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Love list

2011-05-03T20:05:00.001+01:00

1) Pussy le Queer

A blog full of beautiful ladies and their beautiful lady parts. See more at pussylequeer.tumblr.com

2) The woods

YouTube Video

We found an old rope swing over the brook. I do love a good swing.

3) Road trips

Singing and playing car games. Better than getting wrecked at the party. No pictures of that. Well, maybe just one.

Ugh. Before the hellish hangover.

The Teeny Tickles

2011-03-22T08:43:00.001Z

Yes Yes Yes

2011-03-12T16:52:00.001Z

...

2011-02-21T10:06:00.000Z

Yesterday was a hard day. I was over-tired I suppose, and I was having crazy thoughts. I ended up in a pile, weeping. It wasn't just over-tiredness though. A lot of the thoughts were the ones I've been covering up. I have no idea who I am, for one. All I know is that I can't stop being self-absorbed. Self-absorption is who I am. Until I know, I can't stop searching. Every so often I reinvent myself, try a new face on. It never sticks though. I love writing, but the reason I'm trying to be a writer is because I want the people I love to respect me. I have a friend with this quiet confidence, this natural beauty that draws people to her. I try to emulate the way she is, but it doesn't suit me because her natural beauty is unnatural on me. Kyle suggested I go away alone for a while, go travelling, be alone with me and see what happens. I'll consider it. I really want to have a joint-project, but there's nobody to do that with right now. I'm cut off creatively. And it would back-fire, I'd end up giving over all of myself to someone else. I'm a follower, not a leader. I'll just keep going though, until I stop.

Crying at Undercover Boss, that's who I am.

23

2011-02-20T14:54:00.001Z

These are the only pictures I got so all please send me yours!

The whole point of a birthday is to see what you've managed to do in a year. At a glance it's easy to think this whole year has revolved around one event. My mum's death fucked me up. I went mad. I switched my phone off and changed my number because I thought I hated everyone and everything, I didn't want to know anyone. Luckily I changed my mind. My granddad's death was hard too. He was my life for a long time. It's been a hard 6 months but I'm still here. I'm not happy, but I'm here. And over time I'm having more moments of happiness. It is what it is. I'm still missing the things I lost though, all of them.

Good for you, darlin'

2011-02-18T15:16:00.000Z

No matter how much I spend on shiny new things, I'm still the same. I'm rattling between miserable and just fucking fine, thank you. I hope this will all go away soon. Nerves or something. But love is definitely not winning today.

Roles inverted

2011-02-18T12:32:00.001Z

Last night, I was chasing the person who usually chases me through dreams. It was a tough sleep.

Life and Times of a Cleaning Lady

2011-02-08T19:12:00.001Z

Work is going badly. My manager is being... difficult. When he comes pestering me I just throw myself into my work, in a way that I hope says to him 'I'd rather be prying a persistent piece of poo from this toilet-bowl than talk to you'. I hope he doesn't take it the wrong way and think I'm just really diligent. I keep getting in trouble. I won't say I'm not to blame, that it's just the bastards grinding me down. I'm not completely to blame, but life's a bitch. I'm just finding it hard to work there.

Damn

2011-02-06T16:03:00.001Z

I want to hate people, but they're too damn good. Who or what can I make a target for the wicked, white-hot fury that overpowers me? I want to smash something.

Love List Jan/Feb '11

2011-02-05T20:31:00.001Z

1) My Office

I'm writing more. I'm enjoying having a little space of my own. I feel calm and happy there.

2) Joe Anderson

He has an endearing charm that pervades every role he plays. Lovely!

3) Cyndi Lauper

I love her, because if I look this awesome when I'm in my 50s I'll be very happy. And because Goonies Are Good Enough.

Fantasy Dinner Party

2011-02-05T13:46:00.000Z

The premise is simple: You're hosting a dinner party and you can invite any 5 people in the whole world. I've chosen to restrict my dinner party guests to people who are still alive and non-fictional, but you could go crazy with yours if you wanted to.

Getting the right mix of characters is important. You can't just think of people you'd like to meet and lump them all in together. It's important that they have common ground, but also differences that will add variety to the conversation. I made the conscious decision to go for slightly younger people because I think having too wide a variety of ages present can alienate people a little.

Natalie Portman - She's really hot property right now, and she seems like a very interesting person.
Dylan Moran - My favourite comedian. You need an element of humour.
Prof. Brian Cox - Physicist for the masses, a clever man with a scientific outlook to offset the more creative types in the room.
Lady Gaga - There's got to be an eccentric at every party.
Zadie Smith - I'd want to pick her brains about novel writing, particularly as she started in her early 20s.

Snore

2011-02-04T13:32:00.000Z

So, after a lot of silence, here's a bit of nothing. Everything's going along the same as ever. I'm still alive. I'm in that part of the day where I want to go to sleep. It starts at 5:45am and ends... well, when I go to sleep. I'm not complaining though, I'm quite happy really.

Anyone want to hire me? I need to make enough money to look after my family. I'm unqualified and unreliable and waiting for your call.

Death Letter

2011-01-12T14:14:00.000Z

This is so hard. I need you now, and you're gone. It's selfish of me to wish you back into agony. If I'm wishing, I'd have you back here healthy and whole. Our last weeks together were fraught and painful, you were angry all the time, and I didn't want to be anywhere near you. I'm so sorry for that. I should have been more perceptive. I never really believed it was the end, not until that day when I found you in the afternoon, rambling and confused. Helping you back into bed, I noticed the seemingly impossible; you were even thinner than the previous week. You were tiny, frail. You weren't you anymore. If I'd known you'd be gone so quickly, I'd have put up better with the mood swings and the anger. I think maybe you were pushing me away to make it hurt less when you left us, but instead I spend nights lying awake, crying out, begging for a chance to put it right. I don't blame you for any of it. I blame me for being weak. I'm sorry I loved you too much to be with you as you died. You must know that Granddad is dying too. They've stopped intervening. They're making him comfortable for his transition. They call it 'Gateway'. I miss him already. It was different with you, I miss you every day of course, but all my memories of you are eclipsed by the last times I saw you, the pain and the vomit and the restlessness, and I can't see anything else. I'm sorry for that too. I want to learn how to remember you again. I spent so much time with Granddad in the past year, I have so many memories. Being his carer is the best thing I ever did. I gave him companionship, comfort, routine. He gave me a million times more. I sit by his bed each night after work, reading to him for an hour or so, touching his hand and ruffling his hair. When I'm at home, alone, everything reminds me of him. Daytime TV shows, sweet wrappers, songs, phrases; unlike you, he is a creature of habit, so the associations are stronger. Don't be offended. All I've wanted is you to come home, hold me, tell me how to carry on. Make a nice cup of tea for us. Take control of my life before it spins away from me. Mum, please. I feel so lost. I tried calling out to you, I cry out your name in my sleep. I still think you'll come running from the next room and tell me it's all just a bad dream. I know it isn't though, it's a bad reality. I don't know how to do this.

Shitty Christmas

2010-12-29T17:53:00.001Z

All things considered, this has been an awful season. Everyone's ill, everyone's miserable, and I can't even get wrecked on New Years because of the increasingly slim possibility that there are a few rogue cells stuck to my uterine wall (my other half is taking the opportunity to lay down the law on my lifestyle choices). This is probably sheer frustration talking but since it's the first thing I've been able to write in weeks why not? Why not vent to you, dear blog, dear wall of nothingness? And since this will be the last 'posted from my iPad' post, why not use it to pour out some spleen? I've given the iPad to Kyle, the stupid thing is lucky it's not going out the window. I've grown to hate the very sight of it. It just reminds me of why I bought it, and, just between you and me, it wasn't to play fucking fishtanks. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm just so sick of saying I'm fine when nothing is fine. I hate Christmas, I hate New Year, I hate play-acting round a big fancy table, I hate getting out of bed, I hate fighting all the time. I give up. There, doesn't that feel better? I'm going to drink a bottle of wine and go to sleep.

One day

2010-12-16T15:25:00.001Z

So today and I did not get off to the best start, but all is forgiven now. I won £1000 for a small piece of writing that I haven't given a single thought to in months. Great news. And yet, it got me thinking.

