Sunday Suicidals

I have this thing going on with Sundays. Infact I always have had this thing with Sundays.

I detest them. (My sister does too, so I know I am not alone in this)

There is something about them, this horrible tick tock in my mind from the moment i wake up counting down to the point it is Monday again, the point in which any freedom the weekend seemed to have is compounded and squashed down into me and I have to be regular and normal and compliant.

I spend the next five days hanging on for dear life, trying to survive. Pretending I'm an adult on the surface who can wash clothes regularly and cook delightful healthy meals each evening and act interested in mild small talk, underneath I'm treading water. Worrying my dirty washing pile will come to life and suffocate me in my sleep. Worried my reclusive nature had turned me into a social RETARD. Worried he isn't happy, Worried I will fuck everything up. The 9-5 consists of shuffling of papers and getting stressed about things that in the big scheme of things I don't give a shit about.

Friday comes and I'm lighter I have what seems like a long stretch of time to be myself and chill out and there is always this sense there is going to be an adventure, there never is an adventure. By Saturday I'm deflated or busy trying to organize the chaos the house had become or arguing and then Sunday comes and I feel like shit again, awaiting the conveyor built of robotic false normality and crappy soul destroying work.

There is MORE to life than this. I know there is.

But at the moment I feel stuck and negative and fucked off. I crave change, I painted all the furniture turquoise, I tried to dye my hair red and its a murky black, I'm trying to lose weight but all I want to do is eat shit food in a blanket on the couch and switch off. I keep pretending I'm going to have a change of career but I'm shit scared.

Hey reader, you can stop reading now. There is no UPSIDE going to be posted on this blog. There is not a fucking up side around to help me out today so I will be buggered if I give you a happy ending so you keep reading.

My life IS NOT BAD. Its just fucking average and I wanted to be superhuman, I thought I was so fucking special- you did too right? yeah.

He was sad today, said things that should have hurt, things he would never normally say. I hadn't the energy to ache or be angry or upset. I just wanted to sleep, to let the hours pass and wake up with next weeks treadmill under my feet and run.

Run far and fast and be alone from everything.

It will be better tomorrow.

25 Bedford Street- 1 Year On

Progress being made slowly when money allows. Home-Made bunting, up-cycled Mirror and Bookshelf, Garden in the first stage of what I want to be a mad colorful secret, Fire wall decorated with cards and postcards from family and friends, Small lofty spare room a pretty squat waiting for someone to buy it a bedframe.

Chugging along on our old tug boat

THE BARGE TRIP

This day will forever remain one of the best days of my life. If you have never been on a canal boat trip I suggest you go on one NOW- or at-least tomorrow.

Biggest LOSER

Following on from my Wayne & Waynetta post Me & Mike have been trying to lose weight, this has been followed by the discovery I need an operation which has spurred me on. Two Months on I am half a stone lighter and Mike is nearly A stone & half lighter- he is the biggest LOSER.

Nothing to strenuous, more activity ( hence the pictures above taken on our country strolls) less couch dwelling, more fruit and veg - less Chinese (I fucking Miss Chinese the most!!)

There is a long way to go, Five stone to go in fact- I shall keep you posted.

Shark Cake

SHARK CAKE It was our Friend Sean's Birthday - he hearts Sharks. So we made him a big cakey one.

Note: I haven't updated all spring for many reasons, so I decided to uploads pictures of what I have been doing and short little explanations one after another, probably allot less entertaining but a diary non the less. I don't think anyone reads this thing- if you do follow me- I would like to know who you are.

Things I May Need Quite Alot.

Just Sayin.

24 Years of things that might have happened.

I used to write to people who hurt me.

Words that lasted forever would not fail my weak heart.

Spilling blood and ink here and there.

I used to drink to forget.

I remembered everything.

Playing back memories untill they appeared in my room like furniture

Staring at me like raw meat and there they stayed for years.

I have hated myself for most of my adult life.

I used to paint my face to hide.

I used to drink to hide.

I would run away even when no one was looking for me.

I spent many years giving pieces of myself to anyone who would take one.

Even when they mis-used those pieces I was honoured that they took one in the first place.

I wanted someone to own me so I didn't have to be responsible for who I was.

I feel so different now.

I cant explain.

Memory fails me.

I dont need or want for much.

I have forgotten the characters I played or those that played me.

Sometimes a memory will blindside me

Never Raw or upsetting just an aknowledgment of something that happened once.

I am still. Quiet. Verging on peaceful.

"Oh Fuck We Are Wayne & Waynetta"

Imagine the scene. Your in your messyish house smoking a fag with your boyfriend of two years discussing your inability as a collective to be any damn good at life.The vision becomes clear in our head, we turn to each other with knowing & distraught looks on our faces.......... FUCK ....We ARE Wayne & Waynetta slob. Slobism is something I have enjoyed as a part time secret hobby for most of my life. Thing is Lazyness as a part time hobby can be attractive but only with the added appeal of being a bit cute -as a child and even just 3 years ago I was cute enough to pull off lazy Girl. But along with my waistline, my health and my habits cute has got lost somewhere amongst the comfyness. "CUTEEEEEE, CUTEEEEEE can you come find me please? I would get up and actually look for you but this couch is so comfy and I have Biscuits. " The realisation comes after a year of living in our own home- to our merit which we can be fairly houseproud about well by our standards anyway. It's more the lifestyle we have adopted. We LOVE food the both of us and the problems with our shared love of food and one another means we have a no shame policy when it comes to eating. Early on in our relationship when I was partial to getting high I realised Mr Hartney would not flutter an eyelash at my ability to consume a packet of biscuits or a pizza etc. This has left us with a rather beautiful love affair with comfort that has occured over the time span of our relationship. For the first time in my life I have stability, I have a wondeful man who loves me no matter what and I can make adult ( pahahahah) decisions and this has meant I dont often need to go out of my comfort zone ( literally my comfort zone is on my couch in the corner with my Dinosaur Blanky and my laptop eating optional). I wear my pyjamas most of the weekend, I have abandoned washing unless there are outsiders to impress, I wear less makeup, my previously stylish self now relies on clothes that are not to different from pyjamas- I havent worn trousers for 4 years they are all structured and shit makes me feel caged. Im a leggings dweller and my do I dwell. When I used to care about style and read magazines and get out of bed an hour and a half before any working day so I could preen and perfect I used to see people like the modern me and wonder why they have given up I mean how long does it take to shave your legs or put a bit of slap on? I am eternally sorry, I didnt understand. I thought that slob was a sign of unhapiness but I realise the more happy I get inside the less I care about the outside. I DONT CARE ABOUT FASHION I DONT CARE ABOUT BEING FAT I DONT CARE TOO MUCH THAT MY INSIDES ARE PROBABLY ALL MANGLED. ( I Kind of do tho...) I LIKE SMOKING I DONT WANT TO WEAR ANYTHING BUT MY PYJAMAS Problem is when you dont care for long enough you can be having a fag with your boyfriend at 3am and realise that abondaning yourself for comfy even when happy can actually be quite deppressing. I'm going to make myself better but my god we had fun being comfy for a bit didnt we?

.

I am utterly Lost.