10 Days of Haikus

Another emo one:

I close my eyes and
Leave this lost and lonely land
For one where I smile.

10 Days of Haikus

Today's haiku is a little less lighthearted than yesterday. Sorry. I'm feeling down.

Alone and lonely.
Desperate to be loved.
Destined for sadness.

10 Days of Haikus

So I'm trying to blog at least once everyday. Aside from making the bloga little more interesting to read, and also because I'm trying to give myself more of a routine. I have checklists of certain things I want to make sure I do every day.

Usually I have an update for Project 200 or the Discworldathon, or some other randomness to blog about. For days that I don't, I have a list of blog memes/challenges and things. This is the first one.

10 Days of Haikus.

A haiku is a Japanese form of poetry characterised most famously by its structure of 3 lines and 17 vowels. The first line has 5 vowels, the second line has 7 vowels and the third line has 5 vowels. They're short and succinct, but that does NOT make them easy to write. I'm going to attempt to write one a day for the next 10 days.

An extra challenge is that I haven't actually written any poetry in years. I've had writers' block for a good 5 years at least. So wish me luck.

Here's haiku number one:

Sweet potato pie
A crazy mess to create
Delicious to taste

A Christmas Prayer

I'm not a religious person, but I do consider myself to be kind of spiritual. I don't believe in God, but I believe in an unknown higher power. And I'd like, now that I've finished with all the food and the presents and the Christmas tv, to take a minute to send out a virtual prayer-type message.

I've been incredibly blessed this year, by all the generous people on Ravelry who've sent me enough presents to keep me occupied unwrapping for hours. And there are over a hundred Christmas cards adorning the walls of my home. A lot of the time I feel so very lonely, and it's times like this when I realise I'm not. They may not be next door, or even a text message away, but there are a lot of people out there who care what happens to me. And I am so immensely thankful to that unknown higher power for that.

I'm thankful for my family. Even though we've become even more fragmented in recent months, I still love my family, and I know that they love me. And I'm thankful for my friends. Consistent friends, friends who drifted but are returning, and brand shiny new ones. All of you are amazing, and you keep me going.

I'm thankful for the Internet too. As a depressive shut-in, the Internet is my lifeline. I don't get a thousand visitors a minute on this blog, but just knowing that my words are out there and have the possibility of being read by anyone, makes me feel important.

Merry Christmas to all you people out there. I hope you've had a good day, and I hope that tomorrow is good, and the next day and the next day. I hope that you are loved, and that you love. I hope that you enjoy what you do, whatever you do. I hope that you can smile occasionally and realise that perhaps life isn't so bad after all.

32 days

So guess what? It's nearly Christmas!! And I'm a little bit excited about it. This is nothing new. I've always loved Christmas. I tend to start getting excited about it in July. But I've seen the three signs of the Apocal... three signs of Christmas:

1) The Coca-Cola Christmas Advert
2) Children in Need has been on
3) I've received my first Christmas card

So I can officially start celebrating. And I'm not using Christmas to desperate cling to in order to distract myself from the chaos my life is in at the moment. Honest.

Okay, well maybe a little bit. But why shouldn't I? I'm am holding back though. Or trying to.

I brought myself a new Christmas tree, and it's already up. But mostly to see if it constructed okay, and to see how the cats dealt with it. Smudge was around last Christmas, but we were at Mum's and she was more interested in the dog than the Christmas tree. Lexie - the awkward/annoying/adventurous one - has never seen a Christmas tree. I was expecting her to climb it instantly, but so far she's completely ignored it. And Smudge just chews the bottom branches. I put the lights on a day or two okay, to see how they coped with that. Still nothing. I'm vaguely disappointed. Half the fun of Christmas and pets is stopping them climbing the tree. Maybe when I put the tinsel on this weekend they'll show more interest. But I'm not properly decorating the place until December 1st.

I've made myself an Advent calendar. (I LOVE FELT)



It's got chocolate coins in. They've been in there for nearly a week now without me attacking them. Of course, it's not December yet. That'll be the true test of my willpower. Can I make it to Christmas day without devouring all the chocolates? Probably not. I don't think I've done that since I was about 13. I think the furthest I've gotten would be the 10th or so. I will make it to the 24th this year. I will! Maybe.

