Diary Of A Redhead

[mylolita]

21 hours ago, itsallgrand said:

Did you get your soak in the tub?! 

That's my plan for the evening shortly. Hope you get your big soak in too!! 

Showers..bah. Firm fellow bath lover here. 

I did itsall! 
 

I always do in the end 🥲😉

 

The best people prefer baths! Ha!!!

 

x

[mylolita]

I have to have a dream. I have to be exercising some kind of wish, aspiration, goal. It has to be big as well or I’m not coveting it.

 

I also have come to notice I visualise - all the time. If I am not visualising something vividly, it’s not happening. I can visualise something in complete sound smell and detail for years. This something is always an aspiration - a dream, a want, a passion.

 

I was 22. I would go through the motions of my spruce up and pamper routine every morning before starting work at the estate agents. We were living in a stylish two story Georgian apartment bang in the middle of a cobbled, affluent, chocolate box, Georgian high street. Sash wooden windows, planted ancient cherry trees lined the road. Town hall clock illuminated peacefully on a night. Trendy bars, sophisticated restaurants. The office was 7 doors down from our apartment.

 

I would lay there, in the bath - sit there, on the loo, and imagine myself living in a grand, big, old house. I would envisage the bath of my dreams. It was always somewhere unconventional and very boushy. A big part of this vision was not working. I imagined being free, having plenty of money. I imagined starting a family. I used to see myself opening double French doors out onto a stone patio, a gorgeous ornate high topped bath stood right there in front of those doors. I could feel the linen nets billowing across the floor. 
 

3 years later, I was shaking the hand of the ex owner of my now big, glamorous, Georgian town house, and within another year I had a roll top William & Holland copper bathtub smack right there in our quite stately bedroom. I was 25, I didn’t work anymore, and I spent my time adoring and caressing that house, filling it with whatever I could get my paws on that fit my whims dreams and desires. At 27 I was pregnant with my boy. I drove a luxury sports car, I was surrounded by art and highly crafted antique furniture. I cooked in the kitchen of my dreams. I still complained. Let’s get this straight. But it didn’t stop my visualising, not one bit. I had what I wanted, right? The whole obsessively needing didn’t stop. It reduced, but it wasn’t satisfied.

 

When I was 15, hating school and feeling trapped and patronised, I used to sit there and envision getting the hell out. Just walking out and going. Walking and walking. I used to visualise working as a stripper. The whole aspect of that underground night life fascinated me no end. My amour with it was mixed in with taboo, money, independence, sexuality, expression, controversy and freedom. It was a perfect heady mix for me. I toyed and fantasied about the idea of doing it for real for another 3 years. At the dinner table, my parents sat there, my younger sister at my side. Dad started lecturing me about what I was going to do for college and I got up, delivering my plate to the counter and said, “I guess I’ll just become a stripper.” They were shocked. They half laughed, not knowing what to do with my deadpan joke. Our relationship was quite formal and we never spoke to each other casually. I secretly thought, you laugh, but just you wait.

 

I remember being 18. I’d been stripping and lap dancing for about 4 months at this point. I had an old school friend who was trying to get into medical school. Everyone I knew had gone off to university. I had got some of the best grades and beautifully, luxuriously, thrown it all away. Gone off to live with my boyfriend, leaving the kids behind. We would meet up on the same Georgian high street I would also covert and also end up living on at 22. She asked me to meet her for brunch, a totally useless kinda meal, in a fancy building that half sold designer clothes and shoes and bags and the back half was a fancy restaurant with a cobbled courtyard full of stone potted lemon trees and climbing wisteria amongst bistro tables.

 

I remember exactly what I was wearing and I remember exactly how I felt. Walking on air and couldn’t believe my LUCK just about summed it up. 

 

I saw her, foot twitching and tapping, at a corner table, coffee already ordered. I had on a bat wing, slouchy shoulder exposed, cream embroider polka dotted jumper, with contrasting black stitch. And now, I never wear black. Not one hint. High waisted jeans with a slight kick flare at the ankle, and those white leather sky high minimal heels? I could have been skipping down with cherubs guiding me at the wings. I swear down, as crazy as it sounds to sane and normal and respectable people, I was living my dream. 
 

That was the day I told her what I’d been up too. It was more like, gleeful sheer excitement that finally, finally! I had found my niche! It was like announcing to her I had just WON THE LOTTERY! And I had! My own, personally lottery. I’d WON IT because I was doing something authentic and real and meaningful to me! Something I was GREAT at! And something that paid SO WELL. All of those, plus the naughtiness and unexpected forbidden nature of the thing, had me in some energy whir I hadn’t experienced since I had first fell in love with D. And that has only been about 8 months ago. When I was 18, my God, what a year. I had too much adrenaline and excitement in that year to last one person a decent lifetime. 
 

She was shocked, of course. It didn’t matter to me what anyone thought because I was livin’ my dream! By God, all the self talk, all the day dreaming, night longing - all the visualisations of it! Of everything. Of finding love, of getting a job I adored, of making plenty of money, all hit me at once at 18. I was a kid to family and friends, but really, I was already a woman. I remember laying down my boxy crocodile Osprey bag. It had this delectable vintage pill box feel with a brass clasp at the top. It just stood upright in this gorgeous teetering rhombus. I swear down, I was happy as a clam. Eighteen, outrageous, and strangely sophisticated. Left home, living with my older boyfriend. All my friends were going back to load the dishwasher for their Mums and be asked if they had finished their homework. I’d just left the Earth and shot right out to space. God d**m it, I might of well have come straight from space the way people started to treat me.

