Diary Of A Redhead

[mylolita]

——-

 

You look like an angel (look like an angel) 
Walk like an angel (walk like an angel) 
Talk like an angel 
But I got wise

You're the devil in disguise 
Oh, yes, you are, devil in disguise

You fooled me with your kisses 
You cheated and you schemed 
Heaven knows how you lied to me 
You're not the way you seemed

You look like an angel (look like an angel) 
Walk like an angel (walk like an angel) 
Talk like an angel 
But I got wise

You're the devil in disguise 
Oh, yes, you are, devil in disguise

I thought that I was in heaven 
But I was sure surprised 
Heaven help me, I didn't see 
The devil in your eyes

You look like an angel (look like an angel) 
Walk like an angel (walk like an angel) 
Talk like an angel 
But I got wise

You're the devil in disguise 
Oh, yes, you are, devil in disguise

You're the devil in disguise 
Oh, yes, you are, devil in disguise 
Oh, yes, you are, devil in disguise 
Oh, yes, you are, devil in disguise 
Oh, yes, you are, devil in disguise

 

——-

 

‘Devil in Disguise’ - Elvis Presley 

[mylolita]

———

Maybe I should have saved 
Those leftover dreams 
Funny, but here's that rainy day

Here's that rainy day 
They told me about 
And I laughed at the thought 
That it might turn out this way

Where is that worn out wish 
That I threw aside? 
After it brought my lover near

Funny how love becomes a cold, rainy day 
Funny, that rainy day is here

———-

 

 

 

[Jibralta]

3 hours ago, mylolita said:

‘Devil in Disguise’ - Elvis Presley

This song reminds me of the movie She Devil with Roseanne Barr. It's a comedy that came out when I was a kid. I watched it again a couple weeks ago--it was really good! I'll laugh at pretty much anything, though.*

3 hours ago, mylolita said:

Last week, I was in bed, talking to his back. I said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been more supportive.” There was a big pause. Obviously no, darling, it’s okay, don’t worry. From that pause I knew I had really wounded him. 

 

“Okay love.” He starts. Then, another pause. “You just get in these moods. Let’s not argue.” Another pause. 

 

“Everything’s alright, as long as we’re alright.”

I think your apology can go a long way, especially if you don't allow it to happen again. Excuse yourself, say "I'm too angry to talk." Go for a drive (try not to lock yourself in the boot lol). Just don't lash out at him. For his part, he has to leave you alone until you're ready to talk or hear more. 

He knows you're volatile. He loves that about you. That's not what you're changing. You're just changing one impulse (lashing out) at one moment in time that's going to pass really fast. The time to address the issue in more depth will still be there. But you will be better prepared, having skipped that one crucial beat. 

My mom had a volatile temper when we were growing up. It was a cyclical, self-feeding thing. She'd really fly off the handle over something, then she'd be deeply remorseful for the things she said and did. The remorse that she felt over her temper turned itself into self-loathing, and then to more rage. There wasn't another adult in the house to keep her in check, so she got worse and worse over time. She was pretty abusive. My sister and I didn't know what would set her off when she got home at night. 

ANYWAY, I wrote all of this to tell you that the worst part of my mom's temper was that her apologies were meaningless.

1. her apologies were like weapons. If she actually did apologize, it would be flung at you like it was self-defense: "Well, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just the worst mother in the world!"**
2. after a couple days, weeks, or months (depending on her whim), she'd fly off the handle about nothing again, and repeat the whole abusive cycle as if this time it was justifiable. 

When these things happen, "sorry" doesn't mean anything. It's just read as a pity party for the apologizer. On the other hand, when you actually change the behavior (just that one quick fine-tune), the apology goes a long, long way. 

____________________________________________

*Well almost anything. For example, I do not think Team America World Police is funny at all (although I do appreciate the attempt).

**And it turns out, she wasn't a bad mom, all said and done. My sister and I turned out pretty darned good. Everyone didn't die, there was no tragedy. I certainly have been impacted by her temper, but I'm tough enough and smart enough to work around it and/or past it.

[mylolita]

 

 

I’m sorry guys but, this dissection just made me think of the above scene from The Sopranos!

 

No but really… yes… change. Oh boy, change. Sweet mother, to change! 

