Yearly Archives: 2006
I hope you’re all having an enjoyable festive season. I am currently far removed from my usual haunt en familie and so far no belittling has taken place nor any shouting. However, I have one more day here so you never know.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder of course so when I have not been eating or trying to stay detached from whatever my Dad is saying or doing to annoy me I have been pondering MW#1. Well, more precisely the conversation I should have had when I last saw him.
As per usual I found it very difficult to get any sleep; this time it was due to too much caffeine in my veins and too much stimulation of my brain by the sleeping creature next to me. I got up at 6.30am to splash some water in my face and eat some toothpaste to try and get myself together before crawling back under the covers and making a final attempt to relax and drift off.
As I wearily reinserted myself into the warmth MW#1 pulled me into him, kissed the back of my neck and asked me if I was okay. I said I was “fine” and that I was “just mental” and in reply I got an “aww” and another kiss. In the film of my life this is how it should have gone:
MW#1 would be portrayed by Russell Crowe and I would be portrayed by Thora Birch.
MW#1:Are you okay?
Me: Yes… no… I’m fed up.
Fed up? Why?
I’m just tired…
Couldn’t get any sleep… thinking too much…
Ugh… I’m just grumpy ‘cos I can’t sleep… (rolls onto elbow) and like you spent a large proportion of last night waxing lyrical over your exes and all the other women you could see… you didn’t have a kind word to say to me… and I made effort too and you didn’t notice… but now you’re kissing me lots, and it’s confusing…
I’m sorry… really…
That’s okay… you just need to understand that it’s actually quite hurtful to sit there and hear you praise others when I have no security whatsoever. If I knew you truly cared for me and that you wanted to be with me I wouldn’t need to worry as I’d know that whilst you might brag and eye up everyone else at the end of the evening you’d be coming home with me because I was what you wanted. But I don’t know that, do I? It’s not even as simple as me being jealous or being pissed off ‘cos you didn’t compliment me- Every time I see you I have to keep myself bound up inside because I don’t know what I am to you. I can’t initiate anything, I can’t have reasonable expectations of behaviour because as far as I know, I am nothing to you. I would like to think I am important but spending months and months waiting for something that at the end of the day you might decide you can’t be bothered with is beginning upset me. This is a problem, you see- I have invested a lot because I care but I have very little chance of reciprocation- You always have the upper hand.
Mr Crowe would then roll over and look pained with inner torments whilst he stares at the ceiling thinking about how he cares deeply and would not want to lose his fuzzily-haired analytical weirdo but is scared to move out of his comfortable non-committal lifestyle and step up to the challenge. Ms. Birch (facing away from Crowe) would lie curled up on her side channeling how isolated she feels as she is forced to remain detached because he can’t commit to being with her and she deals with the pain of non-committal and the possibility of losing him the only way she knows how to- detachment and hugging Patrick tightly.
It would be a psychological portrait of people in their mid/late-twenties (Crowe’s been in a time machine) struggling to reach out to each other and emotionally connect/a chick-flick.
Anyway, that’s what I should have said. Whatever.
I’m tired, feeling *particularly* unenthused about the next few days and wish I could crawl into a hole in the ground and curl up for the rest of the Winter. Perhaps I could be Dr. Maturin’s assistant for a while? Might do me some good.
On an even sadder, even more pathetic note, I made myself go into the new Apple store in Manchester a few days ago “for a laugh” and after spending approximately five minutes wandering through I felt physically sick. Seriously. Queasy. Psychosomatic medicine at it’s greatest. Woo.
I hope you all have an enjoyable few days leading up to New Year’s Eve and that the night of horror in question passes happily for you all. Love you lots…
I spent the longest night of the year lying awake next to the happily sleeping form of MW#1; it was a long night indeed…
I lie there and I try to switch off and sleep but just end up thinking about things when sleep does not arrive. I feel so hopeless.
Put iPod in blender. Switch on. See what happens.
YouTube: Will It Blend?
