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.

Posted on Friday, July 31, 2009 · 5 Comments 

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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

Posted on Monday, July 27, 2009 · 10 Comments 

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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

Posted on Friday, July 24, 2009 · 6 Comments 

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