I amaze myself sometimes. When things are bad I have a brilliant ability of making them that little bit worse. Take my relationship. I've got a brilliant boyfriend who is supporting me 100% both financially and emotionally as I lie about in my pajamas watching bad tv and wallowing in self pity. I'm a lucky girl. Not enough it seems, I've become fanatically obsessed with ideals of Romance and wishing that he would sweep me off my feet in some loud and garish romantic gesture. The truth is I think I embarass him slightly. I think my greed for need is getting too much for him to handle. I need constant reaffirmation of his love for me.
Thing is i've always been like this, I honestly think that a normal relationship is full of love letters, romantic weekends away, huge declarations of love and the knowledge that you are the centre of their universe. I think the last point is the one I really care about, I"m an egomaniac, I want to think that life without me would not be worth living. (This probably comes as no shock seeing as I have started writing detailed accounts of my life in a public space - you can't get much vainer than that) I know it's selfish but I don't care. It's like widowers who are told by their friends to move on with their life and start dating, "he/she would have wanted you to be happy". I wouldn't. I want my husband to mourn me with graveside vigils. Again I know it's selfish. But surely love is the one thing that we all want.
I've always been a dreamer, I think that's why I like reading books, there's always a happy ending. Someone always conceeds to ensure that the protagonist completes his mission, gets the girl, lives happily ever after. I see my life as the search for the happy ever after and I know what I want, a simple life, workinfg hard on an island in the sun. Everyone says it's a dream but it's not it's easy, you make the choice and you do it. There's absolutely nothing stopping me. Apart from the boyfriend. I'm quite happy to move my entire life on a whim and if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. No biggy. But that's the fantasist again.
Isn't love enough?
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Boredom and Meaning
So today is the second day of the third week of unemployment since the wankers of the TV company decided it wasn't working out. Having knocked my arrogance somewhat I've now resigned myself to lie-ins, My Super Sweet 16 and pressing refresh on the pitiful employment sites that promise to rectify my biggest problem: how to pay my rent.
But things, as usual are never easy so being in a credit crunch there is literally no work. Nada. Not even a crappy temp job in a starched shirt lifeless office. It's absolutely outrageous! I have a degree, 10 GCSES, 4 A-levels, 5 years of industry experience and I speak three languages and what do I get aside from student loan debt? Not even a shit data entry job. It's so inane it's almost poetic.
I have however, perfected the art of being a couch potato, so much show that I'm convinced I'm developing DVT or will end up like the fat people you see on Jerry Springer, covered in bed sores and wrapped in a bed sheet, having burst their clothes at the seams and become encrusted on the sofa. eurghhh it's happening I swear, slowly but surely Im growing.
Today's saga was trying to figure out which pervert has been sending me sexually explicit and downright disgusting text messages as well as 3am booty calls. At first I thought it was a prank from a stranger but the texts named me which weirded me out. Anyway after the kind of sleuth work that would have Columbo choking on his cigar, with his eyes wide open for once, (see, daytime telly is teaching me a plethora of useful life skills) I discovered it was my ex boyfriend's old and lechy friend. This isn't an 18 year old kid, it's a man in his forties. What would have been funny to a spotty, pubescent teenager, comes across as tragically pathetic when a man in his forties has to amuse himself by texting filth to a girl who is literally old enough to be his daughter. Sick fucker.
After that drama my day quietened down, with my only worries (apart from the huge no job no money saga) being how to find a new housemate, what to do if no new housemate was found, where to disappear for a cheap week in the sun, how to justify being able to afford a cheap week in the sun when rent's going to be an act of god.
Boyfriend's snoring is irritating me. You don't see this in love stories, bed time is always a romantically peaceful affair where the beautifully perfect couple fall asleep in each others arms. In my relationship our backs are turned as soon as possible to avoid dead arm syndrome. The only contact we have whilst we sleep is the loving sharp kick to the shins we inflict on each other to put an end to the snoring. Ahhhh domestic bliss...
But things, as usual are never easy so being in a credit crunch there is literally no work. Nada. Not even a crappy temp job in a starched shirt lifeless office. It's absolutely outrageous! I have a degree, 10 GCSES, 4 A-levels, 5 years of industry experience and I speak three languages and what do I get aside from student loan debt? Not even a shit data entry job. It's so inane it's almost poetic.