Why The iPod Sucks: A Contrarian View of iPod and Apple
More Will It Blend videos
NSFW: Wrestler’s face meets metal ladder at high speed Joey Mercury aftermath
American whistleblows on arms dealing whilst in Iraq; is kidnapped by colleagues; is liberated by Special Forces; is taken to embassy where he is fed and debriefed before he is pushed over the line of demarcation and taken hostage by the US Army; is set free after three months of torture by compatriots.
Roses are #FF0000
Violets are #0000FF
All my base
Are belong to you
I’ve sobered up now…
An mp3 courtesy of the artist that really should be a must own:
It was written as a comment on Vietnam, the nature of man vs. man and of course is pertinent in an all-too-horribly contemporary way. It’s a bit of a downer of a song, but is beautiful… the background vocals, sparse guitar and the wonderful voice of Mr Withers make for an excellent combination. It was used on Demons by Norman Cook. I think the Live at Carnegie Hall album may have to be purchased after Christmas- A 9 minute version of Use Me? You *know* it’s gonna be good…
Hype Machine Bill Withers
So had excellent graduation number two: Parentals arrived on time; I didn’t fall over whilst going up to the podium although they did mispronounce my name; I got to see many coursemates and got to chat with them about how awful kid’s behaviour is and how they do no teaching; my tutor raved about how good I was to my Parentals… Like my course I actually enjoyed my day this time.
Wondrous lunch at London Street Brasserie (lobster chowder to start, a gorgeous main of venison, haggis and spinach with figs, with chocolate fondant for dessert and my first experience of calvados as a digestif) before coming back to Caversham Princess’s to Patrick and my blanket to send a overly merry text to MW#1 telling him that I find his manfur scary but inexplicably lovely and that he smells good (*slightly* embarrassing)…
A good day (apart from my texting, obviously)
Graduation number two tomorrow. Joyous. Will be good to see all my gainfully employed coursemates however and my parental units are paying for lunch. Proper joyous.
I’m currently nursing a strange desire to go out tomorrow evening dressed slightly punk chick in my new striped stockings, new skull and crossbones shirt, the shortest skirt I own and my trusty pirate boots. Oh and the Greatest Underwear of All Time underneath. Sadly, as i’m sorely lacking an available target to inflict myself upon I’ve a feeling i’ll be spending the evening at Caversham Princess’s. Maybe i’ll hoover my room or something.
As we all know, I’m all about the strange desires.
Of course, the only reason i’m feeling such perverted fashion lusts is because i’ve been so close to yet so far removed from getting some action, and wearing said hi-larious getup would almost certainly get me some. Unfortunately, I can’t just get me some from anyone, and my current supplier of choice seems markedly disinterested, which leaves me blue. I’ll be peeling all the labels off all the bottles I can lay my hands on… sigh.
Really interesting article from Science News on the development of psychopaths and the growth of diagnostic tools being used to lock them up for life or execute them.
Science News: The Predator’s Gaze
Updated: I’ll have to control myself until Thursday before venturing out in my ridiculous getup… if implosion does not occur it will be a miracle (just in time for Christmas woo)
This evening I am warm and fuzzy and have a nice smooth nose and I think I smell particularly delectable courtesy of a half-hour soak in my favourite rose and geranium-scented bath foam.
I have had filthy thoughts on-and-off about MW#1 for hours… I feel fairly disgusted with myself for thinking about him… I think I am pathetic and weak for doing so. I’m tired. Restraining myself and not letting shit get to me, shouting, being “on” all day… nothing particularly horrendous but just uber tired by it all.
A student insinuated that I picked on him when I kept him in over lunch for doing fuck all work because he was black- I said lazyness knows no skin colour barrier and that he should stop calling himself a nigga, it’s demeaning and we’re in the suburbs of Berkshire, not the heart of Compton (Iz u dizzy, blak???); a couple of threats of violence against me were then made by the same disgruntled student; kids absconded from my classroom. All joyous. I’m going to make all haste to crawl under the duvet and my blanket and hug Patrick tightly and hopefully drift off easily…
I wish I was in Monterey at the moment… they’ve got themselves another White shark in the Outer Bay exhibit. I’d like to pay a return visit there anyway; I love aquariums and MBayAq is probably my favourite of all I have visited. Plus, they’ve got a White shark for fucks sake. Eeee.
