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Diary Of A Redhead


mylolita
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Yesterday was mine and D's second year wedding anniversary.

 

Typical un-romantic but still romantic D style - he hadn't forgotten (he assured me), but the day was still spent painting our new house.

 

He told me to look in the drawer in the hall sideboard and there was a card with my name on it and some touching little words. He's soppy really even though he's a total bloke!

 

We went to eat out later. With having the house, I've so rarely been done up, it's felt alien to me. Normally, I would always be dressed to some extent, but it's difficult to look glamorous when there's plaster dust in the air and you're sanding banisters or up scaffolding priming ceilings. I can sometimes go a whole day without lipstick which for me, is mega. Mega woah and mega let down in the glamour department. The house makes up for what I lack at the moment I guess.

 

It was nice to have a long soak and pamper myself. I did myself up exactly the way D likes me and I did this for him; I know how much it pleases him.

 

The look he likes?

 

White shirt, short leather skirt, pony tail, lipstick and high high heels.

 

He was very pleased. And that's all I'm going to say about the rest of the night!

 

Lo x

 

Happy Anniversary

 

 

And yeah, when you're working on projects, it's hard to get glammed up. I have make-up less, hair in a messy ponytail days too....where I'm in baggy yoga pants and thread-worn t-shirts that are splattered in paint...it seems more often than not. I wear them gardening, painting, or pouring cement. Right now I still have paint stained hands from yesterday...I need to take a bath

 

My husband likes me the most when I'm mid-project, paint streaks on my cheeks and plaster dust in my hair....he says its when I'm the most me...no one else sees me like that- I always put in make-up and get dressed for company.

 

So just go with it

 

I'm glad he didn't forget (sometimes they do that...or don't know what to do when do remember, so they do nothing) and that his words warmed you

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I'm working my way through your journal (only on page four, so far) and wanted to chime in with others' comments that you write beautifully. You should definitely consider writing a book. Agree with your assessment of 50 Shades - it was godawful. I have read erotica for many years. It's sad that some people think that's all that is out there because it's all they see at the book stores.

 

Now that you've left your job, will you be pursuing another career path? Staying home for a while and enjoying your freedom?

 

Your house sounds lovely.

 

Agreed. Making my way through her diary now, and she is a very eloquent writer.

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Today is my first day. That is, my first day without a job. I QUIT! I quit, but I quit good, and now it's Monday and I would normally be rushing around trying to pat on lipstick and iron a shirt - but I'm not!

 

Good for you, I approve! Rediscover your humanity a bit and all that.

 

Hi Zaphod,

 

Sorry this is a late reply

 

Hrumph! Nah all right, I'll let you off. Next reply I expect no more than ten minutes after my post. Stopwatch starts now.

 

By the way, you sound English, is that true?

 

Yeah luv Ahm a Fackin cwocknee nah what I mean? Dahn the auld Kent road ('ave a banana), I knew yer granny, give 'im 'arf a pahnd, get orf me barrah, yeah mate, fackin proper BANGIN toons. R u 'avin' a Turkish? You fackin melt, wanna dry slap? Double droppin', 'avin it large.... comin up like a geezer.

 

Aren't you English as well though? Or have I got confused somewhere and you're a Yank/Canadian?

 

And I would love to know more about your DJ'ing. That's gotta be one of the coolest jobs out there? Apart from roller waitress and zoo keeper, it's up there!

 

Ah no. It's strictly a hobby. I used to have a few regular gigs in the nineties but they were twisted outta space parties. Sorry to disappoint. Nowadays, I think of myself as more of a vinyl collector who sometimes DJ's. But I do know how to mix on a couple of 1210's without autosync, 'nuff said (nudge, wink).

 

Here ya go, next time you're in the bath with the old sunlight coming through, and the whtasaface er... victorian styling or whatever it is and vanilla candles and some really expensive "conditioning" shampoo with lobster font on the bottle "because you're worth it" etc, try this one (and bung some bass on it). :

 

[video=youtube;iKzja_DP-UQ]

 

Ironically, not available on vinyl. But never mind. Deep and throbby, no? that's the kind of thing I buy nowadays. Works surprisingly well over a big system.

 

Thank you for the huge compliment as well. I'm not being falsely humble, but I really don't deserve it. Strange as it is, like every other person who ever writes a bit now and then, I do want to write a book. It's something I really want to tick off my list. I'm dying to try it but I have no practice at all and it'll flop!

 

Well yeah, a few people on here have said it now. And also, like I always say, you'd be surprised what you would find in Shakespeare's waste paper basket.

 

Then 50 Shades of Grey hit and I always had the niggle, DAMN, I wonder if that could of been me? She's this mega millionaire now and the book was c**p.

 

That's just marketing. One person gets the lucky jackpot and acquires a behemoth of a marketing machine behind them and then everyone goes out and buys it in a desperate attempt to look trendy. Not real art, like Stephen King. There's millions of writers better than the fifty shades of grey bird, they just don't have that magic marketing department behind her that all own Apple Macs with fluffy stuff hanging off them and a "Mood board".

 

Do it for the art, not the success. Your writing style and your description of your life conjure up to me a fairly artistically and style-minded person. Not fashion, but style.

 

Don't write for money, write for kudos amongst the artistically minded.

 

Continue writing please when you find the time, it's nice to hear about your life, it's kinda sweet. You and D sound like such a chemically exciting couple.

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I'm working my way through your journal (only on page four, so far) and wanted to chime in with others' comments that you write beautifully. You should definitely consider writing a book. Agree with your assessment of 50 Shades - it was godawful. I have read erotica for many years. It's sad that some people think that's all that is out there because it's all they see at the book stores.

 

Now that you've left your job, will you be pursuing another career path? Staying home for a while and enjoying your freedom?

 

Your house sounds lovely.

 

Hello Clarisse,

 

Wow! What a compliment! I am being very spoilt! I might not be able to walk through the door now!

 

Finally, someone who also thought it was trash! I just didn't get it. It confirms my love of Oscar Wilde and a famous quote of his which summaries 50 Shades of Grey nicely:

 

'Everything popular is wrong'!

