its recommended for people who have IBS. (Also for people who have very irregular poops, colon troubles, constipation, gas etc, if you tick any boxes like that, look it up!) Shall report how it goes (not graphically, don't worry - I've heard it can be pretty crazy).

Water. I never drink enough at work. No more coffee, very little tea (only the fruity good ones) - just lots and lots of water. Ruby Rose, my new favourite famous person (google her she's REALLY cool) says her secret to being a stunner is not drinking alcohol, just plenty of water and a good sleeping routine.

Yes, sleep - with the new rota in place I can have a bit of a life as well as working all the damn time (yay) so I can get myself into good habits - bed before 11 (12 at the latest), up at 7 everyday. When I don't have work, I find myself staying in bed and wasting the morning on nothing - however, those morning hours are the most productive, so I can get into good habits and get some writing bashed out before lunch!

Writing, oddly, quite low on the list. For now, I'm putting the above in place to sort my life out so that writing and getting my dissertation rolling is a lot more effective come september. So for now, any writing I get done is a bonus. (You can't ask yourself to run a marathon before you've started training, you're setting yourself up to fail if you do.)

And of course, the usual 'I want to do exercise and lose weight' idea. However, its more about feeling healthy and happy than losing weight. I don't want to sit and say that I'm happy with my figure and I don't want to change, because I know how unhealthy I am at the moment and I do want to improve it. I just don't want to want a nice body no matter what the cost - I want to achieve good things and tick all the boxes. I want to increase my endorphin levels, my energy levels, I want to feel a bit of motivation and the kick of success when you achieve those things. Mostly, I need a vice, and for so many people, exercise is a vice. So I'm taking my unhealthy need to escape the world and block out all noises and making a healthy choice with it.


I'd like to remind my future self that I'm proud of not succumbing to anything drastic this year. It's been fucking hard work, and I've wanted to drink, I've wanted to start smoking, I've even been tempted by drugs. I've had many more temptations to crawl into bed with random people than I've actually done (a few slip ups have happened), but I've been pretty lucky and I think I need to congratulate myself for being strong.

I just have to continue, and put that strength in the right place.

Like the motion city song, which always reminds me of my darkest times and how I fixed myself (isn), "I'll do whatever it takes, even if it kills me"

Twice

There's a comfort in being alone, because you know you can't get more alone. So there is fear in letting someone else in; opening up to both the love and the pain, the fear can sometimes overwhelm you. And the fear is greater after every fall; they say the first cut is the deepest, but ever other cut will be into that same cut, digging away at hope.

The first time I fell, I had no idea I was falling. I had no knowledge of gravity, or of the bottom, so it felt more like floating. We floated together for that first summer, and when he let go of my hand I was still pretty safe, the ground wasn't in focus yet and I could manage on my own just fine. But then we had the to and fro - he wanted to hold my hand, and I had no other hand to hold, and then we both let go, and then I did find another hand and he decided that he was mad, it was his hand or no hand, so after a little bit of hand deciding, I went back to his hand. By this point we did need each other, and we made each other fit into our own lives, and we fit together in Norfolk anyway, and then we went back to uni. I held someone else's hand. He didn't want to let go though, so we padlocked our hands together, and for the rest of the year he watched my hands so closely I felt the pressure of holding his hand. Maybe, not to do with another hand, maybe it wasn't meant to be like this? Then, someone offered me their hand. They just laid it out, so I knew it was there. They didn't expect anything from me, but they wanted me to know that there was another hand out there to guide me, and it wouldn't be padlocked, it would just be floating through gravity together. So I broke the lock on the padlock and let go. The time I spent floating, my gravity shifted, and it took me to the other hand, so I took hold of it. And I didn't let go, and our gravity took us together and we floated, fingers locked, until my gravity and his gravity were different things. 

I let go when I felt that pull. I didn't want to drag the hand with me; it would have been so selfish. And then my gravity caught up with me, and I hit the floor.

It'd be nice to be able to float again. Even if just for a day.

Did You Know?

I'm guessing you didn't know. At least now you do.