 

x

[mylolita]

20 hours ago, Jibralta said:

This song reminds me of the movie She Devil with Roseanne Barr. It's a comedy that came out when I was a kid. I watched it again a couple weeks ago--it was really good! I'll laugh at pretty much anything, though.*

I think your apology can go a long way, especially if you don't allow it to happen again. Excuse yourself, say "I'm too angry to talk." Go for a drive (try not to lock yourself in the boot lol). Just don't lash out at him. For his part, he has to leave you alone until you're ready to talk or hear more. 

He knows you're volatile. He loves that about you. That's not what you're changing. You're just changing one impulse (lashing out) at one moment in time that's going to pass really fast. The time to address the issue in more depth will still be there. But you will be better prepared, having skipped that one crucial beat. 

My mom had a volatile temper when we were growing up. It was a cyclical, self-feeding thing. She'd really fly off the handle over something, then she'd be deeply remorseful for the things she said and did. The remorse that she felt over her temper turned itself into self-loathing, and then to more rage. There wasn't another adult in the house to keep her in check, so she got worse and worse over time. She was pretty abusive. My sister and I didn't know what would set her off when she got home at night. 

ANYWAY, I wrote all of this to tell you that the worst part of my mom's temper was that her apologies were meaningless.

1. her apologies were like weapons. If she actually did apologize, it would be flung at you like it was self-defense: "Well, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just the worst mother in the world!"**
2. after a couple days, weeks, or months (depending on her whim), she'd fly off the handle about nothing again, and repeat the whole abusive cycle as if this time it was justifiable. 

When these things happen, "sorry" doesn't mean anything. It's just read as a pity party for the apologizer. On the other hand, when you actually change the behavior (just that one quick fine-tune), the apology goes a long, long way. 

____________________________________________

*Well almost anything. For example, I do not think Team America World Police is funny at all (although I do appreciate the attempt).

**And it turns out, she wasn't a bad mom, all said and done. My sister and I turned out pretty darned good. Everyone didn't die, there was no tragedy. I certainly have been impacted by her temper, but I'm tough enough and smart enough to work around it and/or past it.

Jibs!

 

At first, I thought, hang on a sec people! Don’t gang up on me now, can’t you see, I am but a helpless slave to my emotions and a money grabbing w***e?! Have some mercy?! 
 

But then I slept on this because yesterday was busy, and I realised dear Jib, you are right.

 

The horrible thing is, I know it will happen again in some shape or form. I don’t know how or when or why. We have the rest of our lives together. I might be 90 and still have the energy to go flamboyantly off. The pressure almost of having this be my last stand in some twisted way is too much for me.

 

Having a temper, however it comes out, is mostly a fault. And I know this, and I see it. The strange thing about me is, I’ve always had a temper, but when I was young and a mid teenager, it was turned inwards and I built up resentment and hateful feelings towards people I would smile at the next day. Of course, that can’t go on either. Because you end up with the same immature explosion, but it’s directed all at yourself, and not others.

 

When D met me, he would constantly say, “Just say what you mean. Don’t beat around the bush.” I was so trained to keep my thoughts to myself (HA! Can you imagine), and be a “good quiet girl” a “good girl”, that D even coined my plastic, please all behaviour as “customer service Lo”. He would say, half annoyed, half exasperated, “Don’t give me customer service Lo!” And we would even argue over that. It was always, whatever you wanna do. Whatever you think. Now I found my own voice and started to have this freeing feeling of, I didn’t care what people thought of me or, if I pleased anyone or made them proud, like my parents. It hit about, 20, probably. I met D when I was 18. I fully came out of it in a big way, almost too MUCH the other way, as you can see, at about 28, probably not long after I had my son. I just stopped saying yes.

 

Also, an observation. People, like your mum, who by the way, I do not condone her behaviour Jib, and you know this my sweet because we have had the chats 🥲 but, people who have anger issues, part of them, as you can probably imagine, like and enjoy getting angry. They willingly give in to that anger. It makes them feel useful, righteous, powerful, and in control. Weird because, you are so out of control. But you are expressing exactly what and that heavy weight inside of you is coming out in spades and you feel, honestly, you feel great. Even though, you know it’s bad! And so wrong. You’ll feel bad tomorrow, or in a few seconds, or within the next hour, but right now? Whilst you are out of control? It feels great. And you always say, like the gambling addict who is addicted to the rush - I will never do it again. I am changed. 
 