 

I remember leaving bouncy like a new born lamb. I don’t even think I ate anything. Just lived off coffee, money and love. I was high. I spent years, high. Everything came easy, and my floating across clouds and air was infectious and kept the ball rolling for years to come. My friend asked me if I wanted to go back to hers and I said no, no thanks. I wanted to look around. She was puzzled because we always moved onto the next place and it was always me pushing for this - I would normally hold her hostage from cafe to cafe until the sun started going down but, I don’t know. I was feeling so introspective and made up with everything. I just wanted a moment to acknowledge it all. To quietly stand in this beautiful church of luxury and excess and easy street and breathe in the leather goods. Y’know? You know.

 

The middle of this old building used to be bathed in light coming from a huge, ornate stained glass dome high up in the ceiling. Shelves curved round the whole middle, mostly filled with shoes by Vivienne Westwood. I spied a satin oriental wedge pair. God! I turned one over in my hands. I had the money in my bag. I don’t know why, I never bought them.

 

In my late 20s, I spent 4 years pregnant after the other. Another dream - to have a large family, close together. And by God again, here I went out full force. I was a housewife and stay at home mum - again, everything I had aspired to be and wanted at the time. I had finished dancing along time ago, got the t-shirt, held the memories and treasured the unique experience. I felt like I had been through a different kinda school. 
 

A big argument broke out last night once the kids were in bed. Of course it was about money. Well, we think it’s about money, but now I’m not so sure.

 

I have this very turbulent and shifty, almost angry time before I go for what I want. It’s a seemingly destructive pattern that’s just coming to light for me. I went through years of college in this same aimless resentful at who, who knows mode. Looking back, it was a horrible, formative time. This angry, restless phase of knowing what I want deep down but doing absolutely nothing about it was and is crippling for me. I was building myself up to make a move. 
 

The house was got, the babies had, the car has been driven, the bags have been carried, the wedding was romantic and intimate, I have lived by my own rules and thought my very own thoughts. So why now?

 

For the last two years, I have started heavily visualising again. My goals and dreams have shifted away from adding to our family. I feel so lucky and grateful and satisfied with my three babies. No. What keeps me from going to bed at night, what keeps me awake with nervous, on edge excitement and fear, is another building, nagging feeling. There’s another dream that’s not being started on. Or, is. The building up has been happening. That horrible mode where I can’t focus but I can’t think about hardly another d**m think. My sign switches to “occupied”. Big time. 

 

I have vivid sights of a cheque falling through our brass letterbox. I can hear it hit the terracotta tiles. I can feel the draught through the wooden door. It’s money. It’s payment, for a book.

 

I need to write a book. I need to get it out of me.

 

I have only loosely admitted this deep aspiration to a handful of people in my life. My old school friend, who I burst out with the news I was throwing a g-string into a crowd 4 nights a week, my husband, and one girl I met once who had published a small book of poems. I said it very casually and off handed. It didn’t reveal the deep, personal importance this goal has too me. I will admit these things on here, but hardly, as if I speak about it too much, I have jinxed myself and it just won’t happen, or I will make a fool out of myself.

 

I told D last night, I’m just gonna start this thing soon and I’m going to write it the only way I write or do anything which is, speed type it. Don’t think, just do it. And no one is reading it. I’m just doing it, then sending it off. If no one wants it, likes it, at least I did it. I’m telling no one but you. 
 

He said, you won’t even let me give you my opinion on it?

 

I said, with respect, I don’t want anyones opinion on it, mine is enough. I said if I write the first chapter and it‘s not working I’ll never try again. The whole thing is getting deleted and I’ll happily see it dead in the water. 


I said if it got to an editor who liked it they can suggest what they want because I’m happy to be an editorial prostitute. I’m not that morally high handed. This isn’t all my baby. I’d just be over the moon anyone seriously considered the thing.

 

I told him, I want to write the book I want to read. I want to write this book for me. I want to write the book I’m searching for, when browsing shelves in bookstores, when scrolling through descriptions of plots online. I want something that delivers strange answers. I want to read something surprising. I said, I don’t want to read “and the wind gently bristled through the leaves like angels breath”. That’s not what I want. Maybe people are tired of angels breath? Y’know? 
 

He looked at me blankly. The look I get when I’m restless and frustrated and cold talking and on a rant and a rave. Okay, he said. Okay. 
 

He then added, “But no one else does that.” And I replied well, I don’t care what everyone else is doing. When have I ever cared about that? This only has to please me. Satisfy me. Be good enough for me. That’s all it’s ever been. I’m not doing things other peoples way. It has no interest to me how things are “usually” done, I give not a jot! 
 

I guess he knew I was in one of those turbulent righteous do it myself screw everything else modes. He probably thought, get on with it then. You’ve been talking about it for years, just do it.

 

I curse myself big time for all my hot air and no action. But this always comes before the big show. It’s as if I go to war with myself and everyone else around me while I build up whatever needs to be built up to do that thing.

 

He said, remember - you shouldn’t put all your hopes onto one thing.

 

I always do; and I don’t know of any other way to operate.

For as much as I do it, I don’t like thinking much. It’s killa. Exercising what you have been thinking about is much, much better. Doing what you have been thinking about is pure heaven.