I have Christmas day all planned out. I'm alone this year. Well, just me and the cats. The only other time I've ever spent Chrismtas alone was way back in 2004. My first Christmas in Stoke; just me and Gadget. Microwave dinner. Boredom. Misery. Binging. Distress. Suicidal-ness. But I LOVE Christmas! And since I appear to be turning into a crazy-cat-lady-spinster who'll be alone for the rest of her life, I need to learn to cope with Christmas alone. So I have all kinds of plans. Including a full roast dinner :-) Mum's sending me up a whole turkey. Me and the cats will have turkey sandwiches 'til New Year. Turkey sandwiches, and turkey chowder, and turkey curry. I've got some delicious recipes for parmesan roast potatoes, and cranberry stuffing. And plans for all the trimmings. I'll be watching all the holiday shows, and Christmas movies, and making gingerbread muffins. I'm even getting my stocking. Mum's decided I'm too old now, but I've convinced Cayden to make me one :-) (I am making him one in return). And presents!

One of my worries about spending Christmas alone was not having any presents to open. So I brought myself a couple of things, and wrapped them and gave them to Cayden. And I'm participating in a load of swaps on Ravelry. I've not opened any of the packages I've received since my birthday. They're all for Christmas day. Two of the swaps were Advent swaps - they contain 24 mini gifts each. When I received one of the packages, I messaged on the forum thread to say that I'd received it and to explain why I wouldn't be opening it just yet. I had over a dozen Ravellers demand my address so they could send me presents. I'd been having a bad day, and when I read those messages I almost burst into tears. Yet again, I'm utterly overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of Ravellers.

Even the cats have some presents under the tree. Or they will do by Christmas day. I can't put them under now, because a certain little fluffypants will rip into them before Christmas. I have a teeny tiny santa hat for them too. It'll be interesting to see if I can get any decent pictures of them wearing it.

So, Christmas is all set. It will be fun, and enjoyable. Even if I have to kill someone to do it.

I kinda want to rant a little about the bad stuff that's going on in my life, but I don't want to spoil the Christmas post. I'll write all that crap later.

Merry Christmas!

Happy Holidays!

Jolly Kwanza!

Merry Hannukah!

Happy Christmakah!

Etc etc etc.

Not as Miserable as I Sound

For anyone who actually read my last post, or my blog in general, I just wanna let you all know that I'm not actually as miserable as I sound. Yes, I have depression. Yes, just getting up everyday takes a tremendous amount of effort. But I'm not miserable every second of every day.

My entire life when I've had a journal I've had the same problem. I write when I'm stressed, or frustrated, or miserable. And I rarely write when I'm happy and contented. So it looks like my life copmletely sucks. I've just never had an internet read my journal before. So I'll try to write more positive posts.

I did eventually get back to sleep yesterday. And I slept for a whole 17 hours. Felt great afterwards. Still do. I've been up all night technically (woke up at midnight), but I've gotten quite a bit done. I feel productive. I like feeling productive. One of my OCD things is writing lists. Obsessive lists. Lists of everything. The biggest being to-do lists. Lots of them. So when I get to check things off that list, it makes me feel good. I've crossed off a few today, and even though there's still a bajillion things left on it, I feel good.

Of course, feeling good might have a little to do with the hot chocolate cobbler I just ate, but I've counted it in my daily points total, so it's even guilt-free chocolate cobbler.

My life really isn't that bad. I could sit here and easily list the bad things, and there are plenty of them. But if you read my blog at all, you know most of them already. You probably don't know many (if any) of the good things.

I'm talented. I forget it sometimes, but I am. If you look around my house there are dozens of examples of beautiful cross stitch and cute little crochet/knit creatures. And although I've got writer's block at the moment, I have files of some pretty good writing. And a shelf full of books that my poems have been printed in.

I may not be conventionally attractive, but I'm cute. I have a little button nose, and big bright blue eyes. And if you ignore the myriad of scars, I have lots of soft, smooth, clear skin.

I'm generous, and kind, and friendly (once I get past the crippling shyness and anxiety). I'm good with kids. I'm good with animals. I cook the most delicious muffins, and I have a few other recipes I excel at. Creamy chicken and corn chowder, anyone? Chocolate cream pie? I know a certain gentleman who'd eat three of my chocolate cream pies if it wouldn't make his stomach explode.