 

I would love, love love love, to write a book! I have wanted to write a book since I was about 12 scribbling about who I fancied and what my walk home from school looked like. At 16 I still didn't feel ready and I guess I was waiting on life experience maybe? Will I be waiting forever? Maybe! I would love to have a bash though. I'm not sure what it would be about...maybe only you would read it and probably only the first few pages before it went on the fire! Huge compliment though, huge and undeserved.

 

I've had a week of no job now (wadda bum!), and my husband has put me to work on the house from Monday to Friday, 7.5 hours with a half hour lunch break and my god, it's been tough. He's a task master! Jesus! But I've got so much done and it's been really rewarding. Some mega painting has been going on. I was done in come Friday night and all I wanted was a Cosmo.

 

To answer your question, maybe a few more weeks on the house then I'll find myself a part time job locally (something with no responsibility!) and work on the house for the rest of the week.

 

I feel very lucky to have this house. It's a home that was originally meant for someone much more wealthy and stately than ourselves, and I find myself walking around the halls wondering who the original lady of this house was? What she looked like and how she felt? We did get some of the historic deeds when we bought the house, and the original owner was a shipyard owner (very late Georgian to early Victorian era). We had a mooch through beautifully hand written receipts when they had commissioned the electrics to be put into the house, and we are confused by some of the room descriptions like 'breakfast room' which, god knows where that is! I think the original layout was very different to now. We've tried to put it back as best we can, we've knocked down an en-suite and many walls to get the rooms back to their full capacity! We've found all sorts of echoes to the past while renovating. The joiner was lifting floorboards in the living room and by the fireplace found a string attached to a bell which he thinks would of come out from the floor and sat beside a chair so you could ring for a maid! Unfortunately I am now the maid!

 

Hopefully the house is happy and the original lady of the house, if she ever could come back and see us now, wouldn't be too disappointed. She'd probably be a bit let down that breakfast is a yoghurt eaten over a coffee table mind!

 

I'm going to look into putting some pictures up of our building site if you're interested.

 

Thanks again Clarisse, I really appreciate your lovely comments.

 

Lo x

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Happy Anniversary

 

 

And yeah, when you're working on projects, it's hard to get glammed up. I have make-up less, hair in a messy ponytail days too....where I'm in baggy yoga pants and thread-worn t-shirts that are splattered in paint...it seems more often than not. I wear them gardening, painting, or pouring cement. Right now I still have paint stained hands from yesterday...I need to take a bath

 

My husband likes me the most when I'm mid-project, paint streaks on my cheeks and plaster dust in my hair....he says its when I'm the most me...no one else sees me like that- I always put in make-up and get dressed for company.

 

So just go with it

 

I'm glad he didn't forget (sometimes they do that...or don't know what to do when do remember, so they do nothing) and that his words warmed you

 

Hi Faraday,

 

Always lovely to hear from you! I can totally relate to this! I was always the girl that had lipstick on magically all day (simply through constantly re-applying when in the bathroom), now I forget to even put any on and wear the same paint splattered baseball top three days straight! It's gone out the window!

 

It's so sweet your husband likes you the most like that! Strangely, mine finds me cute when I'm in this grunge state and always comes up behind me for a sexy snuggle. I don't get it! Nice though, we have nice husbands! We're lucky ladies!

 

I've got to check in on your journal. Anymore progress with your beautiful house?

 

Lo x

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Your writing style and your description of your life conjure up to me a fairly artistically and style-minded person. Not fashion, but style.

 

Don't write for money, write for kudos amongst the artistically minded.

 

Continue writing please when you find the time, it's nice to hear about your life, it's kinda sweet. You and D sound like such a chemically exciting couple.

 

Hi Zaphod,

 

Well it really is a huge compliment coming from you as are a bit of a wordsmith yourself aren't you! I appreciate your feedback and everyone elses. I am honestly not trying to write to please people - in fact most of my posts come out in a massive, speed typed blur and I only edit typos later. It's an embarrassment half the things I have wrote about and the other half I could never put pen to paper, I think it may easily put 50 Shades of Grey to shame, even if it is written a bit c**p!

 

What you say about style is really such a statement, I don't know if I can take that on but really, what a lovely thing to say. It's strange you say that, not because I think I am stylish at all but because I have no interest in what is popular, cool, fashionable - anything like that. I just want to be myself and be as honest as I can in my writing, and if that comes across as anything near stylish, I am happy to the moon and back!

 

I am currently writing this listening to your chill tune. Sunday afternoon trance going on here!

 

I am also sorry this has been longer than 10 minutes to reply haha! I read everyones responses a few days ago but life took hold again. I hope this doesn't come across as rude. I could write responses all day. I could write five hours a day, but it wouldn't be worth reading so I am limiting myself with some quality control here or I will become an angsty teenager again and start, oh my god, writing poetry or something I would never live down!

 

You are bang on with the summery of me and the strong, silent type Mr. D! We are chemical I guess! We're other things that aren't as glamorous or interesting, but I'll take that for now! I like that! Thank you Zaphod! I might even use it and give you zero credit!

 

Keep in touch,

 

Lo x

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Good morning Sunday! You are beautiful.

 

I love that peacefulness only Sunday can bring. Morrissey, one of my favourite artists of all time, summed up Sunday in a dull, British town perfectly:

 

'Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey.'

 

Well, this Sunday is silent but definitely not grey. Welcome to your new life. The sun seems to be blessing it, and if I were a superstitious girl, maybe I would think it was good luck.

 

Quiet, blustery window shuffling tree branches against the panes with the last hanging blossom attracting more bumble bees than I've ever seen in my life. We have had more wildlife in our wild little town garden than I have seen in the countryside.

 

I went at the hedge towards the beginning of the week and my god, there were at least two empty nests and one nest with the fluffiest, plumpest little chick in. We left him to it and covered him back up. He's flown away now, hopefully to start a life and have chicks of his own. Hopefully when he comes back he'll come back to our little garden with the flowering hedge and he'll see I planted a new tree and lavender overgrowing onto the path. I love lavender.

 

I now look out, Sunday afternoon, lazy Sunday afternoon, to a boxed high hedge and a pale blue sky. I have a milky coffee resting on our beat up table from the old flat, one of the last relics of the past life, the life that seems to long ago. So very far away from here.

