Some songs trigger memories and others arouse emotion. With or without you by U2 is one such song that makes my body numb. One day I will not listen to the lyrics word-by-word or think back to that crematorium that urge to run from my seat, drag back that curtain and erase that wooden coffin.
---
Sometimes in the dark your mind can wonder and as the night closes in the terrors appear. The terrors seep out from your subconscious and suffocate you in a transition from adult to child.
A simple cry is masculine and an uncontrollable emotion vociferates from within.
Selfishness dominates. Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you tell me? Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Whatever happened to you?
You were the one who brought us all together and like Pritt stick you stuck it out. You made us weep and you made us smile, and written in a blog you improved my mood for a while.
So no more tears and no more mess, apologies you never saw me out of my ...
See right now you’ve got me smiling and on a quick change of subject my nails need filing.
So without much ado I bid you goodnight, please don’t watch while I sleep it will give you a fright.
I would say “We’ll be seeing you” but we know that’s not true, we’ll all get through this together and it’s all because of you.
---
It almost seems wrong to turn such strong emotion into literature, even if writers have been doing it for centuries.
It is tipping it down with rain as I write this, how’s that for pathetic fallacy!
Thursday, 16 June 2011
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Ducking around
Hmmm what to write about? I'm in the mood to write, so the best thing to do would be to write. Right?
Today I popped to Oxford to see Becky poos (Old housemate and culinary expert.) I wish I knew my driving is so therapeutic? The girls at uni could tell you many a story in which I've been found crying in my car and the smile on my face when I get out the car and lock the door.
Anyway, I was driving down the M40 singing along to Stornoway (Becs may be able to cook but it took her three years to convince me the band were good!) just coming up to junction 6 through the chalk cliffs and I had a sudden thought...why don't you see birdwatchers traipsing the motorways? Granted the birds on the motorways are squished, mangled into a pulp and generally dead, but for all we know they could be rare species/ endangered types and so on.
It was around this time of constructive pondering that I almost hit the duck.
Now it still remains a mystery why I almost hit a duck whilst driving at 70mph on the M40, or more importantly where the duck came from? Apart from the duck clearly being suicidal and getting its poultry mixed up and playing chicken, it took a while to sink in what had just happened. So much so that I spent the next 15 minutes trying to recall if ducks could actually fly or not.
However it got worse. After surviving the killer duck incident and arriving in Poundon, Becs and I headed to MK for a bit of shopping and a spot of grub. We nominated Marks and Spencer as our lunch destination (their wraps are to die for!) and we set about scanning the selections for our belly liners. For some odd reason the wrap I normally go for didn't look to appealing, Hoisin duck.
I opted for the chicken wrap instead, but it didn't quite replace my urge for a duck wrap.
I guess in one respect I'm lucky, if Duck a la windscreen had been on the menu I may have been put of duck for life.
Sadly that didn't conquer my craving for a wrap though. Maybe that shall be lunch tomorrow...just hope I don't hit a chicken!
Today I popped to Oxford to see Becky poos (Old housemate and culinary expert.) I wish I knew my driving is so therapeutic? The girls at uni could tell you many a story in which I've been found crying in my car and the smile on my face when I get out the car and lock the door.
Anyway, I was driving down the M40 singing along to Stornoway (Becs may be able to cook but it took her three years to convince me the band were good!) just coming up to junction 6 through the chalk cliffs and I had a sudden thought...why don't you see birdwatchers traipsing the motorways? Granted the birds on the motorways are squished, mangled into a pulp and generally dead, but for all we know they could be rare species/ endangered types and so on.
It was around this time of constructive pondering that I almost hit the duck.
Now it still remains a mystery why I almost hit a duck whilst driving at 70mph on the M40, or more importantly where the duck came from? Apart from the duck clearly being suicidal and getting its poultry mixed up and playing chicken, it took a while to sink in what had just happened. So much so that I spent the next 15 minutes trying to recall if ducks could actually fly or not.
However it got worse. After surviving the killer duck incident and arriving in Poundon, Becs and I headed to MK for a bit of shopping and a spot of grub. We nominated Marks and Spencer as our lunch destination (their wraps are to die for!) and we set about scanning the selections for our belly liners. For some odd reason the wrap I normally go for didn't look to appealing, Hoisin duck.
I opted for the chicken wrap instead, but it didn't quite replace my urge for a duck wrap.
I guess in one respect I'm lucky, if Duck a la windscreen had been on the menu I may have been put of duck for life.
Sadly that didn't conquer my craving for a wrap though. Maybe that shall be lunch tomorrow...just hope I don't hit a chicken!