I called my sister to catch up withe her news and to give her mine, and she gave me the speech. I need to be doing something with myself, and here is proof. Write more articles, write more stories, send them off. She's right, obviously. But I'm too proud. I'm not as scared of rejection as I am of mediocrity. Writing for papers, zines, etc, is great work if you can get it, but if I get it and I get into it, well, I might not ever get out of it. Writing for other people's columns is like feeding someone else's baby. I have no problem doing it but I want one of my own. I'm not saying I want to do it alone, no, I'm not adverse to working with people. I'd just love to be in there from the ground up. I have this dream of sitting down to a blank page one day, and then in the days to come watching it take off and becoming something... A series, a play, a novel, a film, or something I can't imagine yet. But I have to work towards it, I know. Rome wasn't built in a day. But I wish it was. Uncertainty is scary.

Terror

2010-12-15T17:48:00.001Z

As I've bored everyone with at least once, I'm writing (trying to write) about fear. Since my mum died I've been scared and anxious, frequently, inexplicably. I thought putting the words down on paper would serve as a kind of exorcism but, as yet, the words won't come. I've been binging on horror films. Some are good, some are downright awful. I'm trying to figure out what frightens me, but more generally what works and what doesn't. What frightens us all, really, so I can use it against you. So far I've got quite a few ideas of what frightens me and very few general rules.

1) Being Possessed.

Examples: The Last Exorcism (2010), The Exorcist (1973), Paranormal Activity (2007)...

This frightens me a lot. The idea of something being inside me, controlling me, because there's so much about my own belief system that I don't understand. Kyle doesn't believe in demons. He thinks that possession is a symptom of something psychological, and that 'demon' is a biblical term for mental diseases they didn't understand. Hmm.

2) Being Watched

Examples: The Truman Show (1998), Lost Highway (1997)...

The Truman Show messed me up as a child. I remember watching it, then going upstairs with a torch and examining the light fittings and the plug holes, lifting the mirrors off the walls, pretty much checking anywhere there might be a secret camera. I know Truman wasn't a horror but it really messed me up. And Lost Highway was different again, scary on so many levels (like every Lynch film I've ever seen). The scary thing with the watching in this film is that it's inexplicable.

3) Mirrors

Examples: Mirrors (2008)

This film shook me up. I remember me and Danny once telling everyone how if we look at ourselves in the mirror too long it scares us. And we were laughed at. But mirrors are a horror-movie staple, that much is undeniable. And nothing is so scary as one's self.

4) Going mad

Examples: Shutter Island (2010), In A Dark Place (2006),

Insanity runs in my family. It's an ugly thing. The worst thing about crazy is the thought that you could be and not know it.

My new nephew!

2010-12-10T10:46:00.001Z

Ethan Mark, born 6:15pm on 8th December 2010, weighing 8lb.

What's This? What's This?

2010-12-02T11:09:00.000Z

Confusion

2010-11-26T13:38:00.001Z

After a couple days throwing up, I'm feeling better. For now. I don't want to spend the winter stumbling from one bug to another. My boss called me yesterday, and I was expecting to get fired. I didn't, don't worry. They would be well in their rights to sack me. I had a week off when my mum died, worked two weeks and then was off a week with a chest infection, worked two days and then went off with a stomach bug. I've spent more time off than in. When she rang I was frantically trying to explain that I've just been very unlucky the past couple months but she told me to listen, and said that she thinks I've been 'not really right' since I came back to work, and that she recommends I take some personal leave to sort myself out. They've had a meeting about me, and everyone agrees that even when I've not been I'll I've been 'struggling' and 'not myself'. Which is strange, you'd think I would have noticed. They've referred me to Occupational Health, I have to have counselling (which I start in about half an hour, incidentally) and an assessment to see when I'm fit to return. I have a doctor's appointment on Monday and they're going to increase the dosage on my medication.

I feel a bit powerless, after months of struggling to get med-free and to be in control of myself, my feelings, my actions. But I'm failing, obviously. I can't help but think I'm not being given a chance. I've been bloody unlucky. I got ill, being ill makes you feel down. If my mum hadn't just died, would this big intervention be happening? No. But if she hadn't would I be in such a mess? I don't know. Chicken and egg, you know? Everyone is taking over, and I feel annoyance and relief in equal measure. I just don't really know what's going on.

Sicky

2010-11-24T19:44:00.001Z

I have to go into work tomorrow, but this puking bug has really floored me. I think I'm pretty much getting fired if I miss anymore days. Life is really hard right now. Hopefully it'll get easier when I can keep food down.

Love List November

2010-11-20T20:42:00.001Z

1) Beards

It's amazing how just a few millimetres of fuzz can make a man drastically better looking. For example:

He's gorgeous.

More gorgeous.

Frankly weird looking.

Unrecognisably hot.

Pretty boy.

Pretty man.

Clean cut and dull.

Rugged and interesting.

Point proven. Don't you agree? And since it's Movember, why not go one step further and grow a tash too.

2) Scott Pilgrim movie

I'm the last one to jump on the bandwagon, I know, but I watched the film for the first time today and loved it. The lead actor put me off to begin with, as he's been horrid in everything else I've seen him in, but he was actually good in this one.

3) Pottery Game

Literally all I've done while I've been laid up and sick is make pottery on this thing. I'm a pro. It might seem sad but- No, it is sad. Just try it.

4) @serafinowicz

AKA the annoying one from Shaun of the Dead. Funny guy, really interesting ideas and hilarious one-liners. Follow him!

beach house

2010-11-19T15:10:00.001Z

I felt pain, and then it passed. I saw red, and I tried to blink it away, but it got thicker and stronger. The sound of your feet, leaving, splashing wet in what must have been my blood. My blood, it should really have been inside me, but if it had been inside me I could never have let you walk away. This must be death, I thought at the time. I was wrong.

You're not a stranger here. I was tired. Soft focus, my bedroom low-lighted. I saw books at the foot of the bed, their yellow smile. The sound of your chest up and down sent me to sleep, the slight crack at the apex and then the hum of deflating lungs. You should stop smoking. I worry about you. If you have to leave though, I'd rather you were carried out. You laughed.

2010-11-18T21:11:00.001Z

I didn't tell you what actually happened the other day.

My granddad was on the chair. It's one of those chairs that tip you out when you press the little button. He was in the tipping process and it just went a little too far. I was on the sofa reading a newspaper and I hears him say 'ooophh', sort of surprised, and when I looked up he was half on the floor, clinging to the chair. I got up and rushed over, tried to pull him up but couldn't manage. He's not exactly small and dainty, so I lowered him onto the floor completely, put cushions under him and stuff. Only he couldn't get up again. So I had to call the ambulance, they have this thing that lifts people up after a fall. He ended up on the floor for an hour, as he was non-critical that was the quickest they could respond. It wasn't a big drama, I just felt bad about it. I have no problems changing the occasional accident, cleaning up for him, doing his errands, but it scared me a bit to think that in a real crisis I'm next to useless. My dad was in London, Kyle and my Aunt were both working, I felt alone. Looking back, I suppose it was a bit funny.

I'm still sick. My chest is doing better but my head is pounding constantly, has been for 3 days straight, and the antibiotics give me stomach cramps and nausea for up to an hour after each dose. It's been over a week since I went to work. I'm resting as much as I can but there's no one else to look after granddad so I've been walking to and from his house each day.

Kick me

2010-11-16T15:04:00.001Z

I'm a great carer. My granddad managed to have a fall while I was in the room with him. Waiting for the ambulance now. He's ok, I propped him up infront of the tv, I just can't lift him up, I'm not strong enough even when I don't have a chest infection and a temperature.

Talkie

2010-11-13T23:53:00.001Z

My husband tells me that I need to talk to my friends. 'The few friends you haven't managed to drive away yet', those were his exact words. He was mad at me today. It was justified. When you're consistently unreasonable, your behaviour comes to seem normal in your own mind, and the reasonable responses of those around you seem cruel and unfathomable. He's dealing with my bad situation as best he knows how. Kyle has always been better with people, they take to him easily, which is unfair as I try so much harder to please them. If he thinks I need to talk to someone I need to talk to them. I don't know if I can do it out loud, so here it is.