 

It's only been a week and I have already forgotten my old routine. The routine I set myself, the routine I did five days a week, two and a half days a year. It's all faded away to a point where I would struggle to start that routine back up again tomorrow, even after just a week. What a difference a day makes - what a difference a week makes! - forget 24 little hours.

 

I look around constantly and I can't quite believe my luck. I got away with it? I think I got away with it! Did I manage to see that soul sapping job through? Did I leave on a cloud with grace? My mind intact? Did I leave to come to this, a beautiful, airy house, to sit here on a Sunday afternoon, curled up with the laptop and two wooden window's framing the green, windy world outside? Is it real? Am I dreaming?

 

When the week was done on Friday night, I had been feeling strange all week. There had been this unknown anxiety slowly rising in my stomach, through my throat to then become a pressure that seemed to cloud my mind with fatigue and emotion. I think all week the change of suddenly going from work work work, back to the house, work and more work, and then to be painting and prepping this wonderful home we call our own, I guess it was dawning on me from Monday to Friday when I stopped, just how much my life has now changed within a week. I am in the unknown, but the unknown is beautiful and exactly everything I wanted to know. Me, home, and D. All three of us together.

 

I was putting shopping away on Saturday and I stopped, stood up and warm tears were silently rolling down my cheeks. They were happy but also tinged with something else - I think anxiety? Suddenly, I have no job. I used to have a decent income. I'd had a few pay rises, they were going to offer me more and I left. All to nothing. And then I looked around, as I was placing tins back in the desk we call our kitchen in the middle of the room (there is no kitchen to speak of), and as I was putting these things away in our make-shift storage, I realised the size of the task we've taken on and the expense of it. All these things never had chance to hit me. I was working, commuting for two hours a day. I was coming home, I was helping with the house but mostly relaxing and then sleep to do it all again. I never had time to let these things dawn on me.

 

Me and D were going to go for a jog on the beach which is only a five minute drive from the house. It was part of our new health kick. I walked from the kitchen to the lounge. He was sat on the couch, answering e-mails, oblivious as he is when he's answering e-mails of anyone or me being in the room. I sat down opposite him and suddenly felt exhausted with the weight of the change, although a happy one.

 

I started to say this to him, more along the lines of,

 

"D, I'm sorry, I don't feel like going jogging. I feel a little weird, it's the change of everything I think.'

 

Then as I always do, because I can never articulate anything I'm feeling, I started to cry again and felt stupid. He shut the laptop and calmed me straight away. He told me everything I've mentioned above and as always, he was the rock and I was the wave, crashing against him. He is always the rock.

 

Ten minutes with D put me at complete ease and I felt optimistic again. We both agreed on how to go about things to reduce the stress and the cost of renovations - prioritising things. It's not easy living in a building site. No proper kitchen, no real comforts apart from our make shift lounge and the bedroom which I keep a clean, simple sanctuary for my own sanity.

 

Life has changed and it is different. I am happy and hopeful, but anxious to get things done or I fear this house and it's four stories will get on top of us. I'm going to work even harder next week. I must finish everything I want to get done. Make it worth while not working at the moment.

 

Beautiful Sunday. Maybe even sunny Sundays can be a bit grey. Or maybe not grey, maybe just blustery? Call it the winds of change.

 

Lo x

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I would love to see photos of the building site!

 

Imagine that, finding history in the walls...that's so fun I wonder what else you'll find in the coming years and renovations? Very exciting

 

I wish we could have bought an old home like that. There just aren't many here- our city wasn't established until...late 1800s, and most of the houses back then were tiny two bedroom shacks. The really nice ones (the ones that were owned by extremely wealthy families) are now in our Heritage Park...they've been restored and are kept like museums. I would love one of those houses

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I couldn't shake this image out of my head, this sweet roll of film that kept playing on and on in my mind in a gorgeous loop. I could see myself happy and meeting a man. And he was a man, not a boy. I expected it to happen and I kind of knew it would. I didn't know when or how, but I knew he wasn't at my college.

 

I hit 18, got a new job in a club and everyone called me Frenchie there because I was skinny and looked 'French'. I felt more accepted in this adult world and suddenly no one was a kid anymore. I didn't feel like a kid. And then one night D came in with a friend and the rest is history. I didn't get my Prince Charming, I didn't want one, but I got my man.

 

And back to this image that keeps resurfacing. The second one, the one that doesn't involve love.

 

I keep seeing myself in a huge house with beautiful artistic decor. I see a claw bath tub in the middle of a large bathroom with double glass doors opened out onto a cast iron balcony. I see the breeze flutter the white hazy voile, and I see my toes peeking out above the water.

 

What am I saying? That I expect to be rich and be taking a bath in a beautiful room? Deep down, I do expect it. I expect it to happen. I don't know how it's going to happen, or when or why. Just like all things in life, surprises are nice… well, the good ones anyway.

 

The logical, cold part of me doubts and asks me how I'm getting there, but the creative and confident portion of me says it just will. Whether this is stupid, right or wrong, wishful thinking, who knows - all I know is that I can't get it out of my head. Even on a dark morning like today, where I sit in my own humble bathtub with the light on and the sound of traffic outside, I can see the breeze peacefully moving the voile.

Lo x

 

Just reading back on parts of my journal because I am a masochist.

 

I can't quite believe I wrote this back in 2014, but after reading it I remember. This is a bit weird for me. A self prophecy? I must have a very generous Fairy Godmother because the bath don't have claws and there's no balcony, but she surpassed herself as I sit in this house in disbelief that we did it!

 

Do I need to cross my fingers and toes for the money part now? I have three wishes and two have come true?

 

Don't jinx it don't jinx it don't jinx it!

 

Lo x

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I would love to see photos of the building site!

 

Imagine that, finding history in the walls...that's so fun I wonder what else you'll find in the coming years and renovations? Very exciting

 

I wish we could have bought an old home like that. There just aren't many here- our city wasn't established until...late 1800s, and most of the houses back then were tiny two bedroom shacks. The really nice ones (the ones that were owned by extremely wealthy families) are now in our Heritage Park...they've been restored and are kept like museums. I would love one of those houses

 

Hi Faraday!