I have however, perfected the art of being a couch potato, so much show that I'm convinced I'm developing DVT or will end up like the fat people you see on Jerry Springer, covered in bed sores and wrapped in a bed sheet, having burst their clothes at the seams and become encrusted on the sofa. eurghhh it's happening I swear, slowly but surely Im growing.
Today's saga was trying to figure out which pervert has been sending me sexually explicit and downright disgusting text messages as well as 3am booty calls. At first I thought it was a prank from a stranger but the texts named me which weirded me out. Anyway after the kind of sleuth work that would have Columbo choking on his cigar, with his eyes wide open for once, (see, daytime telly is teaching me a plethora of useful life skills) I discovered it was my ex boyfriend's old and lechy friend. This isn't an 18 year old kid, it's a man in his forties. What would have been funny to a spotty, pubescent teenager, comes across as tragically pathetic when a man in his forties has to amuse himself by texting filth to a girl who is literally old enough to be his daughter. Sick fucker.
After that drama my day quietened down, with my only worries (apart from the huge no job no money saga) being how to find a new housemate, what to do if no new housemate was found, where to disappear for a cheap week in the sun, how to justify being able to afford a cheap week in the sun when rent's going to be an act of god.
Boyfriend's snoring is irritating me. You don't see this in love stories, bed time is always a romantically peaceful affair where the beautifully perfect couple fall asleep in each others arms. In my relationship our backs are turned as soon as possible to avoid dead arm syndrome. The only contact we have whilst we sleep is the loving sharp kick to the shins we inflict on each other to put an end to the snoring. Ahhhh domestic bliss...
Sunday, 9 November 2008
And here we go...
Writing is allegedly cathartic
To give an unbiased, honest version of events is these days nigh on impossible. I'm sure I read somewhere that when recounting a story everyone lies. Our memories, fed by Hollywood Blockbusters and playground one-up-manship, naturally embellish what's really the dull truth to give our stories colour and resonance. So we're all great big whopping liars.
I'm hoping this blog can be a space where I can spill my heart, giving free reign to every single emotion, thought and episode that makes my life so hard to deal with. Just another nameless blog, in a sea of self-promotion and self-pity. I should fit right in.
I don't care that there'll be no reader, in fact I think I probably laud that fact. So why do i put it on a public domain? Because I want to think that somewhere out there somebody will read this and by finding this will find my soul, because after a lot of searching I'm still none the wiser.
So let's start with a few facts, the mise en scene if you will of my life. I'm a girl, not a woman or a lady, in her mid to late twenties, living in London with her boyfriend of four years. I "work" and more often don't work in the media, feeling everyday like a fraud whose days are numbered.
I'm possibly and probably suffering from a bout of depression but being stubborn and proud am too scared to visit a doctor and be diagnosed as abnormal.
I'm ambitious without being realistic and am a victim of my own idealism, disgustingly romantic and of the belief that something will become of my life and I deserve to escape the doldrum that everyone else is willing to settle for. I'm insatiably optimistic but that's now starting to fade.
I want answers but I don't know the questions.
To give an unbiased, honest version of events is these days nigh on impossible. I'm sure I read somewhere that when recounting a story everyone lies. Our memories, fed by Hollywood Blockbusters and playground one-up-manship, naturally embellish what's really the dull truth to give our stories colour and resonance. So we're all great big whopping liars.
I'm hoping this blog can be a space where I can spill my heart, giving free reign to every single emotion, thought and episode that makes my life so hard to deal with. Just another nameless blog, in a sea of self-promotion and self-pity. I should fit right in.
I don't care that there'll be no reader, in fact I think I probably laud that fact. So why do i put it on a public domain? Because I want to think that somewhere out there somebody will read this and by finding this will find my soul, because after a lot of searching I'm still none the wiser.
So let's start with a few facts, the mise en scene if you will of my life. I'm a girl, not a woman or a lady, in her mid to late twenties, living in London with her boyfriend of four years. I "work" and more often don't work in the media, feeling everyday like a fraud whose days are numbered.
I'm possibly and probably suffering from a bout of depression but being stubborn and proud am too scared to visit a doctor and be diagnosed as abnormal.
I'm ambitious without being realistic and am a victim of my own idealism, disgustingly romantic and of the belief that something will become of my life and I deserve to escape the doldrum that everyone else is willing to settle for. I'm insatiably optimistic but that's now starting to fade.
I want answers but I don't know the questions.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)