Of course, this is obviously bad in that they are becoming endangered and they tend to be fairly fragile in captivity, but whatever, it’s just really cool. When I go to aquaria and zoos I am always super excitable; I make lots of “ooooh”s and “eeeee”s when confronted with particularly interesting creatures. Oh, except spiders. I go “aaaakkkkkk” if I get near those. I tend to speed walk past them. And scorpions too. And horseshoe crabs. Ik.
Much to the undoubted embarrassment of whoever was chaperoning me I probably would bounce up and down (along with the 5 year-old boys) in front of the ginormous window with a huge grin on my face and point at the shark and go “Look! Look! It’s a White Shark!” The other person would roll their eyes and go “Yes, Monky. It’s a White Shark. I can see that. And look here Monky, it says on the little information label- White Shark” Secretly of course they would be busy being excited too.
Play spot Mr Whitey on the Outer Bay webcam
History of White Sharks in captivity
Went for a fare-thee-well visit to see Leia Ewok Village and Woods, Tiger this evening before they set off on their Antipodean odyssey; it was muy excellentay to see them both and have a good chinwag.
I was most generously presented with an awesome book about the oceans… I am now happily geeking out looking up the deepest places in each ocean and learning about ice formation and freaky fish like the black dragonfish. Uber cool.
I also received a second copy of a piratical book, but it was all good as it had engravings in it such a scurvy dawgs being hanged from the yardarm which the previous copy was missing.
eMedicine: Jellyfish Stings
Tropical Australian Stinger Research Unit: First Aid and Safety Mmm… scarring
Behold the scary-weirdness of the Pacific Black Dragonfish in all it’s close-up glory
Watched the fabulouso Apollo 13 this afternoon for about the fifth time; as per usual I wept during the blackout sequence as the world awaits the splashdown of the capsule and safe return of the astronauts.
I am beginning to lose hope about MW#1… things dragging on as they are is slowly crushing my spirit… discussions not had, feeling like I am the biggest fool in the world for caring. The usual.
Thing is, I can theorise as Doktor Monky ’til the cows come home, but unless I actually have a conversation with the person all this writing is ultimately pointless. I can write about how my analytical nature exists because I found out at a young age that pretty much everything my father told me was bullshit and i’ve carried through this testing for truth through to adulthood; I loved someone before and all they did was abuse my trust by sugar-coating their repeated lies.
Given that MW#1 broke my heart before with a smile on his face, I am slow to trust his compliments; I am however desperate to believe he is sincere, to believe in the goodness, and I think he is being so at the moment.
Judgemental? Well, i’ve less answer for that… given that i’m not entirely sure what he means by this I can’t work at fixing the problem. Do I judge his manwhoring? I always thought I was pretty good about that. Maybe he means I judge him on his actions in regards to me? I think I have been reasonable and have made a conscious effort to try and be as least psycho as I can possibly be; when others are judging him negatively I try and defend and explain.
Maybe he thinks I judge him because of his job (rubbish)… maybe because he is taking his time deciding (no problem as long as he keeps me updated)… maybe my mocking of him seems hurtful (banter, baby)… Do I judge every single thing he says and does? If this is the case then it’s partly down to the uncertainty of everything, partly because so much has been left unspoken. Does my writing here affect his view of me; does the analysis scare him?
All I know is that a void would be left in my life if he were not in it.
I’m just feeling terribly blue about the whole situation… I’d like things to be as sorted as they can be. Of course if this means I find he doesn’t care for me in the way I care for him then I will be so incredibly sad… he means an awful lot to me, I think he’s awesome and think he could be an excellent partner-in-crime… but not knowing how things stand is torturous- at least if he doesn’t care for me I can mourn and work on trying to move on.
I think it will be difficult to stay friends, which is a shame given that i’ve known him for so many years and we’ve shared so much, but I can only take my heart being broken so much.
