Have been speaking to someone new on and off for a while; older. Seems sweet. He makes me smile when I speak to him. I don't know him well enough to say much more than that.
He invited me over to his place last night. Because I am interested in him, I declined. I'm bored of instant gratification.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Civilised Behaviour.
It was F2's birthday the other day:
"Happy birthday honey. xx"
"Thanks darling. xx"
I think that it what they call civilised. Ex Boy's birthday is a whole other matter; two days away, and I'm still at odds whether to ignore the event entirely, or to wish him well like I would do most years.
The difference between having loved someone, and having been fond of another: you debate for slightly longer over whether to contact the one you loved.
"Happy birthday honey. xx"
"Thanks darling. xx"
I think that it what they call civilised. Ex Boy's birthday is a whole other matter; two days away, and I'm still at odds whether to ignore the event entirely, or to wish him well like I would do most years.
The difference between having loved someone, and having been fond of another: you debate for slightly longer over whether to contact the one you loved.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
House Wife.
I've turned into quite the little house wife recently. Unable to engage in what I would normally, and feeling largely under par seems to have brought out my inner house whore.
In the last three months alone I have:
1. Picked lavender from the herbaceous border to make lavender bags.
2. Baked countless cakes, cookies, pies &c. Most recent victory includes lemon tart. After using 14 oz of sugar and 7 eggs to make it, I decided against a slice.
3. Spring cleaned my bedroom. This includes: filing every Tatler, Vogue, and Harper's I own in chronological order; clearing out everything that had taken place under my bed for the last five years (always a traumatic task); replacing old bedding with new lovely Cath Kidston bedding; categorizing my DVD collection by genres, and then into alphabetical order; then, finally, putting all loose photo's into appropriate albums.
4. Attempted to make my own rose perfume from manky old rose petals found in garden. Suffice to say, I didn't get far.
5. Made bread. From scratch.
6. Bought old fashioned cookery books.
7. Become obsessed with River Cottage. Such a useful programme.
8. Sorted out all my underwear. Mostly my collection from Agent Provocateur. It would appear I have quite a nasty habit for the stuff. A habit of about £5,000 worth. Most upset that the majority of it is yet to be seen by a boyfriend.
Tomorrow, I make jam. Strawberry and gooseberry.
P.S. I also bought peonies today.
In the last three months alone I have:
1. Picked lavender from the herbaceous border to make lavender bags.
2. Baked countless cakes, cookies, pies &c. Most recent victory includes lemon tart. After using 14 oz of sugar and 7 eggs to make it, I decided against a slice.
3. Spring cleaned my bedroom. This includes: filing every Tatler, Vogue, and Harper's I own in chronological order; clearing out everything that had taken place under my bed for the last five years (always a traumatic task); replacing old bedding with new lovely Cath Kidston bedding; categorizing my DVD collection by genres, and then into alphabetical order; then, finally, putting all loose photo's into appropriate albums.
4. Attempted to make my own rose perfume from manky old rose petals found in garden. Suffice to say, I didn't get far.
5. Made bread. From scratch.
6. Bought old fashioned cookery books.
7. Become obsessed with River Cottage. Such a useful programme.
8. Sorted out all my underwear. Mostly my collection from Agent Provocateur. It would appear I have quite a nasty habit for the stuff. A habit of about £5,000 worth. Most upset that the majority of it is yet to be seen by a boyfriend.
Tomorrow, I make jam. Strawberry and gooseberry.
P.S. I also bought peonies today.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Inappropriate Shag Victim.
I had the most inappropriate dream about our family handyman last night. I don't know his exact age, but, I'd wager early fifties. He has been doing odd jobs for my parents since I was about 6, and whilst I have never thought about him sexually before, I have always appreciated that he is a good looking older man. Fast forward 24 hours, and said handyman has gone from being good looking older man, to current sexual fantasy.
The dream:
Hazy upon play back now, but, the details I remember involve myself, and a girlfriend of mine (fictional, and without a name) teasing said handyman. Then, handyman and me got it on. He appeared to be forbidden fruit to me in the dream; which only made it all the more sexy. He was very sweet in the dream. Sexy, and a very good kisser.
For about an hour after waking, I contemplated finding his number. Then, I remembered he was a) married b) he had children, and c) substantially older than me. Boring. Would no doubt end in disaster. Could do with some fun at the moment though. Could also do with a sexy older man.
Worryingly, the dream is one in a long line to feature an Inappropriate Shag Victim. On Sunday, it was Ross Kemp. Clearly, I need to get laid.
The dream:
Hazy upon play back now, but, the details I remember involve myself, and a girlfriend of mine (fictional, and without a name) teasing said handyman. Then, handyman and me got it on. He appeared to be forbidden fruit to me in the dream; which only made it all the more sexy. He was very sweet in the dream. Sexy, and a very good kisser.
For about an hour after waking, I contemplated finding his number. Then, I remembered he was a) married b) he had children, and c) substantially older than me. Boring. Would no doubt end in disaster. Could do with some fun at the moment though. Could also do with a sexy older man.
Worryingly, the dream is one in a long line to feature an Inappropriate Shag Victim. On Sunday, it was Ross Kemp. Clearly, I need to get laid.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
'Round Midnight
I can’t sleep: It’s one o clock in the morning, and I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep since October. I’ve tried everything: relaxing baths before bed time, not watching TV, herbal tea, reading light fiction, counting sheep, lavender on my pillow; hell I’ve even invested in a sound machine. Yet, I know none of it is going to help me, for, they cannot give me what I want; what I need. I’ve felt it for a while, but I haven’t wanted to admit to it, to friends, or, even worse to myself: I miss having someone to sleep beside.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
A word count of seven hundred words. All purely fiction of course.
