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Diary Of A Redhead


mylolita
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I was doing a bit of thinking last night and going back to how I’ve always wanted to get rid of my iPhone.  
 

I haven’t got any social media, no Instagram, Facebook - but I realised I’ve replaced those outlets with here, like some stranger version of twitter. I’m hooked to checking and writing anything that comes into my mind. 
 

I want to get back out to being fully here. I don’t want to be tempted by that black rectangle. 
 

I’m getting a little brick Nokia, and putting the smartphone in the drawer. 
 

I want to get back to being able to sit, and just take in doing nothing for a minute. I want to get off screens - I think they make me feel a little ill. I want to get back into reading obsessively. I want to replace my journal with a real journal, with real pages. I want my church to be the library again.

 

I want to try to have a couple of weeks break from here. A month would be great if I could manage it. It’s terrible to think I don’t know what I’m going to fill those weird spare moments with - having a wee! Walking up the landings. Those half hours where the kids are relaxing watching a cartoon. Evenings after they have gone to bed, and D is away.
 

I just either want to sit with them, enjoy the free time, or get other things done. There’s so much to do anyway. 
 

We woke up this morning and the first thing D did was look at his phone. I could see the e-mails scrolling by. I can’t tell you how much I blame these mini computers. 
 

How about if we just sat up and talked? He put it away after 10 minutes and then started telling me about the night before (he’d been out playing pool with his Dad). Then the kids piled in. It was really nice. But those black little rectangles lay waiting and tempting on the bedside tables. And here I am now, almost having to force a painful divorce to get rid of mine. I am addicted, I don’t want to be.

 

I started doing my fasting again. No eating after 6pm. I wake up feeling great and not even hungry. It’s something that naturally happened while we stayed in the valley at the caravan. 
 

I have a basket of secondhand books that I picked up from the woodland cafe book exchange when we were there too. They are under my bedside table, competing with the phone, but the phone often wins. They lay stacked there, unmoved for two months. I’ve been reading the same one for weeks now, and normally I finish a book within a few days. 
 

We don’t want to be alone with ourselves, do we? I am constantly feeding my ego. Ego ego ego. I can’t be alone with my ego. 
 

I’m forcing my own hand. Watch me crumble about half way through this dreary drizzle of a day! 

I might feel like crying a lot. Then it gives way to happiness, and a feeling of - freedom. 
 

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I’ve broken my minutes silence for a public announcement of such importance… I can’t stress this ENOUGH.

 

I don’t care if your aunt is dying in hospital and you won’t be here the week of December because you have to fly over to heal Ethiopians or you’re gonna be climbing Everest so it’s kind of inconvenient to come home to decorate after BUT IF YOU ARE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO ARE ERECTING YOUR MOTHER TUCKING CHRISTMAS TREE WHILE THAT CALENDAR STILL READS NOOOVEEEEMMMBER - you are dead to me.

 

It was bad enough on our street full of bay windows that yes, I realise, BEG for a Christmas tree in their lovin’ space that a few doors down had already… gone there… a week before this, but now DIRECTLY ACROSS FROM ME I go to draw my babies curtains and they are fluffing and sprucing quite merrily in overhead (regurgitate) ceiling lighting THEIR CHRISTMAS TREE! 
 

1st December, absolute earliest. If you have no class and taste, like these h*es, you do it now. It’s criminal, actually. If you are elegant, three or two weeks before the 25th. 
 

I’ve been assaulted, visually, and it’s not cool.

 

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Sometimes, I’m gonna be honest, I’m like - beam me up. Just bl***y beam me up SCOTTY! Y’know what I mean?! 
 

Look - pep talk time, a**hole. You’re still young, ya look great, you’re healthy, you’re happily married, you have three amazing, healthy, wildly intelligent, beautiful children.  You walk around a gorgeous big old Victorian house all day. You have the wild coast at your doorstep. Money is good. SHUT UP ALREADY OKAY?! You God damn… IDIOT! A fools ERRAND! That’s what you’re on! 
 

D says, “You’re not happy unless you have a crisis.”

 

He’s right. I really hate that he’s always right.

 

I won’t ever admit it, but I think he knows me more than I know myself.

 

Okay Trumpy!! Tell Kate Bush to chuck on her leotard and GET TO IT! 
 