I'm having trouble spending time with people. Going out scares me silly and I don't know why. I really just want to be alone, except for being with Kyle. It's not good for me, I know. I keep blowing people off because I'm ill. I'm not using being sick as an excuse, I'm actually getting sick because I'm scared. But I love you, and I don't want to lose you. I'm acting selfish and irrational, but please bear with me. Ok?

I keep dreaming about being in my car, about getting lost in it or crashing it. I looked it up, it means I'm unsure what path to take in life, and that I'm moving through a painful situation. Or that I'm eating too much cheese.

Today was the one month anniversary.

Bastard

2010-11-07T17:36:00.001Z

"I'll put a spell on you, you'll fall asleep, I'll put a spell on you, and when I wake you I'll be the first thing you see, and you'll realise that you love me..."

I used to play that song and think about you, dear. And now we're married. Isn't that funny? I love you, even though you're sorry you married me :-P

Bastard

2010-11-07T17:10:00.001Z

Sometimes I get so angry it makes me breathless and dizzy. It's one step beyond crying with anger. There's only one person who does this to me. He knows exactly what buttons to push. I feel powerless, and I want to hurt him.

Get out of town

2010-11-07T11:14:00.001Z

I learn more about life from books and tv than I do from life. Huh. I sound like Meg Ryan, don't I? But it's true. I wish I could go on a trip somewhere, and if this was a film I would do, I'd go off and find myself. But, like I said, I'm broke.

I'm not afraid anymore, and I want to be. I want to be scared as I step into a foreign land. Not scared that my life is ebbing away. I might need to take out an oober-loan, but I'm getting out. I have to. We have to. Me and him. The only person I want to go with, I don't know if he'll come with me. But we have to try don't we?

It never rains...

2010-11-06T19:59:00.001Z

If we weren't skint before, we really are now. We need a new tire for the car. Daaamn.

Skint

2010-11-06T10:55:00.001Z

I am so broke! Until November 18th, I have no money. Then I'll have money for a few hours until I buy all my Christmas gifts. I've already got 4 totally complete gifts, and about ten half-gifts. I have big presents for Kyle and my dad picked out, but since those alone are going to total about £300 I have to wait until I'm paid. I think it's safe to say my dad doesn't read this blog, so i can tell you I'm getting him a Kindle. There are only a few people left to start buying for, and they are the difficult ones of course. Granddad. What do you get for someone who has £40k in the bank and yet thinks it's a waste to buy new slippers while the old ones still have the soles just about attached? Seriously, what do you buy for them, I need help. My Aunty Gwyn, who has been so good to us in the past few months while my mum was ill, and then after as well. I need to get her something nice.

Before I get paid I have 2 birthdays to buy for. Kane is getting a remote controlled monster truck. Mark is slightly more complicated since it's his 21st. I've got half his present.

Bonfire party at my place tonight. Come get 3rd degree burns with me and my family.

Have I changed?

2010-11-05T18:49:00.001Z

Rebel Yell

2010-11-05T10:07:00.001Z

I got a new phone. Yeaaah. And I'm thankful for the weekend.

Strike a pose

2010-11-02T09:02:00.001Z

I came home this morning and my dad told me there's been 'a huge gash explosion' in Salford.

Bill Bailey is on Breakfast TV talking about how celebrity has become devalued by the proliferation of small-scale celebrities who don't deserve to be famous. I remember mentioning a while ago about a Guardian article which talked about Generation-Y being driven by the urge to be a celebrity, that being famous is seen as the ultimate form of success, no matter what you're famous for. Fame and infamy are equal. It must be in the social consciousness because there are lots of songs that've come out in the past year or so about the fact that everyone wants to be a celebrity, and there's stuff like x-factor which fuels the fire. But I dunno. Maybe I'll start a new trend of wanting to be inconspicuous and invisible. But it's hard to start a trend if nobody knows who you are. Hmm.

I think I'd fit well into this culture though, for all the wrong reasons. I'm good at giving too much information, I hang my dirty laundry out in public (right here), I don't know when to shut my mouth, and I'm always doing stupid stuff. I'm not even famous, don't think I ever could be, so I haven't got an excuse.

I don't want that, so I think I might just disappear.

If you could be famous for anything, what would you be famous for?

P.S. Uncle showed up. Seemed annoyed that we were worried about him.

Line

2010-10-31T19:18:00.001Z

Just been to mum's memorial service. That's it now, real life resumes. Or tries to. No more excuse to act like an idiot because I'm 'grieving'. I feel stupid and lethargic and so inexpressibly sad. I've been living out an odd, selfish kind of mourning. I'm most sad because I feel like I ought to have said more and done more, I ought to have been more in her lifetime. Then I think about the fact I'll have no more memories with her, the ones I made are all I've got. I should have treasured them harder and not let them leak away, so that now I strain to think of the very words she said, or the way she felt when she hugged me, the just-so of how she did every little thing that she did. How did I not pay more attention? I cried into the toilet bowl last night, at the shame of what she would think if she saw me drunk and half-naked and with sick coming out of my nose.

Ewart's missing too. He's not been seen since yesterday, he didn't come home last night and he's not answering his phone. If he's not home tomorrow I'll have to call the police. I'm trying not to panic, he might just have needed the space. But it's niggling at me.

I'll try to make this the last 'Poor me, my mum's dead' blog post for a while. Hope your Halloweekend was awesome.

Urgh

2010-10-31T07:49:00.001Z

I've got no phone, and no facebook. I was worried about feeling cut off but I'm ok so far.

I went out last night. I've been drinking too much again, since my mum died. I don't even know why I'm doing it, so I'm gonna try to stop it off. Made myself sick with booze for the first time in a very very long time. Fell asleep with my face on the toilet seat. Lost some of my clothes in the club. Don't remember much. It's not cool, not cool at all. I feel so disappointed in myself.

Roll on the weekend

2010-10-29T18:15:00.001+01:00

I'm having the worst week so far. Just a million and one things that seem inconsequential are knocking me for six. It's hard.

My good friend Matthew is coming from Trent to stay with me very soon, which signifies a wild weekend. May even be next weekend, I think he's predisposed to be persuaded into coming sooner rather than later, and I'm very much predisposed to persuade him.

Bad dreams and social networks

2010-10-29T10:19:00.001+01:00

I keep deleting my Facebook account and someone keeps reinstating it, which is kind of annoying so if it's you then stop it off. You cant just delete Facebook, oh no, they make it almost impossible. If you interact with it in any way within 14 days of deletion it automatically restarts your profile, so be careful when opening any one of the fifty emails they'll send you, because if you accidentally click an innocuous looking link it's all over. I myself have been very careful and yet have been notified that 'Congratulations! Your account has been reactivated' twice now.

Last night was another hard one. It was dreams though, not sleeplessness. The most vivid one was about diving. We were off the coast at a little inlet from the sea, a sea-lake you might say. We were diving without oxygen and I think I was a man, as the other people with me were all men. I don't know how long we were there for, but I was trying to reach the bottom of the lake, just falling short each time. I was aiming for a mass of seaweed on the bottom. Eventually my lungs got stronger and I reached the mass on the bottom of the lake. I pulled away the weeds and saw a woman's body, pearly white except for dark curly hair defusing through the water. I felt fear and lightheadedness. I was about to bolt back up to the surface, almost out of air, when she grabbed my hand. She smiled at me, a wide, manic smile, and her teeth were all ground into points. She tried to bite me. In a traditional nightmare this is where you'd wake up, but I kicked and thrashed and broke free and swam away, leaving her on the bottom. I made the surface and found my friend, and told him I had an idea for a book and was he interested in publishing it. I swear, it was so real.

Thank You

2010-10-28T15:48:00.001+01:00

For being there, always. For the good times and the bad. It's over now, but it was fun while it lasted. I'm taking the good bits onward with me. Goodnight and God bless.

2010-10-28T12:53:00.001+01:00

Something strange is happening. Today I couldn't wait to come home, not just because I've spent the day cleaning faeces off walls, but also because my family is here and I want to be with them. It makes me feel calm and happy. Hmm.

2010-10-27T23:14:00.001+01:00

Is anybody out there?

