30 Day Meme - Day 14

Day 14 - A Non-Fictional Book

Here's a nice non-fictional book...



It's called "Zombie Felties: How to Raise 16 Gruesome Felt Creatures from the Undead" by Nicola Tedman and Sarah Skeate, and it's meant to be winging its way to me. Although apparently it was shipped sometime last week, but it's not here yet. Neither is this one...



"Felties: How to Make 18 Cute and Fuzzy Friends" by Nelly Pailloux.

Both of them are books on how.. well how to make felties. And I want to get started already!!! Stupid unreliable Royal Mail. Curse you!!!

Wordsmith Wednesdays

Hey, me again. And here's some more of my old writing. This time, have a poem. A bajillion years ago I was doing an English Literature course at college, and the lecturer asked us to bring in a poem. Being me, I decided to write one. Next lesson, the lecturer is telling everyone about what the author meant by this bit, and the hidden messages in that bit. And I'm sat there going "no I didn't." I always new English Literature teaching was rubbish.

The Last of His Kind

He hides high in the mountains,
Watching Humanity evolve.
Towns and cities move nearer,
And loneliness attacks.

He knows that he is the last,
And he is scared.
For when these creatures find him,
He knows what they will do.

Wars will rage over him,
Zoos and governments and science.
Who will make the money,
That he is sure to attract?

But though his heart may beat cold,
And his breath may burn,
His soul is eternal,
And he will never be tamed.

His flight will guide him,
Away from mortality.
And the last of his kind,
Will remain a myth.

In millennia to come,
As in millennia past,
He will watch over the sea,
The sky and the stars.

For he is the champion,
In scales of silver.
He is the knight,
Who keep Magic alive.

Today I Want to Type

I don't know what I want to type about, I just know that I want to type. I like typing. I like the clickety-clack of the keys under my fingers, even if my laptop keyboard is coming away from the laptop. I still like the sound, and the feel of it.

I have no idea what I want to say though. Actually, that's a lie. I know exactly what I want to say, to a lot of people. But mostly I can't say it. Too much family/friendship politics. Once a certain date is past though, I'm going to write a few nice, long, detailed, honest letters. Tell the truth. Tell these people exactly how I feel about them, and exactly how I feel about what they've done to me. Then, instead of locking away or burning the letters, like I've done in the past, I'm going to send them. Then I'll probably spend weeks stressing about it.

There are also things I want to say to people that I can't say. And won't say. It's not worth the inevitable hassle. I wish I could.

You know, I've developed this reputation for being a little rude and obnoxious. I'm not rude, or obnoxious. I just like to be honest. I tend to say what's on my mind, whether or not it's appropriate or nice or polite. And I don't care. I don't care that people get offended. I like that I'm honest like that. I just wish I was consistent. If a stranger is staring at me in the street, I can tell them to take a picture because it'll last longer. If my friend's choice of boyfriend or outfit is horrendous, I can tell them. If my other friend's particular habit is driving me crazy, I'll tell them. If my boyfriend's lack of communication is driving me nutty, I'll tell him. If my mother has an argument with someone and then acts childishly about it, I'll tell her. I say what I think.

But I also bottle up so much. There's so much more that I think about my friend and her choices than I tell her. There's more I want to ask my other friend than I do. I feel more and want to express more to my boyfriend than I do. That's the big one actually.

It's no surprise to anyone who's read more than one of my blog posts that I have a very complicated relationship with Neil. It's hard, and sometimes damn-near-impossible to cope with. And I do occasionally tell him how I feel about it all, and how hard it is. But I don't tell him everything. When we first met, nearly three years ago, he was almost a completely different person to who he is now. I could tell him anything. I had this hugmoungous secret in my life that I've told very very few people. I told Neil before I even met him. I was incapable of lying to him. Even when I wanted to hold something back, I couldn't.

I still love him as much as I did then, and I still feel the desire to tell him everything. Every tiny little thought in my head. "Oh Smudge is looking so cute chasing her own tail." "Why don't all the light switches in my house flip on the same way?" "Do you think there's life on other planets?" "How come my left foot is bigger than my right foot?"

Tiny little things, to big emotional things. I want to tell him everything. My natural instinct is that he is the other part of me, and he needs to know everything. But these days I don't tell him. When he sends me a text, or we're chatting on msn or the phone, I don't instantly say what I'm thinking anymore. I think, and revise and hold back. That isn't right. I know it isn't right, and I end up ranting and raving at poor little Smudge instead. But I know there's no point telling Neil.