I have wrestled for self control most of my life. As a previous anorexic, and tidy clean freak (in a controlling, trying to master my surroundings way), the release of pent up emotion (of which I have an endless supply it seems) is a brief holiday from my every second momentary fight for control. I can just throw my hands up and stop. And say, I enjoy this, it’s out of my control! (That’s what I tell myself). And, I love it. It’s like being someone else for a minute. And I get to release all those thoughts and feelings you’re not supposed to have, al the in-civilised stuff, right out into the open! Exercising, almost religiously, a kind of fire and brimstone delight! I get a similar feeling when I drive recklessly too fast, when I used to strip in front of strangers, when I used to get up and speak off the cuff for classes and verbal essay, or when I write with abandon and try and say exactly how I feel. An adrenaline rush, I guess. Minor and major. When I shop to extreme and spend large amounts of money. The guilt is worth it for the rush and selfish excitement. 
 

I also have another observation. That women, who go into sex work, like myself, whether they appear sweet or shy or cute or placid on the outside, are ruthless and money orientated on the inside. They are harsh survivors and have a kind of balls. You could call it no self respect or, lost standards. I know I am one of them even though from the outside, I am the good and sweet domestic middle class mother. There is an undercurrent of street life too me that I have been born with and once involved, will never leave me. I can be wicked and self serving. There is almost a “whatever it takes” secret attitude I harbour. I am in the gutter, always, even in a pristine, beautifully appointed house. 
 

These are not excuses. I was raised stable and very well. It’s almost like it was always in me, to be a black sheep. 
 

When I was 15, I announced off handedly during a serene family dinner that I was either going into stripping or to become a nun when I hit 18. My parents laughed and thought it was a joke. I kinda did too, but I knew it was part serious, like all jokes.  Both extreme paths looked at me and I choose the other. I can’t seem to do anything in a mild and pleasant way. God knows what I do with myself.

 

I can imagine myself in therapy, hating it all, my rebellious nature thinking, I’m gonna walk right out that door and go do something of real interest. What a bore. I can imagine myself thinking well, I wonder what the therapists life is like! Who are they to know better?! 
 

I do want to change. Kind of. If my actions didn’t cause any harm, I would never change, because this is the only way I know how to operate. But because I am not me, alone, on an island, I do need many a tweak dear Jib. Too many to probably mention. But then, my defiant nature says, well so does every one else! 
 

How annoying I am! 
 

We move today, and D rolled over to squeeze me early this morning, and said, “It’s move day Lo. Let’s just stay calm and everything will go okay - promise?”

 

Half asleep I promise. And I will today. I can choose my response, I know I can. It’s not as fun as the amateur dramatics though. Being pleasant and agreeable holds no exercise or stimulation for your mind. I enjoy fireworks in my brain. I feel doddery saying “yes ma’am how’s the weather” 🤪

 

I know you aren’t suggesting that Jib. But my silly mind always thinks well, I have rolled over now and submitted. they must mean I get that pipe out and dust off some horrible slippers!

 

x

[Jibralta]

3 hours ago, mylolita said:

At first, I thought, hang on a sec people! Don’t gang up on me now, can’t you see, I am but a helpless slave to my emotions and a money grabbing w***e?! Have some mercy?! 

Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you feel attacked. I hope you know that my post wasn't meant as a criticism of (or even a commentary on) you. It's just an observation I've made in life, and in my own relationship. By all means, thrill-seek away--it's MOVING DAY! 🤪

[mylolita]

1 hour ago, Jibralta said:

Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you feel attacked. I hope you know that my post wasn't meant as a criticism of (or even a commentary on) you. It's just an observation I've made in life, and in my own relationship. By all means, thrill-seek away--it's MOVING DAY! 🤪

😉 Jib, it’s totally fine, there is no need to apologise at all my dear! I am just being sensitive! No one was ganging up on me, I appreciate the support and feedback. I know I haven’t been a decent person. Part of me is just s****y! I read so much on here - they did this to me, I had that done to me, this is happening - and the OP’s seem to be these understanding sweet people who are put upon and bad things happen to them. Most of mine is self inflicted. No one puts anything much upon me! When am I going to be the peaceful and right victim of someone’s terrible behaviour? I kind of wish I could be for once! Everyone is too nice to me, they really are. Including you guys! 😘

 

And yes. Holy mother of boxes! Kids won’t give me a second, hanging off me like dead vines. Boxes everywhere, washing piled up in the sink that is never usually there (THE HORROR!) and they still need naps and lunches and changing and milk whilst all the madness goes on around us.