Love List October

2010-10-26T17:37:00.001+01:00

1) Professor Brian Cox

He does for space what Richard Attenborough does for... erm...sharks and stuff. That is, makes it interesting. And he's not bad to look at either. I love his program on BBC, Wonders of the Solar System. Check it out.

2) B-Movie Novels

Especially this one, which arrived this week through my letter box. It's a bit of a guilty obsession, but I love anything with grizzly green blobs attacking helpless damsels, or computers the size of four-by-fours plotting the end of humanity. It's probably not going to help me write better, though.

3) My i-Pad

Sorry, I won't harp on about it, and how it's hands down the best thing that's ever happened to me. I just hope I never have to choose between my i-Pad and my husband.

2010-10-26T16:30:00.001+01:00

So it's been almost two weeks. It went by fast, and now everything is turned dizzyingly slow. There's nothing left to trawl through, and it's time to turn over what we have and analyse it. What I have so far is a sense of being inadequate, of failing to do what ought to have been done. I feel like I ran to the station only to see my train pulling away from me at great speed. You're never ready for the day you lose someone you love, or for that sick, heavy thought, "That's it, that's all you get." There really is nothing you can do, nothing you can fix, nothing to be set right. The memories of her pain, of her anger, of her slipping away from me, they are prevalent. The memories of joy are dilute and far away. Time is all I have now, hopefully time will heal. I believe it will. I believe I will be joyful again without forgetting her. I won't ever be the same, but maybe I can be better. I feel like I've already learned a little.

I was very scared about her dying, and when she did die it wasn't how I thought it would be. It was worse in a way, but we got through it somehow. Now I'm scared about the future. I want to make something of myself. I don't even know what that means, but I want it. I have this image in my head of someone saying to me ' your mum would be proud of you today', really stupid and self-satisfied I know but there it is. I don't know in my little fantasy what it is I've done or who says it to me, which is why I'm struggling. If I only knew what to do it would be ok, I'd do it. I write pages and pages of beginnings and then quit because i'll pause for a little bit and when I try to pick up again I read what I wrote and realise it's trash. And then I quit. Part of me wants to stop doing that, but another part of me knows it's better to quit than keep on writing shit that nobody wants to read. So I somehow doubt that I'll make her proud by winning the Man-Booker or the Whitbread or whatever. And that's not really what her priorities were anyway. Don't get me wrong, on the rare occasions when I won something for my writing (poetry contest aged 12, Telegraph contest last year, yep, that's about it) she was always proud. But those are just personal achievements really. When I think of the things that she loved, it was all about feeding the homeless, teaching children in poverty to read and write, basically helping people. Which is just not my forte. I can't picture myself in some tiny African village handing out books to one-legged kids. I wish I could, but I'm too selfish and cloistered. I cant handle people like she did. I'm shy and awkward and unfriendly. I'll never be as good as my mother was, I'll never be as kind, as loving, as strong.

Well, I'm being silly. But I'm also being completely honest with you about how I fee. I've been away from this kind of writing for a while, it hurt too much. It also makes me seem whiney and self involved. An unfortunately accurate impression. People are oppressive to me at the moment, I've been hiding out at home like a recluse. I haven't been going out, I haven't been inviting people over. I go to work because I have to, but even that's traumatic and I get home feeling red raw. I'm trying. I'm going out tomorrow, I made plans with someone who's easy to be around, and who I actually like. Break myself in gently for all those awkward fuckers who I can't stand, you know. Nah, I'm kidding. I like everyone.

2010-10-24T14:58:00.001+01:00

Did I really marry a man who thinks Paris is 'alright'? Good grief. What was I thinking?!

Adendum

2010-10-23T10:52:00.001+01:00

After all the moaniness and bellyaching, I realised this morning that I've been taking the wrong pills and have inadvertently halved my dose. Ha. I'm so stupid.

Meds, Books, Music, Ballache

2010-10-22T16:20:00.001+01:00

For the first time in weeks I'm having withdrawal symptoms from my medication. Sweating, dizziness, nausea, confusion, shaky hands, mini-blackouts... They're the worst, I feel my pulse in my head and with it my vision goes blurry for a moment and my breath catches. A couple weeks ago I stepped down my dose to every 3 days, and it was going fine until today. I'm scared I'm going to pass out. Maybe it's the booze binge of the past few days. I've been stupid so it's only just desserts I suppose.

To take my mind off it, I'm reading Wilkie Collins. Haunted Hotel is making me want to write ghost stories, it's so clever. I'm hoping to finish it tonight and move on to something else. It's easy to read three books a week when you're not working. I've swapped 2 books today with Bookswap, so I'm expecting even more reads for next week.

I've been listening to all my mum's favourite musicians, reliving memories and suddenly appreciating it in new ways. This morning 'Blackbird' held me in tears for its duration. I had to call two more companies to tell them she's dead, so they stop sending her post. And in had nightmare after nightmare last night about my father hanging himself.

Sorry to whine. I'll try to keep it to a minimum.

2010-10-20T13:48:00.001+01:00

The house is full of people. I don't know most of them. I'm hiding from all in my room. One of the few I know is Matthew, who is one of my oldest friends. Having not even spoken to him in years I can safely tell you now, he is one of the handsomest men I've ever seen. I have to find out if he's still unattached so I can set him up with one of my friends. Maybe I'll remind him of how he used to wander into my room starkers and jump on my bed. We were young.
My cousins are all here. We are a generation of girls, seven girls. And one boy, Anthony, who's the oldest of us all. Then there's my aunts and uncles, and other friends, Jaz, Ste, Em, Jude and Jamie, Veronica, Steve, Matthew's parents are here too, and about ten people who I don't know. Hiding seemed the best thing to do.

2010-10-20T11:43:00.001+01:00

I'm so angry. Inexplicably so. I can't say I'm in pieces, just that I wish everything else was. My tidy bedroom got on the wrong end of a shit-fit and I have to clean it up again. Nothing is ready. I'm still in pyjamas. What can I wear? Why am I burying my mother today?

Mutiny

2010-10-16T08:49:00.000+01:00

Mum's best friend is here. We are plotting against her and her dictatorial regime. Hasta la vicoria siempre.

Get More

2010-10-15T10:49:00.000+01:00

Please check out this site if you enjoy reading and want a bit more from the books you love. I love it. I hope you do too. I meant to link to it a while back but life went crazy, you know how it is.

And check out my friend Matt, if you haven't already.

Blank Space

2010-10-13T16:09:00.000+01:00

My mum passed away this morning. She went suddenly, it came as a shock. She was fine on Sunday, then she took a turn for the worse. I feel lost, I feel broken, but most of all I'm grateful to God for her life, and for the gift of 5 extra years. And on that note, here's the daftest picture of her I could find, just to make you all laugh.

Thanks for all the kind words, they meant more than I can say. I'm trying to get back to everybody who's contacted me because I want to thank each and every one of them, but it's been such an outpouring of kindness that I'm overwhelmed.

Fan Club

2010-10-11T10:55:00.000+01:00

Me: Oh did you hear, I finished my degree.
Family Member: I heard. You're meant to be the clever one. God help us.

Cuss

2010-10-09T23:00:00.000+01:00

Someone called me this morning and asked me to meet them. They were crying down the phone. I went. I've not spoken to this person in months but they are having a nasty old time of it recently. Their dad's in prison for a really awful reason, and there's more stuff that I can't really talk about. While we were talking I just couldn't help wondering why the hell they called me of all people.

Tonight I watched Mulholland Drive for the first time, and I enjoyed it. It's made me think a lot about my own stuff that I'm writing at the minute, and re-evaluate where it's going. It's similar to other Lynch movies that I've seen in the way it introduces characters in seemingly unconnected situations and then brings them together later, which leaves you guessing what the links are going to be. I like that. I also like the way he's not afraid to confuse you, make you look around and think, huh? That's such a hard line to walk because if you get it wrong people just turn off.

2010-10-06T10:58:00.000+01:00

I'm still not quite right, I can't throw this cold. My mum asked for paper and pens today, she's writing her goodbye letters. If she tries to give me one I'll throw the bloody thing back at her.