 

x

 

 

[mylolita]

I can't get no satisfaction
I can't get no satisfaction
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try
I can't get no, I can't get no

When I'm drivin' in my car
And the man comes on the radio
He's tellin' me more and more
About some useless information
Supposed to fire my imagination

I can't get no
Oh no no no
Hey hey hey
That's what I say

I can't get no satisfaction
I can't get no satisfaction
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try
I can't get no, I can't get no

When I'm watchin' my TV
And a man comes on and tells me
How white my shirts can be
But he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke
The same cigarettes as me

I can't get no
Oh no no no
Hey hey hey
That's what I say

I can't get no satisfaction
I can't get no girl reaction
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try
I can't get no, I can't get no

When I'm ridin' round the world
And I'm doin' this and I'm signin' that
And I'm tryin' to make some girl
Who tells me baby better come back maybe next week
Can't you see I'm on a losing streak

I can't get no
Oh no no no
Hey hey hey
That's what I say

I can't get no, I can't get no
I can't get no satisfaction
No satisfaction, no satisfaction
No satisfaction, I can't get no

 

- Rolling Stones,’ (Can’t Get No) Satisfaction’

 

x

[mylolita]

———

 

“Below you will find a list of all the perceiving functions available in the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator:

 

Extraverted Feeling (Fe)

Introverted Feeling (Fi)

Extraverted Thinking (Te)

Introverted Thinking (Ti)

 

What Makes an ENFP Personality Type: The Phases of Development:

 

If you’re an astute reader, you’ve probably noticed that the primary functions (Ne, Fi) seem to contradict the more secondary functions (Te, Si). This is not by mistake, as it is partially due to the complexity of individuals and the principle of paradox. However, it can also be traced to how an ENFP personality develops.

Like all personality types, ENFP’s develop over a lifetime. Their development is tracked in three stages, wherein each function develops and changes the way they experience the world. Below we briefly describe each phase and roughly when it develops:

 

Phase I: 

From a very early age, young children begin to develop their Ne. Usually, this phase lasts all the way through adolescence and allows them to absorb a lot of information while exploring all kinds of topics. Their Ne is far more obvious during this period and evident in the way they tend to find school more exciting than stressful.

 

Phase II: 

This phase takes place between adolescence and a person’s early 30s.This is where an ENFP begins to develop their Fi and Si.

Their Fi aids them in discovering their internal self. They can combine this knowledge with what they learn from their Ne to have a more coherent view of the world.

For their Si, they start comparing their current experiences with older ones in the moment. Because of their Ne, they are often making more connections to things than the average person.

 

Phase III: 

Phase three can happen anytime between a person’s early 30s through the rest of their life; however few ever complete it. Phase three involves bringing a person’s secondary functions into their conscious mind and then integrating them with the primary ones. An ENFP would try to merge the way they use their Ne and their Fi.“

 

———-

[mylolita]

When life doesn’t feel like this for me…

 

…I am eternally disappointed.

 

x

 

 

[mylolita]

 

[mylolita]

8 minutes ago, mylolita said:

 

Languid, depressed, dressed to kill. Is that a Rolls Royce thingy from the bonnet D? You better have the rest of the car to go with it.

 

Let me get this sewing needle stick out my hand, it’s driving me nuts. 

 

Yours,

Your sweetheart, angel, dearest pudding darling honey pie,

Lo x

[mylolita]

Where we moved to, it’s always been a well known coastal hideaway hot bed for “creatives” - hippy vibes, self start yoga retreats, writers, artists, photographers, poetry readings, independent niche shops, jazz and blues ensembles, lute players… 

 

…it all goes on.

 

There is also a local, self published magazine in circulation once a month. I always read it in the bath.

 

The kids and I got a bit of a routine going on by which means, beach! A lot! And it was always so quiet whenever we went. We almost had the place to ourselves. Wind whipping or sun basking, it never mattered. 
 

A lanky tall guy of about 60 something would be there, most mornings, picker in hand and bin bag in the other, plucking up litter. I always said hi to him and we would get to talking. 
 

He told me how he published and wrote most of the local magazine. He wanted to pass it on now; and that he had been putting the publication out for 20 years but it was time to pass the torch. He sounded tired and deflated at what had become a burden to get organised every month. He told me it wasn’t a money spinner. I felt like he was half asking me if I was interested. God, I thought, I don’t know whether Mary and Jim’s rambles are ready for what I would wanna say! 
 

But, back to the creatives.

 

Now, I’ve never described myself as creative, not once. And honestly, no bluffing, but I don’t think I am creative. I’m more like, flouncing my way around things with a smidge of… finesse. Maybe. I’m like, make it up as I go and don’t have a clue. I’m not drumming up things out of nothing. I’m not sat musing and public ally stewing in coffee shops with an open blank journal. I don’t hang out with other artsy floaty types. I have a penchant for interiors and fashion and  you could say general aesthetics. I know what I like to read and what art makes me step back but, man… I don’t know. Ever known anyone who describes themselves openly to other people as creative? They are always kind of, self promoting irritants. They are normally wearing a kaftan and haven’t done a real days work in 10 years. They normally have two divorces behind them and kids they don’t see because they get all involved in “their craft” or, tell you about “their craft” or “the struggles of my craft” or “the uniqueness of my craft” or “it will never pay well because no one can understand my craft and anyway it’s not about money”. They mention the words “process” and “journey” a lot and for all of that, I can’t.

 

Last night, having my soak, I flicked straight through to an article that stood right out for me. There was a plump, sweet, geeky, eccentrically dressed woman holding up a whimsical lookin’ book. It said her book was coming out this month and that she was the owner of the independent book shop. Me and the kids had passed it plenty in town and had been in a few times, but I’d never seen her. 
 

I was fascinated. I read the description of the book and to me, it sounded absolutely terrible. But at the end of the day, she was published and advertising this and I couldn’t help but feel this big wave of excitement, as if it was anything to do with me! I was glad for her. I felt egged on. Okay, this is fascinating. This is cool. 
 

We walked into town today and I could see on her shop front advertised a writers class and a writers block workshop. How about life block, I would go to that one. 
 