 

D is off at the new house and has been since 7am getting everything finalised there with the plumber and doing last touch ups and moving more boxes. He has a truck load here as well piled high on our veranda. How…. HOW?! How have I managed to hide THIS all away in a CARAVAN?! It makes me sick every single time I have seen all my belongings stacked up into boxes. Each couple of months we have done it, I have thought to myself, Jesus… don’t buy anything else for heavens sake woman! Then waddayaknow! I’m back at it. Then the cull starts a month later because I am kind of minimalist. A maximalist hiding it all and constantly getting rid! 
 

x

[mylolita]

WE’RE IN!

 

7 days in! 7 flipping days in. Feels like a flash and a lifetime all over.

 

I feel like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards since before November last year. Not having anywhere to call home and moving constantly with the babies has been tougher than I would admit even to myself. From the outside it looks like I have handled it effortlessly, like a French braid - but the sore lump in my throat, high temperature and thumping head reveal the real deal. 
 

The day we were due to move, I started getting sick. First time in months. Not in a bad way, in a minor cold way. You wouldn’t even tell. Then the night we moved, I couldn’t sleep. I can always, always sleep, no matter what. And I couldn’t. I woke up feeling terrible, worse than ever.

 

I don’t know. Was it the accumulation of stress? Was it, the fact that the huge floor to ceiling window was completely bare of any curtain, leaving me feeling naked and exposed to the dark, outside world, and that single street lamp on the old back street I am starting to know? Was it, the stacks and stacks of boxes, causing my love of order and minimal appearances to close in on me, in a claustrophobic way? Was it because, there was no hot water, and I had bird bathed myself under a freezing cold shower when I thought I would be able to hack it SAS style? Was it the large, echoing, unfamiliar way of it all? Was it my pounding head? My tight chest? Anxiety? Not having “the right book” on my bedside table?! Not having “anything right in it’s right place done to perfect all done all beautiful?!?” I stepped into the house of my dreams, signed sealed and delivered by D, toiled for, tossed and turned for by him, on a picturesque street, in a picturesque town, where the coastal breeze picks up, delivered through your window! 
 

I felt like the house was talking too me like Russell Crowe in Gladiator: “ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!”

 

I don’t know what I was. I didn’t know who what or where I was that night; and worse still, not the night after, or the night after that.

 

I’m still not feeling great, but the thing is, when your top floor holds over 90 boxes all taunting you whether you can see them or not, and when you have three babes, and a husband that needs to work away to pay for the d**n dream house you’re complaining in, you can’t take a sick day. 
 

Now, I knew it was coming… it’s their turn. It started yesterday. My middle girl woke up very hot, and I knew, poor giblet - she was feeling all the feels I had been, three days before. Today, the in and out of rain and thunder and streaks of sunshine then dullest dark of days, she was even worse. Normally silly, rambunctious and cheeky to the MAX, she was falling asleep between juices and orange segments and medicine and napping on the couch. They all fell asleep after an early bath at 5pm, with the renewed late afternoon sun blazing through their vast bay window. I tucked them in and slinked out the door. I don’t know how this is going to pan out. I’ve never not read them a story before bed, and they fell asleep before I could clean their teeth. Baby bambino went down and then I walked into my two curled up sheet tussled bundles, 4 and 3, blonde and curly, in the land of not feeling so well nod. 
 

On an evening, this street, I’m starting to learn, takes on a sleepy magic. It reminds me of a scene from The Spooks Of Bottle Bay. The church at the top of the bank, large and imposing through aged oaks, bongs and chimes at every half hour, every hour. The face is illuminated pale yellow through the dark, the gothic windows often glowing until late with, whatever goings on and people go in and out of that magical, always empty seeming building. 
 