And I'm lucky. I don't always feel like it, but I am. I have a roof over my head, and food to eat. I don't live in an area where I need to worry about terrorists or war. I have water and electric and heat and clothes. A lot of the time I feel like my life is completely pointless and that it isn't worth living. I need to remember that there are so many millions and millions of people who have it a lot worse than me. I may have trouble finding the energy to leave the house, but I do have a house I can be agoraphobic in. And I can afford the chocolate cake to binge on.

I might not have a social life, or many friends, but I still have people I can talk to. I have two friends who have stuck by me throughout all the shit I dole out, and who don't mind my foibles. They haven't abandoned me when I ranted about them. They're still my friends, and sometimes it might take them a while to reply to messages, but they always do. One of them is just simply wonderful. I admitted some things I'd lied to him about, and he didn't bat an eyelid. He's kind, and friendly, and sweet. And even though he has a lot of his own troubles, he's always there to help me deal with mine. He walks into town centres to get my meds when I can't, even though he's feeling ill himself. I wish I could adequately explain to him how grateful I am that he's my friend.

I have two beautiful cats, even if they are completely cuckoo. They pee in the wrong places, and they scratch, and they run around the house making a racket while I'm trying to sleep. But they're cute, and affectionate, and funny, and they give little nose-kisses, and they're my constant companions. Without my pets I'd be even more insane than I am now. Right now Smudge is asleep on a box. Well, she's trying to sleep. Lexie is on top of her, chewing on her own tail. Smudge is staring at her, like she wants her to explode. It's quite cute to see.

I'm not always happy, but I'm quite often content. Right now I'm content. My butt hurts from sitting on this awkward chair for too long, but I'm content.

Just wanted to let the internet know I'm not always miserable and stroppy.

Don't know what to title this...

It's 4 in the morning, and I'm awake. Not by choice. I want to be asleep. I was asleep until a couple of hours ago when my body decided that it was time to get up, whether I liked it or not.

So here I am. I know I haven't blogged in a while, and I don't really have an excuse. The good news is the Mammoth Secret Project is finished! It only took 15 months (which was 8 months too long), but it is now done! I can't reveal it just yet, because it hasn't been delivered. Look for the big reveal at some point in September.

It does mean that I can go back to working on Project 200 things though. I have one piece I've finished but haven't revealed yet, because it needs ironing and then I need to get Cayden to take a picture of me in it. But Project 200 is back on track. Having said that, I have got two more big things due soon. I need to have most of my Christmas presents done by early September for when I go down south next. And we plan to open the Etsy store in September, so I need to get lots of products done for that. So there will probably be no big significant work done on Project 200 until at least September - but I'm working occasionally on one or two pieces.

So that's where I am craftwise. In other news... well my lovelife is as dead and defunct as it has been for months. I'm still besotted with someone who switches between hot and cold every five seconds. Supposedly I'm going to stay with him for a few days in August, but judging from the tremendous Neil-triggered episode I had the other day, I'm not entirely sure it's a good idea. I want to talk about it, but I don't think I can. It's all confused and complicated in my head. The sensible part of me, not that it's very big, is constantly making snide little remarks. Probably very wise and clever remarks. But it is always completely overshadowed by the huge and strong part of me that loves him and doesn't want to give him up.

I was about to start writing about how my friend-life is going, and dieting, and family, and everything else. But that's really kinda dull. Nothing has changed. I'm hoping to get some changes in life in September. I'll be going back to Stitch and Bitch, and Role Playing, and other groups I've found.

My life is plodding along as it has been for years. I know what I want from my life, and I'm working towards getting those things. But it's slow, very slow, and I'm not so good at maintaining confidence.

I have no idea what I'm writing about now. I just have that common urge to write, and don't know what the hell to write about. And all that does is bring back writer's block frustrations.

ARGH! I want to be asleep. Either asleep, or eating large amounts of ice cream. I have no ice cream :(

Ode to Audrey

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about how angry I was feeling with certain aspects of my life. In that post I referred to two different people. One of them, the male, was very understanding. He apologised for hurting me, and told me he wished he could express himself the way I do in my blog.

The other one didn't take it so well. A short time after I posted, I had a text message from her. An angry, offended message. I told her that I hadn't meant to upset her, that I was just being honest. I haven't heard anything from her since. Nothing. At all. It looks like that friendship is over.

And I am extraordinarly sad about that. I've known her for four and a half years, and in that time she completely changed my life. We are very, very different people, but we have a lot in common too. We both love America. We both struggle with depression. We both find rockers extremely attractive. We both love peanut butter. We both like crafting.

