Smidge

It seems it’s de rigueur to write ‘a review of the year’ post; to drag back through the memories stored on your own corner of the internet and repackage them into bite size morsels for final ingestion and digestion as the bells strike 12, Auld Lang Syne is sung again and 2008 goes the same way as the rest – into the archives.

I’ve got to come clean though, as despite the amount of emotional vomit that I’ve spewed on here on a weekly basis (sorry, that’s one awful analogy) you could accuse me of gross misrepresentation because actually in real life this year hasn’t been quite the annus horribilis I’ve described.

Actually, I can finally admit, that behind the scenes it’s been a pretty good one.

If not to sound like a walking cliché 2008 has been a year of learning about myself, learning that I am able to do things on my own, be on my own, travel on my own and stand on my own two feet. It’s been a year of good lessons.

Watching my little sister get married through a haze of snotty tears was probably the biggest turning point this year. Despite her morbid choice of dancing tunes (Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol and Happy Ending by Mika), bitter jealousy of her perfect day, dress, figure, life, man and now forthcoming bambino, its gave me something to aspire to, to not just go with the flow, to not hold myself back, to actually go out and get my dream, my life, to not just be a part of someone else’s.

If the wedding made me realise what I wanted, then it was a being let down by a friend that made me realise I could actually go out and get it. Maybe I did only travel on my own for 3 weeks, maybe I wasn’t a proper backpacker in some people’s eyes, but I did it, I got on those buses, stayed at those hostels, partied with all forms of the age spectrum, lay on an Australian beach under the stars and dealt with a Huntsman spider without screaming. Oh and hit up Tokyo on my own. I’m proud of myself for feeling the fear and running with it.

Of course the biggest milestone in anyone’s year is not NYE but their birthday. This years was particularly epic as I’ll now be ticking the ‘under 40’ box on forms, keeping hairdressers busy colouring my rapidly greying hair, and will be keeping to my first ever diet. Strangely, I actually enjoyed turning 30 in June; archiving a whole decade was bloody cathartic but being asked for ID to buy alcohol on my 30th birthday gave me infinitely more pleasure.

Of course 2008 also brought its tough times, but today I can even put a positive spin on them.

I broke up with someone for the first time this year. Not a mutual agreement. Just me saying, no I don’t want you anymore. I was humbled by the hurt I inflicted and when it happened to me just 3 weeks ago I found I was strong enough to realise that ‘here is the rest of my life in your hands’ type relationships really need both people to be ready for a future together, that both people need to put in 100% effort.

But 2008 was really all about how resilient I could be. Facing up to the fact that I could have cancer is the hardest thing I have ever done. In any of my years to date. Ok, actually maybe that would be all the camera tests (revolting) but I’m managing to not bury my head in the sand about it all and hope that it might go away if I ignore it. It hasn’t. It won’t. January will bring more tests, but up to now they are all coming back clear and for that I am very thankful.

And now to 2009.

In 12 hours time the champagne will have been drunk, the party poppers popped, and the resolutions broken. Ill have sung Auld Lang Syne for the 12th time. The 1st of January will dawn fresh and new, a clean slate to be dirtied with bad behaviour and a chance to make more inappropriate choices.

Happy New Year everyone!

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right gude willy waught,
For auld lang syne.

Kx

P.S a translation for non Scots….. and here’s my hand my trusty friend and give me yours…and we’ll take a right good-drink, for times gone by. …I think I prefer the way Burns says it!

There are not many things in this world that scare the shit out of me more than the thought that I’m meant to be looking for someone to love me.

Admittedly I’m not a self-indulgent fuck-up that thinks no-one-will-ever-love-me-i’m-going-to-eat-worms type, as I reckon on reflection you could do a lot worse than me. I don’t have that many bad habits apart from being a bit too pragmatic for my own good, hard-nosed on occasion and a tendency to be purposely obtuse when faced with un-deserved superiority complexes. And people who use big words.

A-hem

Basically, despite my general air of forgetfulness, laziness and stubbornness, you’d still pick me out of the cage line up – i’m loyal, well-trained and have lovely silky hair.

It’s not finding someone to love that’s the issue, but the thought of love itself. I’m scared of it. In fact, love scares me more than cows, architects, people who don’t like football, airplanes, number withheld phone calls and my mother when she’s on a rant about my smoking.

Being in love, of being wide open in front of someone (and not for lust purposes), handing your sanity over to be stomped upon seems like complete madness to me. I’ve always been reluctant to let go, to stop being Peter Pan, to grow up, settle down. Settle. Maybe I have expectations set so high about what I think real love is meant to be that I won’t ever achieve even a semblance of it.

I know no one is perfect, that we all make mistakes in relationships, that the sooner the spell the other person has over you is broken the better but I still cant trust love to be there for me.

Finding someone who wants to be with me, taking each day as it comes is more important to me that someone who dreams of a romantic happy ending.