 

So do I just download the app and I can upload them? I am honestly SO rubbish with technology it's crazy how I even get by. How the hell I ever worked in an office is beyond me!

 

Lo x

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I got so much done on the house yesterday, it was like I had new found energy after a weekend of rest. Well, not full on rest, but just doing enough to keep things ticking along on the domestic front without busting my balls and messing my nails up.

 

Nails are definitely not intact now and are chipped to hell with going through the mill, DIY style. I've taken the usual red off and can't wait to put it back on again tonight after a scrub and a soak. Oldest and best friend Miss G has invited me to dinner at her and her newish boyfriends place. You can tell I'm getting old and boring when I think a relationship thats been a year is new. Oh, to be new! They moved in his friends place (they're both junior doctors) about eight months ago and I still haven't seen it. I was never invited, even. Miss G can be a strange cookie over certain things and tonight the conditions must of been just right for me to get an invite. The wind must be blowing softly south and her cleaner must of just left after a dust off. I want to leave in good time so I can drop by the florists and get her a nice bunch of something.

 

It's bizarre, but we never see much of the good doctor and when we do he is very socially awkward. Kind of shy but in an arrogant way, does that make any sense? I can't put my finger on it. She's so bubbly and a bit of a ditz; like me really. I always imagined her settling down with someone completely different. She's always gone for the academic types and I know an old fashioned geek gets her hot, but the good doctor?! I'm not sure. Just put it this way - she's mega sexual and I couldn't even imagine him kissing her.

 

I'm going to stop bashing my best friends boyfriend - he seems a nice guy and who am I to judge? He's always sweet enough when he's round ours or we go out and I've got an invite. I'm having to travel down but I don't mind the drive. An hour is a nice enough amount to time. Back to my old home town. I'm sure nothings changed.

 

Everything's changed here, even in the short space of a week.

 

It was my mum's Birthday last night (is it bad I don't know how old she is anymore??!! Early 50's?!), and for the first time since our show down where we assassinated each others characters and said things to each other that when said to any normal functioning person, would never be moved on from, my sister came round to see the new house for the first time and it was like nothing ever happened. It was like we had never even had an argument, ever! Let alone verbally massacred each other in the bedroom we shared together for 18 years.

 

It was all very civil and I got my mum drunk. Really easy to do. All the women in our family are light weights, including myself. My dad always says, 'Two glasses of anything.' That sums it up.

 

I love entertaining and playing hostess. When we have people round, even though the house is in a pickle, I can for once just sit back and enjoy what we have without feeling guilty I don't have a paint brush in my hand. There was a massive change in myself last night. Maybe I was just feeling in good spirits and was happy my sister wasn't determined to bring World War Three to pass, but they came slightly early and I was covered in emulsion and wearing the scruffiest painting clothes I have. We all got a glass of bubbly and I forgot about it. The old me would of been mortified and would of probably made everyone wait (and dinner), until I had washed and changed. I didn't even care! This is a leap for me. Maybe my standards have really slipped. My friend C says it's because I'm married! The cheeky b*****d! Just waiting to blimp up now - anytime soon I suppose.

 

Birthday without a hitch, sister seems calm and without a grudge and the house is moving on fast. Life is good.

 

Beginning of my second week of freedom from another soulless office and I am really, I mean really, getting a taste for it now. I'm almost enjoying myself 24 hours instead of just over the weekend and evenings. I want to pinch myself. Surely this isn't fair on the rest of the world? I hear the usual traffic getting started at 7:30 in the morning and I roll over and curl back into D and want to squeeze myself in glee!

 

Full diary this week and a short week for working on the house. The lady (our good friend who let us get married in her beautiful garden) has invited us and some friends camping. We're going down on Thursday. I'm driving the boys and myself down and then meeting D there on Thursday. We'll call our friends the boys Cobain and Quentin. I say Cobain because C looks like Curt Cobain and the other D in my life (friend D!) is a wannabe film geek and director, so I'll call him Quentin, for Quentin Tarantino. Cobain and Quentin are old and good friends. I'll bundle them into the car and we can head down with some tunes on. It should be fun if they trust me driving. D has had to leave today with work and will be in London for the rest of the week, but will meet us at our friends on Thursday.

 

I very rarely write about things that haven't happened yet but I'm excited for the trip. This will be my first time camping and apparently you have to canoe to the island where we'll be camping for one night (phew, one night only!). My flower girl is coming too. She's 9 and we get along like a house on fire. I guess it's because I'm a huge kid myself really.

 

I remember staying with our friend © who has the garden, and flower girl before I got married. I grew really close to my little rose holder! It made my heart ache at the thought of one day having a daughter of my own and how nice it would be. I felt so protective over her.

 

We went to get our hair cut a week before the big day and I always have a very straight cut, short 40's fringe, Mina Wallace style, and when asked by the hairdresser how she wanted her hair, flower girl wanted her's exactly the same as mine. Best compliment ever. For some reason, she thinks I'm cool. She's too young to know any different, but anyway, I like that. She's cool. We're a cool team. D is very sweet with her as well - I know he'll make a great dad one day, and that makes my heart ache double.

 

Oh god, I'm getting soppy. I need to balance this entry out with something melancholy or things will start getting sickly round here.

 

Better pick the paint brush back up and get ready for dinner.

 

Lo x

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I love that peacefulness only Sunday can bring. Morrissey, one of my favourite artists of all time, summed up Sunday in a dull, British town perfectly:

 

'Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey.'

 

Hah! I found Morrisey Greatest Hits in my CD pile the other day (very different to my vinyl pile but that's another story), what one of my ex's stepdad's gave me (he was working for the record company I think) - that's the only reason I go out with girls, to get cd's. Then I split up with them. I try and get a couple of coffee mugs out of them as well if I think there's mileage in the relationship.

 

Anyway, I like that one as well. What a great tune.

 

This one has to be my fav - fairly obvious choice, but whatever :

 

[video=youtube;3qgn1Rc0YJ4] ]

 

Morrissey. King of the major triad.

 

The Smiths - There is a light that never goes out is cool too.

 

It's only been a week and I have already forgotten my old routine. The routine I set myself, the routine I did five days a week, two and a half days a year. It's all faded away to a point where I would struggle to start that routine back up again tomorrow, even after just a week. What a difference a day makes - what a difference a week makes! - forget 24 little hours.