In fact, she was the person who taught me to knit. For months and months I would cross stitch while she would knit, and she would offer to teach me, and I would tell her to sod off. And eventually I gave in. And I am so grateful that I did. I love knitting, and knitting lead to crochet, which I also love.

She taught me a lot. Before her, I'd wear jeans and a t-shirt. I always had my hair up in a ponytail. Now I wear dresses, and skirts, and jewellery, and I get haircuts, and hairstyles (ish), and very occasionally I wear a bit of makeup. I'm still not a girly-girl, but I'm ever so slightly more refined that I was before her.

I have a tattoo that represents her. I always said I wouldn't get tattoos for people, but I decided that even if we never spoke again, she'd had such a huge impact on my life that I wanted to commemorate that. So on my back I have a red heart intertwined with a purple star. The red heart represents her, and the purple star is for me. Red was always her colour, and she doodles a curly heart beneath her signature. And my favourite colour is purple, and my signature shape is a star.

I influenced her a little too. At least, I like to think so. She now has that swirly heart tattooed on her hip. And hopefully I rubbed off a little bit of her "goody two shoes". I made her a little bit badder, and she made me a little bit gooder. And let's ignore that horrendously bad grammar.

I'm glad that she is happy with her boyfriend, and her job, and her life. And I want nothing more than for her happiness to last. But I am very sad that I can't be a part of what makes her happy.

I think about her a lot. When I think a rnadom thought, or have something to celebrate, or something to commiserate, I still want to text her. And everything reminds me of her. One of the handmade soaps that I received this morning smells like J'adore, her signature perfume. I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which made me think of her. I found an old theatre ticket. I saw an advert for Wicked.

We did a lot, she and I. There was That Summer - lots of debauchery I shall not get into. And several incidents involving alcohol. All of which make me smile now that I look back at them. She was my "plus one" at my aunt's birthday party, and at my sister's wedding. She met, and enchanted, my entire family. She helped me rehome my cat, and collect several cats, and collect and rehome a rabbit. We shopped in Camden, and cried during a theatre trip to Wicked. We saw comedians, and dodgy musical shows, and brilliant musicals. I will never hear a song from Wicked and not think about her. Or Joseph the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Or Phantom of the Opera. I will never watch Strictly Come Dancing without thinking about her. Or a vampire movie. Or a Spiderman movie. Or read a vampire novel. Or eat a quiche. Or a Morrison's salad, or drink milkshake, or eat a doughnut without thinking about her. I will never go to a circus without thinking about her. I'll stop here. I could write an encyclopedia of things that will remind me of her.

I love her, and I miss her, and I hope our estrangement will end at some point in the future.

I do have to say though, that I don't regret that post. I regret that I hurt her, but I don't regret using my blog to vent my frustrations.
I

The Tell-Tale Tattoo

On my back, just hovering over my right shoulder blade, is a tattoo. Inked in the sharp curves of Klingon script, the letters translate to read “wordsmith”. I have 21 tattoos to date, but this is the one that sticks most fiercely in the forefront of my brain. It is the tell-tale tattoo. Throughout my day of internet surfing, crafting and playing with cats, the tattoo throbs. The word echoes in my brain.

On one of many shelves in my bedroom is a series of books. Books that have my poems in them. Published works. I’m a published writer. Except that I haven’t written anything in years. I’m not a writer. I’m not a wordsmith. I’m a fraud. I have lists of ideas, and a million first drafts and random paragraphs. And I have a million excuses to not sit down and write. I need to finish that knitting project. I need to feed the cat. The rug needs vacuuming. I need to defrost the freezer. I need to do absolutely anything except sit down and face the fact that I can’t write anymore.

I can open a blank page, or try to work on a half-finished piece, and all I do is sit there. Sit there waiting for inspiration to strike. Waiting for the words to flow through me onto the page. Sit there feeling like a fraud and an imposter. My shoulder heating up with the slow burn of that tell-tale tattoo.

Even now. I’m writing. And I’m pleased that I’m writing. I’m ecstatic and over-the-moon that words are appearing on the page in front of me. But I don’t know what I’m writing. These sentences don’t make sense to anyone but me. They have no form. They’re mere ramblings and nonsense. I have a blog for that. In fact, I may well copy this over to the blog in a moment. But I’m meant to be writing! Poetry! Prose! Fiction! I have this idea of the tell-tale tattoo in my head. It’s been there for years. My own personal homage to Edgar Allan Poe. But I can’t manifest that idea into an actual piece.

