Smidge

If i’m twiddling my hair I am usually thinking, or just being addicted to the feeling of crunchy hair spray.

I stick my fingers in my kitten’s mouth so she can lick them, i’m not sure I like the fact she enjoys licking my eyebrows.

I am deaf, but I am also selectively deaf. I use deafness to my advantage. But I worry that people find my what? What? WHAT?s irritating.

I wish I had more friends, despite trying really hard not to lose them; I do on a regular basis. I’m trying to persuade myself that it’s not all my fault.

I make up stories all the time about why people are somewhere, doing something. It’s like I know them and can read their mind. I know I am right every time.

I don’t really understand much of the jargon I read in sci-fi books. I’m not sure I actually have to need to. I just like terms like dyson sphere and galactic north and gengineer and hyperdrive. I’m amazed how someone can write a story in made up words.

I’m scared of waterslides.

I really don’t like exercising and think that I am missing the gene that gives you the endorphin ‘rush’ that everyone talks about.

I’m not good at losing control through drink, I have to force myself to keep up with people, to let loose, be a little ‘crazy’. It doesn’t come naturally to me. My drinking usually involves me sitting alone – it does not make me sociable.

I forget I’m 4’11’’ until I see a photo of myself and then i’m actually shocked how crazy it looks.

I get night terrors, vivid night terrors. I don’t sleep too well.

I wonder sometimes if life would be easier if my life wasn’t such a rollercoaster – but then I think a little white pill would make things boring. I prefer the ups and downs to numbness and a cure.

I am ridiculously jealous of my sister having marrying rich. It goes against all my sensibilities and my demands for real love; but I would like to travel as much as she can.

I have been a cheerleader and a high class prostitute (on stage) neither which appeals to be. But the male adoration and/or money involved in these careers does.

I only discovered vibrators at the age of 30.

I have self esteem issues because of things that have happened in the past. I wish I could let go of the baggage but i’m too addicted to thinking woe is me.

I don’t really like possessions but I’ve become cluttered over the years. I’m wondering if I should throw most of my possessions out when I move flat next month. It would be nice to be minimal again.

I wish I was a make up artist rather than a town planner. I find myself wanting to correct people’s eyeliner all the time.

I know its wrong but find really really really fat people incredibly vile and wonder how they got themselves into that state. Then I have to cross over the road to be away from them. (Yes I know I am going to go to hell for this one).

I don’t like pasta. I think its bland and boring and just don’t get it.

I don’t really listen to much music, but I love to dance. When I am washing up I listen to the Counting Crows or Van Morrison. Fin my tomcat loves to be picked up and be danced around the living room.

I like smoking, scratch that, I love smoking. That’s making it very hard to give up.

I am jealous of confident people who always have something to say. I’m usually struggling to find conversation topics and a way of sloping off home early. I don’t do networking events.

Every week I type my real mother’s name into Google to see if she has started to look for me yet. I’m scared to progress my search any more than that. I wonder if I look like her. I’ve never had a real family where i’m related to someone. I’m scared that i’m never going to find someone to have that kind of real family with.

I refuse to sing or do karaoke unless it’s in a foreign accent. I can’t do foreign accents.

It’s monday, so its photo time. I’ve not done one of these for a while so bear with the mish mash this time. Photos are from my trip back home, a very messy night out with the girls and the cats…

My trip home for my sister’s birthday and to meet my nephew…

First up, the lakes in my village…

and another (Check out these two links for gorgeous pictures of my home village - this is the lakes from Teg’s Nose Mount from above and also here from the other side – credit vg92)

Village Life..

and home!

and finally the boy i wanted to meet… introducing Ben!

The we went to Poole’s Cavern in Buxton, Derbyshire…(check out the website for cooler photos)

A stalactite (the flitch of bacon)

and ‘poached egg’ stalagmites

and now for something completely different… the descent into drunkenness of Miss Smidge…

It started as a very sunny day in Edinburgh – the Castle from Princes Street Gardens

Little Miss Smidge started off drunken statue molesting…

…and then eat dancing with a fag in the hand, always classy! This is also the photo which made me realise i seriously need to go back to the gym!

and then i started dancing for real

and then, as i collasped in a heap, i dont think ill show you anymore. They are on Facebook if you are my friend.