I'm going to see her today, not been in a few as I'm ill and we can't risk giving her anything. I'll give her a good shaking though, and tell her to stop being negative. That's my job.

Why don't we blog anymore?

2010-10-04T15:42:00.000+01:00

I'm writing, and... I think it's pretty good. Kiss of death, eh? And you can't read it in case you disagree, I'd never recover from that. But I miss you until I'm sore, and I'm sorry for the silence. Everything feels shitty right now because I'm ill and I'm feeling pathetic.

2010-10-03T12:00:00.001+01:00

It's easy to leave, and it hurts to stay away,
Nobody ever felt so alone as in the middle of a crowd
Full of people who love you and don't know you,
Full of people you love but don't believe.
And I'm missing you so,
I'm regretting so much,
So much, so much, so much,
Mistakes made I want to make over,
Who you are I don't know,
I remember who you were.

3rd

2010-10-01T08:49:00.001+01:00

Well, I crossed the finish line. I'm not happy with it, but I'm contented with it. I worked -kinda- in first and second year, but let's face it, in third year I was a dumbass. When other people were in the lectures and the library I was sat home in the middle of the day getting drunk and cutting myself. And when i was in the library, it wasn't for studying purposes. I could have applied for special circumstances yet again but it was dragging on and this was a fair grade for the amount of effort I actually expended. So I'm contented. I was irresponsible, and now I'm taking responsibility for it. I bellyached about uni and my life and being depressed, but it was just me really. It was all me. It was a lesson I had to learn the hard way. This chapter is over. Here's to the rest of my life.

Everybody's doing it.

2010-09-29T21:52:00.000+01:00

Can you pinpoint the best sex you ever had? I can't. I think there's something wrong with me. And my vagina.

My heart, my heart is learning.

She shuts her ears and hums, for fear of drums

To which you marched her out at dawn,

Sweet lovebird, the trek you treked her on,

Meat meeting a meeting of malevolent ghosts,

Motioned from stomach right down to the bones

And out through the tube of a grappling aorta

Eureka! She fell, and love caught her.

My heart, my heart is words ungainly, tight and terse.

The arteries have spoken; they spoke in verse.

That's life.

2010-09-27T18:15:00.000+01:00

I'm so pissed off. I walked through the door about 5 minutes ago and was greeted by my uncle stood in the hall. When I say 'greeted', his words were 'right, can you take me shopping?' I understand we need food and shit. I also understand that he's been off work today and we live within 5 minute walking distance of TWO supermarkets, but whatever. He got huffy with me when I told him I was going out. If he'd told me this morning I would have slotted it into my day somewhere, but a 30 second warning is just not on. At least I don't think it is. Am I crazy?

2010-09-26T15:27:00.001+01:00

I walk in and she's sleeping. I sit down silently but she realises I'm there and her eyes open. For an awful moment I think she doesn't know who I am. Then a flood of relief when she says my name. "you need to go. Go now." she says.
"ok," I say, "I love you," I touch her arm and she squeezes my hand.
"go now," she says.

Call Me Norman.

2010-09-24T19:11:00.000+01:00

We were stood in the kitchen making dinner. Kyle told me I have PSM, and I'm not bothered, because he's right, I do. A moment later, I picked up the knife I'd been using to put it in the sink and he screamed, threw his arms up, and shouted "NO!" Am I that psycho? Really?

Thursday in Morning

2010-09-23T20:53:00.000+01:00

My mum had a couple good days, and today was a very bad day. She's back in hospital, hopefully not for long though. They're rehydrating her. She had to go in an ambulance, which would have been mortifying for her. I was at work, so I didn't know anything until I came home to an empty house. She didn't want to worry me by calling and explaining, because coming home and finding she'd just vanished, that was much less stressful.

I don't like being alone in the house, but it's not like it used to be, when I was afraid to be alone. I'm not anymore. It's strange, I used to get really stressed about being lonely. Last year I had these two really tight friendship groups, and it was awesome. Now we're all fingertip touch with each other, and I spend most of my time with just little old me for company. It's not so bad. I miss them, and when I see them it's amazing, but when I'm alone I still function, I can still be happy. Kyle helps a lot. As long as I have him I know I'm not really alone. And if I need any of my friends I can call them up and they'll be there. And if they need me, same goes.

I worry about losing my mum. I try not to because we need to stay positive, but I'm only human. I've had the whole family on the phone tonight. They called to see if we're ok, and I ended up comforting them. My mum means a lot to a lot of people, they're hurting. I just listen to them for a while, let them cry, and tell them it's ok. They think I'm hiding my feelings. I'm not. I have bad half hours and not so much bad days. I tell Kyle how I'm feeling, no-one else needs to know since it wont do them any good. Mostly I'm fine, and thanking God for every lesson.

You're my hero

2010-09-23T10:34:00.001+01:00

a bit older

2010-09-22T20:15:00.000+01:00

This is a little extract from what I'm writing at the moment.

...

The first thing we did after putting our daughter into the ground was erase every memory of her from our home. You aren’t supposed to do that, you’re meant to erect a little shrine, keep their room just as it was and pretend they’re on a sleepover, they’ll be home tomorrow to push their feet into the slippers by the bed and finish reading that magazine left open on the bedside table. We came home from the funeral and there were people buzzing around us as we sat motionless on the sofa. The buzzing faded slowly away until there was just us, and a terrifying silence. It must have been about nine o’clock at night, we hadn’t bothered to put the lamp on, we were sat in the dark. I moved first, to the kitchen. I took some painkillers, I don’t know why. Then I took the roll of black bin-liners from the second draw, and I went up to her room. I flicked the light on and was blinded for a second, my eyes were used to shuffling round in the gloom. From a white blur, her life took shape. She didn’t have any posters of actors or bands on the wall, but there was a picture collage. That’s where I started, because it hurt the most. I ripped them down one by one, the many versions of her smiling face, and our faces too. I didn’t stop until the wall was bare, only a random stippling of blue-tack remained. That’s when he came in, my husband. We looked at each other, a good long look. Still holding his gaze, I picked up a stuffed dog from the chair by the wall, held it over the bag for a moment, then let it go. I was daring him to object. After a moment he let out a long sigh, and shrugged. He started on the desk, picking up a fist full of mascaras and blushers and throwing them down into the rubbish bag. It took us about an hour to clear the room, not long at all to get rid of fourteen years. As a bag got full we tied up the corners and put it out into the hallway. There were twelve of them at the end. I didn’t know what to do with them, I hadn’t thought that far ahead, so they stayed there for three weeks. They might have stayed there for three years, for all I cared. My husband was the one who disposed of them in the end. He tripped over them every morning when he got out of bed, and he would swear and kick them and then march off in an awful temper. I would lie there in the dark and feel exhilarated, this little outburst was the only time he ever spoke anymore. After three weeks of this routine, he flipped.

“Right,” I heard him say after the crash and the cursing, “Right. It ends now. That’s it.”

I listened to him throw each bag downstairs, one at a time. Then I heard him follow them. The front door opened. I got out of bed and went to the window. He was piling the bags up on the lawn. I guessed what he was doing, perhaps I should have stopped him. I didn’t though, I was a little bit glad. He went round to the shed and came back with a petrol can. By this time the neighbours were out. He began pouring petrol onto the heap. The old chap from next door elected himself to step forward and say something. I watched my husband respond by waving his hands maniacally, and shouting words I couldn’t hear. The neighbour backed off. A moment later, the whole thing went up. The flames were as high as the window I was watching from, and somewhere behind the numbness I was laughing. My husband couldn’t even light a barbeque, where did this man come from? He did look a little shocked too, a little sheepish, perhaps because the fire was creeping across the lawn to the neighbour’s shrubbery. They were still watching, the neighbours. About seven of them were stood a safe distance away, every one of them on the phone to the Fire Brigade.

I got back in bed, so I didn’t get to see them put the fire out. I was surprised that he didn’t get in any trouble. Nobody said a word about it. We didn’t mention it amongst ourselves. Sometimes I think I dreamt the whole thing, but he’s gone now so I can’t ask him.