Perhaps... perhaps my problem lies in first person. I hate my own life. I hate myself. I find nothing about my own personality or life to be interesting, so why would I think anyone else would? Why do I write in first person all the time? My common sense is telling me that perhaps I don’t write in my journal/blog enough. Perhaps I have too many thoughts and feelings and emotions to get out of the way before I can start to create. And now that I have isolated the problem, I can work on the solution. I need to keep up with these inane ramblings. When there’s nothing more to flow, then perhaps I can create.

In the meantime, my tell-tale tattoo story needs a protagonist. Someone who isn’t me. Someone who isn’t quite nerdy enough to get a tattoo in Klingon.

He wouldn't have wanted to be called a hero

Hey there internets. It's me again, obviously. You know, I was going to go to sleep hours and hours ago. It was cold in here, so I crawled into bed to stay warm and was going to go to sleep around 8 or 9ish. But then I pressed this lethal little button...



And I got trapped. Ended up Stumbling for an hour or so, and went through being tired to being wide awake again. I tried to sleep again an hour ago, but now I can't sleep. This time I have something specific on my mind. Out of nowhere, I can't stop thinking about Paul.

Paul Warren was Neil's younger brother. He was a Marine, and he died in Afghanistan last year. I didn't know him all that well, and I regret that now. I don't know why he's on my mind so much tonight, but he is. I've been thinking about whether or not there's a War Memorial nearby that perhaps I could go place a flower on. I don't know what else to do. What do you do when someone dies? What do you do when it's someone so incredibly important to the people that you love, but who you didn't really know?

I do wish I'd spoken to him more. I don't go to Neil's place that often, and Paul was barely there. When he was I did what I always do while I'm there and hide in Neil's room. I've never really spoken much to his other brother, Richard, or his parents. I feel bad about that. I want to. I want to talk to them more. I want to get to know them. Hopefully they're going to be my family one day. I'd like to be able to know something about them.

I'm rambling. I know I'm not making any sense. I just have all these thoughts and things floating around in my head, and where else should I spill them but right here?

From what Neil's told me about Paul, he wouldn't be impressed with flowers. He's had his name put on memorials, and all kinds of honours and things, and Neil finds it amusing, because Paul would have hated it. It sounds to me like Paul was a lot like Neil. Except that my darling boyfriend would never be brave enough to go fight a war. He's a big wussy, like me.

While I was laying in my bed completely unable to sleep, and thinking about Paul, lines of possible poetry started to drift through my brain. "The hero who was almost my brother." But that's wrong. Really wrong. I don't think he would have liked to have been called a hero. He was. The man was a hero. I read all the news articles about him after his death, and the Ministry of Defence press release. And the things that he did... he was a hero. But he wouldn't have seen it like that. He was doing his job. His unit worked on the security for the base.

"In singling out Marine Paul Warren, this accolade rightly describes a man who volunteered and acted as point man for every patrol which his section undertook in Sangin; in my eyes these men, 'on point', are the bravest of the brave.

"To Paul Warren, this was a matter of duty. Being the experienced man, who had patrolled Sangin before, he saw fit that it would be he, and only he, who would lead his section on patrol in Sangin; in volunteering for this he knew only too well the risks that were associated."

I... I'm overwhelmed completely by sadness at the moment, and I don't know how to deal with it. I want so desperately to go and hug Neil. I can't imagine anything ever happening to Michaela or Jennie. I feel this sadness for someone I barely knew. The pain and heartbreak that Neil must face everyday... and he doesn't mention it at all. Not to me at least.

I'm still not making any sense. I wish I... Aaarrrggghhhh. I don't know what to say. I used to be pretty good at getting what I was thinking out into actual words. Now I've just become blocked and stuffed up and confused.

Paul Warren was a good man. Never to me, but he was. He was a soldier, and every single man or woman that goes out there to do their duty and serve their country is a hero. I wish I could think of some way to express how much gratitude I have for them. I wish I could think of some way to show myself, and Neil, and the world how much Paul will be thought of, and how much he will be missed.

A post that's not about Project 200

Hey there Internet peoples. I haven't done much blogging recently that hasn't just been posting my FOs. I guess I've been trying not to think too much about the things that are bothing me. And when I blog, no matter how positive I try to be, I end up on the bad things. Let's just brush that aside right now and say that I miss Neil so much my heart is constantly aching. Also, that I'm utterly broke, and still have no gas.