Kxx

Yes, I know you should never blog about politics, religion or money, but i’m breaking the taboo today…

In the past I’ve been rather lackadaisical about money; in fact, I lie, I was so, so, so, so bad, you could just call me Rebecca Bloomwood and be done with it. (Except in my case the big bad bank manager who chased me was a faceless automatic telephone system that left threatening daily messages, ok, as threatening as a robot can be) There is a reason why I don’t answer my phone to anonymous calls anymore.

Looking back, i’m ashamed at my statement of financial dishonour; which included regularly ‘forgetting’ credit card and store card payments, ignoring the demands to pay back the student loan and never looking at my bank account each month. Let’s just say I can’t get a credit card even if I wanted one.

The paradigm shift happened when The Ex-Husband, who was far worse with money than me (although I might be protesting a little too much) ‘forgot’ to pay the mortgage for 4 months – without telling me – the first thing I knew about it was the recorded delivery court summons appearing at the front door. I could no longer bury my head in the sand once I asked my parents for that bail out.

So, my life as a f’inancially independent woman’ was hurriedly curtailed – no switch card, no credit card; cash all the way. If I wanted something I would have to walk back out of the shop to go to the cash machine to take out the cold hard cash to pay for it. 9 times out of 10 I wouldn’t go back. It worked, kind of – yes I was finally living within my means but unfortunatley I didn’t have Becky’s designer wardrobe to auction off to pay off the debts. Those would have to stay.

But then there comes a day when you can finally lift your head out of the sand, the day when you get to call the bank rather than the other way around, the day that you feel brave enough to have a switch card again, the day you start filing your bank statements somewhere else rather than unopened under your bed, the day when you can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, the day when the future is black not red.

And that my friends is today and it is f-ing incredible!

Kx

As you might have gleaned from previous posts The Boy and I have been seeing each other again. Fireworks! Celebrations! Balloons! Champagne! Or not; despite the fact it has been my decision to take Mr Spineless (as one person called him) back for the 3rd time, it seems everyone has an opinion; albeit theirs is the only one that is right. Relationships, once you have been through at least one break up, seemingly become public property.

Everyone at some point has called their mate’s ex a bastard. These things are said without thinking, to make people feel better, to help them move on. Ridicule is common, his (or her) faults picked over, masculinity torn to shreds. At the end of a relationship there is always a bastard (or of course, a bitch)

But most of the time the person being called the name is not a bastard; Bastards cheat, bastards lie. Bastards do not sit you down and say ‘sorry I do not see a future right now’. Bastards are not honest about their feelings. Bastards do not walk away because they think it is the right thing to do – for you, for them, for the both of you.

I’ve always been a firm believer that you can’t judge a person unless you have walked a mile in their shoes (or spent time in their relationship). It’s easy to judge someone as they have hurt someone you love. But when they do something that whilst painful, is heartfelt, does not a bastard make.

It is easy to throw insults, it’s easy to sit on the fence and make a snap judgement. Yes, I might be naïve, but until he does something to deserve being called a bastard, I’m not calling him one.

and that my friends is why he’s had another chance.

Kx

Sick. In bed. Again. Life is such a joy right now.

(..actually everything else is going pretty damn well, even the 9 week wait to move house.. so i have to find something to moan about…)

It’s really got to the point that i have to do something about this. As i’ve been so sick i’ve had to use every bit of flexi and holiday not to get fired and godammit i need a holiday. This cant go on anymore.

Yes, i know I haven’t updated the IBS blog since i started it (i’ve done this with the gym, running and well, lots of other things too) but its because i’ve kinda been sticking my head in the sand about it all.

I know you must be wondering, who the hell does this with an illness? especially one that keeps me in bed 2 days out of every fortnight, but when the solution is to go gluten/wheat/lactose free and clear out this whole system once and for all then its easy not to bother.

I am going to miss: cake, biscuits, fresh bread, take aways, ready meals, packaged soup… do you realise gluten is in everything? I cant go out for dinner, or grab a quick snack, everything has to be prepared in advance and taken with me. Restaurants have to be advised, checked, chosen specifically. I might as well go vegan, the amount of hassle this is going to be.

I don’t do hassle very well.

Atall.

But then im hoping that all this cleaning up might also help get rid of the squidgy tummy thats been disturbing me lately (yes its true, there is no controlling it after 30) and also help me give up the cigs too and get me back out for that run.

I’m going to be the most boring person on the planet.

And that my friends is what you call the end of my life.

I need advice, support and whatever else you can find out there in the big old internets to help and quickly. Before i become a hermit bemoaning the loss of the old me.