I've spent my whole life with this lack of ability to communicate. I can't do it, I can't talk about emotions and love and shit, I think I can point at my parent's 'marriage' for reference and reason. I think that's why writing is my escape - because I can write emotions, I can tell stories on paper which I can't tell people in person. The end of the episode 2 of Impressions, the horrific sex scene? Yeah, I can't exactly start that story at the dinner table, but in a script, you take it all in. 

I've written so many blogs about people. God, considering that I started this thing just after me and Whall broke up, its pretty much the motif of this page - the varying, hilarious and horrific ways in which Laura's fucked up her love life.

But now, I can't find words to describe what is happening in my head. I can't unscramble the mess, I can't pinpoint the pain or even the correct emotion. Its just this heaviness, this horrendous weight which I can't carry and I can't put down. And I want someone to offer me a hand, I want someone to be able to at least describe the load I'm carrying, lie to me and tell me its feathers. But there isn't anyone.

There is me, in this flat, alone, wondering what the fuck I've done. Kicking myself for what I might have ruined, and equally protecting myself, saying that I did the right thing.

I want a fast forward button.

A Line in the Sand

Time is a fractured substance which floats around us, blinds us, confuses us, blocks our views of both past and future, and more than wanting to see clearly, we all wish to reach out and grab it. It's dust, it is light bouncing off particles, and we know it is always there but we can not understand it, touch it or move it.

The easier thing to do is to look at the world in a non-linear fashion. Time gives us chronology, lines, stories and endings. The world is a spinning ball of rock and it is shaped by the ideal of time.

Break the rules and see the world how you want to see it.



I want to go to Tokyo. I haven't left this country in a really long time, and I'm itching for adventure. I miss my two best friends, I miss their smiles and the way the help me see the world clearer. I long to be closer to both of them. Money will play havoc on my mind, but I'm determined to make this work.

I want to hold his hand. I want to talk to him about depression; about how I think it comes and goes in waves for me at the moment, and I can feel his in waves too, and I want to help, but I'm scared of putting myself out there. I'm scared he'll tell me exactly what Luke told me. I'm scared of feeling so shit and useless that the waves get bigger and I can't take my mind away from it enough to see the obvious cracks of anxiety and paranoia being filled with fear and misery. I'm scared, because I want to do so much more than hold his hand, and those desires are terrifying. I'm scared of opening up to someone; it's been such a long time, and my recent experiences of 'intimacy' have not been intimate at all. I want to open up and fall in love but those things are so terrifying that I'd rather stay quiet and let the waters of fear lap at my toes, rather than dive in to the ocean, not knowing how deep, how dark, how strong or how cold it might be.

I need to sort my life out. Everything is a bit of a jumble. My head is a jumble. Every day is a jumble of emotions and whilst I have no solution for it, I have no desire to solve any other jumbles either.


I need to break my rules, and attack this problem head on. I need to see myself how I want the world to see me.

So much to do, so little energy to do it with.

Brewing

I can't grab hold of time right now. It's like silky sand slipping through my fingers. Its July and I keep thinking that We only just finished April.

Everything feels big, climactic, important at the moment. I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, but for all the wrong reasons. I can sense a lot is coming, changing, happening soon. I guess I'm just holding up what I can hold up to lessen the impact for others. Something is going to rock all our boats soon; and I think I know what it might be. 

Hungover again today. Questioning the point of poisoning myself. Its nice to feel numb, but it hurts so much that its not really worth it. 

I have decided some things about boys. I have to prove to them who I am, and I have to prove to myself who I'm not. He might take me seriously then.

Lots of shit in my head. Lots of thoughts about myself when I was 13. Lots to keep my mind busy.

And yet, my brain drifts, and I lose all the control I ever had. 

The more I picture it, I tell myself, the more likely it is to come true. To picture your hopes and goals is to be closer to obtaining them. But to imagine yourself in certain scenarios all the time and then have to snap back to the reality of sitting at least three feet from each other, is a little more like torment.