 

Yeah it's the frogs in boiling water effect.

 

Rediscovering your humanity - great stuff. There's nothing like doing a bit of creative manual labour, whether it be house renovation, car mechanics, furniture restoration. Upcycling's great. Don't forget the before and after photos to refer back to for satisfaction.

 

window's

 

Oi. Correct this, madam else I'm calling the apostrophe police.

 

Don't worry about the money thing. You've proved that you can get jobs and keep jobs and do them well. You could try doing contracts, or even investigating some kind of "consultancy" work from home or something? How about copywriting with your skills? Or proof reading (you'd have to watch those apostrophes)?

 

Look into contractual telecommuting work. If you let Google be your friend, you can find websites that specialise in remote work. Hint - put "Anywhere" or "Telecommuting" or "Remote" in the filter. You could work for an American company contractually for example, with no time tracking. They pay well, because of the difference in economy.

 

And don't let money spoil your enjoyment of what you have here. D has a job, you're working on the house, and you're increasing the value of the house. Everything's cool. Be cool. Don't be scared of shadows and ghosts.

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  • 4 weeks later...

I can feel a change in the weather.

 

The last weeks of beaming sun have been given away by falling, golden leaves in London parks. We were in the city for nearly a week. I went away with D, three quarters business and quarter pleasure. A lot of driving on his part - he was exhausted. By the end of it all we got home early in the morning in a daze. I remember sitting on the end of the couch staring at the floor with a cup of something in my hand tranced out for God knows how long until I realised I was looking blanker than ever. That's when you know it's time for bed!

 

I always feel strange coming away from London, as if London is the centre of the world, and when you're in it, you're really IN it, amongst it all. Nothing ever stops, something is always happening. Constant, relentless, interesting, cool action. Always cool. Everyone is mostly very cool. It makes me tired and kind of irritated, the rushing and everyone being so painfully aware of their own appearance, but when I get back home to a quieter life I feel like I've lost something and I want it back. My little private love hate relationship with that town.

 

I have been obsessed (once again, my obsessions seem to go round in cycles), with the singer Grace Jones. I've seen her in interviews. I find her maybe a little too aggressive for my tastes, but i can't help but really like her, and I love, I LOVE, her blatant boldness. 'Slave To The Rhythm' has been my go to on repeat for that week in London, one headphone in my ear while we drive around doing what we need to do in heavy traffic and close heat. The music seems very fitting to everyone sauntering, running and walking around, going about their very important and very artistic lives. I need a friend like Graces Jones. That's what I need.

 

I feel like it's been forever since putting pen to paper here. I've been all over. The camping trip went well, apart from our dear friend Quentin getting over excited like a kid in a candy shop and running his mouth off from picking him up at 10am on Thursday till D ended up putting him on the ground with his arm behind his back at 2:30am on Saturday.

 

It's not that he's mean, but his sense of humour is hilarious for about a day or two, and then the constant p**s taking and ribbing really starts to wear thin. I felt warn out by Saturday morning and kind of ready for home (don't mean to be a kill joy - sorry Quentin). Long story short, our lovely friend who put us up has a fantastic garden with a beautiful pool. We went canoeing when we got there (after a few drinks of course!) to check out a camping spot, but ended up soaking each other because we're childish and went back to the house to have more drinks, potatoes and chicken.

 

"Camping" ended up in our friends back garden. OKAY! Okay okay, not really... hardcore. But it still was camping right? Give me that one? Ha! Anyway, cue relentless Quentin personal jibes for a couple of days solid. I think it was probably late Friday afternoon. The sun was out and a few of us got in the pool. I got everyone some drinks and I watched from the comfort of my floating doughnut; Quentin, in-between his typical jokes, grabbing D from behind and pulling him under the water then laughing. D wears a cap back to front all the time, it's his thing. Maybe because he shaves his head bald now, I don't know, but thats his thing, and this hat was getting soaked and floating up to the surface and then he was grabbing it. I kept looking over and D kept laughing but not giving anything back. Bobbing there with my plastic glass in hand I could feel a storm brewing in that luke warm pool.

 

Fateful Saturday night comes round and after a BBQ and days of staying up till the sun rises everyone's pretty tired. I get a bit cranky when I'm tired. OKAY! Okay okay, I lie, I get really cranky. D calls me 'Moody Woman' - makes it no better. It's nearly 2am or something like that, I don't know the exact time, and Quentin and Cobain complain that their new tent is too small for them. They're both quite tall, Cobain is just shy of 6 foot and Quentin is about 6'3''. So kind (but moody) woman I am, I start properly pegging their tent so that it stretches out the foot area and gives them more space. I do this to everyones tent, and lastly ours. Now it's time for bed. So we climb in, chat a bit, and then the lights cut and everyone's gone quiet. This giggling comes from the boys tent and like b****y clockwork with his larks. Quentin has run around the back of our tent and is pulling out the pegs. Harmless, totally harmless and just a good laugh I know, but I half jokingly tell him does he mind because I personally put those God d**m pegs in with my own fair hand! D rustles from his sleeping back and he says:

 

"Q, put those pegs back in the tent, Lo took an hour putting those in."

 

Nothing, just more laughing and then he starts trying to push the tent over. Alright, harmless as well, but I'm tired and we've just bought it PLUS just put it up, and I think days of relentless ribbing causes D to fly out of the tent - just in his underpants. D is only about 5'8'', but he used to box and has fantastic, strong rugby players thighs (I love that).

 

Now, girls will say buying flowers, or proposing on top of the Eiffel Tower, or showing up on a white horse, is the most romantic thing a man can do for you? I will tell you right now girls, the most romantic thing a man can ever do for you is put a guy on the floor and make him eat grass in his underpants because someone needs to put your tent pegs back. Honestly. That's it.

 

D gets him to the ground straight away and I've poked my head out of our tent, watching it all unravel with glee and complete satisfaction.

 

"Q - you're going to put all the tent pegs back in for Lo."

 

"No way man! F**k off!"

 

I watch this surprisingly happy. I do what any damsel in distress does in every 50's film when her boyfriend defends her honour. I fain mercy.