The struggles are real, they really are. It’s not easy, y’know. Being an ENFP. Let me just categorise myself some. It’s not easy being a redhead, y’know. I get, redhead privilege, ever heard of that? Probably not, but it’s a thing, it sure is. We’re dying out. We’re… one to two percent of this population. That makes me sacred, y’know? So you should! It’s very saucy sacred stuff! 
 

I met another neighbour yesterday. Great lookin’ older guy, tall, slim, model-ish looking. Turns out he’s French and lives half the summer in his country house in the South of France. We just melted away because there I go with my French heritage and we’re there all stylish and annoying and French being all Frenchy all snug in my tiny Frenchness and him smug in his suarve full Frenchness and I’m going like well, my father in law used to look at our rouge marble fireplace in the old house and say, “Isn’t it depressing to look at that all day?” And I said Hunny, if it’s good enough for Versailles then it’s good enough for me! And we’re laughing all French country n’all in our loose thrown together gorgeous bas**rd French way. HA!

 

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You need to worry about the socialising… say’s the most SOCIALLY AWKWARD PERSON I have ever met in my LIFE!

 

The guy ducks and bobs when you say hi like you’re chucking a large orange at his head. Holy smokes, why do I even entertain it!

 

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D has been doing a few 16 hour days.

 

The guy comes in looking slumped and knackered. I tell him I’ll run a bath and put the kids to bed, to just go on up and settle in. He can’t help himself though, ordering pizza and inviting the kids to come running in, all eating and laughing on our huge bed.

 

I get on downstairs, done with the day, the whole house empty and silent, babies chests rising and falling under the warmth of quilted duvets. An hour later I can hear his dressing gown tie trailing down the stairs. He has a fair early tomorrow, but I’m going to have to go out now for these specific lights, but it’s so late and I only have an hour to get there leaving a half hour max to get round the shop, he says. Like magic, I was already sitting in my car coat. You’ll have to put your foot down though. Are you sure it’s okay? This is the type of stuff I’m MADE FOR! 
 

I was glad, over joyed, excited like a kid busting outta the school gates for the summer holidays, to jump into the car in the pitch black of night and go go go.

 

I raced there, cruised back, with time to spare. 
 

I didn’t know how badly I needed a drive out, alone; in the middle of the night, until I was out. Thank you thank you thank you thank you.

 

I do this thing… I don’t know if anyone else does this? But, I cruise, maybe 90 or so, hardly a thing on the duel carriageway, watching the lights of lorries and small cars fly past like alien orbs. I indicate to switch lanes, and just, let myself slowly, slowly, ambly, drift across to the next lane, and in the process, I time it so the wheels don’t hit any of the cats eyes, giving this glide… this smooth, cool as a cucumber, glide. 
 

Plenty of completely unlit roads, and low mist hanging. I saw a small car slowly slowing and slowing, when it should have been accelerating on the slip road to join the carriageway. There were too many cars in front of me overtaking just in time before it either had to come to a standstill still or just plough out into sheer fate for me to do the same. I only had a split second, I checked in my rear mirror, a handful of cars coming up fast behind me, not able to see what I am seeing in front. I snapped the hazards on immediately, decreasing speed as fast and as easing as I could to help others do the same, bringing everyone into line, slowly, behind me, allowing this insane person, who was at a near standstill on a 70mph road, edge out. I immediately put my foot down and overtook them, back into the right. Jesus Christ. Maybe I’d like to think, I saved a pile up tonight? Here in the mist, at 11pm? Who knows, who knows.

 

I feel like a flipping pilot when I get behind the wheel of car. Let’s take off. Fly me to the moon. I feel, probably, in my vanity, in control. 
 

I went out for drinks with two friends a few nights ago. D went out to the same bar the night after. He came in, I was shaking out my hair from it’s pin up do.
 

“The bar maid told me tonight, “your wife’s hot.” 
 

“Oh yeah?” My terrible ego is delighted. “Is she trying to organise something?” 
 

He laughs. “She wanted me to tell you.”

 

”Well! Wait, how did she know I was your wife?”

 

Still breaking hearts. Left *clicks fingers*, right *clicks fingers* and CENTRE *clicks fingers!* SNAP SNAP, shimmy shimmy. 
 

I have to say, that bar got a whole lot more interesting once we came in.