At the other end, as the bank declines, all the front gardens of our stretched town house lawns fall in a domino stone walled incline, is a hefty stone bridge, and roughly every half hour, a train slowly chugs across it. On an evening, it’s obvious. During the day, you might miss it. The windows are lit, and you catch glimpses of a single traveller, phone or book or magazine at the ready. A quick flash. It’s relaxing husha-husha, husha-husha sound is dreamy late evening. Dreamy and lonesome. 
 

Our neighbour to our right has an enchanted sprawl of a wild garden. Wild but maintained. Maintained to be wild. The perfect, best kind of garden. His ivies, roses, buddleia, vines and wisterias spill over onto our wall like languid sirens. It’s a luscious last display of summer. His mass of thick greenery mingles with our apple tree, standing proud and to the side on our lawn. We stripped the rest of the garden out, laid lawn, but left this serene old tree. How could you have ever chopped her down, anyway? The kids have developed a routine, even after only a week, of running out, on a morning, or anytime, and picking the huge, I mean ginormous, gorgeous apples that weigh down the branches. One of my first homely touches was to come across my fruit bowl, and fill it with apples from our tree. 

 

The whole house, the garden, the yard - it‘s all a weird stranger too me. I haven’t felt at home here straight away like I did in our last house. Our last house was, love at first sight, like everything had been in my life. Hot and fast and instant and on purpose. This new house, is so like the other. It’s a large period property, a town house, old features, working fireplace. It’s also bang in the middle of a massive renovation still, with the kitchen being a door closed to a building site. Nothing new there, so was the last one, and for a lot longer than I want this one to be if I can help it! (BY GOD!)

 

I think I’m just so tired, and all at once. And also, disturbed… seriously disturbed and ashamed, at all the b****y stuff I’ve amassed in such a short space of time. I’ve had it hidden away. Now, I get confronted by it all up there in a sprawl and, I can’t tell you the guilt it gives me. Maybe I am not sleeping due to sheer guilt?! And about d**n time as well! It’s probably about time I felt God d**n guilty about something! And I SHOULD! And, I will. I want to never shop like I have again. I never want to unpack another, to open another one and say under my breath, “Oh my God not clothes again! what are you DOING!?” I don’t want this feeling ever, ever, ever(!!!) again! 
 

And WOMAN! Quit while you’re ahead won’t you! I can’t believe I am starting to moan about this glorious house, kitchen or no kitchen. 
 

D should be back from his trip away soon. I know he’ll want me to boil 8 kettles, fill our cast iron bath with it’s serious claw feet, and then fall into bed like a sack of potato’s, but, I’ll be so glad to have him back, even if he is laid out ontop of the duvet with his mouth open. And… have a new boiler fitted… whenever we can get hold of these gold dust plumbers! Little b*****ds! But that’s another rant, for another day.

 

But the shopping. It must stop. It just, must. I can’t hide the items forever. Someone is coming to one hell of a yard sale next week. 
 

I had this horrible saying run through my head, to a tune my Grandad used to sing on the organ of the same line - “I wanna go home. I wannaaa go home! Oh, how I wanna go home.”

It floated eerily into my head, the tune of Detroit City ( I Wanna Go Home) by Bobby Bare, but the voice of my Grandad singing it, and his foot, the way it pumped the organ peddle, his thick soled shoes, and his clumpy but passionate, simple way of playing it. I miss him, so much. 
 

I wonder if my Grandad would ever have thought he would give me a love of country and rockabilly? The strange thing is, as much as I adore it, I find it hard to hear. It’s attached with a sadness, because it reminds me of him. He always said he loved country, because “it tells a story”. Well, one day Grandad, imagine if I told a story of my own? 

 

I hope this will feel like home soon. I haven’t had home in so long, I don’t know where my heart lays to rest anymore.

 

x

 

 

[mylolita]

 

[dias]

Maybe it's not like the first house but based on the last photo and the description it seems a nice house nonetheless. And it's your house! Enjoy it!

[mylolita]

16 hours ago, dias said:

Maybe it's not like the first house but based on the last photo and the description it seems a nice house nonetheless. And it's your house! Enjoy it!

Thanks Dias.