Right, on to better stuff.

I'm settling into a better routine now. I've actually been getting up in the morning, and leaving the bed, and going back to it at nightime. Like normal people. I've even been doing some housework. In fact, aside from the kitchen, my place looks pretty good. Tidy, organised, hoovered. And I'm doing well at keeping it that way too. I just need to tackle the kitchen next, which will be easier when I have some hot water later today. And a bath! My god, I am so looking forward to having a bath. I may just stay in there all week.

I'm getting lots of crafting done. I know I said I wasn't going to mention it, but I've just finished projects 20 and 21 of Project 200, and that pushes me past the 10% barrier. I'm on a roll. I've even done two projects that weren't part of Project 200. In between the crafting and the housework, I've been ignoring the math workbook I started, and all the writing exercises I want to do. But I'm keeping myself busy.

I'm even exercising. Lol. How many of you fell over reading that?

I want a dog. While I was at Mum's over Christmas, two of her friends got puppies. And I decided that I'm sick of being told I shouldn't get a dog. Everyone says I wouldn't be able to look after it, and I wouldn't take it out. Believe it or not, I am aware that dogs need taking for walks and can't use litter trays and need feeding. I may not be very good at taking care of myself, but I'm actually pretty good at taking care of other people. So I decided to screw everyone else, and that I'm getting a dog, damnit.

I have considered Smudge. Over Christmas she wasn't exactly friendly with Mum's dog Gracie, but they managed. And they'd have settled eventually. When I introduced the neighbour's puppy to her, she wasn't too bothered. The conclusion being that as long as I get a puppy, or a dog that's smaller than her, Smudge will be fine. It'll take a long time, but I've done the reading and I know what I need to do to introduce them and acclimatise them together. I'm making plans to start buying cans of dog food when I have money, so I can get a stock together for my future puppy.

And then there's the Puppy Plan. A dog will need taking out first thing in the morning to go potty, and last thing at night, and about an hour after dinner. It will also need a decent length walk during the day for exercise. I am the first to admit that I don't go out that much. I don't go out at all, actually. And the Puppy Plan is to correct that...

Starting this monday just gone, I'm walking round the block last thing at night.

Starting next monday, I'll be walking around the block first thing in the morning too.

The week after I'll start getting up a little earlier (at the moment I'm getting up before 11.)

The week after that I'm gonna lengthen the nighttime walk.

The week after that I'll be adding a round the block walk an hour after dinner.

The week after that I'll extend the morning walk.

And the week after that I plan to start getting up before 9.30 (I'm not sure a puppy could hold it in til 11), and extending the morning walk to puppy exercise length.

That's the Puppy Plan. And although it's only three days old, so far it's going well. Back when I wanted kids, the fact that I wouldn't be able to conceive unless I lost weight wasn't enough of an incentive. But this is really getting me motivated.

I've ALWAYS wanted a dog. I'm a dog person. I've just only ever had cats because they were convenient at the time. Lol. It'll be difficult to get a dog. Shelters won't let me rehome a dog, because I don't have a garden. And I'll have to save lots of money to buy one, so it'll be a while yet. Plenty of time to collect dog food, and a collar, and a leash, and bowls, and a bed, and dog treats (and cat treats too, for placating and soothing). Plenty of time to get into the habit of walking more. And even without a dog, the exercise isn't going to hurt me, is it?

Generally things are okay. I'm not happy happy all the time, but I'm reasonably content. The only thing missing is Neil. :( But I'm not getting into that.

I'll try and blog actual text more often :P

So, that was 2010...

It's over. Well, not quite. Technically there's still six hours left of it for me, but I honestly can't see me moving off the sofa for it. I've had a really exhausting day. It'll be a miracle if I even make it to midnight.

Anyway, last year I had a lot of plans for 2010. If you don't wanna read that post, I'm about to list the highlights, and how I did.