Eugh… I want to curl up with MW#1 and be surrounded by his warmth… doze in his arms in the half-light of the morning after whilst he gently slides strands of my hair off my face and kisses my nose…
I thought better of keeping up that last post. It will stay removed until after I’ve spoken to the individual involved about it.
In brighter news, I finally received the underwear I ordered from Topshop; just possibly the greatest undercrackers ever created. Silky soft emerald goodness… they feel good, I feel good, all is good…
After I excitedly pulled them out of their packet and tried them on this morning I was overly pleased to find that they fit perfectly and to find that I looked Teh Hawt wearing them whilst pre-first-meal-of-the-day thin…
Pictures may follow.
After being deprived for a whole two months, I fiiiinally got me some wrestling fix courtesy of Genesis at MW#1’s and I even gots me some additional pornographic commentary- Oooh… He’s taking him from behind… He’s putting the strap on… Wow, that sure is some pressure there… repeat ad infinitum and it’s still hi-larious. Well, to me anyways. My life is generally uneventful. What can I say?
My Tubby Pirate was no more, and was wearing a rather interesting outfit consisting of white striped suit that with sleeveless shirt underneath crowned with a facial corset that kept flapping up so it looked like my Former Tubby Pirate was wearing a ruff. Such vibrant colours.
I also got to see my beloved Kurt. He looked in quite good shape, but the fact that he took around four unprotected shots to his cranium and neck was *slightly* unnerving, and he went a lil’ bit overboard on the blading. No need.
I got involved in some intense, erm, hugging with MW#1 and then he was to his bed and I was to my bus… as I walked though town I passed a queue of Wii disciples awaiting the midnight arrival of their sources of joy from Gamestation. This cheered me- the idea that no matter what there will always be geeks who will always be after the latest item and will gain inordinate amounts of pleasure from these items.
As I walked back to Caversham Princesses’ I sang along with Julie London to Sophisticated Lady in a private performance to the wind and the trees and myself… kinda sad but beautiful in the darkened lane.
My brain is filled with conflicted thoughts about MW#1. I’m like, “Dude, would you mind very much fucking my brains out at some point soon? If you could schedule that in it would be awesome.” At the same time however, i’m thinking “Erm, do you think we could talk about what is going on because i’m finding it a bit difficult dealing with you telling me the most lovely things one moment and then doing that “oh, she’s just a friend” thing the next? Much appreciated. Then if all goes well you can put some moves on me that I ain’t nevah seen… (and I can laugh like a schoolgirl)”
I was feeling really fed up and fairly rubbish at the start of the weekend; It’s ever so sad to admit, but the last day or so has been immeasurably improved by some exposure to MW#1.
I can never sleep when i’m sharing a bed- I think my brain is over-stimulated by the presence of Other, so I spend the entire night merely dozing or twitching like a spazz. When morning does eventually come I look like shite and when i’m left alone I become comatose at the nearest opportunity. So I can say that my sleep is definitely not improved by seeing him, but I certainly feel calmer… just more at ease even if things are still unresolved.
It’s the small things that brighten my day- small things that I feel very guilty for valuing and enjoying. Things like the ridiculous number of kisses he bestows upon me and how much they make me smile; the smell, warmth and textures of his skin; quiet moments when he dozes with his head resting on my chest…
I feel so bad for enjoying these things. That they are wrong and I am wrong for gaining such pleasure from them, from him.
MW#1 has mentioned that he has difficulty with my analytical approach to things. I think an example of this is when he pays me a compliment and I feel the need to dig behind it to test his veracity- for example when he has complimented me on the feel of my skin, I have to ask how it feels any different from anyone else’s and go on to state that surely everyone else’s feels like my skin and thus that he must be talking rubbish.
I find it hard to accept compliments at face value; my past experience has led me to treat compliments as somewhat dangerous and in need of further investigation. I just hope MW#1 can bear with me as I learn to accept that he might just be sincere, is not “after anything” and may genuinely care. Note- Although a promise to discuss things was extracted, I was far too busy being warm and smiley to talk.