 

I think nearly a year of constant upheaval back and forth and not settling has just washed up on me. I didn’t think it had affected me but second thoughts - I think it has. I sound like such a brat! I am I know it.

 

The house is fantastic, I really shouldn’t complain. The whole thing is still luxurious and big. The architecture is different - Georgian proportions are elegant and symmetrical and details are fine and slender. It will always be my favourite era for architecture, aside from Medieval. This house is Victorian. You are at the start of the large bay window. The period features have more of a “family” or “homely” feel. Woodwork becomes a bit more chunky. Everything becomes less simple. It doesn’t have as much of a glamorous feel. We have kept most of the interior understated. For instance, it wouldn’t suit marble tiles. We went for terracotta. It’s large proportioned, it’s got such a similar layout to the last house - walled yard that will open from kitchen and living room, lovely stretched law at the front, old walls, big windows! A gorgeous staircase over 3 floors! I should be over the moon!

 

I guess I’m one of those people that are all or nothing. I’m either completely obsessed and in love with something or it is doomed and nothing to me. I can’t find a happy medium. I don’t know the concept of “growing to love” or “learning to love”. I think this is why I struggled so badly with my daughter. With my first baby, my son, everything was new and the first and I was instantly besotted. He was breathtaking. I automatically expected the exact same feelings for any other bambino’s we were blessed with. But, my beautiful daughter popped out and even though she was post card perfect - wow, was I guiltily deflated. I felt sick with missing something. I expected the exact same passion. 
 

Maybe I am slowly learning a lesson in adulthood that life isn’t one amazing dramatic windswept moment to another. I’m not living Gone With The Wind here, even though I feel very akin to Scarlett O’Hara and her jealous, bratty but tenacious tendencies! No Dias, I just need to suck it up, be grateful for this beautiful house most people would chop their left leg off for and blooming start enjoying myself, because life is too short!
 

It doesn’t help that half of it is still a building site. And we still don’t have a kitchen. But I forget the last one took 6 years, and this one has been half done in 5 months, hence probably most of why we are financially crippled! Oh yes!

 

Greece looks ahhhh-mazing! I am quite jealous! And I’m not even a sun time kinda gal! But it just looks beautiful, beyond!

 

x

[mylolita]

I mean, just to add as well, I was 25 when we got that house. Not a kid but… we didn’t have any babies. I quit my job and spent a whole year alone solely working on that house, every morning, full time, working on one house, before I then became full time lady of leisure 🥹 The scale of renovation and restoration work that went into that thing. I mean, we had a joiner working for us for 2 years 3 days a week every week. I forget how vast it was.

 

Now you can’t get your hands on a plumber or a joiner or anyone, hardly ever! Regardless of how much you’ll pay them! The economy is strange. We have three kids to work around - I can’t paint and sand for a year and indulge myself like before. We have gained other things where we have lost. A better area, a better school, equity from selling the old house, an art and antique collection and a bit of renovation experience. 
 

I’ll send you pictures if you’re ever interested when it’s a bit more “done!” I am a perfectionist Dias and openly admit I need to GET A LIFE! We sourced this bathroom set, this loo, it’s a high end kinda loo… that’s ridiculous sounding isn’t it, again, get a life. But the luxury company don’t make that certain style anymore, and the painter broke the cistern, which alone is worth about £350 just to try and replace. That’s how absurd and stupid it all is. At first, I was irritated! I thought, careless idiot! You practically can’t buy one again! And then I thought, straight after - get over it. It’s a toilet cistern. Get a life! The show goes on!

 

So I’d actually rather be at the beach with D and the kids, warm wind whipping our hair, forgetting about all of it, than fretting over my cracked cistern!!! There is the part of me that mourns for the caravan in the valley because, as impractical it was long term (and it had draw backs sure), the simplicity and no fuss of it all was… really gorgeous. All I had to do was run a hoover from one end to the other and I was done cleaning. The kids could only make so much mess. Everything was outside. They went to bed exhausted. Now, we’re exhausted because you spend so much of your time in a large house walking from A to B. You forget leaving something on one floor, or needing it, brings out a weird kind of laziness in you that says, do I really need to take 3 flights of stairs just for a lipstick?! Your voice gets hoarse because you can’t simply shout upstairs to someone, you have to get your phone out and call them, even though, they are in the house! 
 