The kids were bold and brought out her little cushions from hiding and started leafing through the children’s section. Her shop looked like it housed a lot of independent writers and self published stuff. I didn’t want to give any of it a good and cynically thought well that’s why no one’s take it on but, we’ll keep that to myself of course. 
 

We ended up at the counter, two children’s books to buy. She hardly would meet my eye. 
 

“Congratulations!” I started. 
 

“What?” She asked, puzzled and kinda cold. 
 

“I saw your article in the local! I just wanted to say, congratulations… on finishing something like that and getting it published. It’s really cool. I think it’s great.”

 

”Oh, yeah… thanks.” 
 

She half smiled. She was absolutely painfully shy. My full on conversation starting without any warning was like an assault on her. I could see her curling back into her Kath Kidson shell. I would have asked her questions but, I got the vibe she was only comfortable with something not maybe so spontaneous. Or maybe she just didn’t like me. 
 

The kids said thanks, she said thanks and bye. 
 

Definitely a “creative”. I never fit in with them, I’m not one of them. I could just imagine the reception at the book club, oh man. These things don’t really go down too well for me. I was tempted though, just out of total curiosity.

 

x

 

[mylolita]

I don’t find people generally mean, or grumpy, or selfish, or friendly, or helpful, or unique. I find them mostly boring.

 

Someone say something of interest, will ya? God, I’m growing old here with cobwebs of limp convo hanging offa me!

 

Couldn’t have one original thought if their lives depended on it.

 

How do they get by, sitting across and looking at the other bore they married? I guess the thing about it is, a bore could never identify another bore… because they are looking through themselves and the world wearing their glasses of mundane. It‘s going nowhere and totally futile. All you can hope for is getting out of a bore fest feeling half alive and with some kind of passion left running through your veins.

 

Putting small talk on me is like goading a bull. Social mischief wells up inside me. It’s like, I have to entertain myself, by hook or by crook, God d**m it! 
 

I’m missing entertainment and adventure, big time. The routine of daily life is stewing me. I adore my kids don’t get me wrong, but I feel like I am living Groundhog Day here, even amongst the chaos of moving and renovating, it’s still not enough to keep my brain active. And I don’t need to go to an office. I’ve done that and stewed just the same, but at a desk. 
 

I need something challenging. No, that’s not the right word. I need something to surprise me. I want to be surprised. I want to be overcome. 
 

If I could book myself in for a skydive tomorrow morning you betcha a** my name would be top of that list!

 

x

[mylolita]

This obsession and curiosity with skydiving is taking on new forms.

 

Now I don’t get to drive around late at night in a fast car like a maniac I need something to replace the lack of adrenaline.

 

I read a fact once. That redheads, due to their genetics, access adrenaline faster than any other person with different hair. Our bodies release it instantly and we are flooded with adrenaline efficiently and full throttle. Maybe there lies the science behind “feisty, bad temper and hot headed!” 
 

It’s b****y addictive, that’s what it is. You do something once that thrills and terrifies you at the same time and I defy you to not go right back and want to do it again, but next time faster, or more extreme. 
 

I think this is why I have such a hard time controlling my temper. Bill Burr once joked his wife said where does this come from? You went from zero to 100. He jokes he was already like 75 by time he got to the restaurant and could hear the guy talking too loud on his phone from outside! Well, there’s more truth in this than maybe appears at first glance. Something will flip me off and it’s just, boom. Feels like no build up at all. There’s no ascent to irritation. It’s like, irritation is actually a mild and kinda almost normal, pleasant emotion that doesn’t register compared to the anger. Walking away doesn’t help either. It’s infuriating, I just get time to work myself up even more and realise how angry I am or should be and all the things that are unjust about the situation or unfair and I’m worse 10 seconds later for thinking than I was 10 seconds before!

 

I’m kinda a bit Italian in my hand gestures as well. Shall we say, the opera dramatics are always out. It’s just the way I express myself I can’t help it, but D is always saying “Calm down!” But I am calm, I just have strong feelings, that’s all, and my hands are up in the air or on my hip or tapping my chest when I say “heart” or flicking from the shoulder to out and away when I say “gone” or whatever. 
 

Maybe I do need therapy or something. God, the idea of a therapist ticks me right off! What a great way to start huh? HA! I always wanna know what their life is like. If this therapist says they’ve been divorced twice and are seeing a therapist themselves, I’m sorry, it’s over for me because I can’t take them seriously. Don’t advise me on what to do then speak to your life coach the day after. 
 

I just can’t.

 

x

[mylolita]

Sat in the bath, once again. I can hear everything going on in the house like an echo chamber. 
 

D has opened the door to a Jehovah’s Witness canvassing in the rain. Oh Lord, here we go, they knocked on the wrong door to talk about evolution. 
 

For one, his life’s speciality is natural history, and fossils, so he knows more than most on the often misunderstood topic of evolution. And this guy has the door opened to glass domes full of mounted skeletal studies of animals in various motion, cased pre-historic fossils. These normally aren’t sitting on the console table in the hall, but they are going to be loaded into the van to be photographed at a studio. Anyway, this poor guy couldn’t have picked a worse house at a worse time. It looked like he was summoned into the professors library of curio or something, poor lamb. 
 

I joke sometimes that, back in the old house, when someone tried to break in from the back, they started at one of the lower basement windows. This guy had a torch and crow bar because our whole front and back of the house had CCTV coverage. He tried my car door first, then this window. I swear down, he left cold. I think I know why. This guy, at 1am, half drugged up to his eyeballs tripping socks, shined that torch into that tiled basement and saw cases and cases of curio and fossils and studies and art and probably thought, what the f**k?! I’m getting outta this place! No joke. 