 

And God, that SONG. Am I ever just a sucker, an absolute roll over, for a smooth, gorgeous, sensual outro. Always have been, always will be. 
 


Don’t try to find me tonight.
 

x

 


 

 

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Sometimes I’m suddenly overwhelmed by this urge like, gimme the booze, gimme the drugs, overload the caffeine, all the sex I can handle. Give me a castle banquette table filled with cake and LET ME GAMBLE EVERYTHING AWAY TO START AGAIN TOMORROW! Let me forget there will ever be a day, that the sun will rise. I want to NOT CARE, in this moment, and purely live for every single pleasure I can dive into, RIGHT NOW.
 

It was absolutely freezing cold, the coastal wind blowing a harsh tunnel of relentless bluster down the streets and up the hills. The walk back from the bar to my friends apartment was brutal. Yes, I did it in six inch heels. Yes, I pulled a cashmere hat out of my small bag. Yes, it’s called being a rural-ish beach person but not forgetting the glamour! 
 

It was his last night in the flat before he moved. The whole place had a shelled out feel, an echo of an empty cave. A dirty feel, as if furniture had been lifted to reveal the backs of skirting boards never cleaned and sections of carpets never hoovered. He held out a joint to me between his long fingers. His girlfriend stood next to me, her shaggy old dog falling asleep at her calves. 
 

For one second, for just one second, I wanted it all. If he’d held out a syringe of heroine; for just one serious second, I started to reason it would be fine, and justified, and DESERVED, of me, to take it. Just for one second.

 

”I’m okay thanks Karl. Total square here.”

 

I’m a thin line away from anything like that. I’m wildly addictive and addicted. I’m all in or all out. I can’t seem to handle any kind of controlled moderation. Instant gratification is my religion. Give me everything, more, all of it, now now now now now! Say everything NOW! Or nothing at all.

 

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It’s not easy, being a night owl. You find yourself alone, you find yourself thinking, you find yourself on adventures only you and yourself know or enjoy. You crave to seek out the other souls in the dark.

 

I said once, to someone who asked, what do you want in a friend?

 

What do I want? I want… I want someone who stares out the window, with a pen in their hand, a pen in their mouth, and picks up the phone on the first ring, to come out for a drive, to cruise, to talk, or not to talk, until the sun starts to drag itself up. 
 

I want someone who threw out the rules, who only plays the game they want to play. I want someone utterly beautiful. I want someone relentlessly talented. I want the controlled narcissist, the angry angel, the calm lunatic, the fast tongue, the sleep walker, the shallow deep thinker, the abolished romantic. I want all their contradictions out on a platter. I want to see delicate bare feet on the dash, toe rings sparkling as the lamps flash by. I want to want to copy them. I want to want to BE them. I want to be in AWE. 
 

I want to tell someone it’s terrible, it’s beautiful, it’s gorgeous, and it’s all gonna end. I want them to tell me they know, they feel the same. I want someone to laugh when I cry, and to cry when I laugh. I want someone to know me. I don’t need them to like me, eternally. I just need them to adore me. 
 

And that’s what I want in a friend. 

 

Here I am. If I had it my way, I would never go to bed. Well… not to sleep, anyway.

 

To see the whole night through, just as you did the day, is the most delicious chocolate, with a bitter sweet centre.


You can’t understand, because you’ve never took car keys and never wanted to come back. You don’t need the road, you don’t need the dark. You don’t need speed, and destruction, and chaos. The things you need, I don’t understand. I don’t care for. I don’t get you. I don’t know what keeps your heart beating. How does it carry on beating??? Mine can barely handle it. How can anyone be expected to carry on through any of this? How can you be so even keeled? 
 

I don’t want to reign it in. I don’t want to quieten down. I don’t want to be healthy and wholesome. I don’t even know if I want to be a “good person”. I don’t want your approval, it makes me uneasy when I get it.  
 

There’s no use trying to explain. The teenage in me is still here, still on the couch, still lying in bed, letting album after album play, wondering what the words mean.

 

I slip into daydreams about everything I want. I can have it. I can see it. I can feel it. 
 

I don’t know whether life’s a dream, or dreams are my life.

 

“For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."

― Oscar Wilde

 

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If you want something done in a total, I mean, total, blur. If you want hyperactive, crazed, wild energy? If you need speed, and a hummingbird heart beat - hey, I'm ya girl.