The days I have had my phone on me, I can walk 6 miles just going about the house and up and down flights of stairs - no joke.

 

Pros and cons to everything! And I will stop whining now because this is YOUR chapter! 🤣🥲

Just have my in your thoughts when we are struggling to pay to heat the thing and you are swimming with exotic fishes!

 

x

[mylolita]

“Ahhh, forget it boyo. You’re as likely to have angels fly out of yer a**e to gettin’ next to the likes of her.”

 

x

[mylolita]

“You’re the one! The one I’ve been looking for!” 
 

x

[Jibralta]

Have you ever read the "Little Mermaid" fairytale by Hans Christian Andersen?

[dias]

On 9/9/2022 at 1:20 AM, mylolita said:

So I’d actually rather be at the beach with D and the kids, warm wind whipping our hair, forgetting about all of it, than fretting over my cracked cistern!!!

❤️

On 9/9/2022 at 1:20 AM, mylolita said:

Pros and cons to everything! And I will stop whining now because this is YOUR chapter!

It's your journal!! Plus it's a new chapter for you too. New house, new chapter. You don't finish a house everyday lol

On 9/9/2022 at 1:20 AM, mylolita said:

Just have my in your thoughts when we are struggling to pay to heat the thing and you are swimming with exotic fishes!

❤️

[mylolita]

2 hours ago, Jibralta said:

Have you ever read the "Little Mermaid" fairytale by Hans Christian Andersen?

No Jib!

 

But I know everything he wrote was quite dark - and she dies in the end? Is that right? 

 

I related on some level to Ariel watching her as a kid, I was fixated. Her singing “I want more” when she’s in her trinket trove! It echoes still into my adult life! 
 

x

 

 

[mylolita]

1 minute ago, mylolita said:

No Jib!

 

But I know everything he wrote was quite dark - and she dies in the end? Is that right? 

 

I related on some level to Ariel watching her as a kid, I was fixated. Her singing “I want more” when she’s in her trinket trove! It echoes still into my adult life! 
 

x

 

 

All original fairytales are dark, is that right Jib? All mythology.

 

I always remember a quote from Albert Einstein:

 

”If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairytales. If you want your children to be more intelligent, read them more fairytales.”

 

”The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination.”

 

x

[mylolita]

“Sir, you are no gentleman!”

 

”And you miss, are no lady!”

[Jibralta]

5 hours ago, mylolita said:

But I know everything he wrote was quite dark - and she dies in the end? Is that right?

Yes, it's a lot different than the Disney version. Very sad, actually. 

5 hours ago, mylolita said:

All original fairytales are dark, is that right Jib? All mythology.

I think so. Most of what I've read is, and I've read a lot of them. Somehow, I ended up with volumes of fairytales and mythology in my room growing up. And eventually, I read through all of them.

5 hours ago, mylolita said:

I related on some level to Ariel watching her as a kid, I was fixated. Her singing “I want more” when she’s in her trinket trove! It echoes still into my adult life! 

I loved that movie. I remember when it came out, all of the hype. 

[Jibralta]

On 9/6/2022 at 1:33 PM, mylolita said:

I felt like the house was talking too me like Russell Crowe in Gladiator: “ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!”

 🤣 🤣 🤣 🤣

[mylolita]

13 hours ago, Jibralta said:

Yes, it's a lot different than the Disney version. Very sad, actually. 

I think so. Most of what I've read is, and I've read a lot of them. Somehow, I ended up with volumes of fairytales and mythology in my room growing up. And eventually, I read through all of them.

I loved that movie. I remember when it came out, all of the hype. 

Nothing wrong with fairytales! 
 

My Mum was always fascinated by fairies. She taught us when me and my sister were little that they were real. She does half believe it (along with so so so many other supernatural things - I hope you can hear my eyes rolling), but it’s also part of her childish charm.