Something will happen soon. I can feel it brewing,

The Labrador

Every time I come home, I look out for what cars are on the roads. I glance at the pub, I double check our road. And when his car isn't there, I'll almost always try stay up til midnight when he comes home.

'Try', because I usually fall asleep on the sofa watching TV. Sometimes I hear him coming, and wake up. Sometimes he wakes me up, tells me to get to bed. Once, he just turned the TV down and went straight to bed, so I missed him.

Our working schedules are totally different. I'm up early, home in the evenings, and he's up late, working til close. We only cross paths properly when one of us has a day off, or when we end up at the pub / drinking at the flat together.

I wake up when he comes in with Ben from the pub. I'll get myself a glass of water and sit with them for as long as my eyes stay open.

They dropped cigarettes in my car last week, and I keep looking at the four cigarettes, considering smoking them, just to practise, so I can join them when they go out to smoke. Just for the extra five minutes.

I love our late night chats. It'll sometimes be 2, 2.30 before I head to bed. And the time literally flies. There will be something on the TV, or an xbox game, as background noise. Sometimes the chat is artificial, it's work and complaining and silly little anecdotes. Sometimes its deeper, its our friends, its the flat, its our own lives. And every now and then, it'll be a glimmer of complete honesty, this man who I have only known for two years but I feel more comfortable around than all the other boys. And then we head our separate ways and I lie in bed thinking about him, I fall asleep dreaming about him.

I have no reason to think he sees me as anything more than a friend. But I can't stop my feelings; I can't stop my head.


I know now that I'm going to be in Bungay until after christmas. And I really hope, no matter what else happens, that he's still in this flat too. With everything else that's been going on, changing, and might still change, he is my point of normality and my happiness.

I wish he knew. Every now and then I look at him, and his face breaks, he smiles, or looks happily vacant, and I want to paint that picture into my brain.


Tomorrow, it'll happen all over again. But its worth it for his smile, his laugh, and his company.

Climbing and Falling

I'm so hungover, its making everything ache. My head is just heavy with everything and I don't remember the end of last night so its all a bit too blurred for my liking.

One thing is very clear though. I have feelings for my flatmate. I'm far too attracted to him, its quite worrying. I'm going to try do insanity for 6 weeks, and cut down on my drinking massively, both for health reasons and the worry that I'm going to get drunk and say/do something stupid.


Soon, it'll be the end of summer, and something more important will be looming in the distance. I've got to focus on right now, but my eyes keep wandering into the distance, wondering what might be over the hill. I can't know without climbing this hill, but I wish someone could at least go up the hill first and tell me its fine, but they can't - I have to do this journey alone.

And maybe on the other side of the hill, I'll have fallen for someone who will actually catch me.

Inadequate

April disappeared quickly. Suddenly it's May. I haven't achieved anything, and a whole month just slipped by.

My one day off and I spend it in bed, watching Glee, 2 Broke Girls, New Girl, Awkward and Dawson's Creek. I have so much to do but escaping the comfort of my bed is difficult. There are builders making all sorts of racket beneath my window so if anything will get me out of bed today, it will be that.

Where's life gone? I try to reach out and grab it but something is always in the way, pulling me back or pushing life away, Today, it's 'inevitability'.

I actually have an idea. A writing idea, a potential script. I don't know when I'll be able to transfer it from my brain to paper though. Today certainly doesn't look likely.

Can someone be my personal assistant, and just help me through the next few months?

I'm fighting to control of my life and control of all the people who 'work for me'. I can only do well at one at a time, it seems. Yet another juggling act I'm trying to teach myself.


I'm missing the one in Japan a lot. She helps clear my mind, and always helped me do little things, like eating well, going to the gym, little things that make the day seem better. I need to be able to do that for myself now; I just can't find the motivation.

I don't know where I ended and this numb person took over.

And today, I can't think of an adequate title for this post. Like Al's theory about naming a script, I feel like I should delete the whole post through lack of ability to name it.

Instead, I choose a word which reflects myself, at life, at my job, and everything around me at the moment.