 

I could hear them from upstairs for a good near hour. It wasn’t heated and the canvasser left with a hand shake and some book recommendations - Charles Darwin, Richard Dawkins. Oh man. 
 

He’s such an ESTP - LOL!!!!

 

And I say this with a valley girl “I like totally love my crystals” tone for half jokes 🌝

 

x

[mylolita]

If you accept reality, accept science, a whole lot of life starts to fall into explanation.

 

I see and read so many times, time and time again, about people feeling outcasted, shunned, not accepted, made fun of or rejected. They become hopeless and the ditch is dug deeper.

 

Observing this from a factual, cold and distant place, it does well sometimes to remember - we are animals. And pack animals, for that. We are highly social. Our survival was ensured by having useful, functioning, sane, healthy and strong people around us. Yes, compassion, burying our dead and tending to the old and sick separate us from most mammals, but you also find this behaviour strong and arguably more sympathetic in other highly intelligent social animals like elephants, pigs, gorillas, orangutans, whales and dolphins. 
 

Sometimes, whether this makes things worse or not, it is a fact of life that most people will shun people who seem “not average, not normal, not as healthy, unable to look after themselves or provide for anyone else or unusual, strange.” This is normal, survivalist pack mentality. 
 

People who are always mostly openly accepted without question or fault are normal, confident, healthy, capable, intelligent attractive types. These people will always rule the roost, always - because, we are animals, and nothing is going to change that.

 

We can think and override our impulses, try and control our primal nature. We want to have the healthiest and most capable offspring, we want to ensure our survival. We look for the safest, most secure option, nearly every time.

 

I am not saying I emotionally agree or disagree with this. I am just noting science, nature, and the facts of life, as harsh and as beautiful as they can be. 

 

x

[mylolita]

Look honey, you only get this glow by one of two ways:

Sitting in the bath with a loofah for four hours, or multiple orgasms.
 

Both is best.

 

x

[dias]

On 10/15/2022 at 1:47 PM, mylolita said:

Look honey, you only get this glow by one of two ways:

Sitting in the bath with a loofah for four hours, or multiple orgasms.
 

Both is best.

😎

[mylolita]

Posting this is kind of my homage to Judge Judy Sheindlin!

 

Ohhhh definitely there in my top 10 dinner guests ever!

 

Keeping it real as always! 
 

“But you picked him!” The one liners and the delivery! Beyond!

 

Whenever women start complaining about how women aren’t usually accepted in their line of work or how this and that is sexist, I just think to this little powerhouse who was the only woman out of 120 law students in her year. Never complained, she just said with a straight gaze and twinkle in her eye, “That ratio was just fine by me.” 
 

And five kids of her own as well!

 

 

Salute x

[mylolita]

Ever gone back to the beginning of your own journal and started reading?

 

B****y harrowing!

 

Oh my GOD! Twenty three, twenty four… same thoughts, same problems - never changed! Actually, worse than that - I have got WORSE. 
 

I read back and I’m so b****y teenage. But, I am now, still, at 32. I got the big house I wanted, I got the beautiful children close together, I got the luxury car, the opulent interior, the wardrobe full of classic styles. I’m here, still with my husband, still swinging through a different mood every week and every other hour to every other day. Where is my satisfaction? Where is my feeling of accomplishment? Where is my passion and my joy? 
 

It’s here but d**m, not as mega phoned as I imagined it would be. What on earth?!

 

Basically, I have documented nine years of negative brooding whining self entitled complaining. Every other post is, I have to change, oh! Now I feel better it’s okay! Then crash back all over again. It’s embarrassing and beyond disappointing I haven’t learn anything! NOTHING! And I’m a mother now! And I thought I would know BETTER! 
 

But girl! Ya just keep going round and round and round and round and you’re sat in the bath and you were sat in the bath last year and the decade before that with ya coffee mulling the same things doing the same things wondering when it’s all going to flip on it’s head and make that magic turn around?! 
 

Pathetic!

 

I feel so deflated with looking back and the realisation of my INSANE STUPIDITY that I’m just like… what do I do, glass of iced coffee? Do you know?! Where are my ANSWERS?! Is this LIFE?! 
 

Have I ever gone and made this post before on here? Depressingly, predictably - most probably.

 

Dear God what am I DOING?! I am going to look back on my life as hopefully an old woman and have the biggest regret I never stood back and simply enjoyed it all, Christ sakes woman - JUST BE NORMAL! C’MON! 
 

x

[mylolita]

What the f**k! 
 

SO LAME.

 

LIVE YOUR LIFE AND SHUT UP WOMAN! 
 

x

[mylolita]

What if this is it? My brain? Doomed to repeat these swings and thoughts and cycles? Stuck in my way of thinking? 
 

I hardly know any other way? How is one… normal? Functioning? A valid contributing member of society and not just a superficial flouncing adornment that is either dancing or crying or a bit of both?! 
 

Maybe I’ll be on here, once the kids fly the nest, hopefully not hating me and sending me their therapy bills, 90, sat in the bath with a coffee. Maybe I’ll die in the bath? I hope the house is clean and organised before I go. I want them to enter into a scene of staged gorgeousness. Vase of just about to open blooms on the side table beside the edge of my claw tub. There is something about flowers that are blooming that irritates me. I only appreciate them fully when they are closed or just about to open. What am I, twisted or something?! 
 

Y’know… hey - maybe you’ll read this is another 9 years? I kind of hope you don’t, future Lo. I hope you’re too busy enjoying life and enjoying your husband and babies to even waste five minutes on your phone or cyborg brain space or whatever it will be then, what the hell. 
 

I miss all the old posters back in the day as well. Even 9 years ago, online, things seemed more friendly, less serious. I did too. I had some humility at least, and less of an ego. 
 

