Long Time No See

Hello, I suppose the title is relevant.
It's not that I've been avoiding you, sometimes it's more like I'm avoiding me.
It always seems to start between us with "Long Time No See"
And then escalates into this mess
So we just start again
Over. And Over. And Over.
We could keep doing this until we're 30
One of us will cop off with someone else and the other will be left wishing
Like we always are.

I'm late.

I was supposed to be at work 10 minutes ago.
Shame my parents have just gone out and forgotten really.
Shame it's a 20 minute drive away.
Shame I won't get dinner again, because, surprise surprise, there's no food around.
Shame my boss is grumpy enough anyway, and now I'm going to deal with an even worse mood for 6 hours, if I ever get there.
The last 8 days have been so confusing. I feel like my head's screwed on backwards and upside down.
I hate men.
They all lie to win over eachother and pinch the girls their friends like and manipulate things and bitch and get you drunk to try their luck. Every fucking one of them.
I'm so angry.
Also, I hallucinated the other night and thought I was kissing the devil.
Goodbye sanity.

Happy Wednesday

As days go, I'm liking this one a fair amount.
Maths is over, thus stress is over.
I'm wandering around in a tshirt and a pair of boxers, gradually working my way through a tub of Ben and Jerry's.
I opened a carton of soup for lunch, didn't realise how much soup there actually was, and my sister forced me to drink the entire 600ml of tomatoey mush, thus consuming 4 of my 5 a day.
And I terrorised my mother by sliding my nose piercing in and out, making her squirm.
I have a good playlist on, it's sunny, what's to be sad about?
Short, and sweet.

Dear Friend.

Yesterday I broke your heart. And inadvertently, without realising it at the time, I broke mine too. And now you hate me, and all I want is to have you back. I didn't realise exactly how much you meant to me, and how much I needed you, until I let you go.
But I can't find it in myself to ask for you back. It seems too cruel.
Because a few months down the line I'll be gone, and this would just happen all over again.
And I can't do that.
You won't even read this, but I just needed to say that I miss you.
And I'm so, so sorry.

A short bit of fiction perhaps...

The ground is hard, but not cold.
Individual shards of road leave their marks on the soles of her feet, mapping her way home. She sways slightly on the pavement, still a little affected by the evening that lays behind her, shoes swinging freely from her nonchalant fingers. The air is still, the sky is partially lightened, the promise of a beautiful day lingers. It is the type of morning that drunkenly emancipated musicians have strummed about for decades and will sing of for years and centuries and millennia to come.
And yet she is blissfully unaware.
Unaware of the gravel worn grooves in her feet, of the slight dampness in her ruffled hair, of the red wine stain kissing her collar. Aware only of the palpable tension inside her head, of the drink-tinged confusion, of the running, the chase, the loss and the reflection. It follows her everywhere. It drags heavy footsteps behind her, watches her shallow breath trickle through her chest, watching it rise and fall through the loose cotton of her clothing. It watches her sleep, wraps itself around her whilst she showers, caressing her skin and worming its way into her damp knotted hair. It descends the stairs on her shoulders, slowly tightening its grip around her slender neck by the minute. It taints every photograph, every memory, every sighting, every familiar song and every significant date. And yet, it's the only thing that ever stays.
The warm summer morning holds such joy for so many, a few houses down a small child stirs somewhere, a young man lies content, watching his sleeping wife, an old man lies smiling warm in his bed, and the sun hits the roofs of the houses and the cars, making them gleam and glimmer as if they were glassy pebbles amongst cascading spring water. Days that begin this way are special indeed.
And Emily and Loneliness walk hand in hand back to whatever sad universe tomorrow holds.

Friday to Sunday.

If he breaks your heart

I will break his legs
If he takes the piss
I will break his face
If he fucks it up
I will kill him stone cold dead
If he breaks your heart
Will I stand a chance?