This morning in a text conversation he was winding me up and teasing me, calling me rotund. While I was texting back "lol", I was ranting to the cat. That tiny bit of energy and thought and time he spent winding me up? Why couldn't he have spent that being nice to me? How difficult is it to type "you're pretty"? But I didn't tell him. The same way that, when I say "I love you" and he doesn't respond, I don't say anything.

Urgh. I just wanted to type. I didn't mean to end up in a rant about my love life. I just wish I could talk to him. I wish he cared. I told him I'll be here for him for as long as it takes for him to get better, and I will. I just haven't told him how incredibly hard it is.

Stitching Sundays

After Wordsmith Wednesday I've decided I need more theme days on my blog. So welcome to Stitching Sundays. Just an update of what I'm doing, and what I've finished.

My favourite (and only) finished project this week is this...



Inspired by this wonderful blog.

I'm also still working on the Mammoth Secret Project, which is only a secret to one person. I've started a new cross stitch piece - a little mouse in a Christmas stocking. And I'm still ignoring the various WiPs in my box. At the moment the Mammoth Secret Project is the important one. The deadline for it is rapidly approaching.

30 Day Meme - Day 13

Day 13 - A Fictional Book

(Let's just ignore the fact that there's been a 20 day gap between Days 12 and 13.)

Okay, a fictional book. I read a lot. Not as much as I'd like, because it's hard to read while crafting, and I craft a lot too. I tend to read mostly in the bath, or while on buses.

I have a lot of books. 433 of them. Not all of them fictional, but mostly. And I haven't actually gotten around to reading many of them. I tend to follow serieseses, and when a new book comes out I'll buy that, even though I haven't caught up with the rest of the series yet. And because I'm reading so many series at the same time, I get way behind. It doesn't help, of course, that when a new book comes out after a long break, I have to re-read the rest of the series to catch up. Which is the situation I find myself in at the moment.

Recently the new Artemis Fowl book came out. Artemis Fowl is a series of children's books by Eoin Colfer about an evil boy-genius and elfs/fairies/centaurs, etc. It's very cool. The new book is the seventh one, and it's been two years since the sixth book was released. I haven't read them in that time, so although I know the general plot, I needed my memory refreshing. So I have to re-read books one through six. I brought the new book a couple of weeks ago, but I've lent it to Cayden (who also reads the series). He's more likely to read it before I get to it. I'm only on book two.

I want to read it. I want to read the two latest Discworld books. I want to finish the Harry Dresden series that I'm only three books into. I want to read all the Jeffery Deaver books I've collected but haven't read yet. I want to read the hundred or so other books I get but never get round to reading. But I also have waayyy too many crafting projects to finish, a few hundred gigabytes of TV shows and movies to watch...

It's a very good thing I don't have a job.

New Thing: Challenge # 38

Challenge 38: Write a love list about yourself

To a depressive who generally hates herself, this one didn't even sound easy. I managed to get one or two things after several days agonising, but then I realised I didn't know how many items I needed. After some discussion, it was decided that I needed 15, but 10 constituted a pass. Believe it or not, I managed to get 15. Yep, I'm as surprised as you are.

1) I love my big bright blue eyes
2) I love my boobzillas
3) I love my creativity
4) I love my tattoos
5) I love my organisation skills
6) I love my laugh
7) I love my imagination
8) I love the writing I have done
9) I love my impulsive, crazy, not-quite-thought-out ideas
10) I love my honesty and openness
11) I love my sense of humour
12) I love my collarbone
13) I love my sense of style
14) I love my nose
15) I love my complexion

Look at that, a lot of those were even physical attributes. Who knew?

Current saved total: £75
Current donated total: £115

Wordsmith Wednesdays

Doing this week's challenge I've come to realise that although my current wordsmith skills are almost non-existent, the stuff I've done in the past is pretty good. And I'd like to share some of it. Feel free to comment, critique or ignore...

I've already posted one of my pieces on here before, and here's the second. It's a story I wrote many years ago. When I write stories I tend not to have any idea of plot when I begin. This one kind of wrote itself.

Routine

I’m here. As usual. I’ve come here every day this month. Following him. Learning his pattern. He’s an easy mark. I’ve had some that do different things at different times on different days. Those types you have to stalk, take your shot when you can. It’s risky; more chance of failure, more chance of capture.