Thursday, 9 June 2011
A sweet little mystery
There is something very odd and almost nostalgic about turning on my laptop. I never use it these days partly because it’s so slow that it drives me doo-dah and secondly I can do everything whether it be emailing/ blog updating/ Twitter/ Facebook on my phone. Never the less it does put a smile on my face when the background of my old house mates and I dress head-to-toe in orange clothing pops up.
I have had a few crazy weeks and life seems to have merged into a life of serious work and no play. Don’t get me wrong the experiences have been phenomenal, actually phenomenal may be too big a descriptive word perhaps insightful is better, but life outside of work has all but disappeared.
It was this realisation and a few recent comments about this blog being how shall we put it, slightly themed, that got my thinking about what I really want out of life.
There are many sayings and proverbs that tell us life is too short and that we should make the most of what we have, seize opportunities and so forth but what if taking that leap is more terrifying than length of life itself?
Unfortunately none of this is helped by the fact that I am about as decisive as a very indecisive person can be- I use to be indecisive and now I’m not sure- but it is as if the leap that should be taken is getting bigger and the time to take the leap is getting smaller.
I never planned to work in the shop for this long once Uni had ended, but then I never made a plan in the first place. In a cringing way (We are talking extremely cringing here- finding your 18 year-old brother’s friends modelling your knickers kind of cringing) after Uni you got married and had children. That’s what my parents did and that’s what all the adults I grew up with did.
I am not an anti-feminist although my housemates will disagree but life has never been grey for me, you got married and have children or have a career. How can you be with your family and work around the clock at the same time? You simply can’t.
To me family has always and will continue to be a big part of my life. When you come from a family of eight as in my Parents, Brother, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin and Nan the thought of not being close by is as daunting as the prospects of not fulfilling your life.
At the age of 22 the entire world and its oceans are at my feet and yet for some reason all I want to do is paddle around a bit and then put my feet back into my favourite pair of heels.
I was determined not to write a blog about men/ relationships or love, but the truth is everything else scares me. In fact it does more than scare me, it scares the life out of me.
There is only one thing niggling at the back of my head. If I really was too scared of the unknown then why am I curious about it? What is out there that I haven’t seen, what am I missing and what is waiting for me out there?
One of my old housemates “The Oxfordshirett” suggested to me that we should go travelling for a year. At the time I laughed. Now we are looking at plane tickets.
Maybe it is time for Amie to get of this wall and go find her bed of roses… just as soon as she gets her new Mac that is.
I have had a few crazy weeks and life seems to have merged into a life of serious work and no play. Don’t get me wrong the experiences have been phenomenal, actually phenomenal may be too big a descriptive word perhaps insightful is better, but life outside of work has all but disappeared.
It was this realisation and a few recent comments about this blog being how shall we put it, slightly themed, that got my thinking about what I really want out of life.
There are many sayings and proverbs that tell us life is too short and that we should make the most of what we have, seize opportunities and so forth but what if taking that leap is more terrifying than length of life itself?
Unfortunately none of this is helped by the fact that I am about as decisive as a very indecisive person can be- I use to be indecisive and now I’m not sure- but it is as if the leap that should be taken is getting bigger and the time to take the leap is getting smaller.
I never planned to work in the shop for this long once Uni had ended, but then I never made a plan in the first place. In a cringing way (We are talking extremely cringing here- finding your 18 year-old brother’s friends modelling your knickers kind of cringing) after Uni you got married and had children. That’s what my parents did and that’s what all the adults I grew up with did.
I am not an anti-feminist although my housemates will disagree but life has never been grey for me, you got married and have children or have a career. How can you be with your family and work around the clock at the same time? You simply can’t.
To me family has always and will continue to be a big part of my life. When you come from a family of eight as in my Parents, Brother, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin and Nan the thought of not being close by is as daunting as the prospects of not fulfilling your life.
At the age of 22 the entire world and its oceans are at my feet and yet for some reason all I want to do is paddle around a bit and then put my feet back into my favourite pair of heels.
I was determined not to write a blog about men/ relationships or love, but the truth is everything else scares me. In fact it does more than scare me, it scares the life out of me.
There is only one thing niggling at the back of my head. If I really was too scared of the unknown then why am I curious about it? What is out there that I haven’t seen, what am I missing and what is waiting for me out there?
One of my old housemates “The Oxfordshirett” suggested to me that we should go travelling for a year. At the time I laughed. Now we are looking at plane tickets.
