Please tell me I'm not the only person in this world who isn't THAT bothered about it?
I feel so bloody alone at the moment it's untrue. It's all anyone seems to talk about and I'm just not interested. Of course I'm not gonna lie and say it's something I dislike or don't want - I'm a perfectly normal woman - I just have other things that make up my life too. Right now I seem to have a bunch of friends who never shut up about it and I'm starting to feel so out of place...to the point where I don't feel like I can talk to them anymore. Just for once I'd like a discussion with someone about something other than men with giant junk/porn/whatever so-and-so got up to at the weekend and all that jib-jab. I DON'T CARE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I ended up getting fed up last night whilst out and going home because two of my friends wouldn't shut up and think of something else to talk about. They started watching porn to laugh at on the computer and all sorts, then took the mick when I didn't join in with watching or laughing. If i want smut then I have access to it in my own head, thanks. What's wrong with those of us who prefer a lingering hug?
The stupid thing is that the only time I seem to be able to escape it is when I talk to the other half. I like being asked how my day was - just talking about other stuff - as opposed to being told about how someones dirty weekend was instead.
There seems to be no place in this world for those of us who have a low drive.
She danced around in fluttering dresses with her face painted in rosy hues: pinks, peaches and golds all blended and glowing along with shiny eyes under shimmering lids. She always enjoyed painting herself up to go out and dance in fine fabrics and sparkling gemstones.
The kettle clicked, drawing her away from visions of ballrooms and spinning, pulling her mind out of the old image stuck in a fading gold frame. The image that made her mind wander back to the past so freely. She gave a small sigh - taking one more glace at the photograph - before moving her slipper-clad feet over to the kitchen through puffs of steam trailing out and disappearing amongst the fading flowers of the wallpaper. It was the same every morning: up at 8.30, downstairs by 9, kettle on and photos gazed at until it clicked off and the water could be heard bubbling. Tea made and custard creams stacked on a saucer ready to be devoured in front of breakfast show presenters chuckling through the speakers of a small TV set in the corner of the room. She’d stay there until the early evening, when it was time to make dinner, only getting up to make another cup of tea or visit the ‘little girl’s’ room in between. Thursdays, however, were slightly different in routine. She’d wake up at the same time and stop downstairs with dancing, bright colours, fine gentleman and Billie Holiday filling her head until the water boiled, but would then dust and hoover the house along to her favourite records whilst waiting for her son to arrive with the shopping. She always made the house nice for him, just to try and get him to stay with her a while - he was the only company she ever had these days - even if he did like to lecture her. It was always the same thing: “You’ve lost all your friends”, “You’ll be forgotten about” and “Do you really want to be the weird woman with too many cats and not enough sanity?” She could see his logic but still hated the thought of setting foot outside. People don’t come back once they go out there: her husband, her other three children, the cat. If it wasn’t for a feeling of duty, she’d be sure that her son would rather not have to come back and visit her either. “Cats? Oh please, William, I’m far too creative to let that happen;” she’d joke “a rubber duck shall be my companion. A rubber duck in a bird cage.” Unfortunately, William managed to find a way to use this joke as another method of nagging. One morning she awoke and made her way downstairs only to find a dull steel cage hung up with a plastic duck placed inside and a note attached reading ‘this one has a built in radio, so you can make it seem like it’s talking back to you.’
(Note: Steal ANYTHING and I'll hunt you down, mo-fos!!!!!)
I'm getting so damn pissed off at myself lately because - when I try at least - I can put some really good things down on paper. I can express myself well, I know what I'm going to say and I know the effect I want it to have...but I can't fucking well do it when in a conversation!
OK so I don't exactly have the same time frame in which to think, or the capacity to edit when I'm just talking, but you'd think I'd be able to get out a vaguely eloquent sentence once and a while at the very least. I really do make myself feel like an idiot sometimes because I come out with the most stupid things, can't word anything properly, get the wrong tone or just stumble over my words completely.
I feel like I've made a complete twat out of myself today. I'm not going into why, but I just do. So many things in my head swirling, things I really wanted to say, but when it came to it I just couldn't get a sentence together...I don't even think I managed a proper word in one instance. Now if I sit here for a little while and think, I know for a fact I could type out everything perfectly. I could just go with that option, but that's not exactly going to get me through life now is it? Stand chatting with a group of people to be asked something then have to pause the conversation while I get my notebook out.
I do have genuine reasons as to why I'm crap at speaking, but after all the help I've gotten you think I'd be able to do something right by now. Get out a big word without fucking up, express myself without thinking I sound like a twat only to prove myself right.
I LOVE this advert at the moment. It's brilliant!!!!!
Shocking since puppets tend to freak me out.
Also made me want to watch this again...
So I guess it's blatantly obvious that I have far too much free time on my hands right now. I feel a bit lost to be honest. I do stuff - go out with friends, shop, go to gigs, hang out with family - but none of it is exactly worthwhile...at least it doesn't feel that way. I was supposed to be starting this whole exercise thing with a friend, but she's gone and got herself a new boyfriend so I won't be hearing from her for several months. My other friend has gone and got himself a boyfriend an will undoubtedly be following the same pattern. I have to find something to do...hmmmm...I could write, y'know, being a writer and all...but even that's tricky right now. The last bit of new material I came out with was for coursework at the end of uni.
Insomnia, alcohol, head shoved into someone else's boobs, balloons, exes, drunk type goings on, proposed girl-on-girl action, accidents, second hand smoke, kisses, bruises, cramps, arguments, too much information, tender moments, tears.
24 year old, mentally ill, bisexual, into fetish, loves shoes, hates early mornings, Graduate, comedy addict, laughs at anything, cries at anything, has the best friends anyone could ask for, has a boyfriend, has a dog, has no money, makes no sense.