I've always been high energy, my whole life. I don't know what it is to mill around. Everything is on the frantic side. I wish I was more controlled, I really do, but it's just not. 

I don't know how to do anything but if it's under pressure. 

Doing something in good time?

What is that, anyway?!

x

 

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On 12/1/2022 at 1:20 AM, mylolita said:

Sometimes I’m suddenly overwhelmed by this urge like, gimme the booze, gimme the drugs, overload the caffeine, all the sex I can handle. Give me a castle banquette table filled with cake and LET ME GAMBLE EVERYTHING AWAY TO START AGAIN TOMORROW! Let me forget there will ever be a day, that the sun will rise. I want to NOT CARE, in this moment, and purely live for every single pleasure I can dive into, RIGHT NOW.

You understand me! I feel the same urge from time to time. There are times I feel this very strong impulse, it subsides after several hours, but during those hours I want to sniff cocaine and have a marathon of rough sex, I really want to f*ck my life up. Good thing it passes after a few hours.

I believe mostly addictive personalities have it. I have a childhood friend like this, he came by my place the other day and he said "I am having this urge right now and came by to ask if you have any drugs" lol. He is very healthy, he is not even smoking but he has an addictive personality. Then if he is lucky those days he goes out with a kinky submissive chick he matched on Tinder and releases all this energy in rough sex. It does work.

 

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22 minutes ago, dias said:

You understand me! I feel the same urge from time to time. There are times I feel this very strong impulse, it subsides after several hours, but during those hours I want to sniff cocaine and have a marathon of rough sex, I really want to f*ck my life up. Good thing it passes after a few hours.

I believe mostly addictive personalities have it. I have a childhood friend like this, he came by my place the other day and he said "I am having this urge right now and came by to ask if you have any drugs" lol. He is very healthy, he is not even smoking but he has an addictive personality. Then if he is lucky those days he goes out with a kinky submissive chick he matched on Tinder and releases all this energy in rough sex. It does work.

 

Well, fellow lunatic! Fellow hedonist! HA! Isn't it a drag, but the best all at the same time, right?!

I've never smoked, never done any drugs at all. I'm a fine line away from total ruination every other day. Sometimes when I go driving, for a split second, I don't care if I die, and that's where the thrill lies. Adrenaline is highly addictive. People get addicted to love. It's the biggest high. You walk on air for the rest of your life if you come across it right. Stripping was a huge high, knowing all the eyes are on you half naked atop of a mirrored stage. Adrenaline junkies and exhibitionism looks like it makes a nice personality duo as well. It gets you into a lot of trouble. 

I'm impulsive and know I'm doing it and don't want to stop myself. I enjoy shooting my mouth off sometimes just to get a thrill of witnessing the reaction. I like instant gratification. I enjoy something happening as well, especially if it's slightly risky. Sometimes I'm human and check out. 

As I've grown older Dias, and dare I even say it, start to know myself a little better, and all the shadow and grey areas within myself, I have begun to judge people much less in certain areas of life. Especially drug addicts. If they have children, absolute shame on them. But the solo rouge, who f**ks up their life and has their life to mess up exactly how they see fit, and deal with their issues, exactly how they see fit, in their own terrible way? My judgement reduces, because, I see myself reflected in them. I'm almost envious, sometimes. It's so strange. I feel like it would never be one line of coke for me. I'd just love it and be on it all day. I'd move onto other things.

I like coffee, and the general rush of caffeine, and at the moment I'm trying to reduce myself down from two strong cups of coffee on a morning and two red bulls everyday, without fail. That's probably a decent amount of caffeine. Sometimes I go in for more, sometimes less. 

I love spending money, I love thoughtless wild spending. I love thoughtless anything. I don't like to think much. I do too much of that as it is, torturing myself. If I can switch it off, or dial back those restless constant thoughts circling round like vultures 24/7, then I would, and I do. 

I often can't stand the responsibility of life. It is delicious and earthly heaven, in many ways, but sometimes, the urge to escape is massive. Not often, but sometimes. I have been like this all my life. I used to just walk out of classes and not care. The high of throwing it all away, including time, was beyond the actual thing. To say I could have done something sensible, then never did it, is fantastic. To raise eyebrows is, perfection! I crave control, but despise it all at the same time. 

There is, a devil on my shoulder.