 

"Don't hurt him D!" I say this while stifling my smile. I am mentally rubbing my hands together.

 

"Are you serious?! You're starting to hurt me. That hurts!"

 

"Put the pegs back."

 

A few minutes go by and D has Quentin's fingers pulled right back. I can see the sweat coming off Quentin's forehead in the dark. Only two more seconds of suffering this imposed manoeuvre and he's yelled out and suddenly and silently the pegs are going back in the ground. D climbs back into the tent and goes back to sleep. I curl back up next to my shirtless, short brute who has triumphantly defended my peg honour. I want to rip his pants off right in that tent through the sleeping bag! Five minutes goes by and I hear Quentin leave his tent.

 

The next morning we have overly dramatic heartfelt apology and news that he stayed up all night freezing in his bed because he was too filled with shame to get his duvet that he'd left in the tent.

 

So romantic.

 

Lo x

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Like everything up to now in my life, in the end, I get my way. I got what I wished for.

 

As I sit here watching cars and bus interior lights glide through the gaps in our high box hedge, I am free. I do not have a job.

 

Isn't that what I've always wanted? If only! If only I wished and wished, I day dreamed, I drooled at the work clock as the hand ticked from nine to five, I savoured the thoughts of walking out the door into D's arms and never leaving his bed in the morning to wade through sleepwalking people shuffling brief cases and paper boys on bikes. I squeezed my eyes close on a night, I hoped beyond hope for this moment.

 

Twenty six. Married. Kept woman. A beautiful house. My own car. My own clothes. City breaks and expensive furniture. Luxury, luxury, luxury. Talk of starting a family. Twenty six. I got it. I got it in the end.

 

My fairy godmother sprinkled dust over my eyes to wake me, and I stretch out of my slumber not to an alarm, but to the sun creeping through the shutters. My days are filled working on this elegant house we managed to somehow get our unworthy and very grubby hands on. I paint all day and the paintings never done. I work hard on the basement, I toil happily over the curved banisters. I sand each door as if it were as pleasurable as running a hand down a lovers back. My work is caring and my work is for me. My work is now for D. My work is for us.

 

There is a whole world I never knew about. A new world I have entered unnaturally for my age. I get this feeling I am intruding. I am not meant to be here.

 

While all the normal people go away to their work places for 8 hours, normal society is taken off the streets and the transport systems and the buildings. I walk the supermarket when I want and what I see is not the usual. A food shop used to be on a Friday night. Always late or at the weekend because, of course, you work and don't have time to waltz casually browsing the aisle during the daytime light. I have entered a new world - the world of people who don't work. And those people are mostly, horribly, old.

 

They are so lifeless and grumpy. They drudge the shop floors using their trollies like zimmer frames. No rush, no go, just painfully long decisions on which cheese they need for that week or if they have enough fish to get them by till 'Fish Friday.' I feel like I am a witness to this world, not there with them, but an observer into this unknown time of day. Two o'clock is especially a strange time. A lifeless time where I live. The walking dead are everywhere - either near death or dead in the brain living off the government and always walking besides a bike, walking the streets like extras in a film. The vivacious part of me doesn't belong to this world, yet here I am, with them in it. Am I really to become like them? Is this some kind of pre-warning? Another zombie force left over by the zombie work force I always tried to escape, going away to their hives to be busy, productive bees, while these husks of people wait around and busy themselves with crosswords and made up chores?

 

Generalising aside, my dad came round to the house yesterday to help with some DIY.

 

Halfway up a scaffold attaching a light, he asks me without looking down:

 

"So! How are you finding your new freedom then!?"

 

And honestly, all I could say was:

 

"Strange."

 

Lo x

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I loved the 'camping' story. Funny as hell! Not everyone hates going to work. That's a generalization I disagree with. I don't get hating work. I really don't. I love going to work, it's what I live for. I love my boss, my coworkers, the actual work, the pay, just everything! Isn't it funny how different people view heaven? Mine is away from home and yours is centered on it. Interesting, isn't it?

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I loved the 'camping' story. Funny as hell! Not everyone hates going to work. That's a generalization I disagree with. I don't get hating work. I really don't. I love going to work, it's what I live for. I love my boss, my coworkers, the actual work, the pay, just everything! Isn't it funny how different people view heaven? Mine is away from home and yours is centered on it. Interesting, isn't it?

 

Hi jigsup,

 

Thanks for the response! I am really generalising here for drama as I often do when I start getting all quill in ink and all that but I really hated all the jobs I did apart from one which was extremely unconventional! Of course not all people hate their jobs. Most of the jobs I have worked in have been in very depressing offices or minimum wage gigs where people are either there saving for university or using it as a stepping stone to get onto something else. My experience hasn't been the best because (barring one job), I've never done anything I truly love!

 

I think if I drove to work everyday an editor for Vanity Fair I might be happy, although a part of me thinks maybe not!

 

I really am a bit of an old-fashioned gal! I wonder if the freedom will get boring though - thats the main thing. Even though my mind has turned to mush already it needs some kind of use!

 

Nice to hear from you. Can I be nosy and ask what you do for a living?

 

Lo x

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I work in multiple capacities for a non profit organization that supports foster children as they come close to aging out of the system. I tutor these kids in math and language arts, teach them life skills for living independently, and work two days a week in a thrift shop that supports the organization. Every job with this organization is important to someone and makes a difference. Working in the store is a hoot!

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I work in multiple capacities for a non profit organization that supports foster children as they come close to aging out of the system. I tutor these kids in math and language arts, teach them life skills for living independently, and work two days a week in a thrift shop that supports the organization. Every job with this organization is important to someone and makes a difference. Working in the store is a hoot!

 

Now I can understand why you like your job so much! It's better when you're actually making a difference - something fulfilling must be the better way!

 

I'm glad you love your job jig! I envy you, I do!

 

x

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I can't believe I feel lonely when I've been around people most of the day.