But then maybe being in love is like a female orgasm, you never know exactly what you should be expecting to get, how long its going to last for and that everyone’s experience is different.

Even the cynic in me knows practise makes perfect.

Kx

My head has been all of a dither recently what with the boy issues, the coming home to the parents issues and spending my energy fighting the mild form of ‘I’m actually a bit lonely’ depression that always hits me at this time of year. I know I go through ups and downs throughout the year, but there is something about Christmas and all the enforced jollity that makes me think far too much about things.

Take this for example..

Last night my mother had her friends over to dress their Christmas cakes with a splash of coloured icing sugar, a sprinkle of silver balls and a heavy coating of gossip. What struck me about this group of women (all of which have children I went to playgroup, primary or secondary school with) was their inherent need to boast about the success of their individual child’s ability to catch that man (or woman) and bear grand children; a result that in these mum’s eyes achieved the ultimate A+ in life.

I wasn’t let off lightly. I could feel the crashing sense of disappointment from the other mums that, as I was there listening in, they couldn’t rubbish my lack of stable relationship and sprog bearing potential. But despite my protestations that I wasn’t in any rush to splice my troth and join coupledom I’ve still woken up this morning feeling the pressure of joining Match.com and picking the first hairy backed neanderthal I see in the hope that I too can have a ‘successful life’.

I’m not sure at what point all these women went from sleepless nights worrying about their errant daughter having a healthy and adult sex life (“Please be careful!”) to actively encouraging us to find the closest man to act as a sperm donor. Is it at the point when they give up trying to rid themselves of the grey hairs and the size 12 waist? Or is it when their friends start bringing the baby photos to their weekly witches coven coffee morning? I’m not sure myself when this magical switch happens, but I’m surrounded by it and its honestly sending me slightly insane.

Luckily my lovely papa hates babies and is happy to hide in the local pub with me where there is plenty of Christmas cheer instead. I’ll raise a glass to all you lovely new bloggy friends tonight.

Happy Christmas to one and all.

Mwah

Kx

P.S sorry about all the spelling mistakes you’ll see on your readers, i have a hangover and no MSWord to correct my spelling here…

Home again usually means strapping on the hiking boots, wearing a silly coat and hat and walking up hill for a minimum of 6 miles. Non stop. With no beer half way round unfortunatley.

Plus I cant seem to get a mobile signal in my parents house, but i can half way up Shuttlingslow in the middle of fricking nowhere. What gives? At least there is internet.

But there is nothing like the Peak District on a freezing misty day to make you forget city life, city boys and paying more than £2 a drink in a pub where no one knows your name. Ah home again….

1. Path to Shuttlingslow
2. Shuttlingslow (yes i did get to the top, the evidence is an awful photo of me in a tomato red coat)
3. Looking back over Macclesfield Forest
4. Macclesfield Forest

To the outside world (and the ex) I’ve breezed through this break up with not a care in the world. In real life i’m a bit of a cold fish, an ice queen, a closed shop, indeed I’d rather invent a crisis than talk about my feelings to anyone. To my friends I’ve taken it in my stride, brushed off the shame, buried the pride back under the surface and got myself back out there, back on the horse if you will.

But despite popular opinion I do have a soft centre (ok, it may be coffee flavoured but it’s still soft) and everyone, cold fish or not needs somewhere to vent. So, against my better judgement it’s only on here, to the internets at large, that I’ve admitted that i’ve been feeling rather sorry for myself; as of course, in the real world, pain and shame don’t go away without a large prescription for Xanax. (Been there, done that, I like my world with sharp edges thanks).

So, it’s to you that I can admit that I can’t stop myself squeezing out the last drop of self respect that I have left, scab picking, poking the remains with a big stick (pun intended) and risking disproving the mantra nobody has ever died from a broken heart. I’m doing everything that my better judgement would normally hang me out to dry with. No one said giving yourself a reality check (or a dose of He’s Not That Into You) was going to be easy.

In the harsh light of day I know what i’m doing is wrong, that I’m setting myself up for a further collapse, but harder, further, even more humiliating this time, but if there is a small kernel in my mind that I can fix something that i’ve broken, then why shouldn’t I try? Until that rollercoaster dumps me at the end of the corkscrew once again, i’m going to put my hands in the air, scream that I want to go faster and enjoy the ride. At least it’s living.

Kx

I woke up this morning with a spring in my step, a smile on my face and a cat on my head. Today was going to be a good day. For one I knew I wasn’t going to end up with a 2 mile walk home in the pissing rain in high heals snuffling about ‘the bastard ex’; my Counting Crows tickets* had arrived and a box of four toffee cup cakes had been delivered as a present. What’s not to love?

Ok, I know it’s Monday and I shouldn’t be feeling this good, especially as i’m now well enough be back in work, but look, godammit, I can have a good day.