Beauty in Mathematics

2010-09-22T10:29:00.000+01:00

I wonder how it will happen. Will it be a sudden burst of speed or a slow and steady, gruelling assent? I know which I'd prefer of course, but I'll take either. I'm thinking about life, and though I'm not making a plan I'm trying to work out what I'll do when I'm out of this situation. Making a plan makes it seem like I'm choosing, which I'm not. I'm more chosen than choosing. Working it out is more true to me, there's a big equals sign after the next few months of addition and subtraction, and that's what I need to see beyond.

I was sat in the beer garden of an Indian restaurant last night and there was an aerobics class going on in the parochial hall across the road, and it made me glad to live in a town where lives overlapping hasn't become arbitrary to me yet. I never want to go blind to life.

In a months time I'll be taking the lowest dose of antidepressants every other day. And soon after I'll be free. This might sound arrogant, but I'm so bloody proud of myself.

I know this hasn't made much sense today, but maybe it will soon.

All you need is

2010-09-18T17:42:00.000+01:00

Love List!!

1) Whitby

I love Whitby. I want to move there. We had the most epic time there last weekend, we just ate tonnes of seafood, walked around, bought books, and laughed constantly. The town is quaint and (I must warn you) steep.

2) My bowler hat

Maybe I look stupid in it, but I love this hat. It's the newest part of my body.

3) My job

It's not glam, it's not easy, but it makes me feel happy.

Sorry

2010-09-16T11:04:00.000+01:00

Sorry, I haven't blogged in a while. My days are quite full now. I get up at 5.30 and get to work for around half 6. I come home for 9 and do my own housework. Then I go up to granddad's for 11, do his errands and make his lunch. I go from there back to work at 3.15 and get home at about 6.15. I make dinner for us all and then have an hour to relax before bed. Today though I'm doing overtime so I wont go home til about 8 tonight. I had to use my housework time to make a cheesy chicken and bacon pasta which they can microwave later, so now I'm behind on my chores. As I was about to leave for granddad's Ewart grabbed me and said 'your mum needs us to go to the shops'. I said I'm with granddad now but I can see if I can leave early to go in the afternoon before work, but rather my mum wanted me to take Ewart now. I need to be there by half 11 latest, so now I'm in a tizzy, as when I agreed to take him to the shops Ewart said 'Great, I'll just grab a quick shower first.' I can't find the energy to blog but I am writing, usually in my relax hour at night. So I may put some up later.

Passive Aggressive Manipulator

2010-09-07T18:46:00.001+01:00

God,

I know I've spent 2years being varying degrees of arsehole, but please let my mum survive chemo. I'm trying really hard, and I know you aren't Father Christmas but if you just give me this one I'll take it on credit and work it off in good deeds for the rest of my life.

Yours, Toni

Last Chapter

2010-08-27T10:23:00.000+01:00

Today is my last exam and I can't wait to put this disaster behind me. I'm going to the exam, because last night I felt a sudden compulsion to check my timetable. I haven't even thought about uni in weeks but I suddenly knew I had to, and I was right. Part of me wants to just put it off again, since I hate Med Lit, but I just need to get it out of the way. It's going to be awful. I never ever knew what they wanted from me, except in creative writing of course. The only module I managed to get a first in. Twice. But other than that I spent my 3 years completely confused. I hated university. It was the worst mistake I ever made.

Slow and Steady

2010-08-24T22:07:00.001+01:00

Spent the night on my own, listening to my mum cry and heave. Sometimes when you really need someone there's nobody standing with you. Don't let that dishearten you though, because when you get through these moments with nobody but you and God in them, you grow a bit. In hard times, you feel smaller, but the opposite is really true. There have been a lot of mistakes and failings from hospitals, and from my own family, and from myself. My mum keeps telling me "Get angry by all means, but don't get bitter" and I think that's good advice.

Home

2010-08-24T17:53:00.001+01:00

Every time Richard Dawkins comes on the telly, my mum gets upset and starts throwing things.

Well, we stopped short of the abyss,
But close enough to look down in,
And we saw circles spiralling,
Only circles, only this.
Angry men soliloquising
An angry world into the earth.
But let us pray for them anyway,
In the hope that hope will come to birth.

Ten Minutes

2010-08-23T17:26:00.000+01:00

Stay away from heaven, there's nothing for you there,
No-one to love you as deeply as I do here.
I'm asking you to hold on to my hand, love,
I'll be holding your bones before I let go.
I know, it's agony in every moment,
But sometimes agony is better than a hole
With no tunnel and no light,
Do it for me, because you don't want me to cry.

Love List

2010-08-23T16:05:00.000+01:00

I've been remiss with my love listing the past few weeks, so here's one encompassing the whole of August.

1) Sherlock

Simply because Benedict Cumberbatch is beautiful to look at, and the script was good too. My life's quite dull at the moment, I've not been going out much, so a bit of good TV in the evening is about as exciting as it gets. Sherlock just pipped The Deep to a place on the love list, because I can't put two shows on one list. That would be really scraping the love barrel.

2) Ray William Johnson

He makes me laugh, alright? Why is there so much hate in the world for him? I think he's really clever and witty, and he has a huge archive of videos for a rainy evening when you need a good giggle.

3) My new website

Yeah, it's on here because it's taken a lot of my time up, and it must be a labour of love as I don't actually get anything out of it. And also, I want to plug it. It's not finished, and I need feedback to make it better. I wish I could turn that picture into a link but the computer hates me, so click here instead, and that fanny there will take you to my site.

Lessons learned this week

2010-08-22T21:12:00.001+01:00

1) Being pathetic ain't ok, even if you precede it with "I know I'm being pathetic, but-"
2) Rising to a challenge is more fulfilling than ducking under it.
3) It's easy to do what you know is right. It's hard to keep doing what you know is right.

Back Cracking

2010-08-21T15:30:00.000+01:00

I have lots of excuses and not a single good reason. Life's a bitch at the moment, but I've realised that my 'don't be too hard on yourself' mantra for 2010 has started to swing the opposite way. So now, I'm trying to be harder on myself. It's not about what I should be able to do, rather it's about what I can do, and it's about doing that. I can keep my chin up, though it isn't easy. I can tap into a strength that isn't mine, but that comes from somewhere higher up. I can move through this situation with grace, with determination. I can fail, feel sorry for myself for ten minutes, then try again. These are all things I know I can do. Then, when all I can do has been exhausted, I can have faith that the things I can't do will follow.

The Brightest Day

2010-08-20T20:00:00.001+01:00

Thunder this morning, moving the trees,

Thunder caught my breath, and made me weak,

And rain like rain has never been,

And, in rebounding bursts of water from the gravel,

I was on my knees.

If life wasn't beautiful then death wouldn't be so bad,

If life wasn't beautiful then death wouldn't be so sad,

And its beauty burns eternal, with every morning new.

But, I won't lie, life is beautiful a little less without you,

And it's bitter-sweet to know, that you had to die

For me to realise, it's beautiful to be alive.

Your pound of flesh

2010-08-18T14:06:00.003+01:00

The morning rose up like any other, but for the first time I saw the violence, the height of the sky and the fall of the water, and I was terrified. My mother was dying, and neither of us slept at all. We watched the world brighten, and heard the trees wake up, stretching yellow leaves towards the spot in the sky where the sun would appear. It was the 13^th of October, a Friday. The end of her life was drawing up, and I didn’t want it to be that day, Friday 13^th. In previous weeks, I’d watched as her body shrivelled up around her mind. Her teeth and eyes seemed huge in a small, thin face, the big bad wolf inside grandmama was eating her up. On Thursday the 12^th, there had been tears, worry about furniture and clean sheets. On Friday 13^th there was only big eyes, big teeth, and a glassy indifference. As death shuffled up to meet her, I felt a fear I’d never known before, the fear of something so irreversible, a line between today and tomorrow, today she is, tomorrow she is no more.

I moved her bed up to the window months before, when she could still appreciate the beauty of the garden. She was propped up on pillows, but she didn’t see anything anymore, not even me. Her sight hadn’t left her, just the strength of will to see. I would sit at the foot of the bed. The TV was off, now. It’s brassy themetunes and news bulletins were otherworldly in the death-room, as she transitioned from this plain to the next, TV lost all meaning. We sat for three hours. She moved, and my heart twitched. Her hand was raised, a pointing skeleton.