It’s utterly terrifying crippling and nauseating having so much to love and lose, but at the same time, mind glowingly beautiful. Is it any wonder I’m insane?! Who could function with this much feeling for 32 years anyway?! It’s exhausting. It’s exhilarating. It’s bl***y hopeless and gorgeous. 
 

I don’t want to change, secretly, I don’t. I like being me, in weird way. I like the up sides of my brain. The down sides are tormenting. Is it worth it? 
 

I have never seen a doctor, not one tablet of medication, never a therapist. I have muddled through determined and stubborn and beyond foolish and a wreckage all on my own, probably taking down plenty of people with me. Is this a fair way to go on? Is there a magic woman in a magic chair in a magic dimly lit office who will give me a magic pill and tell me magic things to make it all go away? Would I want that?

 

I’m looking at the pill to erase and blank my mind. Do I take it? 
 

Oh Lord. Maybe it all depends what d**m mood I’m in!

 

x

[mylolita]

What’s the moral?

 

Think for yourself. Be honest with it.

 

’Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.'

 

- Oscar Wilde

 

 

 

x

[LikeWater]

On 10/14/2022 at 2:34 AM, mylolita said:

This obsession and curiosity with skydiving is taking on new forms.

 

Now I don’t get to drive around late at night in a fast car like a maniac I need something to replace the lack of adrenaline.

 

I read a fact once. That redheads, due to their genetics, access adrenaline faster than any other person with different hair. Our bodies release it instantly and we are flooded with adrenaline efficiently and full throttle. Maybe there lies the science behind “feisty, bad temper and hot headed!” 
 

It’s b****y addictive, that’s what it is. You do something once that thrills and terrifies you at the same time and I defy you to not go right back and want to do it again, but next time faster, or more extreme. 
 

I think this is why I have such a hard time controlling my temper. Bill Burr once joked his wife said where does this come from? You went from zero to 100. He jokes he was already like 75 by time he got to the restaurant and could hear the guy talking too loud on his phone from outside! Well, there’s more truth in this than maybe appears at first glance. Something will flip me off and it’s just, boom. Feels like no build up at all. There’s no ascent to irritation. It’s like, irritation is actually a mild and kinda almost normal, pleasant emotion that doesn’t register compared to the anger. Walking away doesn’t help either. It’s infuriating, I just get time to work myself up even more and realise how angry I am or should be and all the things that are unjust about the situation or unfair and I’m worse 10 seconds later for thinking than I was 10 seconds before!

 

I’m kinda a bit Italian in my hand gestures as well. Shall we say, the opera dramatics are always out. It’s just the way I express myself I can’t help it, but D is always saying “Calm down!” But I am calm, I just have strong feelings, that’s all, and my hands are up in the air or on my hip or tapping my chest when I say “heart” or flicking from the shoulder to out and away when I say “gone” or whatever. 
 

Maybe I do need therapy or something. God, the idea of a therapist ticks me right off! What a great way to start huh? HA! I always wanna know what their life is like. If this therapist says they’ve been divorced twice and are seeing a therapist themselves, I’m sorry, it’s over for me because I can’t take them seriously. Don’t advise me on what to do then speak to your life coach the day after. 
 

I just can’t.

 

x

I can tell you this without a shroud of doubt; your hair color has absolutely nothing to do with your personality, temperment, or whatever.  

Your genetics definitely could, but 0 to do with being a redhead.  

And that is a fact.  Unlike the one you read off the internet.  The most impulsive, adrenalined filled people have typically been dark haired people.  And sure, there's a lot more of them, but even so the stats per population remain the same per ratio.

I don't find any value or reason to simplify who you are because of hair color.  I've known plenty of redheads throughout my life that would completely contradict your notion.  Your genes make up most of who you are, not the color of your hair or skin.

I'm Irish btw, so I'm not coming from a place of automatic dismissal, but rather an understanding.  As far as Bill Burr goes, he's a comedian and the character he wants you to see.  I love Bill Burr, don't get me wrong, but in any clip like this he is playing a part.  That part is certainly part of him, but none of us know the real him.

[mylolita]

43 minutes ago, LikeWater said:

I can tell you this without a shroud of doubt; your hair color has absolutely nothing to do with your personality, temperment, or whatever.  

Your genetics definitely could, but 0 to do with being a redhead.  

And that is a fact.  Unlike the one you read off the internet.  The most impulsive, adrenalined filled people have typically been dark haired people.  And sure, there's a lot more of them, but even so the stats per population remain the same per ratio.

I don't find any value or reason to simplify who you are because of hair color.  I've known plenty of redheads throughout my life that would completely contradict your notion.  Your genes make up most of who you are, not the color of your hair or skin.

I'm Irish btw, so I'm not coming from a place of automatic dismissal, but rather an understanding.  As far as Bill Burr goes, he's a comedian and the character he wants you to see.  I love Bill Burr, don't get me wrong, but in any clip like this he is playing a part.  That part is certainly part of him, but none of us know the real him.

The gene for creating red hair (MCR1) isn’t just found in our species, but has been observed in apes and other animals with red hair or fur. It is a mutant recessive gene and an abnormality - as far as I understand it! This mutation is caused by a recessive allele on chromosome 16. The MCR1 gene is responsible for creating the red hair colour but also their skin colour, as it determines their skin pigmentation. Anyone who has red hair carries this gene, which in turn, like all variations of genetics, carry certain biological reactions! One is a known extra sensitivity to pain and to heat and to light. We know this scientifically - my Dad, who is in optics but retired now, always was told in training, if the person is fair skinned and haired and especially if they have red hair, their eyes will be far more sensitive to products like contact lenses, and also the pupil dilates and reacts to light much faster than those with darker hair. Surgeons are also told to keep an extra eye post surgery on redheads as they are more likely to bleed excessively post surgery. 