But this man is a creature of habit. He likes his routine. He leaves his small, barely standing house at the same time every morning. Never more than 30 seconds early or late. He slams the door and his face contorts as he listens to the creaks and groans of a building that should be condemned.

He takes exactly the same amount of time to drive to work each day. Nine minutes and 13 seconds. Following the same route. Down alleys, taking shortcuts so ingrained in his memory he could drive with his eyes closed. Avoiding lights and other traffic. Anything that might interrupt his schedule.

He does the same tasks in the same order every day. In the corner office with the blinds two fifths of the way down. And I sit in the library across the road. On this same purple seat by the window. The seat with the scratchy fabric that burns the skin on my arm each time I move. I choose a different book each day. Always from the same section. Crime. Not that I’ve read any of them. Despite the regular turning of pages and the occasional low mutter or laugh. My eyes are fixed on more important things than words in a book.

I watch him take off his coat and hang it neatly on the centre hook on the back of the door. I watch him place his briefcase squarely in the centre of his desk. I watch him pick up the pile of yellow message notelets, read them all carefully, then sort them into order of importance. I watch him ensure that every pencil in the tray is sharpened to a fine point, and arranged in order of length. I watch him empty the litter bin and line it with a fresh clean white bag from the roll in his drawer. Now, and only now, when everything is the way it should be, does he sink into his leather chair.

This is the only part of his day that varies. He closes his eyes and takes slow deep breaths to cleanse and calm. The length of his meditation seems connected to nothing, so far as I can tell. Perhaps something happens to him in the minute or two I lose sight of him after he enters his building, before he walks through the door of his office. Who knows? Who cares? Whether it lasts a minute, or five, eventually it ends and the rest of his day begins. Routine after routine. Chore after chore.

Nothing that happens during his work day is helpful to me. This place does not suit my needs. Too many people. Too much wind. Too many corners and angles. No clear shot. So I continue to observe, filling my head with notes about the job. My tool of choice. My fee. The customer. I’m sure there’s a reason I was hired. People rarely require my services for no reason at all. I provide a last resort. People ponder for months, perhaps years, before committing to me. Once payment is transferred, there is no going back.

But whatever reason my customer has, I don’t need to know it. Nor do I wish to. This is my job. This man I watch, any man I watch, is only one more chore in my own routine. I don’t need to know what he’s done that has made someone contact me. All I need to know is where and when I can complete my task.

I observe, without caring, for hour after hour each day. When he pulls his lunch from his briefcase and turns to face the window, he doesn’t see me. The library’s windows are tinted on the outside, providing better cover than I could manufacture for myself. I continue to watch while he eats the same cheese and pickle on brown bread sandwich, the same banana, the same digestive biscuit. He drinks the same cup of tea, with the same single sugar, from the same mug. As soon as the cup is empty, he washes it at the sink in the corner and returns it to its place by the kettle.

Sometime in the afternoon he goes to the bathroom. The same time each afternoon. Three fifteen. And he is always back at his desk by three seventeen. Without fail. His body is as tuned to routine as his brain is.

Today something happens that isn’t in his usual routine. At four thirty, his office door opens and in walks a tall, busty woman wearing a long black suede skirt and a tight pink sweater. I know, even from this distance, that she is drenched in peppermint body mist. I would know, even if I did not see the mark’s nose wrinkle as the cloud of spray forces itself into his nostrils, because my own senses have been assaulted by this woman. This is my customer. The woman who has paid me £50,000 – for whatever reason – to dispense with this man.

She sits on his desk, knocking the pile of papers to the floor, and he blanches. As she talks to him, he clenches the arms of his leather chair until his knuckles are as white as his face. Her gestures grow wilder, as I imagine her dusky voice grows louder. And through it all he sits still and silent, waiting for her to leave. Waiting for routine to begin again.

The woman gives up screaming. Throws up her hands in clichéd disgust, and storms from the room. His coat falls from its hook. Framed pictures and certificates on the wall are shaken askew. I would not have to look to know that the next half an hour of this man’s day will be spent recreating order and routine where the whirlwind woman left chaos.

When everything is straight, and in its place once more, his routine continues. He works faster, in order to catch up. He could not possibly stay later. He must leave at precisely the same time as he does every other day. When he exits the office I put down my book and by the time he walks out of the main door of the building, I am behind the wheel of my car.