Be better with money

Ummmmm. Well, in spring I had a major breakdown money-wise. There was a Brownies thing, and a rent thing, and then there was a selling the Wii and tv thing, and it was a big depressing mess. A few months later I handed my finances over to my mum and asked for help. She called everyone I owe money to, and all my bills and things, and arranged for me to pay them. Now I have lots of standing orders going out on payday. It's been a little tough having hardly any money. I mean, I have enough. After all the bills, and gas and electric, I usually have £20-30 ish to play with, and to get food (per fortnight). That's not bad. But considering when I didn't pay any bills I had £200ish to play with, it's a bit of a drop. I'm getting used to it. As far as the resolution goes, I'm actually doing it. When I asked mum for help, the original plan was to hand control of my internet banking over to her or my sister, so I couldn't delete or change the standing orders. But there was a delay in some of the bills and things, and I never got around to it. But I've been paying the bills, not fiddling with the standing orders. Which for me is a huge improvement. I've paid off one debt already. By the end of 2011, I should only have one or two huge ones left.

Start saving

Not so good. I have difficulty saving anyway, and then with the money issues this year it's been impossible. With Project 200, I'll be saving via Cayden or Jen, and maybe I can give them some extra money too.

Pay damn bills

See above comment about money

Classes and courses and groups

In that post last year I listed a hundred different classes and courses and interest groups I was going to go to. I never got to any of them. I haven't had money to go anywhere other than on pay day really, and I've settled back into my old routine of not leaving the house. But I don't mind. I don't have anywhere to go, and I have plenty to keep me busy. It's not like I lounge on the couch watching tv all day. I do a lot.

Lose weight

I did go back to Weightwatchers. I went at the end of April and discovered that I very nearly hit that 30 stone threshold, but not quite. It was a shock, so I made an effort. I couldn't afford to go every week, but I went roughly once a fortnight. I lost a total of 18 lbs by the start of September, but then I had the big money decrease and haven't been able to afford it. I plan to go back in the New Year now I have a tiny bit of extra money.

Swimming

Nope. Never happened. I'd still like it to, but I'm highly doubtful it'll happen this year.

More writing

I have been doing some writing, but not nearly as much as I used to, or as I'd like to be doing. On my daily checklist, I have down to either do some math from a GCSE book I'm working through, or to do some writing. Trouble is, I've been counting blogging as doing writing. I'll change that.

Weekly photography missions

These never happened either. Although I do still like the idea. I may try it again this year. Perhaps not 50 pictures a week. I'll do 10 a week; much more manageable.

New incarnation of 52 New Things

I did this one! I completed 52 challenges. Well, I documented them all, I didn't necessarily complete them all. I'm quite proud of myself for that, and for last year. I don't normally manage to maintain a project, let alone one that lasts a year, and I've managed to keep these up for two years now. The new incarnation for 2011 is Project 200.

Moving

I did this! I moved on January 16th, and I love my flat. It gets a little lonely, but I have my Smudge....



...and I'd much rather be lonely occasionally than be in shared accomodation again. I love not having to compromise with anyone.

Keep my depression at a handleable level

Now this one is debateable. I've had a LOT less episodes than years past, but I've also been finding that my depression has been manifesting differently, so I'm not entirely sure. I haven't been suicidal quite as often, and I haven't self-harmed very much. But my dermotillomania is off the charts, and all my energy and oomph has a tendency to just vanish and leave me staring at the wall for hours at a time.

Stay with Neil

It has been a VERY rough year. Especially for Neil, with the loss of his brother, and a full year of episoding. His episode finally subsided a month or two ago, and his grief over Paul kicked in. He's had it hard. And relationship-wise it's been hard on me, because I've only seen him a few times. The last time was the end of July. But we're still together. I still love him with all my heart, and I'm still planning to stay with him through whatever life throws at us.

Be happy

I wouldn't say I'm 100% happy. There is still a lot in my life that I'd change if I could, and some stuff that I can change and that I'm trying my hardest to. But I can say that I'm content.

There's been developments that I didn't consider last year. It's been a year of pets. I haven't been too successful with them. When I moved, mum gave me a kitten. Tippi. Who turned out to be a boy, so he was Alfred Hitchcock, aka Alfie.



And then I got a rabbit to go with him. Sir Reginald Fortescue, aka Reggie.



But then Alfie escaped while I was down at Mum's one weekend, and I couldn't find him. And then my landlady decided she didn't want me to have a rabbit, so we took Reggie to the rehoming centre at PetsMart. So I was petless, which was not good. Then I got Pixel.



She was found by someone as a stray, with lots of little kittens. They took her in, but couldn't keep her, so I had her. Then I got Smudge, who is quite possibly the cutest cat I've ever had.



