Diary Of A Redhead

[mylolita]

———-

 

“Dandyism is not even, as many unthinking people seem to suppose, an immoderate interest in personal appearance and material elegance. For the true dandy these things are only a symbol of the aristocratic superiority of his or her personality….

 

What, then, is this ruling passion that has turned into a creed and created its own skilled tyrants? 
 

What is this unwritten constitution that has created so haughty a caste? It is, above all, a burning need to acquire originality, within the apparent bounds of convention. 

 

It is a sort of cult of oneself, which can dispense even with what are commonly called illusions. 

 

It is the delight in causing astonishment, and the proud satisfaction of never oneself being astonished….’’

 

———-

- Charles Baudelaire, ‘The Dandy’, 

[mylolita]

———-

 

“Be both masculine and feminine, impudent and charming, subtle and outrageous. Let other people worry about being socially acceptable; those types are a dime a dozen, and you are after a power greater than they can imagine.”

 

———-

- Robert Greene, ‘The Art of Seduction’

[mylolita]

Reading the thread, gathering it all in…

 

 

[mylolita]

…aaaand reply.

 

Lolz!

[mylolita]

What do you… oh, she said what? Oh! The pot pourri? It’s beyond isn’t it! Oh? Late? No no dear it’s just the traffic, not my fault. Ever heard of lofi chillhop? Do you like Judge Judy? Where do you stand politically, y’know, on ThE SpEcTrUm?! Ha ha. Hmm? What’s that? Don’t take out your insecurities on me! Look, if you’re too busy to talk then so am I.  I’m blocking you, okay? No, I won’t… no… you’re blocked.

 

Timeline of every one of my friendships revealed via the medium of the telephone. 

 

x
 

 

[mylolita]

“What an odd thing a diary is: the things you omit are more important than those you put in.”

 

- Simone de Beauvoir

[mylolita]

“A day in which I don’t write leaves a taste of ashes.”

 

- Simone de Beauvoir

[mylolita]

5am - pitch black mornings, hardly a hint of lighting sky through the large panes.

 

I try to keep my eyes closed for as long as possible. I can hear D’s deep breathing beside me. He never hears the baby cry. The layered duvets are so warm, my body feels weightless, I am only a snoozy, groggy, single head laying on a perfect pillow, moulded one cheek.

 

Hitch off a brushed wool cardigan from the back door hook. It’s so long, the hem grazes the floor. I get to my daughters room not knowing how, scooping her up. She is stood there holding on to the crib bars, pale little pink and cream striped sleepy suit absolutely adorable over her cute, chunky little body. A single tear is glistening, one other finger in her mouth, her little knees jiggle in frustration. There there. 
 

We descend down. One of the hall lamps is always left on, the glow guides me into the living room.

 

I flick on a few dim lamps. I don’t know what I’m doing lately. Where did it all go so lop sided? I thought motherhood was the one thing I had mostly under control, the one thing I was good at. A whole day stretches out before me. She crawls off after a change and a warm cardigan buttoned over her suit, before I get to making her milk. The energy I had two weeks ago - I can’t find it here.

 

I play Jeremy Pelt, ‘Always oh my Mind’ over the sound system. 
 

I adore my kids, absolutely love them half to pieces, to little, tiny, timeless eternal pieces. But, I suppose, I might not be your regular kinda Mum? 
 

What happens when you don’t fit into that cookie cutter profile? Who do you turn to for guidance? Who will understand? Why is it endless deferral only to yourself, because you feel like you are there, out in the ocean, unchartered anyway?

 

I didn’t set out to do anything differently. I like tradition, a lot. I respect tradition. Why does everything always naturally twist so… off beat? 
 

To me; my life is absolutely normal and all the mundane you could get from a married woman in her early 30s with three kids. But then; I see all the fine art everywhere, the old period house, the paleontologist friends coming and going, the brushing with celebrities, jazz and bossa nova constantly in the background. The uneducated ex stripper of a mother who doesn’t mind the high brow things. Also doesn’t mind the low brow things too much either. The living life on your own terms. There is no boss here, no 9 to 5, no school. 
 

I can see the dark silhouette of the leaves crisping against a dawn sky. I feel nothing but love. What am I gonna do? 
 

When you teach your children only two things - that they are loved, so so much, and that their mind is their own, to think for themselves - all the other concerns fall short, but stay there nonetheless. 
 

They will always, always, forever, be on my mind. D will always be on my mind. This ride called life, and it’s working and being and mash ups, never leaves my mind. What’s a girl to do? 
 

So much responsibility for someone… a bit unorthodox.

 

I always thought I was normal? I am normal? Everyone always thinks they are interesting and unique.