I wrote this for The Guardians Experience a few months ago:
It’s often been said that as a girl, the most important relationship you will ever have with a man, is the one you have with your Father. Psychologists have even said that the first feelings of love a little girl feels for her Father will be the most important of her life, and that they are integral in shaping and affecting the relationships she will have in the future. I don’t know what this says for me, as I have never had a relationship with my Dad; not because I was a child from a divorced family, nor was he robbed from me by some cruel, untreatable illness.
The youngest of three, and the only girl in the family, I always felt an outsider. Never sure whether to be one of the boys, or a Daddies girl, I often tried anything to feel accepted.
It wasn’t really until I arrived at middle school that I realised my Father wasn’t normal. At home time, I would often go around to a friend’s house for dinner. I’d assumed as a little girl that Fathers just didn’t have relationships with their Daughters - I’d always been taught by mine that little girls were to be seen and not heard. But, when I saw the happy family life that my friends had, and how they had love from both parents in equal measure, I began to ask my Mum questions. Answers were never given, just words that – even as a child – I knew were being sugar-coated to save me from asking them endlessly.
Parent’s evenings would come and go. So too would school fetes, special assemblies and away games. Medals were won. Certificates were achieved. Gold stars were given, and school photos were taken. All were apparently milestones in my life. But none of them were ever acknowledged by my Dad, or were enough to make him love me.
Over the next twenty years my relationship with my Father was non existent. After I graduated from University I gave up entirely on trying to understand him, or to try and find ways to fix him, and make him into the kind of Dad my friends had. Following a string of abusive relationships -that all seemed to follow the same pattern -I decided, in 2000 to leave Britain, and start a career and a new life for myself in America.
After three years in L.A I managed to put my English degree to good use, and finally found a publisher who signed my first book. After that, things happened pretty fast, and the years surrounding that time are a blur. My career took off, with the book receiving critical acclaim across the world, meaning my life became a whir of book signings, press junkets, meetings, and interviews. However all were merely distractions from the huge empty whole I felt that my life really was.
Since I’d put an ocean between myself and my Mother, I began to resent her hugely for never leaving my Dad, and never giving me the chance to feel the safety or comfort of having a normal male role model. Because of this, and the fact I blamed her for the – by now – countless abusive relationships I had been involved in, our relationship remained tentative up until the point she passed away in 2004. Her death hit me hard, and made me re-evaluate the path I was on, and the life I had made for myself; for the first time, I owned up to myself how unhappy I felt, and decided to see a counsellor.
At first, I felt the experience to be a complete waste of time, and couldn’t see how talking to a stranger about my Father would ever benefit me. Eventually though, I started to realise that I wasn’t to blame. The mix of frustration and guilt I had felt wrapped around my body slowly started to loosen. It took a while, but two years later I met a lovely man, who slowly restored my faith in men, and we now have two beautiful children. He is a wonderful Father to them, and seeing how much they adore him banishes any last embers of sadness that flickered inside me.
It’s often been said that as a girl, the most important relationship you will ever have with a man, is the one you have with your Father. Psychologists have even said that the first feelings of love a little girl feels for her Father will be the most important of her life, and that they are integral in shaping and affecting the relationships she will have in the future. I don’t know what this says for me, as I have never had a relationship with my Dad; not because I was a child from a divorced family, nor was he robbed from me by some cruel, untreatable illness.
The youngest of three, and the only girl in the family, I always felt an outsider. Never sure whether to be one of the boys, or a Daddies girl, I often tried anything to feel accepted.
It wasn’t really until I arrived at middle school that I realised my Father wasn’t normal. At home time, I would often go around to a friend’s house for dinner. I’d assumed as a little girl that Fathers just didn’t have relationships with their Daughters - I’d always been taught by mine that little girls were to be seen and not heard. But, when I saw the happy family life that my friends had, and how they had love from both parents in equal measure, I began to ask my Mum questions. Answers were never given, just words that – even as a child – I knew were being sugar-coated to save me from asking them endlessly.
Parent’s evenings would come and go. So too would school fetes, special assemblies and away games. Medals were won. Certificates were achieved. Gold stars were given, and school photos were taken. All were apparently milestones in my life. But none of them were ever acknowledged by my Dad, or were enough to make him love me.
Over the next twenty years my relationship with my Father was non existent. After I graduated from University I gave up entirely on trying to understand him, or to try and find ways to fix him, and make him into the kind of Dad my friends had. Following a string of abusive relationships -that all seemed to follow the same pattern -I decided, in 2000 to leave Britain, and start a career and a new life for myself in America.
After three years in L.A I managed to put my English degree to good use, and finally found a publisher who signed my first book. After that, things happened pretty fast, and the years surrounding that time are a blur. My career took off, with the book receiving critical acclaim across the world, meaning my life became a whir of book signings, press junkets, meetings, and interviews. However all were merely distractions from the huge empty whole I felt that my life really was.
Since I’d put an ocean between myself and my Mother, I began to resent her hugely for never leaving my Dad, and never giving me the chance to feel the safety or comfort of having a normal male role model. Because of this, and the fact I blamed her for the – by now – countless abusive relationships I had been involved in, our relationship remained tentative up until the point she passed away in 2004. Her death hit me hard, and made me re-evaluate the path I was on, and the life I had made for myself; for the first time, I owned up to myself how unhappy I felt, and decided to see a counsellor.
At first, I felt the experience to be a complete waste of time, and couldn’t see how talking to a stranger about my Father would ever benefit me. Eventually though, I started to realise that I wasn’t to blame. The mix of frustration and guilt I had felt wrapped around my body slowly started to loosen. It took a while, but two years later I met a lovely man, who slowly restored my faith in men, and we now have two beautiful children. He is a wonderful Father to them, and seeing how much they adore him banishes any last embers of sadness that flickered inside me.
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