I watch his path from building to car park, and my brain rouses itself. Patience is a necessity in my line of work. I can watch without moving for hours. My brain has learned to observe and take notes on standby. But now that he is moving again, I need to pay full attention. Especially since I know where we will be going next.

Driving once more along short cuts and alleys, avoiding lights and other traffic, this journey takes 37 minutes and 25 seconds. Exactly the same amount of time it took yesterday. With each second that ticks by, I grow more certain in my mind that the stalking is almost over. This place that we head to, my creature of habit’s secret vice, is the perfect place for finalising my task.

We arrive and even as I follow him, my eyes are scoping out the area. He takes his usual path through the woods. Not sticking to the public footpath, but following a winding trail around trees and bushes. The route is clear, the grass trodden down by his own feet. I keep well back. There is more chance of being spotted in this natural jungle than there was in the concrete one. So I give him more distance than is necessary. I’m comfortable in the knowledge that even if I lose sight of him – which I won’t – I know exactly where he’s going.

He’s heading for his hidden pool. An oasis that the majority of city dwellers know nothing about. In this day and age of commerce and technology, hardly anyone bothers with exploring nature anymore. Not enough that he needs to worry about. He’s safe here. For now.

Every night this month I’ve watched him rip his clothes from his body. I’ve listened to him let out the frustration that builds in him each day, dammed by his routine. I listen to his roar. I watch him dive from the highest point into the pool. I watch him splash and swim and relax. I watch him leave his routine on the rock with his clothes.

Tonight, he roars and swims as usual, but I don’t watch. Instead I turn my attention to the surrounding area. Where is the best place for the job? How do the trees affect the wind? Is there anywhere a witness might mistakenly stumble across us? What’s the best escape route? Will the sound echo enough that dog walkers on the other side of the forest will hear? Are they far away enough that even if they do hear, I’ll be long gone before they get here?

--

I break my own routine. I leave before he does. There is no point in staying. I have no more need to watch him. Tomorrow, this job will be over. He will have his last swim, then I will carry out what it is I was paid for. I will return home; he never will.

And soon there will be a new customer; a new mark. Someone new to stalk, and another £50,000 in my account.

New Thing: Challenge # 37

Challenge 37: go on a minimum of a ten minute walk every day.

Another EPIC fail. The first day, the Friday, I went to Lidl, so I walked a fair way (for my anyway) and came home completely exhausted. I even got groceries. Then I haven't left the house since.

Current saved total: £70
Current donated total: £115

New Thing: Challenge # 34

Challenge 34: 101 snapshots challenge

A long, long, long time ago, when I was researching ideas for New Things and Challenges, I stumbled across this. A 100 Snapshots Challenge. For those too lazy to follow the link, the idea is that you're given 100 words and have to take a photo for each word. Except that they aren't simple things like "chair", or "cat".

1. Safety
2. Stale
3. Feathered
4. Hot
5. Open
6. Forever
7. Love
8. Touch
9. Colorless
10. Blue
11. Smell
12. Growth
13. Irony
14. Wrong
15. More
16. Feel
17. Muse
18. Child
19. Within
20. Pale
21. Earth
22. Torn
23. Scars
24. Stray
25. Drops
26. Against
27. Dry
28. Fresh
29. Covered
30. Bold
31. High
32. Shadow
33. Concrete
34. Vein
35. Rush
36. Yellow
37. Empty
38. Cliché
39. Central
40. Loss
41. Wonder
42. Sweet
43. Poetry
44. Heavy
45. Fall
46. Chair
47. Statue
48. Kool-Aid
49. Dark
50. Breath
51. Garbage
52. Silk
53. Teacher
54. Cream
55. Wash
56. Corner
57. Rose
58. Field
59. Two
60. Red
61. Music
62. Rope
63. Decrepit
64. Chase
65. Dream
66. Dance
67. Smile
68. Smirk
69. Reflection
70. Soul
71. Lock
72. Key
73. Rust
74. Find
75. Lose
76. Drag
77. Wind
78. Rest
79. Swing
80. Meeting
81. Vacant
82. Hazy
83. Release
84. Gather
85. Swarm
86. Road
87. Wait
88. Stand
89. Distance
90. Trapped
91. Desk
92. Detach
93. Shatter
94. Home
95. Shy
96. Tackle
97. Begin
98. End
99. Time
100. Life

My interest in photography fluctuates wildly, but this is something that I'd like to complete. So I decided to give myself four weeks for this one, based on how often I get out of the house. Except that my depression has been pretty bad recently and I've been getting out of the house even less than usual. I came up with some ideas for some of them, but took a grand total of... zero photographs.