Maybe it is time for Amie to get of this wall and go find her bed of roses… just as soon as she gets her new Mac that is.
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
P. s Size issues
P.s Please note that I am not sizest.
I have dated many a small male: a person of below average height, a person un-blessed with tallness, a person whom shouldn't be kissed whilst wearing heels (you not the male- you may have others issues there), a male of the miniature department, an undersized individual, a pocket sized, squatty, stunted, sawed-off man.
I've dated tall ones too. Can you top 6' 6"? Talk about a pain in the neck.
I have dated many a small male: a person of below average height, a person un-blessed with tallness, a person whom shouldn't be kissed whilst wearing heels (you not the male- you may have others issues there), a male of the miniature department, an undersized individual, a pocket sized, squatty, stunted, sawed-off man.
I've dated tall ones too. Can you top 6' 6"? Talk about a pain in the neck.
For good measure
I am a little person. Not necessarily in height (all 5' 6" of me) but when it comes to having to do BIG things it scares me a bit.
It occurred to me the other day that I have been living at home for a year now and my memory of living in a home of my own is rapidly fading.
Don't get me wrong I can't complain, but when the imprisonment of a family home leaves you sneaking out in the middles of the night, you do start to question your living arrangements.
I also promised myself I would stop writing blogs about my university experiences and men, there are a million other topics to ramble on about and my brain must try harder.
The truth is it has been a year down the line and I still don't know what I'm doing. I'm still the same girl, but slightly nicer, calmer and far more mature (Willy willy willy.)
The only downside is my expensive taste has sky rocketed and the CD collection in my car contains more Rat Pack compilations and Power Ballads than is good for it.
Maybe I am prematurely ageing? Maybe there is a higher force telling me I've been a child for too long? Thank you Grandma but I will always be your little girl (x.)
So there you have it, grabbing life by the male bits has officially worn me out but it has got me thinking- again.
As the past haunts us the future daunts us.
If only Jiminy Cricket doubled as a life coach and a conscience, there would be no unnecessary panicking then. And when the right job, the right house and the right man come along we will be ready.
(So much for not writing about men!)
So I raise a hypothetical glass in the air and say something that sums up this blog.
...Size isn't everything.
It occurred to me the other day that I have been living at home for a year now and my memory of living in a home of my own is rapidly fading.
Don't get me wrong I can't complain, but when the imprisonment of a family home leaves you sneaking out in the middles of the night, you do start to question your living arrangements.
I also promised myself I would stop writing blogs about my university experiences and men, there are a million other topics to ramble on about and my brain must try harder.
The truth is it has been a year down the line and I still don't know what I'm doing. I'm still the same girl, but slightly nicer, calmer and far more mature (Willy willy willy.)
The only downside is my expensive taste has sky rocketed and the CD collection in my car contains more Rat Pack compilations and Power Ballads than is good for it.
Maybe I am prematurely ageing? Maybe there is a higher force telling me I've been a child for too long? Thank you Grandma but I will always be your little girl (x.)
So there you have it, grabbing life by the male bits has officially worn me out but it has got me thinking- again.
As the past haunts us the future daunts us.
If only Jiminy Cricket doubled as a life coach and a conscience, there would be no unnecessary panicking then. And when the right job, the right house and the right man come along we will be ready.
(So much for not writing about men!)
So I raise a hypothetical glass in the air and say something that sums up this blog.
...Size isn't everything.
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
How to successfully bag a man
Every girl knows that somewhere out there in the big wide world their perfect man is waiting for them. According to legend this will happen when we least expect it and when we are definitely not looking for it!
He will elegantly leap off his well endowed horse (size also matters in the animal kingdom I’m sure) sweep us off our feet and whisk us off into the sunset to live in total bliss forever.
But what if he gets his foot caught in the stirrup, drops us mid-sweep, forgets to bring his TomTom and you end up a little north of Stoke?
Are we just meant to accept that this is the one, be content with our catch and capitalise the word smitten?
At the age of 22 I have been on many dates, met many men and yet I am still left wondering if this whole Prince Charming thing really is a fairy tale. Not one of these men has ever ticked all the boxes or made me think twice, one man actually bit my shoulder. Needless to say that was the first and LAST date we went on.
This is what got me thinking- not as a result of the biting incident, my shoulder has fully recovered now- how do you successfully bag a man?
The fact that there are women out there who are in relationships and who use the word love to describe their men that makes me think there must be ways to finding a man. If only they shared the information.
Why doesn’t someone write a book on the art of bagging a man? The complete works that contains a step-by-step guide on how to successfully find the one, how to spot one, how to keep one and how to continue the Prince Charming legend.