Anyone with red hair also produces their own Vitamin D - a bizarre factual phenomenon I couldn’t quite believe but explains the almost allergic reaction to too much sun! No other person with another hair colour creates their own vitamin D. Ever tried to drag a pale redhead to sunbathe and it’s quite uncomfortable for most. Redheads are also genetically more susceptible to skin cancer and developing Parkinson’s disease. It is also a well know scientific fact that genetically, also because of the MCR1 gene, we access adrenaline faster than any other hair type. 
 

Your genetics do dictate for the baseline how you function and respond, biologically, physically and often mentally. On the surface of it, it sounds ridiculous doesn’t it, to say your appearance can have any hint of biological traits, but if you talk to any anaesthetists, they will also reveal to you the fact redheads out of all other hair colour need the most anaesthetic to knock us out and to numb pain effectively! 
 

“On average, people with red hair need 20 percent more general anesthesia than their blonde, brunette and black-haired counterparts, according to 2004 study in the Anesthesiology journal.”

 

Another strange genetic twist:

 

“According to the 19th-century French doctor Dr. Augustine Galopin discovered a specific odor emanates from redheads. This odor, or aroma, which is allegedly unique to redheads, is referred to as ambergris. Dr. Augustin Galopin thought of this aroma as sensual and appealing. Since then, scientists have gone further into this and discovered that the smell that redheads tend to emanate is the result of the acidic film covering their skin. Everyone has a thin acidic film all over their skin, but it is true that, in the case of redheads, this is what makes them discharge the aroma that Galopin noticed.” - ale Parfumerie de aka Femme - Dr. Galopin 

 

Many people also carry one variant allele of the MC1R gene, making them in turn susceptible to some of the genetic traits redheads experience, but not in the same way. Two people have to be carriers of this allele to produce a red headed baby! My parents are an example of this - both brunettes along with my sister.

 

Genetic traits are determined in so many different races of people. Asian people, whilst I was pregnant plenty, I found, were much more likely to develop a form of pregnancy diabetes, even when they were very slim. The midwives screened for it especially amongst those women. They are genetically disposed to it! 
 

It is a fact we access adrenaline faster too - whether that means a quicker temper, I guess it depends how you react to your surge. There is a stereotype maybe for a reason. How temper and anger feels for me will be personally subjective and never known in comparison to how it feels for you. We say “anger”, but the experience varies greatly from person to person! 

We can only go on the science, and genetics, which is, as genetics go, very early days. It was only in 2000 that scientists identified the gene responsible for red hair; the melanocortin 1 receptor (MC1R) protein. Having two copies of this gene triggers the production of high levels of the red pigment phaeomelanin and reduced levels of the dark pigment eumelanin, creating fair skin, freckles, light-coloured eyes and red hair.

 

It’s in early days of study and not widely researched because it is not prioritised as important, but it could hold some keys to opening up understanding! 
 

Just to side note as well - red hair is found in Africa, China - everywhere around the world; and can be on people with dark skin also; although this is extremely rare. If you have red hair, you can bet your bottom dollar to trace your ancestry and genetic trail back to Eastern Europe. In my genetic quest, I also found Neanderthals (who were a separate species of human, as many species and variation of early humans were about before us, they estimate for about 900,000 years before our 100,000 as we recognise us) had mostly red hair. They think it was developed through evolution as we explored the world and ventured out to cold, dim climates without much sun, hence the advantage to being able to create your own Vitamin D which is crucial for the health and function of the body. It makes sense, seeing hardly any sun and hiding out in a cave; that this would be a genetic advantage. We interbred with Neanderthals also, which means fragments of our DNA are linked with theirs.

 

I am not in genetic research as a profession LikeWater, but I did do very well in biology and it has been a lifelong passion of mine! Not just science linked to redhair, although it fascinates me because it is studied so little and is such newly discovered! But other genetic research as well, especially to do with disease and DNA. 
 

I come from a medical family, and so many of my friends are doctors, surgeons or consultants. I nearly went into medicine myself but something made me turn around and I became a mother and housewife instead! 
 

Life long curiosity with biology. If I’m technically wrong on any of this please let me know and point me to any alternative research as I’m totally fascinated.

 

Of course Bill plays a part character, but it is funny because it is based in truth. Any good joke has truth too it. I posted that half tongue in cheek.

 

I also have a large section of Irish in me! My whole mothers side has Irish. She has 6 cousins, all girls, all redheads. My great Grandfather was a redhead and two of my cousins are from my Mums middle sister, my aunt. My Grandmas eldest sister, also a redhead. And then nothing, just me. We crop up time to time, which makes sense because the MCR1 gene is recessive but carried by many without actually creating red hair in the carrier. It also adds to the fact we cover only 1-2% of the population. 
 

Do we deserve more study? I think all genetics are important. Study into genetic variation often gives way to explanation and cures for disease. If they can trace why certain DNA variations created abnormalities or reactions, they can sometimes get to the source of the cause and then the cure for a disease.

 

I’m not into the mystic, I’m not religious, I don’t believe in horoscopes. I’m not strangely saying people with red hair are more special than anyone else, we just have some genetic traits which I think, should be studied further. Please feel free to check me on anything I have said!

 

x

 

 

 

[Jibralta]

On 10/24/2022 at 3:47 AM, mylolita said:

Basically, I have documented nine years of negative brooding whining self entitled complaining. Every other post is, I have to change, oh! Now I feel better it’s okay! Then crash back all over again. It’s embarrassing and beyond disappointing I haven’t learn anything! NOTHING! And I’m a mother now! And I thought I would know BETTER! 