I've been listening to this all weekend. It's called "If he breaks your heart" by Jeremy Warmsley and its heartbreakingly beautiful, especially once you look up the lyrics (he doesn't annunciate marvellously at points, but its gorgeous nevertheless.) It's struck a chord with me, for some reason or another.

This weekend varied in good-ness (crude wording, but whatever.) I jollied off to Lakeside with my mother and sister on Friday (prompting the frequent use of the "What's an Essex girl's favourite wine/whine?" "I wanna go Lakesiiiiiide" by my ever witty father) to pick my sister out a prom dress (she's approaching the end of year 11.) As strange as it may seem, I really enjoy "road-trips" to infrequently / never before visited locations. I like to travel unfamiliar roads and stuff, and I took a little video of the motorway, and photos of my feet, and the back of my sisters chair, and things like that. Just because it kept me amused. On the whole it was a good day, asides from being a little dull waiting for Helen to try things on (see the bored child below - I was admiring my new sandals in a pathetic vain girly way) and the fact that we had pizza for lunch and I'm lactose intolerant so felt unwell for about 2 hours afterwards.However, I saw someone (who shall remain unnamed) that I didn't expect to see just as we were leaving Lakeside. And as per usual, he either didn't see me or ignored my presence. And as per usual, it ruined my day. Its funny how you force your life to move on from something, and then the smallest thing like that can make you feel so tiny and insignificant, the way it always does, and you fear it always will. And just like that, a seemingly good day turned into a sad one, and there was nothing I could do to make it better. However, I was mildly cheered up on the way home buy this gem on the M25...

My mother suggested that instead his numberplate should have been "TO55A" as he drove like one, but she did accelerate when asked so that I could photograph the numberplate from a close-up range, probably out of guilt for yelling at me because I jokingly asked if I could try some crazy shoes on whilst waiting for my sister...

SATURDAY
Was nothing special.

It started by having allergic reaction to some fake tan at my first saturday job, the soap shop LUSH. It looked lovely and brown on my arm, until all of a sudden it started to burn, and my arm went all red and lumpy. Not so "summer sexy." Then I met my sister when I finished work, and we went and sat by the River Chelmer and ate chinese and enjoyed the sun. And I mockingly threw a sandwich into the river, and then accidentally did, so climbed over the wooden rail to carefully get it back as I was afraid that a duck might try and eat the sandwich, and choke on the plastic wrapper, and in the process got some nasty nettle stings that are still on my lower legs now (I'm writing this on a sunday evening...) Me and Helen don't really hang out much outside of the house, especially not without fighting, so it was nice to spend time together and laugh lots and discover that our chinese containers were microwaveable, silly things like that. Then I went back to work, at my second job (I'm a barmaid.) That was less dull than usual, I left on time (ish) and went home to do a quick ink and water drawing of my sister for my art coursework. As I said, nothing special.

SUNDAY
It started, and will inevitably end with tears.

Hysterical, uncontrolled sobbing at the breakfast table, fortunately without any siblings present, just two concerned parents and a mess that vaguely resembled me.
It happens now and again, I just let everything out, because I've lost the ability to cry. I mean, of course I cry every now and then, I shed a small tear at a film or something trivial, but i can't REALLY cry about it. And this morning I did. Because I was sad, and lonely, and angry. About so many things I couldn't even begin to explain to the two confused adults sat across the kitchen from me. Then I went to work, and got steadily drunker as the afternoon progressed, but not in a bad way. There was live music on at the pub, and everyone seemed cheerful, and there was no place for my sadness, so I put it in a box and got on with it, sometimes you just have to.

dying rose.

It is what it is.
I just liked this particular photo, and the way the dying white rose contrasts with the other flowers around it. No fancy wording, just liked the image. Now I just have to find some way of linking my mother's dying vase of flowers to my art project...