I really do need to talk so I can understand how he feels and I can try and modify my behaviour if I feel it’s necessary. I would very much like to sort things out between us so I can begin to fully enjoy myself and get rid of the guilt I feel at every turn…
That is if the discussions have a favourable outcome.
I’m fed up of pretending to teach and basically being an expensive cover supervisor. I do not see the point in really bothering very much to crack the whip and make the kids get through the work set; quite frequently I figure keeping them inside the four walls of the classroom is an accomplishment in itself.
When kids ask me if I was perfect at school when I complain about their behaviour I always answer in the negative- I didn’t do my homework every time, I used to slack off, etc. However, I would never take the piss out of a teacher, try and fuck with them and get away with stuff and I would always show respect to whomever was teaching me. I would also not need to be asked six times to be quiet.
It pisses me off to think that there will be teachers who think I have no classroom control abilities- Its simply because i’m supply and do not know the kids or the system. I often find it tough to keep kids quiet and on task so I basically give up; there’s only so many times you should have to wait for the kids to stop their conversations so that you can speak- ZERO.
If it’s the choice between letting the kids talk in the background whilst I try and explain and having to stop and wait every 20 seconds or so eventually I go with the former. Then of course the kids who were engrossed in their own conversations repeatedly ask what they are supposed to be doing as they don’t know, I get annoyed at their rudeness and my repetition and my anger levels go up- although I am very conscious to keep it in check and patiently explain the task the three or more times they need to attempt to grasp it.
So if i’m going to avoid the situation where I spend 30-45 minutes out of an hour lesson just trying to get through the explanation and tell the kids what to do, I give up. The way I see it is that it’s only one day so what’s the point? Let them talk all lesson if they want, let them finish their homework. They don’t pay any attention to me because i’m supply, female and young- “Aw. She’s only a couple a years older than us!” (try ten years, you waste-of-space) so what the fuck can I really do?
I took a day off today so I could visit my old placement school to work on their website. I was essentially working for free as I didn’t accomplish very much of what I set out to do (not through any fault of my own) which was frustrating. I’m spending at least fourty-five minutes tomorrow morning travelling to a school filled with fairly crap kids when I could be spending ten minutes travelling to “supervise” crap children. A lettings agency has fucked me over.
I couldn’t find the Topshop underwear I was after. I’m getting a sneaking feeling I care for MW#1 in a way that he does not care for me, and there’s not much I can do about it apart from feel glum and think too much.
It’s all bollocks, bollocks I tell you.
I call SHENANIGANS.
Fuck this. Fuck wondering if, when and why.
It’s making me fucking mad. And it’s making me swear a fucking lot.
I’m going to mentally put my fingers in my ears and go “la la la” and pretend I do not care. That’s right, you heard me, I DO NOT CARE.
P.S. Of course I am lying. I am just fed up of being left.
For all of youze in the know- things are back on track with me health wise. Party. With painkillers. WOO. Anyway, I had a shite day at a school today but I ended it taking my first bath at Caversham Princesses’ (i’m more of a shower person usually)…
I stretched out in the hot water and sank in until my face was an island in the foam. I ran my fingers slowly along the furrows of my dampened hair. I massaged the arches of my feet and I leisurely meandered my body brush across my sodden skin.
I listened to the radio, I delighted in some delicious poetry, I giggled, I pondered, I relaxed. Le sigh.
After feeling fairly glum about things the poetry renewed my faith in humanity and recharged my brain. I mean, ultimately I may be left twisting but reading poetry about the weight of a man or the delights of kissing whilst slowly turning red in the hot rose and geranium-scented liquid was wonderful. Just a half hour at total ease. Gah.
I spent a good half hour or so snorting with hi-larity over the Christmas gift edition of Style in the Sunday Times this weekend. Ridiculousness at every turn- £141,000 for a necklace or £700 for a giant crystal and gold pineapple anyone?