 

I remember we had a really dreary, wet, Autumn week when I was small. For some reason, maybe I was home from school? I’m not sure. But she had gathered moss from our small back garden, leaves, twigs and sprigs. She is very crafty my old crazy Mum and she made a higgledy tiny house out of paper mache, covered the sloping roof with moss, aged the walls by staining them with tea bags. A little woven twig fence at the front, a sprig arch over the doorway. It really was enchanted and sparked my imagination no end. She told me if we hid it somewhere private in the garden, fairies would make their home. A few days later when the rain stopped, me and my sister opened the door to that little sodden house, and inside we found a little note on a strip of tissue. It was the Fairy Queen, obviously, who had stayed. She had left a trail of crumbs and magically empty little dolls house plates had appeared on the floor. She thanked us for letting her stop by during her weary travels.

 

Christmas for us was intermingled by my Mums obsession with magic and woodland mystic going ons. Once, in our stocking, in gold glitter teeny hand writing, we got sent a note by another Fairy King saying how good we had been that year, and basically, keep it up yo, fairy blessings! Santa had competition!
 

x

[mylolita]

It’s Sunday ya’ll, let me preach!

 

Only kidding. 
 

It’s my youngest babies 1st Birthday. A delayed 1st Birthday. I don’t know where the time has gone - can I get anymore boring and cliche? It hurt me to even type that line out. I’m too lazy to say it any other way. 
 

I tell you what - a massive dose of can’t be bothered has fell down on me, right when we’ve moved. All my motivation - zapped. I normally have lulls in energy like those mere mortals that seem to walk around amongst me, and it’s a God d**n drag, let me tell you - and always, bet your bottom dollar - happens when you most need energy.

 

I think I had covid. I got a creepy tracking text from the NHS urging me to isolate and test because someone who I have recently been in contact with has tested positive. I wish I never did that one test, one time. My hand was kinda forced being pregnant, and I needed a GP appointment. Anyway. Now I’m on the DaTaBaSe plugged in like the Matrix. I have no friends so this message stood out like a sore thumb.

 

If any of my family want to throw mean, passive aggressive remarks about the house today, this objectively quite lovely house; my patience has gone, Birthday or no Birthday. I’m just gonna say, that’s rude! I don’t comment on yours! You’d think my parents and in laws were travelling from palaces into our hovel with their noses high up to avoid the unwashed. Honestly, it’s like some bizarre form of reverse snobbery from them.

 

People take a hit at me - open game. It’s alright because I can take it. I don’t think they’d do it if they felt like they wounded me and I became tearful. There’s only so much polite you have left when you have 3 under 4 and you’re in the middle of moving and renovating and trying to fit normal life inbetween it all without going insane and keeping your hair lookin’ primped. It’s not easy.

 

I also have the nostalgia of creeping paranoia again. Here we go! “They all hate meee!” (Meaning women). Why do I never get that feeling from men?! My new next door neighbour, she seems absolutely fine, lovely. Very boring, I don’t think she has much interesting to say and her voice is a bit of a drone. She’s massively overweight but dresses well with an alternative edge. Her daughter is exactly the same age as my son. I immediately know we have almost nothing else in common. Why I’m so quick to judge is a personal pet peeve I have about myself. But I always end up being right!!!! Or; is it a self fulfilling prophecy? 
 

I just know she’s not keen on me. She looks me up and down. I invited her in, she walked around the house with no comment, no pleasantries. I don’t expect flattery and a medal, I don’t want someone to say God girl, get yourself into interior design and get Lawrence to step aside! But I always give a genuine compliment in anyones home, especially if I know they have gone to pains to remodel. Nothing. It was like talking to a wet rag. I wasn’t amused so my mind started wandering off while we were half chatting, your brain didn’t need to be in it so I flicked onto the autopilot and let my mind go free.

 

I wish I could “walk in love”, “see the best in everyone” and “judge less”. The irony is, she was probably judging me and not liking her impression of me either! 
 

Chalk and cheese came to mind.

 

Everyones started arriving and I’ve made an excuse to hide upstairs. Such a strange mood I’m in. So anti-social. I still don’t feel quite right from being sick last week. If I had my way, I’d be in bed right now with my current read and a warm Ribena and NO ONE HERE and the rain POUNDING AND LASHING at the panes leaving no guilt or doubt at all that you should definitely, surely, be staying in.

 

Ideally today, I would throw a party then leave. I don’t even have energy for my kids today. I’m in such a slumpy slump off.

 

x

[mylolita]

You know you’re a caffeine addict when it’s 11pm and you think: 

 

“Maybe just one before bed!”

 

x

[mylolita]