 

Get a room! Or… get a routine. It’s gone. Where did it go?

 

I woke up yesterday and everything had changed. 
 

I find myself thinking, horribly, I was such a better mother years ago. I really was. What happened? I couldn’t keep it up. It was unsustainable, my level of doing. Having two still felt easy peasey lemon squeezy. I threw in a third and now I’m wondering, where do I go from here? Where do I go well? 
 

I always thought doing your own thing, or people who did their own thing, answered to no one else, had it easy in life. I thought that was THE ONLY WAY. I realise, I have had no choice to do anything differently. My personality set my destiny and here I am. 
 

I have no imposed structure. Nowhere to technically be. No deadlines to meet, no people to please. I only have myself - my harshest critic. 
 

A friend turned to me during a history lesson at school. She said, “Louis really likes you. He wants to go out with you. He told me, he want’s a girl who “does her own thing” and that’s you.”

 

I was extremely flattered and taken aback. I never saw myself like that. I saw myself with all the other backs of heads in that classroom. The only difference is; I was using that time to plan my escape; not take notes for an exam. 
 

That’s me, is it? 
 

Doesn’t feel so cool right now. Feels kinda… lonely. As lonely as I ever was. 

 

x

[mylolita]

Maybe, baaaaaybe! 

[mylolita]

———

 

‘The Preface’

 

The artist is the creator of beautiful things.

To reveal art and conceal the artist is the art’s aim.

The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

Those  who fund beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.

They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.

There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.

The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in the glass. 

The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in the glass.

The moral life  of a man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium. 

No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved.

No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.

No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.

Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.

Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.

From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type.

All art is at once surface and symbol.

Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.

Thise who read the symbol do so at their peril.

It is the spectator, and not the life, that art really mirrors.

Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.

We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.

All art is quite useless.

 

—————

 

- Oscar Wilde, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’
 

 

 

 

 

[mylolita]

 

“We’re both adults here. So after all the complaining, all the crying, all the bu****t, when all is said and done - is this all there is?”

[mylolita]

 

[mylolita]

 

The boy with the thorn in his side
Behind the hatred there lies
A murderous desire
For love

How can they look into my eyes
And still they don't believe me?
How can they hear me say those words
Still they don't believe me?
And if they don't believe me now
Will they ever believe me?
And if they don't believe me now
Will they ever, they ever believe me?


The boy with the thorn in his side
Behind the hatred there lies
A plundering desire
For l-l-love

How can they see the love in our eyes
And still they don't believe us?
And after all this time
They don't want to believe us
And if they don't believe us now
Will they ever believe us?
And when you want to live, how do you start?
Where do you go? Who do you need to know?

[dias]

On 11/5/2022 at 1:20 PM, mylolita said:

 

hard truths

[dias]

On 11/4/2022 at 8:45 AM, mylolita said:

I always thought doing your own thing, or people who did their own thing, answered to no one else, had it easy difficult in life. 

🙂

 

On 11/4/2022 at 8:45 AM, mylolita said:

She said, “Louis really likes you. He wants to go out with you. He told me, he want’s a girl who “does her own thing” and that’s you.”

Yes this is very attractive trait for both genders. 

[mylolita]

17 hours ago, dias said:

🙂

 

Yes this is very attractive trait for both genders. 

Thanks Dias, much appreciated quiet support! 
 

Some days I am the “happy wanderer” - other days! HA! I’ve often thought to myself I wonder what the average result would be if I marked everyday on the calendar to my mood, to look back an see what the overriding theme was? Happiness, or sadness, or anger, or love? I am too cowardly and too lazy to want find out!

 

Maybe as you suggested along time ago, Ii should get back into some serious exercise?! 
 

All the exercise I do these days is running my mouth off,  running after the kids, and running my husbands credit card!

 

I admire the way you bounce back and don’t wallow!

 

x

[mylolita]

For once we have large stacks of enveloped money in strange places around the house.

 

Always happy to get back on familiar ground.

 

HA!

 

x

[mylolita]

Balance… balance! Gotta find the BALANCE. Love life work life friendship me time they time kids time and your time balance.

 

What is this balance we’re so obsessed with? Balance your humours up Greeks or ya gonna get sick! What does it all mean? 
 

I’m told I need it. I think I want it? But do I really? I make absolutely no effort to balance myself out at all - not one jot. If I come clean with myself and look in the mirror, I enjoy the chaos. I am, chaotic. Life is chaotic. Why do I want to accustom myself with order? I try! I do try on a physical superficial level. The appearances are generally good. I feel like the prize f****ing poodle - everything’s neat and trim, with their rosettes lined up in a pretty row; making everyone proud. Dog gets ran over and the vet cuts her open and with a gasp exclaims on seeing the putrid insides “It’s a MARVEL she ever lived this long!”