“What?” I said, “Water?”

“The birds are here for me,” she said, in a deep and powerful voice.

I looked. Out on the grass, a black feather carpet. Ravens.

“It’s time,” she said.

They were looking in at us, the ravens, black eyes like little pieces of the darkest ever night. It went cold in that room right then, and I knew, but I lied.

“No, not it’s not. They’re just birds.”

“It’s a sign.”

I thought if I could convince her, I might be able to hold onto her just a little more.

“There’s no such thing as signs. I’ll show you.”

I stood up, my legs were shaking. I opened the sliding doors out into the garden. They didn’t move at all, didn’t even look my way. They weren’t there for me.

“Shoo,” I said, weakly.

The extent of the birds was even greater than I’d thought at first, as the lawn sloped away and out of sight, the birds increased in density, their gravity was palpable. I picked up a rock.

“Get away. You’re not having her,” I said.

I threw the rock. It cleared a small patch, for a moment. As one, they moved, enveloped the rock, resettled. The ones that looked at me were laughing. When my mother started dying, months ago, I was sad, and I was angry. It softened with time. But looking into those tiny soulless eyes, it hardened again, past rock and past steel, into something else completely. I walked to the shed, took out a rake. They were watching me now, as if they knew.

“Get out of my garden,” I said, and swung.

As they flew up, I caught one on the wing and it fell back down. They swarmed me, I couldn’t see anything but black and white, feathers and sky. Wings beat my face, feathers choked me. I kept swinging and each time I felt a hard and satisfying thwack on the end of the rake. For a long time, they persisted, but as broken bodies began to pile up on the grass I saw the light grow and the wings diminish. Eventually, it was still again. Some of the birds on the grass were twitching, trying to move. I stamped on as many as I could. Beaks cracked. Skulls crumpled. Then I remembered my mother.

I ran into the house. She was on the floor by the bed, looking upward, eyes still open. Her lips were peeled back in what may have been a grin or a grimace. She was gone.

Out with the old

2010-08-17T15:15:00.000+01:00

I was going through my old documents last night, and found lots of stuff I have no recollection of writing. Some of it was bad. So bad, it becomes funny. So funny, that I have stomach pains from laughing about it. Sometimes when you feel down in the mouth, really innocuous events can become hilarious, maybe it's your brain trying to cheer you up eh?

I'm going to let you read something, just because I love you, and I love writing, and all writers need to be able to laugh at themselves sometimes:

I find you in breech of the separation terms,

You boasted then the promise of something better.

You didn’t need my bedposts to hang your britches on.

But now I hear that you and she have parted,

You’re left alone and she is gone.

The scales have tipped the other way,

It’s justice you see, the nights I spent mourning

Your loss like my own death now fall upon your head

And you’re the one who writes about Aloneness,

Kidding your readers that it must be a good thing.

But your stingy output recently has not gone unnoticed,

Nor the quality, rather lack there of, in your verse.

The ink dries up too fast, the hours drag on,

And all you can write is a single blank wall,

Proof, if necessary, of what I told you all along;

Masturbation is a hollow muse.

Buhaahaha

2010-08-15T14:11:00.001+01:00

The doorframe paid for junk words, too much of a wood thing and there are splinters for to sweep.
But it's better than bone fractures, relaxed jaw and tooth scatter, pavement's for to keep.
All the old spirits that convene in the communal garden,
Illuminating bullet points in between the rib contours, skeletal disarray,
I was wide eyed and excited beyond belief, for the ghosts with most eloquent voices, womanhood mantra, karma sutra for the deep religious, position for praising Him. Get down on your knees.

Bitchfight

2010-08-14T23:50:00.003+01:00

Ok, so this is why you shouldn't go out two nights in a row... I went to Cassie's house and everyone was wasted by the time I arrived. Within moments I had a drink thrust into my hand and I was being dragged into everybody's confidences ("Did I tell you what so-and-so said to me? What a bitch. Don't tell her I said so") and reprimanded for not phoning enough. It was all girls there which was weird and not so pleasant. Of course, the night descended into violence. Most of them were in the street fighting by about 11pm. The three of us left in the room decided to go on the Karaoke machine and rocked up a storm for about twenty minutes before anyone even noticed. That was probably the funniest point of the whole night. I got into a conversation with one of my singing partners, Lynne. I'd never met her before but she was alright. The talk turned suddenly deep, as it sometimes does when you're thrust together at a party, and happen to be a little bit drunk. Her girlfriend of nearly two years left her a couple weeks ago. She's trying not to care. I understand, completely. Then Lucy asked if we could leave, because she was sick of fighting. That's why I'm home well before 12.

Another follower. Hi! My blog's not usually quite this dull, but when I can't think of anything else to say I just describe my day.

Poppet

2010-08-14T19:31:00.001+01:00

The End

2010-08-14T13:36:00.002+01:00

They had money. Black trees full of golden orbs, it felt beautiful to be there. The music was loud and indistinct, too loud to hear, you had to feel your way through. The vibrations made the air seem thicker, and I pushed through the people and the sounds like an Olympic swimmer. Whose party was this? I don't remember anymore. I do remember the first glance, she was sat, stooped, fixing the black strap on her patent heel, hair loose and falling out in front of her like sun. She gave me a lock of it once, but I burned it in the aftermath. I loved it, but it terrified me. Something she pushed out of her head over a space of weeks, now in a keepsake tin under my bed: it made the whole room resonate. End days, the second coming. Planes falling. This hill we're running down, we can't stop short. I fell, she kept going. As if she heard me thinking, she looked up in my direction. I nodded, she nodded. She got up to walk away. I went to the bar.

Stillness in songs.

2010-08-13T21:18:00.003+01:00

I expect too much. That isn't my fault.

There was always a gown on a girl

I grew up around, who was falling

Always, and I wanted that too.

Her name was Audrey, her name was she,

The girls I'd rather be than me.

I never wanted to be thin,

I just wanted to be happy, like them.

Quarter Century

2010-08-13T00:46:00.003+01:00

25 followers! That's amazing. I love you alllll. Had fun at Screenfields tonight. Excuse the short blog, I'm dog tired.

Sunny Skies

2010-08-11T16:08:00.003+01:00

I feel really daft today. Maybe it's the sun/rain slight of hand the weather keeps pulling on us. I found the love letters my granddad sent to my nan when they were courting, and they're really immense. I'll make copies and show you, if you want. He writes in one:

"I miss you ~~immens~~ ~~imence~~ A LOT. Sorry, I can't spell (DUNCE!)"

How cute is that? They got married in June, my Aunt was born in January. Must have been premature, eh? Haha.

Clever Dick

Proving my worth as an adversary,

Not just crazy psycho scary

Lady with defective brain,

Running this military campaign

For a spitty, titty sucking babe.

Run you over with my car,

Leave you broken, heart ajar,

Lasting laughter, even score,

With your mandible on the floor,

I can use a dictionary too, yo?

Street Kids

2010-08-10T16:38:00.002+01:00

We have a new crop of kids who've appeared on the street this summer. Last summer was all lazy and quiet on the Fold. Now there's squealing and water-fights, there are dens appearing on the grass and, of course, mischief. I think the kids are funny. The other day I overheard the best insult ever:

"You're a fartballs. That means your balls are full of farts."

I'm adding that one to the repertoire. But the downside to the influx of children is that they keep on breaking into the garden. We have the biggest garden on the street (a huge mess of weeds and unpruned hedges, much to the disdain of our middle-class neighbours who sweep the pavement in front of their houses). I'm trying to get on top of the unruly garden, but with a mum in-and-out of hospital, an elderly granddad to care for, and a family of lazy folk, it's not been happening of late. They've broken two sections of the fence down, so they can get into the most overgrown patch and have their headquarters in there. I know I should try to resolve the situation, but I don't know how. Options?

1) the hard-ass approach: I could yell at them and scare them off, but the house would probably get egged afterwards and my mum would be thrown into a panic.