Kxx

Cat food and ready meals in the supermarket trolley, being able to sleep diagonally in a king size bed. Reading a book in the bath, candles, cushions, fairly lights. Underwear never seen apart from in the washing machine. Tagging along, trying to be young, Topshop skinnys and Kate Moss lines which fit. Joining a gym, pounding the streets for the perfect pick up figure. Of monthly haircuts, manicures, Rodial Bum Lift, St Tropez, deep cleanser, razors and hedge trimmers. Late nights in dodgy bars, nicknames in phones, match.com, okcupid, eharmony, adultfriendfinder. The sympathy vote, the spare friend, no plus one. Chick flicks, wine, tequila, eyeliner, eyeshadow, the next biggest mascara launch. 4 inch heals.

or…

A house with 3 bedrooms, a dining table and school work and le cruset pots and pans, 2 cars on the drive (one being a mondeo), of dvd rental services being your top page visits on Google chrome. Argos, John Lewis, wedding lists, sensible shoes, Juicy Couture and designer nappy bags. Paying for Sky Sports, drinking beer at home, family bbq’s, beach holidays, charter flights. An office for him and a craft room for me. Endless Sunday’s squeezing the last out of the weekend. Monday hangovers as you never want to give in. Credit cards, store cards, discount cards, points cards. His and her’s email address. His and her’s bank account. joandpete. daveandclaire. andrewandpaul.

Someone once told me, most relationships get back together because people miss routine.

Choice. There is always choice.

But no one has told me which one….

Kx

Packing up my emotions into boxes and storing them away in deep dark recesses is something i’ve become particularly good at over the years.

But that’s normal, we all have a lot of baggage we try our hardest not to carry over into our next relationship; even if (like me) your break ups have been relatively simple, there is always some residue left over – maybe because he once described you as a size bigger than you are (or more embarrassingly, the reverse for men). These things stay with you for a long time.

But emotional baggage isn’t restricted to well, emotions, baggage can also be physical, those physical reminders that you still carry with you – a house, a ring, a box of letters, photos, (or for me, a photo under the bed that the kitten keeps dragging out however many times I hide it) – things you know you should have shredded, thrown away, buried or left behind a long time ago.

Love can die, but be careful, a banana skin is sitting sneakily around the corner, cleverly disguised as a box of letters.

Last night as I began to clear my out my life ready for the move, I found that box of letters, photos, tickets, vip passes, diaries. Then I looked at the engagement ring I still wear and the shoes I wore to that date, and the books he introduced me to and listened to the music that makes me cry and I thought, if I had none of this surrounding me, where would I be now? Who would I be now?

And then I thought that carrying some of this baggage with me is my way of never having to look back; the potential banana skins prove I’m still alive. And that I decided was a good thing. You can move on too much sometimes…

Kx

(…if you want to read the previous post, which is a little sensitive then give me a shout, as this is a kind of follow on…just email or twitter me…links at the top)

So, today i made a big decision. It’s not yet all signed, sealed and delivered, but its a huge step forward, however you look at it.

Basically, over the past few weeks since the Boy left me i have taken a serious look at myself. It honestly needed to be done, this ain’t some airy fairy philosophy everyone needs to stop and take a good look at themselves type post. It’s a ‘shit girl its time to get rid of that baggage you’ve been lugging round with you, it seriously doing you no good’ one instead. Ok, enough of the Rikki Lake style chat, all you need to know is that my life has needed a serious clean up for a while.

In black and white – I’m still married to one man, live in the house i own with another and on the verge of getting back with a third.

Yes, that’s right messy.

Very messy.

(have you read the last post yet… time to do so if you haven’t…)

Right, if you are all caught up, then ok, so i made the decision to let Long-Term Ex (LTE) buy me out of the house we own together. The story is that LTE wants to get married and me living in his house cant be good for the fiance’s nerves. (come on how would you like it?).

I could have either sat on my investment for the next 2 years (until our mortgage deal is up) and be a total be-atch, holding out for more cash. Or i could take the money and run, let him be and get on with my life with a clean sharp break.

I know which i prefer.

So, that’s it. It’s looking like i’m moving in 6 weeks time, back to the bachelorette pad closer to town. A new start, a fresh start and the best bit… the money means that i will now be totally and utterly debt free (even my student loan will be gone). At 31. Ok, I’ve no big house, but ill have my little pad, i’m starting a degree, i’ve still got a good job…there is light it seems at the end of this tunnel.

Next step – getting that divorce. But one step at a time…

As i said, cleaning out my closet.

Kxx