 

Why is the contact and conversation never enough with other people? Selfishly, I feel like I'm trying to get something from them, and it's dangling there and I can't reach it, and I keep on drinking coffee with friends and talking s**t and there is this feeling of near satisfaction of some kind or a connection, but it's just not there, and I'm trying to cling on for a longer interaction - one more coffee, one more drink, does anyone want to order? Oh I love this song let's stay! But everyone's lives must continue and I, like them, am a slot in a diary and ever expanding busy schedule of the mid twenty somethings who are approaching thirty like life itself will end when the clock strikes at twelve on the big three-oh.

 

The only person I gain any completeness from is D. Cue the sick bucket, but it's true.

 

Without him I am alone as a human in this world, and the world is this half done house, and I orbit D, and he is the sun. And without him no one on earth understands me and I am truly, hopelessly; alone.

 

He went away yesterday morning on business and I knew within half an hour I needed to make plans for this weekend to not become a slouch fest inside my own head of thoughts and a big, empty house. I end up like I do now, three hours into my own company and I am surviving off milky coffee and miniature diet cookies. I fall to pieces. I don't want a hobby. My hobby is buying stuff and playing house. I can't buy anything and I can't play any house - there is no one to play with, no one to entertain. When no one is here to validate me I wither and die away. Life is like a stage and the audience has left and the seats are empty and I am the actress in my own play with no audience to regale or entertain I simply stand, blank and dull, until the lights can come on again and I am back in character.

 

The awful thing is, when the loneliness like this creeps in, I start having the temptation to put a blanket over me. A blanket! Like a pig in a blanket! I hate it. I hate the whole thing a blanket over you laid out on a couch like a flu victim stands for. To me, it stands for giving up, being a huge slob, being a huge big fat old looser laid on the couch with your blanket around you protecting you from the nasty world outside while you churn up your time marathon watching ridiculous box sets that are, everyone knows it, well rubbish (unless it's The Sopranos).

 

My friend S, who is C's (Cobain's) finance, does this ALL the time. I walk into her house and she's there, given up like a beached manatee, spread out on the couch with a God damn blanket over her. The blanket seems to be the cherry on top of it all. Tt seems to seal the deal for me, holding bad connotations. I swear, I will never lay down on life like that on the sofa unless I am ill or near death. Even then, I expect to have lipstick on and a velvet gown over me instead of some awful, scraggy beat up blanket that was hand sewn when going through a "craft moment" a couple of years ago when knitting was supposed to be cool. I can't go on even writing about it, I feel ill now at the thought.

 

My plans were lined up nicely. I was seeing S and C this morning, quiet early for a Saturday morning to be there at 10. They must of known I was desperate as I am never, ever exactly on time, and I was early. They looked shocked. Maybe I am ill.

 

The hour long drive there was nice but didn't calm the nerves as it normally does. Firstly, I couldn't find the right music for my mood. This always irritates me and puts me in a rushed, kind of frustrated state of mind. It's a big deal for some reason. The weather is perfect. It's not the weathers fault, even though strangely it should be in normal peoples worlds. It's raining hard, grey, cold like Autumn is peeping around the street corner, but I love that and enjoyed picking out some knitwear. I love boots, I love coats, I love everything about dressing warm. Summer clothes kill me, I really am not one of those people who loves all the bright colours and the hot pants. Don't get me wrong, I am a fan of showing skin, even if it is my pale skin, but there is something so glamorous to me about a beautiful knitted polo neck under a heavy woollen coat and knee high boots, a leather skirt. Maybe it's because I am a December baby.

 

C and S were slouching around in their house that is always, always dim. They really struggle to put a lamp on. I'm not sure why. It's always kind of dark but you can't place your finger on why. There is always the smell of stale food, mostly unwashed dishes in the sink and you know the bed is unmade and there are clothes, shoes and food wrappers under every chair and side table. Damp washing is hung on the cold radiators getting foisty. It is always chilly and I always regret taking my shoes off and having to endure naked feet the whole time we talk. I have to curl them under myself and cusp my feet in alternating hands in-between cups of java.

 

I always come away from there slightly, I don't know, deflated? That aside, I did enjoy having a catch up. I'm glad S's career is going well and she is on track for a promotion. She deserves it. Despite her couch manatee ways and that blanket practically living on her back, she is a hard worker when it comes to what she does and I am sure she does it well. I can't believe we will all be turning 27 this year, apart from Miss Gee. She's the baby. She's a Spring one is that Miss Gee.

 

After my visit of a couple of hours (which is enough of me for anyone), they have to shoot off to a BBQ in the pouring rain and I move onto my next stop for some kind of entertainment and relief: my mum and dads.

 

Now, when I go there off my own back, you know it's bleak. I guess I thought since I was in the area I should see them. They're always at home if they're not camping or going to a vegan rally, so I go through the routine I always do. Park my car next to theirs as tight as possible because I know only I need to get out. Knock on the front window and glance at the white shutters either side and notice there is always a cobweb in the left shutter, peer into the room with my hands and face to the glass and see my dad on the couch strumming a guitar or watching the snooker.

 

My mum had done a really delicious soup. She is very healthy and completely against any type of product coming from an animal. Beautiful soup with fresh bread - lots of pepper and salt. I have to have my pepper and salt. I collected a few parcels that had been dropped off there and showed my mum how to online shop for some new ankle boots that she is after. She had to rush off to see my Grandma who only lives down the next few streets. I can't face my Grandma because I'm already socially drained of any energy through stagnating in my own company for a short few hours and being in a dim, damp house. She will suck all the joy and happiness I have left for the day out from me as soon as I see her. She will start her emotionally manipulative complaining and crocodile tears. I can tell my mum doesn't want to go, but she throws on a girlish rain coat (even though she's 52) and rushes out into the rain, her shopping bag ready to be filled with my Grandma's list of things she needs my mum to get.

 

I bow out of this second and fateful social visit when I see my dad reaching for one of his ukuleles and make my excuses that I have to leave because I'm meeting another friend. I feel guilty but it's such a dull day full of dull things that I want to try and inject some excitement into my being and it's not happened at S and C's and it's not happening here.

 

Running to my car I slam the door and turn the heating up full blast and turn to my phone. Miss Gee. She's always up for a giggle. I text her and ask her if she fancies a visit to a sex shop 20 minutes drive out of here in an hour or so. She texts back straight away dying to go but she's not local due to having to be called to work unexpectedly. This makes my heart sink.