2) the softly-softly approach: I go over and ask them very nicely not to come into the garden or break the fence down. They ignore me and I look like an idiot. I'm 22, I'm done getting bullied by a gang of kids. (Kids, if you're reading this, please don't hurt me)

3) Go and speak to their parents. But, I'd rather take my chances with the kids really, the parents are even scarier. One in particular has a full body tattoo, a huge beard, and only one tooth. And her husband's almost as bad.

I think maybe I'll just keep ignoring the situation. It works for most things, eh?

#78

2010-08-09T19:35:00.003+01:00

Throwing more hours after the bad ones,

Saved my day, I would've given up earlier,

If it was left to me.

Some Mothers

2010-08-08T16:03:00.004+01:00

After much pleading, the doctors have let my mum come home to spend the afternoon with us. This was the excuse she gave for wanting to come home, the truth is she needed the toilet and can't go in hospital. Don't tell them that.

It's almost as stressful having her home, because we can't leave her alone at all. Not for any medical reason, just because she insists on doing housework. I'll go out of the room for ten minutes and come back to find her grouting the tiles in the kitchen.

"What on earth are you doing, you stupid woman? Sit back down."

"These tiles need grouting, though."

"I'll grout them for you, if it means that much."

"But the lounge needs hoovering as well."

"I'll do that, too."

"The furniture needs rearranging, the cat needs to have his eye-drops, the wall needs damp-proofing, and the radiators need bleeding."

"I'll do that stuff tomorrow."

"But tomorrow the ceiling needs to be painted, the windows have to be cleaned, the cat needs to be taken to the vet, granddad needs to go for blood tests, and the church needs me to bake a giant cake for the faire."

"Ah, alright. Carry on, then."

Because, somehow, she manages to do thirty things in the time it takes me to brush my teeth. It's not just my mum, it's mums in general. Giving birth gives you superhuman powers, I'm convinced. Sometimes I've considered getting my old Baby Born doll out of the loft, inserting it into my uterus, and then pushing it out of my vagina, just so I can grout, hoover, damp proof, and so on, all in one afternoon. This is, of course, favourable to actually having a baby, because with the doll I can just throw it away when I'm done. Or give it to a child who I don't like very much.

But, joking aside, it's nice to have her back for a bit. She's been able to catch up on her favourite hobby, shouting at the TV. You can't do that in hospital so much, unless you're on a mental ward.

Hulk

2010-08-07T12:15:00.002+01:00

My mum's in hospital, waiting for surgery. Maybe. She has pancreatitis. Probably. They're removing her gall bladder. We think. But, as per usual, her condition is unclear. They haven't been able to find any gall-stones on her X-ray, so the surgeon's unwilling to just whip it out in case the problem is actually a tumour on her pancreas. So she's just waiting for more test results, more scans. They have her on in-vitro antibiotics (AGAIN!). She's been on antibiotics on and off since March. Maybe I should sit the medical people down and say, ever so gently, "Um, guys, I think maybe this isn't working." So I have been responding in my usual way to stress, that is with manic bursts of cleaning, smoking 20 a day, making subconscious cups of tea and then having to drink them, shouting at innocent bystanders:

The Dog: (barks at a passer by)

Me: YOU FUCKING IDIOT! SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU STUPID CHILD OF A WHORE! I'LL KILL YOU!

Kyle: Did you move my green shirt?

Me: YES I MOVED YOUR GREEN SHIRT, YOU FUCK-WIT, BECAUSE IT DOESN'T BELONG ON TOP OF THE DRESSING TABLE. SERIOUSLY, SORT YOURSELF OUT. STOP LEAVING YOUR SHIT LYING AROUND, DICKHEAD, AND I MIGHT NOT HAVE TO KILL YOU.

Dad: Why's the tumble-dryer making a funny noise?

Me: ARRRRGGGGGG! (kills him with a box of washing powder)

I cope so well, eh? You'd think I'd be accustomed to it by now, since she's forever in and out of hospital. Sometimes I worry that she keeps getting sick because my dad has Münchhausen By-Proxy, and is feeding her poison. Honestly, I do.

Pain

2010-08-05T22:04:00.001+01:00

It hurts.

Popped in my Head

2010-08-04T20:27:00.004+01:00

When I wake up in the morning, I read The Guardian, and it makes me feel superior and liberal. Then I go to my granddad's and I read his copy of The Mirror, and this makes me feel angry and conservative. There is no such thing as a fact anymore. I voted Labour at the last election, I know I said I'd vote Lib Dem but I didn't. I baulked. And I'm so glad I did. The whole thing stinks, but at least now I feel less responsible. I know that everyone says 'oooh, they're all the same' but they really are. Fuck.

2010-08-04T16:16:00.002+01:00

Man Booker

2010-08-03T16:07:00.003+01:00

Long list announced here a few days ago. Any favourites to read? Any favourites to win? I was thinking of reading them all. I've not made my mind up yet about the concept of Man Booker, so to do that maybe I need to sample the wares.

Made Me Smile

2010-08-03T09:23:00.001+01:00

Carefully Hollow

2010-08-02T15:40:00.003+01:00

Read and discuss the article which was in The Guardian a few weeks ago...

I think that Josipovici has a point, though he seems bitter and angry and I can't say why. I see it more as an opportunity for change. Revolution follows drought and I'm excited for the next five years of English fiction. Yes, media has changed everything, but change is wonderfully impermanent. Everything will change again, we all know it.

Bairn

2010-07-31T08:27:00.003+01:00

I stopped talking while I was lost for words. Everything is fine. I have the kids for the weekend, fun and distraction. I couldn't go on the night out I've been looking forward to for weeks, but Aoife wouldn't have slept for anyone else so I had to stay. I quit drink anyway. There's no point.

Buddha and Me.

2010-07-25T22:22:00.002+01:00

I blame you.

Arterial mumble, thudding through

One pipe to another, cohortishly,

Skeleton is hard: flesh, weak.

Flesh sleep, let bones dream

For once, be strong standing,

Free and dizzyingly candid,

Without the tugging burn of ink.

Imperial flab, occupying meat,

Mercy! Unheard. Conflagrate. Retreat.

A bent bow but no arrow, sealess ferry,

Between the gut and spine, hysteric.

I see; this body is wearing me like mink.

Bomb bellied belle, too busy clock watching,

To shrug and hum to existentialist losses.

I wash my cup in the regurgitating sink.

Humanitarianism

2010-07-24T12:29:00.003+01:00

In his first major speech since he stepped down as British Prime Minister, Gordon Brown has been talking in Africa about Africa. The BBC quotes Brown as saying that he wants the continent to 'achieve its full potential' via 'business-led growth'. Hmm. I feel for Brown, I really do. It's hard not to sound patronising in a situation like this, when your message to millions of people is that, it's ok, you'll catch up with the rest of us sooner or later. Brown, along with other western humanitarians of his ilk, equates westernisation with success, capitalism with progress. And I'm not on an offensive against him. The issue is prickly. Humanitarianism dictates, to me at least, that the world ought to be a world of open boarders. With open boarders comes globalisation, and in order to compete we all have to play the same game. To alleviate suffering the only way we know how, we make them more like us. We can't reverse past wrongs. The continent was plundered, the people oppressed and ridiculed. We can't haul in the marching self-righteous missionaries with their anti-condom rhetoric, and we can't now just leave them to the mess which our nation, amongst others, helped to create. And who knows how it would have played out, the dictatorships and the in-fighting might be even worse right now. But once you're in you can't just leave. I understand Brown&co. and their reasoning. I sympathise with the dilemma. What do we do about Africa? But, to me, the question itself is offensive. We aren't any better than they are. Difference is all that separates us, we have no moral high-ground. The West just has different problems. What do you think?

Sheesh

2010-07-24T11:30:00.001+01:00

Turns out my mum reads this blog. I found out because she told my sister to read it too. Hi mum. Hi sis.

Out Of The Blue

2010-07-22T13:39:00.003+01:00

Suddenly, I'm expected to make something of myself? What? I spent over a year cultivating the belief that I'm going nowhere, and suddenly my parents have got all excited again. Oh dear.

2010-07-21T21:36:00.002+01:00

You'll never be as young as you are right now. You might never be more able. You certainly won't be more idealistic. Your road leads to weariness, dimming down, apathy, and closed-mindedness. Enjoy the trip, dick-head.