Not only was it a fail, it was an epic fail.

I do like photography though. A while ago I even did a City & Guilds in it - although it was mostly film. The thing is, when it comes to digital photography, I'm not very good at it. I don't pay enough attention to lighting, so I attempt to take photos in my living room with it's energy saving light bulb. Then I wonder why they aren't any good. I've looked at some courses, but with my financial situation in the major mess it is at the moment, I can't afford to go anywhere, let alone pay for a course. Maybe I'll look for a free online one. You can find anything online these days.

The point of my rambling being, that although I failed, it is one that I'd like to complete one day.

Current saved total: £70
Current donated total: £110

Crochetaversary

Today I realised that I have been crocheting for exactly one year and one day. To celebrate I made a little slideshow of all my work. This doesn't include a completed christmas present, or the four pieces I'm currently working on.

Some photos...

A no eggs, no milk cake. Tasted scrumptious - I added a very generous splash of toffee sauce - but wasn't cooked long enough and the middle was liquid.

Chocolate chip and pecan cheesecake, with a quarter cm of base, and five inches of topping. Need to work on the ratios a bit. Was absolutely delicious though.

Double rainbow!!

Mr Jensen Ackles, aka my future husband.

My beautiful kitten Smudge. She's now my only cat - I rehomed Pixel yesterday - so now she can run around and generally live without being attacked. Her personality is really emerging. Turns out she's a cable chewer. Which reminds me - need to buy a new phone charger.

On Sunday when I had Pixel shut in the living room for a while, Smudge watched an entire episode of CSI Miami like this.

Where my life is at the moment...

- my depression is dragging me down. I'm not episoding, but it's stopping me living a normal life.

- I have two cats, who can't be in the same room together. I either have to lock Pixel in the living room, and listen to her meow, or I let her out and she chases Smudge into a corner. Smudge stays in the corner, and Pixel tries to kill her when she moves. Smudge is de-litter training herself, and doesn't eat properly. Pixel refuses to eat because I've had to switch to canned food. Oh, but she'll chase Smudge away and eat her food.

- My boyfriend - depressed and grieving - has had his phone switched off for two days and is worrying the hell out of me.

- My house - thanks to a collapsing bed, and my increasing depressing - is a state, and is slowly getting worse. It's even starting to smell, and I need to sort it out. I want to, but I have motivation and 'oomph' issues.

- My head is constantly throbbing in pain, and I'm taking obscene amounts of painkillers daily.

- I'm sleeping on a mattress on the floor, again, because of my sodding collapsing bed.

- I'm in major financial shit. So much so that my mother is calling the people I owe money to, and my sister is taking control of my internet banking. In a couple of weeks, I won't have to deal with my bills or anything. I'll have an allowance. A pathetic allowance that will allow for no fun, no visits to boyfriends, no yarn, no nothing.

However, it isn't all bad news. I think negative thoughts about myself a lot, and I'm trying to train myself to think of two positives for every negative. So here I go...

- My cats are both adorable. They're both friendly and affectionate and cuddly and happy (alone, anyway).

- I'm a talented crafter, capable of creating anything from a mini alien, to a beautiful lace shawl.



- I have my own home, with my own roof over my head, and that makes me better off than hundreds of millions of people around the world.

- I have a mother and a sister who care enough about me to help me sort out my problems and look after me financially.

- I'm intelligent, and smart, and logical. Even if I don't have much common sense, I'm still an intelligent, smart, logical woman.

- It may be taking a while, and I may not be doing it the right way (technically) but I am losing weight. I've lost 18 lbs since I went back to Weightwatchers in April.

Okay, now I'm starting to have difficulties. It's always hard to think positive about myself and my life. Years ago, my best friend at the time used to get me to list one good thing about myself for each letter of the alphabet. It was insanely difficult. It's an exercise I still try occasionally and it's still insanely difficult.

