I'm off for three weeks for work. I have no money, nowhere special really to go to, and so I am blogging. Its been years and years since I have religiously blogged -for want of attention --or just to escape the reality of being completely labeled as ordinary? I don't know. But well, here I am again.

My life has settled to some semblance of normalcy. I have friends who I see at least once every five months. Or some sort. I have concentrated on being the mother of the year. There is not one aspect of my daughter's life that I don't control. Some may argue that she's growing up to be a good little girl albeit a bit spoiled but she's a good little girl. Very clever and precocious. A bit cheeky sometime but who isnt?

I also have conquered (hopefully) the demons that are called h-o-r-m-o-n-e-s. I took agnus castus and my mood swings have calmed down to a reasonable level and my hankering for sweets have also gone down a bit. I'm a bit more positive and happier. Exactly the same kind of person I was when I am not subjected to horrendous hormones-induced insomnia.

I think its the PMS. But I my emotional walls are crumbling from the onslaught of hormones. I could feign nonchalance..but alas, the vicious diatribe directed against myself is too vicious to fight off. I need a drink. or a couple. or better yet, I'd better go down my off-licence to have my friendly Indian shopkeeper recommend the best Merlot they have.

Seriously.

I'm off work for three weeks. And in that time frame, I'm deliciously indulging myself in the thoughts of "if I have a million pounds --" or better yet to make it more realistic "if I have thirty five thousand pounds--"

Sigh.

Spent the weekend cooking meal after meal and watching warehouse 13. And yes, reading inanely trite but completely engrossing to my prepubescent self --Gemma Burgess. She actually gave a couple of good pubs and bars around London that I might try and recommend to other people to appear "in the know."

I haven't been really blogging for awhile now, but reading books the past couple of days has brought home to me how important it is that I cultivate a hobby (that I may parlay it to a skill worth millions and millions of pounds). Its nice to dream though.

I try to seriously think about writing something bombastic. I read about the works of one of my old college pals, (who writes now for the national newspaper) and I think to myself that it is a bit disheartening that I know I can write beautiful things but I don't.

I have an idea for a book that want to write --but its a bit too personal to actually write it. I can never look at anyone else's face again if it comes to light. I might do a bell de jour and do it anonymously.

Who knows?

On other news, my NMC thing is ticking off nicely --happy times.

Were Ticking Along

Its a fuck all at the moment. I am so skint I don't even have the things to buy for the lady parts. Its just one of those weeks that after feeling briefly flushed with money, and I have the ruddy complexion of someone who tasted briefly the happiness of being to swipe your card and feel perfectly at ease that somethings there --its all taken away quite rudely. Damn direct debits. Damn bills. Damn life.

Damn it all to fucking hell.

It has been a tough year, after a fucking month of being able to say to myself --now right, I have to take charge of my spiraling debts (fuck you online shopping) --that I managed to actually stay on budget and made a big ritual of cutting plastic--and disaster upon disaster happens and I'm now stuck on the same place where I was the start of the year and more so, in a much dirtier, grimier place. I just wish that I have taken the time to fucking analyze and scrutinize everything that I decide to fucking buy. For fuck's sake. Do I need a back-up to the back up of my fucking conditioner?

and no, I don't really need to drink organic milk or eat free-range eggs. Those fucking chickens all die anyway. My tongue probably wouldn't be able to differentiate between the the flesh of chicken who stayed cooped and chicken who did the freedom run. They all end up fucking dead.

So in the end, it really doesn't matter.

Besides I'm thinking of going vegan anyway.

On positive note, all the big bills are done. And I really don't have anything else to pay off. So if we can live off bread alone (which we can, sorry Jesus), nothing to worry about.

Now I'm just channelling Mother Teresa to survive.

2011

I am sitting here in front of the computer and thinking I dont know where to start. This year it is time for honesty to myself and to everyone. So in that context I am trying to write what is really happening and to not care what anyone else thinks. This blog will be for me now again and my reticence in writing what is happening is probably the same as lying to myself. Which is quite stupid.

This year will be the year whether my marriage will fail or not.

and so, starts the saga of my life.

Bring it on 2011.

Photographs

Its hard to look at photographs. It makes me sad. Desolate. Bitter. Angry. Wistful. Lonely. (Insert adjective here). I've been doing some spring cleaning. Trying out to find ways to minimize clutter in our little flat when I happened to chance upon photos. From my previous life. I don't know how to describe it. I think I'd rather cry than actually feel hollow. Its hard to be a grown up in a country where you dont have any history.
I'm a baby here with fully grown ideas and opinions shaped somewhere unrelated to my life here. Bleh.
Hollow.
I just take it one day at a time, so I can still tilt at windwills, smell the rain and feel the grass under my feet or in this case the little soil that I bought from lidl and put on a cardboard box stashed somewhere and brought out whenever I feel the urge to feel earthy.
Bleh.
The photos I looked at yesterday were those of my family. I suddenly felt this gut wrenching homesickness (which happens every once in awhile) and got on to skype to call my sister (ended up talking to the whole lot which was a good thing).
Became even more depressed after so Cori and I ended up sleeping the late afternoon away.
Woke up and felt even more awful. Horrible Cold.
Never a good idea to look at photographs.

Depression

I'm depressed. Really depressed. Or might be if my inappropriately timed humor wouldnt poke its head out everytime I contemplate calling my GP to beg for xanax.
Even when I was typing the word depression --the word inflation comes to mind. and a vision of myself being inflated and deflated made one half of my mouth turns up to smile.

However there were two very good news that lifted the cloud of doom and gloom from my chest.
First was getting a text from someone who makes my life a little bit easier to swallow and another was news from ate who made me really happy.

Due to privacy reasons of the concerned bearers of good news, I wouldnt be posting those news. I looked at the visitors to my deadblog and seem to be attracting an occasional visitor or two, so whoever you are whose still reading my blog. Keep on reading. Its nice to vent to someone who I dont know at all and wouldnt meet but someone knows I exist.

Thank you.

MY FIRST EVER GIFT FROM CORI..MADE BY HER..WRAPPED BY HER