True Love

I've started watching Dawson's Creek again. Season 3, I started with. Mainly because I couldn't remember the end of season 2 and now, I can't stop. It's when Pacey falls for Joey and by the end of the season she's fallen for him too. The story pans out so well and I want to capture every moment of it.

This is the result of having no life of my own, very little in the way of a social life, and absolutely no hope of being in a relationship for the next 8 months. Life is full-speed and my heart is getting left behind.

But in the back of my mind, I'm quoting Maria - This To Shall Pass. Also the idea of 'what dreams may come' - not in the literal sense of the soliloquy (this is not to be misinterpreted as a suicide note. Can't deal with that again) - but in the sense that of all the dreams and ambitions we have, which ones will manifest, which ones will be lost, and which ones are more reachable than we realise?

It's all about hope, patience, and trust in the universe.

That's how Pacey got Joey. That, a big white wall, and a boat.

stuck in the fast lane

Organising. Changing. Trying. Creating.

Life moves too fast and I want to hit the 'SLOW DOWN!' button so I can actually achieve things this year rather than letting it all escape beneath me.

My masters. My career. 'Building' something for myself, and then leaving this country. Searching, hoping. I've no ties to keep me here, so I want to be free. I want to experience the rest of the world. Bungay is a very small world to live in.



I can only go at a certain speed when it comes to sorting my life out. If I try push myself into fifth gear, I'll never even get going. Start with turning on the engine and rolling in first gear, and let the momentum pick my feet off the ground a bit.

In a month, I want to be in third gear.

Part Two

I have feelings for someone that I should not have feelings for. I'm angry with myself for having let this happen (again) and I don't know what to do about it. Last night was a classic example.

I went to the pub with Ben. And I only had £6 on me, and refused to get any more out, knowing that I shouldn't stay out too late or drink too much. He needed food, so we left the pub at 11 and hit the kebab. I may have stolen most of his cheesy chips. And then we went upstairs to eat them, and Henry came home. And the three of us stayed up til 2am drinking. Ben slept on my bed, for some reason, and left at 6.30 this morning.

I should have gone to bed. I shouldn't have eaten those chips. And I didn't need to drink sailor jerrys and coke; my teeth feel awful today and my head is a bit woozy.

I know that he doesn't see me that way, and I know that he's never going to show any affection or intimacy whilst we live together. I just find his presence, his persona, to be addictive.

This might be one of those fleeting things. This might be something I've forgotten about in two weeks. But something tells me it's different. Something inside me is desperate for my impatient heart to not give up. I have no idea what any of this means, but for now all I can do is wait, listen, and maybe even hope.

How I Met...

… everyone we know.

Something ended today. I'm a little sad, but have had lots of time to accept and prepare for this moment, so my lightly beating heart could read all of what it needed to today.

I want to tell our stories.

At the latest reunion, everything felt a little different. Like the piece of string that holds us all together was pulled taught, under strain, and the knots and frays were slightly more visible.

It's always a moment, at one in the morning, when I think about the end game. How do I want that night to end, and where, in the distant future, do I see all this going?

The problem with the How I Met Your Mother finale is that Robyn and Ted aren't supposed to end up together. We got told that in series 1. So my reflections of TV in real life have to be portrayed as 'how TV should be'. We don't end up with the girl we saw from across the bar and had to speak to right away and didn't stop giving up after 50 fucking years.

But we do all remain friends. And I love my friends, and I love seeing my friends, and sometimes I wish I could put life on hold and pretend like we're all still at uni and play inflataBall and just drop everything.

My life doesn't stop. Neither does theirs. Macina and Emily, Will, Nathan, Al. Sophie, Martin, Paul. Coates. Matt and Danni. Maria. Jesus, Maria's life doesn't stop. And our worlds keep turning whether we're in the gravity of one another or not. It's hectic and crazy, and the brief moments when we can see each other are usually equally hectic and crazy. The peaceful thought is that one day, we'll all be settled in to our lives, and we'll have partners and rings and babies and weird other grown up things. And we'll be able to afford hotels and not have to endure Al's snoring. And that's the end game for me. Getting there; having those friends from uni, from high school, and from now. I've just got to get there.

