Monthly Archives: November 2013

Five For Friday

(An experiment)


Almost all my nearest and dearest at my birthday outing, which was grand. I felt a bit melancholy at points during the evening, but they were blips rather than downward slides. Dinner, drinks and dancing at our favourite shitty club was had, with no mild sexual assault of any sort experienced hurrah.

Also, Gogglebox, which has turned out to be a wonderful suggestion from Bobby Convey. Blackfish, which was a very upsetting watch, but I would *highly* recommend. If I ever reproduce, no child of mine is going to Sea World.

Applied for another job, this time at a private school in Bristol. Still looking Stateside.


A lot of Hole this week at work… feeling angsty along with the fifteen-year-olds in the room.

It’s got to that point in the term where I feel knackered most days, and where my mood is starting to be challenged by the behaviour of the kids at work. Stuff that I would usually manage so that it slides off my back angers or irks, and there is much more ranting to be heard than is usual.

I get home and curl up under the quilt my Mum made and listen to the rainfall setting I have on my radio and wish myself elsewhere.



Some sort of apple cake at my birthday dinner. Spongy, yet rather dense and not very apple-y, but warm and delicious nonetheless. And free, which is always appreciated.


The lilies slowly wilting in their vase on my desk. As the blooms look like they’re about to fall I snap them off their stems and peel the petals off, to dry them and recycle them into some of my ceramics experiments.


The warm softness of my stomach post-Chocolate Fudge Brownie session. My coccyx giving me pain at home and at work. Sadness at watching the kids at work succumbing to mental health problems with families that seem to lack understanding


This weekend it’s London and a trip round Tate Britain with a favourite Aunt, which should be good, though Petrichor will undoubtedly be discussed, as the Aunt is the one who introduced us.

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Five to write

During an internet trawl for a softer desk chair that I can sit cross-legged upon (the coccyx horrors of not having a sofa to curl up on), I found this thing: Five Senses Friday.

Writing is something I like to do. In the last month i’ve banged out a five-hundred word post which I never finished off, and so ended up wasting it as time passed and it seemed inappropriate to stick up. I need to write more frequently and actually finish things, so the idea of sort of summarising what’s been going on/what’s been floating about my brain is a decent one, even if only for my use.


Maybe I need to add in an emotion too, like LiveJournal circa 2004. Hmmm.

Just got to actually write summat of course… :/
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Nearly time (to get up)

Space-Swim-Heat This morning, over-tired from the weekend, Pilates and pottery, I dreamt that:

After diving through several swimming pools at a spa located on a space ship (in near-Earth orbit), I was running through airport lounges in search of Petrichor, who I found outside on the lam from the Poh-leece.

I stood on top of a car and yelled his name across the street as he ducked and weaved between parked cars on his way towards me, all whilst “interestingly” topped with a black, chin-length wig.

I could see the shiny synthetic strands sweat-plastered to his face.

I woke up before I found out whether he made it.

Maybe the bad wig is linked to Shiherlis?

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Hooray MR T is fixed… at a cost of £250. I’ve had to spend a lot on my car this year – I hope this trend does not continue. Ug.

This weekend is my official birthday outing. Almost all my nearest and dearest are coming, and I am greatly looking forward to spending many a (chilly) hour with them, accompanied with good food and lots of booze.

My actual birthday was a complete non-event, same as it ever was, with a garnish of cards. Work, stress, Pilates and pottery, where I found my pot had been ruined due to a kiln error, and I spent most of the evening fed up and working hard to keep my emotions in check. Sigh.

I hope that the weekend will be better…
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MR T gave up on me less than a mile from home today, going dead as I whizzed along the motorway; I was extremely glad i’d chosen to wear my down jacket and snow boots to work!

The lovely RAC man said it’s not the timing belt, but something to do with it (YIKES), so I trudged home behind the barrier and my poor car got towed away to be stored overnight at a garage across town. Tomorrow they’re going to give me a call with a diagnosis, and a quote for repair. More money i’d rather be spending on something fun. SIGH.
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Missed Connection

“Now in my 50’s, when with any luck a man might finally begin to acquire that elusive thing called wisdom, I know that there is nothing more exciting yet rare in life than making a true connection with someone. I have always been too sentimental for my own good, but in all honesty, I have never felt more at ease with anyone than I did laughing and talking to you that dimly lit midtown bar.”
Dude meets gal wayyy back in 1973 and twenty years later the experience still stays with him.

Gawker Heartbreaking Craigslist Missed Connection Demands a Happy Ending
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On Not Looking

Ed Ruscha

In the month post-Petrichor, i’ve had good days and bad, weeks where work issues push out thoughts of Colorado, nights where I wish I was curled up with an overgrown Frat boy with a brain as big as a tax-avoidance scheme, mornings where I feel sad as I shower. Tears when hugging my hot water bottle. A mixed bag.

I’ve not felt such a strong connection to a man, never felt such a sense of comfort in being around them. Being able to be me, not shrink, just happily co-exist and be acknowledged in doing so and appreciated for being me. I know what I experienced was rare, and although our time together was brief, I am glad I experienced something so new and wonderful, even as its loss has been upsetting.

From my brief glimpse into a very foreign land, I discovered that:

  • I really do have a type – brainy, brawny guys who are outgoing, taller than me and are not exactly bean-poles.
  • Confidence is as big a turn-on as intelligence and humour to this introvert.
  • I seem to like men who cry when sad.
  • Manfur is still awesomesauce.
  • Receiving compliments and verbal praise is hard at first but turns out to be all good.
  • It is possible that someone will like me as much as I like them.
  • Complete sexual fulfillment is actually achievable.
  • Someone being hands-on – holding my hand, kissing me in public, a hand on my knee at dinner, small displays of care and affection – blows my mind.
On a recent boozy weekend out with Caversham Princess and Bobby Convey an interesting observation was made – I see potential in people who haven’t quite realised it yet. I’d never thought of this. Are the outgoing men I find attractive always compensating for difficult/traumatic backgrounds? Is it that I see there’s a fragility amongst the jokes and self-assuredness? Is it the potential for growth I like, or do I need to fix people?

I don’t think I am into fixing. I love to help people, hence the career, but I don’t think that extends to intimate partners in terms of wanting someone to need me.

Bobby and Caversham also said I was selective, that it’s not me being defective and that perhaps love will come later to my life. I know i’m selective in both partner choice and employment choice (!), so the browsing of people that don’t tick any boxes, of four dates in nearly as many years is something that makes me feel down. So i’m not on any dating site, and have essentially given up on that front.

When I say that, what I mean is that it’s better to ignore what I have no control over and look after myself. That doesn’t mean i’m closing myself off, though I will admit there’s an element to that post-Petrichor, nor does it mean that i’m not going to feel sad, and that everything will be sunshine and rainbows. Better to focus on what does soothe me and bring happiness, as best I can.

Until someone else distracts me, there’s always going to be a longing to have Petrichor in my life and a sadness as a result. He is unfinished business.

Back to reading about Elizabeth Taylor’s life and loves methinks.
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Spam Intrigue

“Over time, the elite’s hubris grew so great that their response to critics (particularly the so called “California newspaper”) became essentially “Who are you? What are you going to do about it?” Years passed before they received an answer that impressed them: “I’m from the FBI, and I’m here to read you a Miranda warning”
Comment spam that interested me.
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View out my window earlier today…
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