I started reading your journal a couple years ago. Honestly, I don't find it to be negative or entitled or  complainey at all. It's generally interesting and a good read.

I went back and read the first 3 posts in this thread. I thought this was pretty funny, because in this way, you haven't changed:

On 7/16/2014 at 3:15 AM, mylolita said:

I need more time! More time to plan, more time to get myself sorted, more time to figure out what I want and need to do before it's too late, before I say I went to sleep 24, newly wed and woke up 36 and aching with the feeling - I could of done so much more, if only I had more time.

You have a lot of drive. It's not a bad trait to have. But sometimes, with driven people, drive can occupy a large portion of your thoughts. It can be a bit all-consuming.

You do tend to be hard on yourself, but I think that is another characteristic of driven people. 

[mylolita]

2 hours ago, Jibralta said:

I started reading your journal a couple years ago. Honestly, I don't find it to be negative or entitled or  complainey at all. It's generally interesting and a good read.

I went back and read the first 3 posts in this thread. I thought this was pretty funny, because in this way, you haven't changed:

You have a lot of drive. It's not a bad trait to have. But sometimes, with driven people, drive can occupy a large portion of your thoughts. It can be a bit all-consuming.

You do tend to be hard on yourself, but I think that is another characteristic of driven people. 

Jib! Jib!!! 
 

Ahh sweet cheeks! You’re too kind! And, I’m flattered you think I’m driven! I honestly would never put myself in the “driven” category. I imagine driven people to have three degrees, an intense career, be into exercise and health and always have full weekend plans. None of that is me! I actually imagine driven people to be like you, Jib! A professional! 
 

I’m like, driven to complain - I’m probably a pro at that 🫡🥲 HA!

 

Well, thank you Jib - oh man! 
 

I guess I am secretly ambitious, but I tend to “drive the husband” and make him get his hands dirty while I sit here saying woe is me! 
 

And it’s such a repeat isn’t it! I’ll be 33 in December (holy frickin’ SMOKES!) and, that line you just send me, oh wowee! What a crush! It’s like I already knew at 24 I was gonna fall short! Oh boy! I mean, I did and I didn’t. I suppose we can all say we achieved some of the things we set out for. What’s my plan? I always think I don’t have one; it’s a go with the flow kinda thing but, maybe I do have a bit of a secret mission and tick off list as well, as much as I hate the idea of that. It’s buried so deep Jib even I don’t know anything about it so I’m just waiting for all the answers to fall like b****y checkers and make the board right! Still waiting!!!!!

 

Thank you! You’re lovely, far too gracious on me peach but, I like it 🥹🤣

 

x

[mylolita]

What’s my mood this evening?

 

Eight letter word!

 

cavalier: [adjective] marked by or given to offhand and often disdainful (see 1disdain) dismissal of important matters. Showing haughty disregard; offhand n 1. 
 

Totally.

 

x

[mylolita]

I never write about the forum on here because I find it low brow and some kind of unspoken rule that it tarnishes my little sacred splurge spot to start deferring to the mother ship on here, but!

 

I think sometimes people get the impression that, when you respond to something, you are trying to convince the OP of your way, or your opinion. Win an argument, or prove yourself right. 
 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. I genuinely do not care a jot, not a single jitty, if anyone agrees with me. I am not trying to convince you of anything.

 

Here I stand, hear what I say, read what I think. Take me or leave me. But that’s where it ends. Judge me however you like, but this is how it is, to the best of my ability.

 

During the “pandemic”, I never wore a mask. I wore one once, the whole time. It felt outrageous. I never did it again. That was it. I stand by my principles. I did everything in my power to disobey the restrictions and carried on with mine and my children’s daily lives as normally as we could. I would like to think I shielded them from most of it. Unlike so many kids, they never saw many masked strangers, never heard the word covid or pandemic and never saw me obsessively sanitising my hands or wearing masks or gloves. We went out twice a day, broke the rules happily, and I would be there in the park with them, no other kids, but out we were. Ironically, there was no one out anyway, so no risk to us and no risk to others. What on earth.

 

I lost so many so called friends during the pandemic. I had heated arguments with family. I was abandoned. 
 

I just don’t care. The more time goes on, the more the truth matters too me. How I feel, what I believe, and having someone tell me I’m right? Forget it. 
 

Having a majority, or “the mob” agree with me has become an insult! I double check myself if I’m behind something popular, or too manny people agree. 
 

Just think for yourself will you? And be honest. That’s how it has to be. That’s what I aim for, or try towards. I am deeply ashamed if I feel myself becoming inauthentic. 
 

I have been turning these thoughts over for the past couple of years, no, the past couple of decades. I came across a video that summed it all up a trillion times better than I ever could. Thank you, Jordan Peterson! Thank you Cracker. Thank you Christopher Hitchings. Thank you Richard Dawkins. Thank you Donald Trump. Thank you Alex Jones. Thank you Camille Paglia. Thank you Jordan Belfort. Thank you Daniel Dennet. Thank you Charles Darwin. Thank you Oscar Wilde. Thank you Morrissey. Thank you J. D. Salinger. Thank you Winston Churchill. Thank you Candice Owens. Thank you Gavin McInnes. Thank you, The Sopranos. Thank you Vanilla Sky. Thank you Quentin Tarantino. Thank you Van Gogh. Thank you Jan Goodwin. Thank you Tommy Robinson. Thank you Ayaan Hirsi Ali… and many more, too many to name. 
 

Personal hero’s, always an inspiration, their words and ideas rattling through my brain, getting in somewhere, staying there forever!

 

 

x