 

I purge myself every morning like some addict starting the day, the day the day this is THE day I quit! Berocca, vitamins, electrolytes, orange juice, water water water. I would throw myself into a steam room if I had one. Eye drops. Make up. Hair done. Kid myself I am cheating yesterdays flounders of caffeine and no sleep and apathy and torment to just go and do it all again the next day but hey! We started afresh, right?! We bathed, we picked out something stylish. 
 

I don’t want to stop being angry. That’s the key. I kinda like it. It’s sometimes even useful. I don’t wanna stop hurting. Sometimes that’s useful too, as crippling as those times are for me. Like there is even a possibility we can trade in our darkness for all light? Even nature knows the night brings the day. Stormy weather, warmer sun. Cycles. Rinse and repeat. 
 

Maybe what we’ve been told is wrong? Maybe we don’t need any balance?! Maybe balance is… a lie. Like heaven. Where is this magical point we all get too, living or dead? Really? And, you really want that to happen? To be able to proof stamp your life hopefully sometime soon, rub your hands together and say, “It’s all complete. No more work to be done now. Or ever.”

 

Really?!

 

And we strive for this?!

 

How about, learn to roll with your own punches and the blows of others, because they are gonna happen from day one and day final. How about, appreciate the bad as well as the good? How about, just realise, you are not great - not amazing - not perfect, and, ya never will be. We’re not coming out of this unscathed. The game ends for everyone exactly the same way no matter what you do or how you play it. One day at a time? Just whatever. You think you’re in control. Think! Whatever it takes to get you through in one piece and others in one piece too. We are not whole, we never will be. Get used to the empty other half. That’s the way it’s always gonna be. There’s beauty in that too. I haven’t found it yet, but, that’s something else I heard once as well.

 

And this is why people get a headache and just turn on Netflix.

 

x
 

 

[mylolita]

Listen, do you wanna be friends with me or Hail Mary over there? Cos one of us is more fun and here’s a clue, it isn’t her! 

 

x

[mylolita]

A lot of people don’t like me and I kinda like that.

 

They started off really liking me, which is always the twist, then I did something and they turned on me. They even spend years after talking bad about me to other people who used to know me.

 

I let them go, I erased them and took them out of my life. I’m being talked about. Do I get a kick outta that? Sure thing. Some of them would have me back as well. Their lives are boring and everyday is the same. Well, so is mine, but the difference is I deliver the illusion of grandeur while they can only aspire to it. 
 

But yet, I am here, strangely popular. How can you be disliked, but popular? 
 

People are sadists, through and through. It’s the only explanation for the pull towards religion. They want the shackles, they will to be the slave. They need someone to tell them what to do. All your life as a child, you fight for independence and freedom. Then, go the whole second half of your adult life, clambering for the comfort and rules and bosom of your mother to tell you it’s all okay and there are no monsters under the bed. What is therapy even based on if not that? The mother we never had, the father who listens and guides. Grown adults paying someone to take on the role they need now they are out in the open, unable to be tucked in and given warm milk anymore.

 

I used to think I was born in the wrong era. That the 50s would have suited me to no end. As I get older, I start to think - maybe a freezing damp hut in a cut throat medieval village would have been the better fit. I seem to crave strife and struggle. Maybe I just need a real test?

 

Don’t. Tempt. Fate.

 

x

[mylolita]

I’m gonna start saying more of what I mean and it’s not going be so appealing.

 

x

[mylolita]

You don’t need to read any philosophers. Just read yourself.

 

x

[mylolita]

People all sugar coat themselves, in one way or another. To what extent, is personal preference.

 

x

[mylolita]

I got electrocuted yesterday. It was absolutely fantastic. Stupid idiot I am, I had washed my hands but in a rush not dried them, and I went to unplug some dodgy adaptor thing the workmen had been using and, a shot of shiver ran through me, no joke.

 

My finger tips where the shock had entered felt like they had been burned, but it was a freezing cold sensation of burning, not a hot one. They were tingling, I felt buzzed inside. My heart even felt a little jolted. Not much pain though, only at my fingertips. Amazing! I felt strange and off skelter ten minutes after. I shouted to D, “I’ve just got an electric shock!” And he just shouted back from the other room blandly, un-stirred, “You loon.”

 

x

[dias]

20 hours ago, mylolita said:

Maybe as you suggested along time ago, Ii should get back into some serious exercise?! 

Exercising definitely helps a lot! May I suggest weight lifting? A typical workout routine that you could find online would be ok, I can help you with that. Weight lifting has different results in your mood than cardio. I think you would like the feeling. Plus it's more pleasant and easier than cardio lol