I couldn't come up with two positives for each negative I started with, but writing the positives afterwards has helped to ease the sting of the negatives. I am having problems, but I'm surviving them. I'm still here.

a shawl for a wedding

As you may or may not know, my middling sister is getting wed in November. Since it's november, I needed a cardigan or a shrug or something, so I made myself this:





It's my first ever shawl. Well, the second I've started, but the first one I completed and didn't frog. It's made of Malabrigo, so it's deliciously soft, and I'm ridiculously proud of it :-)

New Thing: Challenge # 36

Challenge 36: write 5 'Dear Stranger' letters and leave them to be found

I wrote this out on five different coloured notecards...

Dear Stranger,

First of all, well done for being brave and opening this! Yes, it WAS meant for you :-) I hope your day is going well, and that everything is working out for you. Please remember that whatever is bothering you is not as bad as you think it is.

My name is Cleo and I've left this letter as part of a challenge. My intention is to reach out to people I wouldn't normally be in contact with, to bend my own comfort barriers, and perhaps to make someone else's day a little bit better. I'm not sure what kind of person will pick this up, so let me try one or two things.

1) Try not to start singing "it's the final countdown" in your head.
2) You just lost the game.
3) Do any of these mean anything to you? MLIA? FML? IMMD?

Perhaps none of those made you smile, and perhaps you're shaking your head trying to figure out what sort of weirdo would leave a letter for a stranger, but you're still reading, so thank you :-) Thank you for persisting, and thank you for participating in my little experiment.

Cleo


I left my email address in case anyone wanted to contact me too.

I left the red one on the 101 bus, and actually witnessed an old guy open it, read it and then stuff it in his bag. I left the green one in the pattern display case at Abakhan Fabrics. I put the blue one in the magazine rack in W H Smiths. I put the orange one between some cushions at Costa Coffee, and Jen planted the yellow one at the meeting place she went to Tuesday evening.

No emails as yet.

Current saved total: £70
Current donated total: £105

30 Day Meme - Day 12

Day 12 - Whatever takes my fancy

Sleep. I have a very complicated relationship with Sleep. I like to sleep. A lot. I like being asleep. I love that drowsy half-asleep feeling. I love that not-quite-awake-yet feeling. I can fall asleep anywhere - including the student union nightclub. Sleep is my dear close friend.

Sleep is also my nemesis. It's evil! It's more the difficulty I have getting to sleep. Yes, I can fall asleep anywhere, but not when I actually want to sleep. I don't think I've ever had a normal sleeping routine. If I decide it's bedtime, and put away what I'm doing and get into bed and close my eyes to go to sleep, I think. If I'm not doing something I think, and when I think very bad things happen. I can't stop thinking, and then I get depressed. So I have this wonderful tendency to stay awake until I'm utterly exhausted, because then when I go to bed I won't think, I'll just fall asleep. This usually means a very strange timetable. For the past few days I've been getting up at midnight-ish. That's not right.

My other problem with sleep is the waking up part. I sleep too much. 18-20 hours at a time sometimes. I've been known to sleep through whole days. And I know it's not healthy. I know that too much sleep is as bad for you as too little sleep. I know that you're supposed to aim for 8 hours sleep a day. That sounds perfectly reasonable. Apart from the fact that if I set an alarm I sleep through it, or I throw it across the room, or I switch it off and go back to sleep. I've tried setting multiple alarms, it doesn't work. Occasionally I do manage to get up, but then I'll fall asleep doing something later in the day.

It doesn't help that I don't work, that I don't have a routine. I have no reason to get out of bed, no reason to go to bed at a sensible time. I find it insanely difficult to keep to a routine. On days when my depression is flaring up, it's almost impossible for me to get out of bed, and on those days it's very difficult to stay awake. There's no need for it.

And then of course, there are the nightmares. I suffer from dreadful, horrendous nightmares. Every night. About all kinds of things. I get the someone-is-chasing-me nightmares, the monsters-in-the-cupboard nightmares, the naked-in-public nightmares and the death-of-a-loved-one nightmares. I get very, very vivid nightmares about people I care about. People leaving me, people dying in gruesome horrific ways, that are usually my fault. It's ridiculously disturbing. I have nightmares that wake me up crying and sweating and shaking. I have nightmares that haunt me throughout the day, leave me feeling like something is wrong. I also tend to attack myself in my sleep on occasion. I've woken up with scratches and bumps and bruises. It's awkward and surreal and not pleasant.