Next Year

So, this year has been spent mainly thinking about next year, which is ironic in a way because by planning next year in such great detail we have all argubly lost a year in the process. I'm pretty much sorted, as are most people, which is great because its one less thing to worry about. But at the same time I really don't want it to come. Of course I can't wait to move on with my life and put myself out there, its inevitable and a rite of passage of sorts, but everytime I think about all the people I'm not going to see every day it tears me apart a little. Perhaps because of the lack of security, or the fear of the unknown, going somewhere where I know absolutely noone, but I just don't feel ready to let go of what I've got right here yet.

It's so easy to say "Oh yeah of course we'll stay in touch" or "We're in the same city, we'll be just as close," but how easy is it going to be to keep up with that. Several of my friends are going to the same university, and I envy them that because they'll be able to stay just as close, and see each other every day or every other day if they want to. I don't really have that luxury, as I'm living at home next year, and deep down I'm just a little bit terrified of going off to this strange place every day and not fitting in, and being unbearably lonely. Undeniably everything is going to change next year, some things in a good way and some things perhaps not. I'm in a long-term relationship and I have absolutely no idea whether its going to work out, and I think that whatever happens, there is no stopping the fact that at some point at least one, if not both of us is going to get hurt in some way, if only by the separation.

But for now, I just hope that I can spend the summer making the most of every minute with the friends I have at the moment, because as much as none of us want to think about it, for some of us it may be the last time we spend a lot of time all together. And that's what gets me. There are certain individuals who the thought of not seeing on a regular basis really gets to me. But in a wau I guess I'm just incredibly lucky to have found friends that I feel that way about.

Shit.

Is something I'm entirely full of.
I was thinking about this earlier.
People ask me for advice every now and then, and I'll happily give it, but I'm a complete hypocrite because I'd never follow it myself, even if I do think its the best thing to do.
But who actually does?
At the end of the day I think I'm just lying to myself in the same way that I lie to everyone else when they ask whats on my mind. Because there are plenty of things that I simply don't want to think about any more, and yet do regardless. Whether that makes me more full of shit than everyone else, I don't know.

Friday.

This is a loving depiction (literally a 5 minute doodle, I couldn't even be bothered to colour it in properly) of the car I drive about (only as a learner sadly.) It's my mum's, and doesn't look half as bad as I've drawn it, this shows the inside out. Me and my sister call it the pigeon. Why? Because its grey and shitty. The gear box is intermittent, the wing mirrors move inwards as your journey progresses, and the clutch bite point changes when it feels like it (according to my dad this is because one of the metal brackets holding the clutch in place bends in and out freely (a comforting thought.) But I actually love this car, in a strange way. I've gotten used to driving it, and I love it now. It's like a friend, of the grey, metallic, vehicular sort.
ALSO.
What's with the new facebook layout? I'd only just about got to grips with the old one, then all of a sudden it changes. Mind you I'm a technophobe so it's a mean feat just managing to turn the computer on some days. I'm proud to say I'm better at the whole computer thing than my nan though, so I'm succeeding on that front, if you count being more technologically able than a 73 year old woman as a success...

The Rut

I've posted so many blogs today. I just have a lot that I want to say I guess. I don't think it's helped that I haven't been to school since Monday, I've been cooped up all alone asides from two visits to the doctor to dicuss my sex life (which turns out to be totally unrelated to what's wrong with me anyway.) But maybe its being alone thats left me to think so much, with noone to talk to my brain goes a little over-crazy sometimes.
I have been in a wonderful relationship for 8 months and 1 day now. I wouldn't change a second of it and I love the guy I'm with with all my heart. His name's Sam by the way. But I do worry about getting stuck in a rut. About getting too comfortable with each other and ending up in a routine relationship and just accepting it. Don't get me wrong there's nothing really wrong with that, but I often wonder if these things just get to a point where you're only together for the sake of it, you say "Goodnight, I love you," but its just empty words based on a routine. I'm not saying that this is what my relationship is like, at all. I just worry that maybe one day it will be. From an outside perspective that is what marriage looks like to me. What it all boils down to is that I struggle to imagine being with someone for that long (I'm talking decades) and just staying with them, and every day being different. Maybe its just a naiive perspective, but I swear that every married couple just stays in, does the same thing day in, day out, maybe has a bottle of wine and watches X factor on a Saturday night but doesn't do anything that furthers their relationship. Maybe it gets to a stage where you don't need to. Where the love you feel is so unconditional that nothing challenges it. Or maybe you just settle into the aforementioned routine. I guess we'll see. (I'll reblog on the subject when i'm 40.)