Obviously the novel would need a vast amount of research, numerous male interviews, numerous dates (just to ensure the male participants were being legitimate) and if necessary physical contact (in case the novel needed a chapter on what a Prince was like in bed. Harry is still single right?).
I think that would be a best seller and would bring a whole new spin to the classic ‘How to…’ column. Actually come to think of it I’ve always wanted to write a book…
He will elegantly leap off his well endowed horse (size also matters in the animal kingdom I’m sure) sweep us off our feet and whisk us off into the sunset to live in total bliss forever.
But what if he gets his foot caught in the stirrup, drops us mid-sweep, forgets to bring his TomTom and you end up a little north of Stoke?
Are we just meant to accept that this is the one, be content with our catch and capitalise the word smitten?
At the age of 22 I have been on many dates, met many men and yet I am still left wondering if this whole Prince Charming thing really is a fairy tale. Not one of these men has ever ticked all the boxes or made me think twice, one man actually bit my shoulder. Needless to say that was the first and LAST date we went on.
This is what got me thinking- not as a result of the biting incident, my shoulder has fully recovered now- how do you successfully bag a man?
The fact that there are women out there who are in relationships and who use the word love to describe their men that makes me think there must be ways to finding a man. If only they shared the information.
Why doesn’t someone write a book on the art of bagging a man? The complete works that contains a step-by-step guide on how to successfully find the one, how to spot one, how to keep one and how to continue the Prince Charming legend.
Obviously the novel would need a vast amount of research, numerous male interviews, numerous dates (just to ensure the male participants were being legitimate) and if necessary physical contact (in case the novel needed a chapter on what a Prince was like in bed. Harry is still single right?).
I think that would be a best seller and would bring a whole new spin to the classic ‘How to…’ column. Actually come to think of it I’ve always wanted to write a book…
Thursday, 19 May 2011
The Romantics
I have a really stranger urge to write something romantic. However, seeing as I know little about romance and have experienced very little of it there seems very limited scope I can write about.
I think romance can come in many forms, unexpected flowers (that would be lovely), random little notes (that would be lovely too) or simply a good night kiss.
Obviously there's chocolates, candle lit dinners and roses, but they are all so cliché and I'd expect my man to have a little more imagination. Far be it from me to ever date a boring man, so lack of imagination should never be an issue!
I ended up catching the end of 'Dear John' tonight and I would love to know how Nicholas Sparks has the talent to reduce me to tears every time I read or watch an adaptation of his novels. It is now bordering on embarrassing and every time I end up thinking (from underneath a pile of tear coated tissues) why can't that be me?
Why can't I be that girl who has fallen hook, line and sinker for this wonderful man? Or the girl who took one look at a man and instantly knew he was the one she had spent her whole life waiting for. I mean do things like that really happen?
I've always thought that in order for people to write a truly great love story the author must have experienced truly great love. Or some where along the line an old married couple must have told their story and evoked such inspiration that a novel was written to tell the world.
The most romantic thing that I've experienced is...well, I don't know actually. I'm still waiting to be swept off my feet and transformed into a giddy teenage girl again.
LOVE is patient and kind, but I wonder if he will be carrying yellow roses, wearing armour and straddling a horse. I doubt it!
I think romance can come in many forms, unexpected flowers (that would be lovely), random little notes (that would be lovely too) or simply a good night kiss.
Obviously there's chocolates, candle lit dinners and roses, but they are all so cliché and I'd expect my man to have a little more imagination. Far be it from me to ever date a boring man, so lack of imagination should never be an issue!
I ended up catching the end of 'Dear John' tonight and I would love to know how Nicholas Sparks has the talent to reduce me to tears every time I read or watch an adaptation of his novels. It is now bordering on embarrassing and every time I end up thinking (from underneath a pile of tear coated tissues) why can't that be me?
Why can't I be that girl who has fallen hook, line and sinker for this wonderful man? Or the girl who took one look at a man and instantly knew he was the one she had spent her whole life waiting for. I mean do things like that really happen?
I've always thought that in order for people to write a truly great love story the author must have experienced truly great love. Or some where along the line an old married couple must have told their story and evoked such inspiration that a novel was written to tell the world.
The most romantic thing that I've experienced is...well, I don't know actually. I'm still waiting to be swept off my feet and transformed into a giddy teenage girl again.
LOVE is patient and kind, but I wonder if he will be carrying yellow roses, wearing armour and straddling a horse. I doubt it!
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