However, there were some lovely things to behold within, which is why I kept re-reading the bloody thing, or should I say kept staring at the pictures. Things of such improbable beauty like these Topshop undercrackers (which I shall hopefully be perusing on Wednesday) and this oak leaf ring commission by Robinson Pelham:
I don’t really have anyone to wear the beauteous undercrackers for apart from my bad self nor do I have the £1500+ for the ring nor do I really wear jewellery. Muy excellentay…
Man trouble is a most amusing guide to the reasoning behind not buying males the presents you think they’d like (but if I had the cash I would definitely buy him the Stormtrooper outfit assault on his manhood or nay), whilst
The Gentleman’s guide to scanties is an excellent guide for steering those males away from buying underwear that is purely for them.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy dressing to titillate (or as best I can manage) but it’s just nice to receive a present that is designed to make you feel comfortable and give you the best chance at being teh hawt as possible, rather than spending time wandering exactly what bits of your anatomy are hanging out where. The unwrapping is the reward for the gift giver if the gift is suitable…
How I got to this webpage I really cannot recall. All I can say is it’s perfectly safe for work as it consists of pictures of online bingo players. Yes, it’s laughing at people. I’m a bad person.
Still haven’t seen Casino Royale. Or sorted out the non-happenings with MW#1.
I have however been spending some quality time in the bathroom multitasking doing the twist and grinding whilst outfitted with Zen, pants and vest to Everlast (Black Jesus), Ludacris (LFSGGW) and Kelis (Bossy).
I have also been sliding about to Sinatra and Julie London. Her version of “Ev’ry Time I Say Goodbye” is a song I want to slow dance to under a softly spinning ceiling fan in Hawai’i; “Go Slow” what I want to listen to as I’m swept through the dark in my lover’s automobile. Sigh.
As I write this I am drinking a tequila sunrise made from jose cuervo, orange juice and grapefruit squash. Klassy.
“Sex junkie looking for a dealer/You can play the leper girl and I can play the healer”
Unemployed again as yesterday but i’m feeling less achy and for once in my life less whiney. Honest. I can climb into bed and snuggle down with Patrick and feel less anxious.
This is probably because I got to have some quality sleep when I went back to bed after i’d given up on a job for the day, I got mental and emotional stimulation looking at leaves when I walked to buy stuff for tea (the colours and shapes you see) and I had a pie for lunch (and no puking)…
Quite an uneventful day but a day where life felt good, even if I was unemployed, technically homeless and getting excited about leaves.
The strange life and loves of a Monky. Occupational hazard.
I am currently pondering my internal workings, the remainders of my birthday cake on the plate next to me and the whole “situation” with everyone’s favourite manwhore. The internal workings issue is not for public consumption (those who need to know, know), the last slice of cake is being consumed as we speak and well, it’s not like the MW#1 issue is going anywhere.
Busy attempting to keep everything light and breezy and non-committal in my head and give space to the point I might appear disinterested. I focus on staying resolutely undemanding, detached, not bothered- but of course I have a few demands I think are plain human and not those of the stalker I am always paranoid I could appear, am not detached and am bothered…
I’m tired, concerned, my bones ache…
Have now moved away from the cake and on to the delights of springbok biltong whilst I attempt to understand my tax situation and fill in forms… bye bye birthday… I’m just feeling extra self-indulgent and grumpy this evening. For once it’s not “just the way my face hangs”- the permanent frown etched on my face really is something to beware of.
Here is a poem that I think comes as close to literary and artistic perfection as is possible:
Now Love that dissolves the limbs shakes me,
Sweetly bitter unvanquishable creeping thing.
It’s written by the Sappho and of all the poetry I have read so far it is the one piece of text I think important enough to consider getting inked into my skin. It is beautiful.
Wondrous poetry ahoy in Robot Wisdom’s Solace: Textbook of Romantic Psychology
Bed. Patrick. Hug.
So turning 26 was not overly eventful but was a good day nonetheless. I got to see all my nearest and dearest and eat some pie and drink some drink. I also got to throw up after three of said drinks and was home with Patrick by 11.45. Boo.
Another of my own parties that I leave early… I suck. The highlight of the evening was of course seeing everyone; it’s rare that so many of my friends get together in one place and it always reminds me of just how awesome they all are and how lucky I am to have them as confidants.