I also want to remind someone of a pact we made in a train station on one of the most heartbreaking days of my life. We will sit down, in a year, in ten years, I don't know. We'll sit down and drink tea, eat custard creams, laugh at me polishing grapes. And christ, will we have a lot to talk about. That's our end game.

Hopefully he'll return soon, but at the moment I'm missing a friend. Jen took my Number One away because she's bizarre and doesn't trust him with anyone and potentially cut off his balls and his them in her handbag. And I hate it, because I miss him.

I just hope that he's the only one I lose. I could understand another girl having issue with me, but I equally hope that there is enough trust and enough knowledge of all our lives together to know that these friendships are golden.

I'm just hoping that I can escape in May.

Mountains

Turn everything upside down to get a different look at it. It might look messy and muddled, but through the confusion you might be able to find a solution, an angle you hadn't yet considered, or a new way to look at the muddle itself. Maybe it has to be a muddle, and you cannot unmuddle it, you must just accept it and live with it.

My room is a muddle and I'm turning it upside down to correct it. My car is a mess and needs a good scrub. My face, my nails, my hair are still dirtied with hard work but I cannot fix these until the other two things are fixed. I want to organise more; I want to plan adventures and excitement and my life more than a week at a time. I need to apply my newly established managerial skills to my own life.

I went to a gig with Ben recently - The Boxer Rebellion. I've come to really like this band, and they are filling in the blanks between being in a good mood and being in a bad mood at the moment. Its peaceful  yet emotional. Its entirely middle of the road, and its calming to be there with them.

I also had another dream about the one who haunts my dreams last night. I haven't dreamt of him for a while, but last night (as it was one of the best nights sleep I'd had in some time), he made a reappearance. And it was a bizarre, jolting reappearance, because he told me that he still loved me, and always would, and if I wanted him to, he'd fight for me. But I told him I thought it strange that he'd only fight for me if I wanted him to - surely if he loved me that much, he'd fight no matter what. And he said that no, he loved me more than that - its why he's avoided me this whole time - because he wanted me to go and experience life, and do all those things that I might not have done if he'd been with me. He told me that he was happy to see me doing well, but he knew that he couldn't see me and not say anything. And I didn't know what to say to him. I couldn't get a grip on any emotion and I just stood there, lost in the eyes that I haven't seen for four years, and I hugged him and smelt that same aftershave he always wore, and he hugged me the way he always used to - so tight that I got lifted up slightly. And this morning it felt so real, like I could still smell him. My memory of him is still so sharp, and I wonder if that will ever fade. So it makes me wonder further - my reason for having these dreams, and such a vivid memory - is it because I still love him?

I have no answers, no questions, no place to put this thought. It can only be answered when I see him again. If I ever see him again.

Awkward.

I've just starting watching a teen 'dramady' called Awkward. It's pretty light, pretty funny, and pre escapism from my life right now. I can't describe the things in my head, the things I'm trying to ignore, and the things that whirl through my dreams each night. I know that there is no quick fix or good solution, there's only patience and hope. So right now, when both are wearing thin and my dreams are more and more baffling by the day, I must just escape the day somehow and give my brain something simple and distracting to munch on.

I'm very confused about my feelings for people at the moment. Like, not all people, but lots of different people. My flat mates, my best friends, people I used to fancy, all the emotions I had sorted into categories are now being diluted, swapped and boiled down to nothingness. Things are simplified when I have a relatable source - and right now, I just think of the savage garden lyric "love and other moments are just chemical reactions in your brain - and feelings of aggression are the absence of the love drug in your vein." Go listen to Gunning Down Romance. When angry, put it on in your car, full volume, and sing so loudly your own ears hurt. It's a great way to release bitterness and anger.

A month of madness

I realised yesterday how much I miss my late-flat-mate. He wasn't the best flat mate in the world, but he was my flat mate. And god bless his soul, he's now flatting in the dark depths of London. I hope the world doesn't crush his hopes and dreams.

