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.

'What did I tell you? Anything we need, the island will produce it for us, even a girl'.

I was born on Christmas Day 1986 while My Mum was in agony no doubt cursing me for my already inconvienient nature My Dad watched Swiss Family Robinsons with a paper hat on his head on a labour ward. My three older sisters after being awoken at 3am to hurridly open presents so my Mum could get to Hospital and get on with the job at hand ate turkey in a neighbours house plotting names like Jesus for me.

Having my Birthday on Christmas day has on the whole been something I may have been a little ungrateful for in the past. I always felt I was missing out on something everyone else had which was a normal birthday in which no one else got presents and cards and you felt really special. I for many years declared absolute war on Christmas and spent a few stoned and bitter in my bed untill dinner was ready.

This year I have shed my wrinkled bitter scrooge skin of yesterday and decided that in actual fact I really am quite lucky to have my birthday on a day in which some other people get to feel special too.

2 Years ago on Christmas Eve, I was depressed, I had recently broken up with my boyfriend of the time, I had been looking after my sisters Kittens for two days while she was away, I locked myself in her house and wanted to die, I canccelled any form of celebration, I cried for ten hours. Then I got drunk with said ex and stumbled to a bog standard chain pub to wallow in my misery with the cause of it, who soon got drunk and high , was sick and left.

Then I met Mike...

Mike was with 2 of my friends in said rubbish chain pub and we talked all night about writing and reading and obscure conspiracy theories. I wont bore you with details.Two years on we live together in a house which he has allowed me to cover in cute crap I love and he tolerates. Mike has made me love Christmas & My Birthday for the first time since childhood. I sometimes feel overwhelmed by his Love.

This Year for the first time since childhood I'm Really Fucking Excited!!!!

Im sitting at my desk in work typing this with a crown on my head insisting My work collegues listen to Christmas Music, I have spent all my wages on presents which I have wrapped and put under our over stuffed Tree.

I have turned into the me of 2 years ago's worst enemy, but Fuck it I'm happy.

This has been more cheesey and awful than I intended but I had to get it out. I will add more later when at home.

Love to you all at Christmas, I hope you get to live it like an overexcited child too.

xxxxxx

Mu

Babies and the mothers in shopping centres.

There has never been so many babies.

Millions of them everywhere and the women they looked so whole.

Out of nowhere I cried in the cereal aisle.

Its always the most empty this time of year.

25 Bedford Street

Home. ( 6 months of Bedford Street and today we signed for another year)

The color of winter is in the imagination.

I wasted a weekend on sadness. Tottaly uterrly wasted it, need to stop doing that or it will waste me along with my weekends. It's cold today colder than it has been for a long time, I'm hoping for snow. I have had two hours sleep, I'm at work. Positive note, I have fallen in love. Following a beautiful print my sister gave me for my birthday last year, I have been trying to find out where it was from, this weekend I found it http://www.belleandboo.com/ I have decided that I want to get new tattoos on the back of my legs one for left one for right and here they are: Beautiful, really. Have a Lovely Day.

Craftcheeseslices

I used to call these crap cheese slices as a child and genuinely thought that's what they were called. I was wrong. Obviously.

I guess subconsciously that's a good start to this blog, for once, I'm not going to put a poem or document some emotional epiphany, its more an everyday sorta blog about little details that together make up the every day which in turn makes up my life.

This weekend, after a week of flu both mine and the Misters , I felt completely bored of both the internet, books and Television and lacking the funds and warmth to go outside and play, I turned to crafts. Now I think I may outwardly seem as someone who likes crafts, and in fact I would class myself as someone who does. Problem is I never actually fucking make anything that isn't food based. Seriously EVER I never finished anything i

n Tech, in my school report my teachers were a few pol

ite words away from calling me flaky!! I admit it, I'm a craft fraud. I buy home-made looking shit off motivated and talented strangers in order to not pretend as such but maybe insinuate I could have made it myself.

Well, I decided it was time to maybe try and finish something that I started. It was 1am, I had drunk a bottle of wine. I decided I would make a cushion using my meagre resources.

Ingredients

1 Slightly Drunk Craft Fraud

A sewing kit my boyfriend bought from the corner shop months ago

An old dress, ruined beyond repair by my slapdash nature or looking after things

A pillow from our spare room

(apologies to any of you who stay in our spare room your head may be slightly less comfy next time)

The End Result

OK, in the real world to a real person who believes in their own abilities this is a bit of a shitty pillow, but to me it seemed in my drunken state at 4am with sore fingers and a living room full of pillow innards that it meant I can now do anything in the world.