So this ones for you, Dias! A chilled corny cheese ball of an r&b tune. Because sometimes it's best to smoothly ride it out, just like you said!
 


__________

Cracker:
"You can tell a lot about someone by how they eat a Sherbert Lemon."

Panhandle:
"Oh go on then, tell me. Give me your analysis."

Cracker:
"Me, for example? I'm a cruncher. That thing won't last two seconds. Straight to the crunch and the fizz left oozing out as soon as possible. Instant gratification. You, on the other hand, are a sucker. You will roll that sweet round in your mouth until it is wafer thin."

Panhandle nods.

Cracker:
"It indicates a big guilt complex."

________

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Nostalgia, memory lane. My sons first Christmas, one year old and a total and completely rosy cheeked traditional looking little DARLING!

 

My neighbour counted up all my kids like dot dot dot down a little line up as they ran circles round the apple tree on the front lawn. One last unpicked apple hung low on a nearly naked branch. Holes from caterpillars and pecked by birds, the backdrop, a leaning Victorian stone wall.

 

”All blondes!” He exclaims, French accent thick. “You must have Viking blood!”

 

”Oh!” I say. “Well, we’ll have to find out if they get sea sick yet!”

 

He laughs. 
 

We have big Celtic ancestry. The Vikings came and tried to pillage us, then left. I wonder if any of them ravaged one of my female ancestors, so the red hair mixed in with the blonde? All have wild tight curls now, just like The Mama! 
 

Christmas has moved from a sexy, sophisticated, traditional champagne filled small event to a large, bustling, homely, still traditional, family event, fuelled by the kids now. 
 

To see them sit at the bottom of the Christmas tree gazing up in dreamy awe is, a gorgeous, timeless thing. 
 

I only want one thing for Christmas. A million kisses and wrestles from all of them. That and everything else. But mostly the kisses. A lie in on Boxing Day would be nice. Girl appreciates her bed.
 

x

 

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I could hear the front door closing as D walked out to play his pool match. 
 

The Christmas tree, upright in a large bucket of water, netting on, had been waiting in the hall for four days now. I just didn’t feel like it. I’m always in the mood for Christmas. What’s wrong with me?! 
 

From moving around so much this year before we settled, I’d kept seeing our Christmas ornament boxes but, a couple of months ago I’d finally stacked everything up onto one wall and put them to the back. The whole thing nearly fell on me! God, too much stuff. Stuff waiting for auction sales. Stuff waiting to be taken to car boot sales. Needs to go, it all needs to go before Christmas.

 

I carried all the boxes down all the flights to the living room. The bay window was clear and waiting for the tree. I got irritated by tangled lights straight away. After an hour at it I grabbed some nail scissors and just cut one set away. The way the tiny bulbs sparkles warm faint white, and then suddenly, with the snip, blacked, made me think of death. Christmas music, that’s what I’m missing! So, I go put on some traditional tunes - but again, it feels strange, as if I’m trying to get into some festive spirit in February. I can’t shake it. I turn the music off and for once in my life start to do something in silence. No, no… half an hour and it’s too strange again. Back to just; some regular music. I put some sleepy jazz on - Stan Getz. 
 

I come across little toy ornaments. Ornaments I bought working one of my first jobs in a up market little gift and card shop. I remember spending all my months wages on about 10 decorations. They suddenly strike me as so childish. Traditional pin stripe teddy bears, in dark green and ruby red, their arms and legs jointed to move if you want to position them. A wooden rocking horse with a sprig of holly at it’s ear. Two mice, in linen, one wearing a red gingham apron baking a gingerbread man, the boy mouse in red gingham shorts and braces. I never knew I was going to have the babies that were sleeping above me. I only dreamt about it. Now, seeing those decorations, it was as if at 18, I really bought them for… them. Another ornament, a little paper mache cherry, reminds me of my Grandma, which also reminds me of my Mum. And then, I start thinking well, what happens when she goes?! A huge, overwhelming tidal wave urge comes over me to sob my heart out. I could have fell to my knees with my face in my hands that very moment. I’m too happy, and too sad, all at the same time. I’ve never felt more melancholy putting a tree up my whole life. What’s bl**dy wrong with me?! 
 

I stop myself from crying. I go fetch the hoover. I miss D. I really miss him. My throat is feeling sore, and I feel tired. 
 

My Christmas mood has gone.

 

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