His room is now occupied by Henry, who is never in the flat when I am in the flat. Our days off do not coincide, and he works from midday until midnight or later, whereas I work from the morning until mid evening. Our paths barely cross, so when I hear him coming home at 12.30am and cracking open a beer with Ben, I go out and sit with them, enjoy their company, and chew the fat for three hours. It's a comfort, like a teddy bear or a security blanket, to have someone in the flat to talk with. Its felt like I don't have that recently, because of a mixture of things. 

Firstly, because Jack has gone, and he was my go-to kid for all things pointless. If it wasn't playing / watching the other play assassins creed for hours, it was sharing a bottle of wine and just gabbling about life. 

Secondly, because second flat mate is slightly pre-occupied at the moment. And he seems to be distanced by his pre-occupation, more so than just 'being busy'. 

Thirdly, because all I want is to be able to talk about the thousands of things in my head that only a handful of people can fully understand, and most of those people just don't turn up in my house every night for shits and giggles.

And lastly, because I'm doing that weird things where I disappear into myself. I'm so busy thinking about the restaurant, my parents, my sisters, the world, the other things I need to keep in my head until I can get them sorted, that my immediate worries and insecurities get pushed aside, pushed inside, and swallowed up within myself. One day they have to come out; I just hope it's not in a drunken spiel with a dozen witnesses. I hope my dignity can remain slightly intact for this one. 

Meanwhile, I manage a coffee house / restaurant, I mull over the looming dissertation, I hope to be able to do exercise soon because my jeans are getting tighter and my wallet has no idea what to expect over the next few months.

I'm excited to see the kids for my birthday though. Especially the brummey one, as he was missing from the last reunion. 

Jumping

Today I'm taking a plunge. A leap. A hope of what could come, a great risk, an adventure will start from the actions of today.

There's a boy in the mix too. He's very lovely. And this risk I'm taking might change things with him. Its only just started, so I might be blowing out the candle before I've made a wish, but I really hope he doesn't disappear into a memory.

I've got so many boxes to tick in the next few weeks. Life is gathering momentum and its terrifying yet exhilarating. Its like I'm jumping across moving train compartments.

By February, a lot will have changed. I'll try find the time to keep y'all posted.

Soul Meets Body

Change is in the air. A stiff northerly breeze is whisking the cobwebs away and revealing our true intentions. What will happen in February, when so many people might be leaving my life? Will more people enter? And where is all this headed?

Questions I can't answer, can only wait to discover.

A new excitement has taken over me, and it cannot be revealed, but it can only be shared: I have that energy of expectation, hope and ambition. This is what I was looking for, and its the push I need to get the dissertation-ball rolling.

My heart travels to the far reaches of the world. Sam is still in Kuala Lumpur, and will be for the foreseeable future, and now Maria is in Tokyo for at least a year. I hope her all the luck and love in the world, and if all goes to plan, will be seeing her in the summer.

For now, I'm excited to see the uni kids in a couple of weeks. It feels like its been a long time since London, even though it hasn't been that long.

I'm also excited to say that I discovered a new emotion recently. When someone says 'I'm happy for you', I've never really known what that felt like - I've been neither close enough nor in contact enough with my ex's to know of their new relationships and been in a good enough stead to actually wish happiness upon them. But over Christmas, a little piece of news popped up on Facebook, and after some stalking of the wrong people I finally found the girl I was looking for, and I knew as soon as I'd found her. And it makes me laugh, how much she looks like she's the other end of the spectrum to me, yet she makes perfect sense as a girlfriend. And its been long enough, water has passed, whatever other sayings people say - but I genuienly hope you are happy and you feel alive again. I'll probably reiterate these feelings in Southampton, but I wanted to say it properly - I am so happy for you. More than I knew I could be. I thought I'd be jealous, or a bit like 'she's not good enough for you', but I'm just not! Ha, maybe this is how it feels to be a nice person.

Anyway, enough rambling, this year is going to be busy and exciting and I just want to get my teeth into it already.