Ribena.

is the best drink ever. You'd think having just turned 18 I'd say something like Fosters (don't get me wrong I'm a huge huge fan, despite some argument) but nahh. I actually don't like drinking that much any more. I almost feel like I've outgrown it a bit, which is weird. I mean, if I go out and don't drink it's not a big deal, but if I don't have at least 2 cartons of Ribena a day, I just don't function properly.
Does that count as addiction? If so, at what point does it become unhealthy? It's full of antioxidants (what actually are they?) and it's not like smoking, I don't think you can get Ribena-related cancer.
Or can you? It might have aspartane or something in it, and according to the Daily Mail pretty much everything you lay your eyes on nowadays is going to give you terminal cancer any minute now.
It makes me so mad.
I think of all the people that come into Lush (one of the places I work) and grill me on how much we use something called Parabens (preservatives) because they've read all these scare stories on how if they use anything with even the slightest hint of a Paraben in they're going to drop down dead. It's stupid really, because I then have to talk them through the fact that if there are any parabens used, there's less than 0.01% used in the product, and the ones we use (Methylparabens, Propylparabens) have been around since the 1930s, and there have been no news scandals to date about human deformation or fatality due to it, so why bother frightening the british public??
ANYWAY. The point is, I reckon I'll have had too much Ribena if I turn into a giant blackcurrant, with skin the same colour as my hair. But until then I reckon I'm safe.

neon peek-a-boo

I messed with this one to make the colours brighter, it's just me mucking about with the playing card idea again (told you I'm hooked.)

Players

These use the playing card theme (I've really gotten into that so used it a few times) and links it to players. The point is, they're waiting for the right card, or guy or girl, to come up, and they'll just work their way through the pack, discarding other cards carelessly as they go.

This appeared in the weirdest way...

The blood and the card are a bit cartoony, and its a little bit scene-kid ish, but whatever :)
It was actually part inspired by an episode of Mr. Bean I saw the other day, when he has to throw darts into playing cards at a fun fair to win a prize (he cheats and wins a goldfish, but there's a hole in the bag, so he holds the fish in his mouth...)

"Hold your head up high. Let him admire what he lost."

"Do i miss you?"

So, something important about me. Drawing and doodling and painting is pretty much my life. Doodles like this one are just about venting what's inside really, they're not done to impress or amuse, they're just for me. And often they just depict what I'm thinking in that 5 minutes or half hour or whatever. But if I'm drawing for me, it's always from the heart, no exception.
What a load of bull, eh? :)

Lemon tea.

So, recently I decided to convince myself to like either tea or coffee. Why? Because as silly as it sounds I felt a little out of place in myself for not being "grown-up" enough to drink at least one of the two. When I was little I always saw it as something that grown-up people drank, and my dad always said "You'll like it when you're older, I got into tea and coffee when I was about 17."
I hit 17 last January and waited a little impatiently for this magical change to happen. It didn't.
It got to about November, by which point I was desperately trying the delights of Costa in the form of Creme Brulee and Gingerbread Lattes, and hating every sip (fortunately I stole most of those sips off of innocent coffee-loving friends, so I wasn't really at a loss.) So I forced tea upon myself about 2 weeks before I turned 18 (and was even sad enough to post pictures of said revelation on facebook.) 3 weeks later, and its not that disgusting any more.
But then I discovered lemon tea yesterday. Shit the bed (not literally.) It's amazing. I'm a convert. Now I just need to buy another jar...