Caversham Princess; Bobby Convey; M; Nitram and associated randoms; McCy; Leia Ewok Village; Woods, Tiger and MW#1… sigh. Just brilliant, the lot of them.
I am crap at keeping in touch with people I know; maybe I need to have more soirées to corral all my friends…
I also received a vast and wondrous selection of gifts, cards and hugs… all ridiculously generous. Bless you all.
Things have been rather quiet of late here. I’ve got much better access to the internets, have met up with Dave, been to more schools and have many things floating about in my head to rant about but for various reasons I won’t post up my internal ravings.
I’m just tired I suppose and am concerned about a few things. Basically, i’m feeling fractious and require pacifying. Eugh.
Birthday outing Friday- I must decide on what to wear. I’m open to suggestions…
Dear me… two glasses of red and i’m feeling warm and tactile…
When I feel clean and warm and dry when i’m in fresh clothes and recently showered I enjoy sweeping my hands across the skin that covers my hips and waist. The area of fat that gently swells over my pelvis that’s streaked with translucent strands of cellulite and pokes out inappropriately when i bend over- the not quite right area- well, it feels kinda good.
I guess its like my stomach- never going to win any prizes for muscularity or beauty, but feels good to the touch. Soft and giving. At odds with the lack of stereotypical femininity I suppose; the softer reality of what I try and be, the failure.
It’s not failure of course, nor is it weakness; it’s just a part of me that needs a little attention and acceptance. So I can say I don’t think my fat is overly bad and that I quite like the feel of it (if not the look); I enjoy the feel of my body pretty much from my head to my toes. As long as I am able to move and feel I will always carry with me something that will comfort. Hooray.
Two glasses… I’m a cheap date as everyone knows…
Due to my alcohol consumption i’ve come to the conclusion that i’ve not been doing enough kissing of late. I mean “proper” kissing, where you delight in the texture and pressure and variety of sensations lips can produce. Deep or shallow, light or rough, one lip or t’other etc etc. I’m always so surprised when I receive a passing kiss i’ve barely time to reciprocate…
I suppose i’m just lacking the passionate kiss, the kiss where you ignore whatever is going on around you and your partner, where you close your eyes and take deep breaths and take in the smell of the warm body pressing against you.
It’s different from sex- it’s different intimacy-wise I suppose. Two glasses of wine and i’m all “woe is me” because I get the feeling that I need to be kissed… dork-o-rama. Of course, I don’t just want the kissing- I want the fingers through my hair and fingers gently sliding across my hips…
Woe is me…
This is a card made for me a couple of days ago by one of my ex-sixth formers who was concerned at my lack of a significant other.
He made it wallet-sized for easy reference and laminated it with tape so that when I “stood on street corners it would be okay”.
The thin fabric shifts gently as he runs his fingers over the folds
As he pulls it onto his body Up over his head
it grows warm from
his internal workings
secure within soft embrace
Supple barrier fighting existence of other
Of sun and storm, of labour and loss
He buries his face
filling his senses with scent not quite his own.
Entwined, unmoving under scarlet swathe
fabric swells with each intake of breath,
Falling slowly across immovable contours.
He murmurs sorrows deep into the fibre,
Keeps them safe between warp and weft.
The blanket sighs soothingly, contentedly
As he reflexively pulls her closer
Further away from arctic climes
Cocooned under my blanket on the sofa
Wearing my cunning lumberjack hat and fluffy socks
Skin smelling of MW#1
Getting this spell checked by Firefox 2.0 as I type
Getting an enormous sense of achievement on customising Firefox (and again)
Listening to Justin asking me what would I do if he wrote me a love note that made me smile with every word he wrote
and Ludacris threatening to put me in the back seat of the ‘Llac again and rip off the Magnum packagin’
Flinching as fireworks burst outside my window
Squinting as my contacts begin to dry
Another late night call to MW#1’s… when I got there he and the whiskey he had imbibed told me that I didn’t give myself enough credit for how pretty I was; things were another story upon waking.
Hmmm… MW#1 curled up resting his weary head in my lap…