I don't always remember my nightmares, but on days when there are lots of them it leaves me feeling more shattered than I was before I slept. I'm always tired. Always. My depression makes me tired, my antidepressants make me tired. It doesn't matter whether I sleep at night, or in the day, I'm always tired. It doesn't matter whether I sleep six hours, or eight or fifteen. I am always tired. And it's not pleasant.

Neil

I've been having real trouble with Neil recently. Not so much with him, but the way he is. The reality of his brother's death has finally hit him, and it's as bad as I feared it would be. He's tried twice in the past few weeks to go back to work, and has failed both times. The first time he was home again by lunch time, and the second time he didn't even make it out of his front door. He's grieving, and it's sending him spiralling into his depression.

With me deep in a big black pit of my own depression, it isn't easy. At all. The other day I had an episode over the fact that Cleverbot is nicer to me than Neil is. I asked Cleverbot for a kiss and he kissed me and said that anyone would want to. I asked Neil for a kiss (via text) and he offered me sausages instead. He couldn't even type *kiss*. He chose to type a longer word instead. It really upset me. But that's the way he is when he's episoding.

I'm quite lucky, at least he's still communicating. My relationship with him is no more boyfriend-girlfriend than my relationship with anyone else at the moment, but he still talks to me. Every day, even if it's just a random word (which he's very good at doing). In the past his episodes have taken him away completely and I haven't heard from him for weeks at a time. I can't handle that. That's horrendous and scary and intolerable.

But the lack of relationship with him at the moment has left me feeling horrible. Really, really crappy. And I know it's been hard for my friends to see. One friend in particular thinks that I need to get out of the relationship. For weeks that's been something I've been thinking about. Very hard. Do I really want to be in a relationship that makes me so sad and upset? And it's been like this since we first got together, nearly three years ago. Up and down and up and down. Two depressives, with such differing symptoms, really should not be in a relationship. But when it's good, it's really good. When he isn't greiving his baby brother who got blowed up, when he's coping with his depression, he's wonderful (in person anyway). And those times, those times when I'm curled up on his bed, and he'll get up from his computer game to go and get me a drink, or when he'll rub my ankle, or just lean over and kiss the top of my head... those times are worth it.

I have considered breaking up with him, but I'm not going to. I didn't break up with him when he was episoding, and I'm sure as hell not going to break up with him now. Yes, it's hard. Yes, it hurts that he's so distant. Yes, it drives me crazy. But he's recently lost his brother. He's grieving, and his depression means he isn't dealing with it very well.

I love him. I've loved him since the second I first set eyes on him. As cheesy as that is, it's true. Completely true. I loved him through months of not seeing him, I loved him through his episodes and my episodes, and I love him when we weren't a couple. I know that right now he doesn't care about that, but one day he'll come through it, and I'll still be here. There are various things people can do to help me out with my depression, and I wish there was something I could do to help him. But I tell him regularly that I love him, and he knows that I'm here if he wants to talk, or if he doesn't. And I'm sending him a note (with some cookies) to remind him of that, and to let him know that I'll still love him and I'll still be here if his depression gets worse, and I'll still love him and I'll still be here when it gets better, and when he cares about me again.

Isn't love wonderful?

New Thing: Challenge # 35

Challenge 35: 48 hour fast

Fail! Again. Apparently my body reacts to a fast by binging twelve hours in, so I'm not going to try that one again.

For the eagle-eyed among you who've noticed that challenge 34 isn't up, it's a 4 week challenge, so I have two more weeks to fail it.

Current saved total: £65
Current donated total: £105

30 Day Meme - Day 11

Day 11 - A photo of you taken recently

The most recent picture of me is this one...



Which isn't technically of me, it's of an owl. A very frustrating owl actually. It was for a challenge, the deadline for which is about now-ish, but I've run out of thread for the eyes. Damnit!

30 Day Meme - Day 10

Day 10 - a photo of you taken over 10 years ago

There are lots of photos of me as an adorable child that I like to show off, but I also like this one...



I think I was 13 or so in this picture, which would make it approximately 15 years old. I'm currently verging on 30 stone, and this is what I used to look like. Lots of people don't believe it's me, but it really is. When I moved in with my mum I changed a lot!

30 Day Meme - Day 9

Day 9 - a photo you took

Well, I take lots of photos, but they're mostly incredibly bad quality ones of my stitching or my pets. I do have some artistic type ones, but the best ones were from my holiday in New York... five years ago.