Even the universe is on my side “You don’t have to take everything so seriously, Wee-H. Reality isn’t black and white, answers don’t have to be yes or no, and absolutely nothing has to happen today.” and thank god for that, I can put myself (and you poor lot) on a self imposed Christmas break from sorting out my life. Especially as i’ll have plenty of time to wallow when I spend the whole of next week at home with the parentals in deepest darkest Cheshire drinking gallons of Baileys and eating my body weight in pigs in blankets, and to be really honest, I dislike self indulgent therapy type blogs and annoyingly this has become one.

So as you Americans put it, time for some time out.

But whilst I’m in recovery I better give you something to read, so get over to ‘Um Now What?’ to read my first guest post HERE

I’ve also been trying to get around your blogs today to leave a little comment love and i’ve added all you nice newbies to my reader (blog roll will get updated when I can be arsed) but i wanted to say hello to…

Mwah

Kx

*at least that’s one thing I got out of the ashes of my relationship, he gets the Ray Lamontagne tickets. I win

Experiencing major highs and lows is one of the joys of this rollercoaster we call life (thanks ronan!). But going from bouncing off the walls planning my escape to which ever english speaking country will take me (and give me a job) to crawling along my hall floor because i couldn’t hold myself up any more due to hysterical weeping goes way beyond what i signed up for.

I guess you are all as sick as me of all my recent woe is me crap and be assured that following abject humiliation brought on only by myself i’ve finally given myself a kick up the ass.

Yes life is tough, life is humiliating, but my life is my own and i’m not going to let a man who wears white pointy leather shoes get the better of me. I have much to be thankful for and much to plan and look forward to.

So,

I’m going to reread ‘He’s not that into you’ and not scoff this time;

I’m going to not call Alan Carr and his ‘Easyway to give up smoking’ a total con artist and try again;

I’m going back to dancing next term (with knee pads this time);

I’m going to get out of bed every morning and not let my illness take control of me;

I’m going to change my empty rainy day account (its always raining) to a healthy looking i’m out of here one;

I’m going to stop thinking i need a man to make me ‘me’ and make me, my family and friends the centre of my life;

I’m going to stop wishing i have what my sister has and realise what i have isn’t worse, just different (and that goes for anyone elses life i get jealous of);

but most of all i’m going to stop wasting my life on continuosly bemoaning the fact i don’t have a life and i’m going out to get one.

Kx

P.s Pitches for the best country for me to head for are welcome, but advice that i’m running away however is not!

I’m sitting here at the bottom of my own wheel of fortune, the lowest of the low in the relationship caste system. But instead of getting off the wagon im travelling on, putting the pain to bed and working out where the hell i start again, i’ve realised that something has to give – if my relationship ideals are to stay the same then something has to change.

If you knew me, you’d see a veritable Peter Pan, floating through life but never never seeming to land. A youthful outlook, no cares for the future, onwards to the next adventure! But if i’m honest with myself i’m not Peter, i’m Tinkerbell.

I’m a sparkle, destined to be a flight of fancy for a short time before it burns out, a toy to be played with before something more exciting comes along. I might look and act like peter on the outside, never caring what happens next but i’m really feeling like i’m stuck on the outside looking in.

How i change this i don’t know, all i know is that you might think being a fairy is perfect for this time of year, but this tinkerbell wants someone for life not just for christmas.

Kx

I know I should be angry, bitter, calling him names, burning – cutting – ripping up our photographs (deleting ‘us’ from Facebook isn’t quite the same) but the emotion I feel the most right now is shame; not anger.

Shame is uncontrollable. Shame washes over you, reddening cheeks, waking you up in the night in a hot sweat. Shame makes you feel so stupid, so gullible, so embarrassed. Shame can’t be fixed with a hug, with company, with “whatever will be will be” and “there is always more fish in the sea”. I feel very alone in my bubble of shame.

So, no, it’s not anger that I feel. I don’t have any right to be angry with him for making the right choice for him. I’ll take honesty over platitudes every time. Straight up, black and white “I just don’t see a future” is better than “it’s not you, it’s me”. It would be duplicitous for me to complain, having done the same, but worse to someone else before.

So yes, I feel shame. Maybe even that karma has come back to revenge on me. But no, i’m not angry, and I guess in time even the shame will fade.

Kx

As a late P.S (if you use readers you probably wont see this) I got this from The Universe today…

“… often you can tell which of your new friends, old friends, and former friends still love you, Wee-H, because they’re the ones who ask for nothing. Or come running when you ask”

Thanks guys x

If you think you are at rock bottom, most of the time you aren’t; there is always further to fall. If one good thing has come out of the last 2 days its that i’ve realised i’m stronger than i thought. No, no one has died, but something has broken inside me, something thats going to take a very long time to put back together. As for him, all i can do is wish him well, without anger, but with lots of regrets. It was an amazing 6 months baby.