 

I love looking around sex shops. It's a strange hobby of mine. Normally I go with D on a rainy afternoon or if I find myself slinking around the house bored with nowhere to go, but I can't quite get the energy up to go alone, even though I actually have something in mind I might want to buy. I find myself already reversing out of my parents street and my mind starts suggesting different activities alone. I could go to the retail park 15 minutes drive from here, maybe buy a little top? Maybe treat myself to a new nail varnish? I could wander around for half an hour and then go home, somehow making this whole mash up of seeing people worth while as I now have nothing to show for it and feel very deflated for some reason.

 

I end up driving home in bad rain hanging onto some lorries tail lights and still not finding my perfect music for today. I still can't find it.

 

I'm bored, in need of attention and a bit turned on. This is torture. I can't bring myself to work more on the house and I really don't want to clean. Maybe I should sort through my massive pile of clothes in boxes that I never wear and try to organise them for when we see the right wardrobes. I don't even have the energy to nap. I hate naps anyway. I only do them twice a year and I've already had one up to now that I regretted.

 

I feel hungover today and I haven't even been drinking. I think I am drunk in love, or oh so crazy in love, as Beyonce would say.

 

Here is a time I really do wish I had a fabulous friend like Grace Jones. Instead I will have to play Private Life by myself.

 

Lo x

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I'm curious about something...

 

In choosing between being at work, looking at the clock and just waiting for lunch and the end of the day, hoping the time will go fast so you can leave, but having something to do all day that puts you in contact with people, produces something of value even if its drudgery to perform, and makes you feel part of "the rest of the world"....

 

and having all this freedom to do whatever you please, and not having to do dreadful tasks each day that are asked of you, but feeling a beast of boredom constantly at your ankles, prodding you to find this or that to stave off loneliness, the malaise of idleness, feeling cut off from the rthythm of the rest of the world and hyper-aware of aloneness when you are not distracted by some passing pleasure...

 

which of those states is more endurable for you?

 

Being pre-occupied by the fight to find something meaningful through the boredom...or doing concrete things that you dislike doing that give your life structure?

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I'm curious about something...

 

In choosing between being at work, looking at the clock and just waiting for lunch and the end of the day, hoping the time will go fast so you can leave, but having something to do all day that puts you in contact with people, produces something of value even if its drudgery to perform, and makes you feel part of "the rest of the world"....

 

and having all this freedom to do whatever you please, and not having to do dreadful tasks each day that are asked of you, but feeling a beast of boredom constantly at your ankles, prodding you to find this or that to stave off loneliness, the malaise of idleness, feeling cut off from the rthythm of the rest of the world and hyper-aware of aloneness when you are not distracted by some passing pleasure...

 

which of those states is more endurable for you?

 

Being pre-occupied by the fight to find something meaningful through the boredom...or doing concrete things that you dislike doing that give your life structure?

 

Hi tiredofvampires,

 

Honestly I have never felt part of the real world and this is something I seem to struggle with regardless of whether I am in work or not.

 

What has surprised me is how bored I easily get of everything. I used to start a new job and everything was great for the first month or so, and then after I would become painfully bored. All week I have been treating the house and doing it up like a full time job (well, my husband has made me because he won't stand for me mooching around the house), so for 7.5 hours a day, Monday to Friday, I have been full time decorator of our humble abode. The shock to my system was a brief trip out to the supermarket mid day, I think it was on Thursday. A real shock to the system.

 

In my opinion, it seems like I have traded the working zombies for the dosser zombies and I can't get the balance I thought I would in-between.

 

Don't get me wrong - it is my dream, passion and love to work on the house, but when all that stops and especially when D goes away on business, I am left feeling very isolated, especially at the weekends when everyone is off doing things and I only have a small circle of friends. I could keep myself busy but I don't know what with. Heaven help me, I don't want to take up crafts or knitting or even worse, baking. Getting into Cath Kidson and having my bowls match the pattern on my apron - I would shoot myself in my face.

 

What I do have to realise is I always feel very down when my husband goes away. I always have done, when working full time or now, free and with lots of time to myself. It's part of my nature. I even stop eating when he's gone. I nibble snack food but stop eating proper meals. It's like I start going into hibernation and mourning for something, like owls that stand gormless and shell shocked in the middle of the road when their mating partner gets run over. That's how I feel. People have told me this is wrong, I need to find my own amusement and not be so reliant on him for my happiness, but I honestly don't know how I could even begin to be truly, I mean truly, be happy without him. I feel this is a Romeo and Juliet situation me and my husband have here. If he died, I would hurl myself from the nearest bridge. It is an all consuming thing, this love.

 

I do use this journal as an outlet for a good old rant, and often I get it out and go about my daily life feeling much better. As I may of mentioned here before (but I forget and repeat myself like an old woman all the time), because this journal is an outlet, I am more inclined to post negatively on it instead of positively. When I feel positive, I really don't have much need for this journal and I am busy getting on with life and enjoying myself to write on here.

 

Writing on here for me is a double edged sword - it makes me feel worse, but it sometimes makes me feel better. But often, I almost always regret what I have posted but I would never take it back, because it was the truth for me at that time and in that moment.

 

I've had a boring day and tried to fill my time up searching for some kind of fun I just don't get from my friends and family anymore. I used to be so happy in my own company, but I am so used to being with my husband that I feel like part of me goes with him when he's away. Part of me is in London now and it's probably why I am so blank and my post is so bleak. Although I hope there is some humour in there, because at the end of all of it I always have to laugh at myself. Anyone who knows me would tell you that. If you haven't read any humour in my post or poking fun at the situation, I am afraid I haven't been clear or you have read it wrong. I am not a serious person, despite all this drivelling I do.

 

Lo x

 

EDIT: A side note; I completely didn't answer your question! Would I rather be a useful member of society doing a worth while thing I hate no matter how mundane instead of mulling over my own thoughts here at home bored - the answer is a resounding, definite, all consuming no. No no no. I would still be far more miserable with the dreary and oppressing office looming round the corner on a Sunday afternoon. I think I will give freedom more time to do it's thing. I am really not used to freedom. Like a lottery winner who can never imagine what it's like growing up with "old money", I don't know how to handle this new found, lucky gift. I think I need to learn!

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