So the next day, invigorated by my wonky seamed success the only viable step seemed to be to make a silly pig teddy. and thats exactly what I did. Pocket Pig was born.

He now lives on our fire place.

I might give up now, I have just consumed a rather lush prawn stir fry cooked by the Mister and my fags are calling my name. More to Come.

Leave my body to the birds

A feeling can spread like a disease taking your body and mind prisoner. My moods lead, leaving me in their wake,twisting everything beyond recognition .Turning. The. Lights. Out. Sometimes I feel so powerful in my Deppression and in my anger. I feel on the edge enough to make a change, or maybe just to fuck some shit up But usually the shit I fuck up isnt the right shit, its some other shit I actually love and enjoy. I want to run and never stop and end up by the shore.

Lost Souls & Love Hearts

I Like Baking.

I'm Lucky

I remember both of us seperating our time between sleeping in a single bed squashed together, clinging on to each other so not to fall onto the floor and sleeping in My room in my childhood Home, sharing a 6ft square to operate within. It wasnt more than 4 months ago that that was our life. I miss My Mum and Dad and I miss Church Street and the magic that place and the people posess. But we both would dream back then about the day we would have our own home, somewhere we could be. Holding the idea up like a dream floating above us promising us the future. Some days, Like Today.I feel so lucky, to have him to have us to have our home filled with a comfort i struggle to get anywhere else.

I dreamt off these things for many years wondering if I could ever be happy,wondering if anyone would ever love me for me. It doesn't matter does it? All the sadness, all the worry I have been carrying around for what feels like for ever, I need to say goodbye. I need to just enjoy things.


Im going to smoke a ciggerette outside in my fur coat and pyjamas .

Something is changing inside of me and its no bad thing.




Sweetdreams.

I don't want to be a Harold anymore I want to be a Maude.

It's saturday morning, well technicly it's 12:42 pm but in my household this is still classed as morning. I have been cleaning my house like a mad woman ( that's a lie slightly more tame and procrastinaty than a mad woman!) listening to reggae and the Harold and Maude soundtrack. If you haven't seen Harold and Maude you most likely need to watch it. I won't try and blurb the film here I am simply going to put a still from the film to tempt you.

I am digressing from the point, or am I? I don't know. I don't write anymore haven't written with the passion or regularity of my early adulthood in 2 years. Passion left me , it abandoned me like those husbands who go out for a pint of milk and never come back. Nothing terrible has happened. Ok, Life has been hard, but isn't it always for everyone? Initially hapiness, a good relationship, a stunted spiritual soiree halted any written creativity. Most of my past writing came from passionate betrayal, heartbroken ramblings or absolute depression but when I found myself content all writing was dull and beige and everything that permits me to stop reading others attempts.

Then after the said spiritual soiree came crashing down a mediocre long lasting depression came around again, an old friend who visits once in a while to allow me to pass go and not collect £200 or non metephoricly to stop living. To hide and hibernate and hate myself to my hearts content. So this is what I have done been doing for the best part of a year now with brief stints in to old me living e.g. getting drunk,not giving a fuck and laughing till I pee myself.

I didnt want this to be a catch up written down for no one but myself to anaylyse, it sounds boring so far a flat unintresting self pitying post. It's not intended to be, time for change. Pick myself up and start again.

I'm going to Live again.

Anyway, watch Harold and Maude. You might know what Im trying to get at.

They told me Everything will be OK, I didnt believe them.

This will always be the Year I......

• This will always be the Year I dyed my hair pink.
• This will always be the Year I Became a Tv Psychic for a few months on a whim.
• This will always be the Year I learnt magic, or rather understood the magic I had been doing by accident.
  
• I learnt what real love is, not just soppy style crap or unrequited rubbish. Cleaning up your sick with his barehands kind of Love.
• This will always be the Year I learnt that I define Love by stories about sick alot.
• This will always be the Year I gave up being a habitual weed smoker.
• This will always be the Year I realised I had to say goodbye to the past and his friends and his ghosts.
  
• This will always be the Year I stopped crying. ( little and often nowdays, as opposed to crying almost every night for 4 years)

• This will always be the Year We got Charlie Brookered in the Guardian.
• This will always be the Year I I became a Fairy God Mother
• This will always be the Year I got very Fat & Very Happy
  

You Mean More Than This.

I have always used words to fill the gaps in my existance
I used them to communicate the sadness I have suffered
I have used the page to bleed my broken heart onto
Untill there was nothing left to bleed out.
I can write about all those times I felt pain.
A strange sort of therapy I never understood.
I can fill pages of the past.
But when it comes too you
I can't find the words
If I could I would write a love song
It would be about you
It would be the last thing I ever write.
I think you know this too.