But Pixel tried to eat Smudge. Pixel really didn't enjoy being an indoors cat at all. She was always loud and restless and trying to escape, so I rehomed her with someone who could let her be an outdoor cat. Now I just have Smudge, but hopefully that's changing soon - there's a plan for kittens.

And the baking. I've developed a fascination with baking. No idea what triggered it, it just happened. Now I'm obsessed with it. The muffins! I've made six batches of muffins since I've been down here at Mum's. I made sausage and cheese ones Christmas day, and chilli and sweetcorn ones. Then I made gingerbread muffins. The gingerbread ones were so good one of mum's friends requested her own batch, so I made more of those. And yesterday I made more sausage and cheese ones because we had sausagemeat left. Today I made banana and walnut ones which were also delicious. But that's it! No more muffins til next year! Mind you, we went to Hobbycraft yesterday and I got cookie cutters, so I might make cookies next.

It's been a long and hard year. I hope 2011 is better, for everyone. Best wishes from me and Smudge.

Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

Despite being laughed at, I still believe in Christmas, and in Magic and in you. I do know that you only have time to read the letters of children though, so I haven't written you anything in quite a few years now. But this year, I'm hoping that one of your elves will read my blog and pass on my messages.

I'm going to be at my Mum's house for Christmas, as usual, but the weather here is really bad at the moment, so please drive your sleigh carefully. And make sure you wear all your layers.

My wish list for this year is small, and reasonably practical. I need more yarn. Actually, that's not quite a whole-truth. I have plenty of yarn, I don't NEED any more, but I could always find a use for more! Especially soft purple stuff, since I used all mine on the Mammoth Secret Project.

And I've been working hard on my baking this year, so I'd like cookie cutters and baking trays and icing equipment and things. I promise that next year I'll leave you some handmade cookies. I might even manage it this year, if my sister helps me.

My final wish is something a little less tangible. I'd like for Neil's family to have a good Christmas. It's going to be hard on them this year, and I hope they can still enjoy themselves.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, Santa! Give my best wishes to Mrs Claus and the reindeer and the elves.

Cleo, aged 28.

New Thing: Challenge # 50

Challenge 50: Write a "This I Believe" essay.

I managed to pass one! It's not exactly an essay, more like a list. But the whole idea of this challenge was to think about and focus on what I believe, and that's what I've done. I've left the file on the desktop of my laptop, and I'm going to look back at it in a few days to see if it inspires a piece of writing.

This I Believe...

I believe that everyone has the right to be as different as they want.
I believe in faith, and in a higher power, but I don’t believe in religion.
I believe that in the indefinable size of the universe, and other universes, and general existence, that there must be a planet with life on it somewhere.
I believe that vampires and werewolves and ghouls and ghosts and elves and fae roam the earth, but that they are better at hiding that the stories make them out to be.
I believe that despite my flaws, I deserve the same chance at love and happiness as everyone else.
I believe that love can conquer anything.
I believe in freedom, beauty, truth and love.
I believe that as long as you aren’t hurting anyone, you can do whatever you like.
I believe that Santa Claus is real.
I believe that wishes can come true.
I believe that dreams are messages.
I believe that people aren’t as nice to each other as they could be.
I believe in past lives and reincarnation.
I believe in imagination.
I believe that adults should indulge their inner child more than they do.
I believe that not all wounds will always heal.
I believe in superheroes.
I believe in the healing power of cuddles and laughter.
I do not always believe in myself, but I believe that someone else does.
I believe in the right of every human being to believe what they like.
I believe in the Christmas spirit.
I believe in hopefulness, and in hopelessness.
I believe in magic.



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Lapse blogger

I have this wonderful habit of setting up themed days and forgetting about them. I gave up on the One Day One Sentence thing. Writing Wednesdays have gone awol - coincidentally about the same time my writer's block hit in full force. Food Fridays are absent because I haven't had the gas to do any baking. I'm having issues with my gas supplier, but they should be sorted in the New Year. Stitching Sundays are also missing. I've been doing a lot of stitching, but most of it is Christmas gifts I can't put on here just yet. Which is a shame, cos some of them I'm REALLY proud of.

I feel like I'm making excuses. I could find past writing to feature, and there is stitching I've been doing that I could share. I just don't. I don't know why. I like typing. I like to blog.

Actually World of Warcraft might have something to do with it. Last week Neil decided he wanted to reactivate his account, and he paid for a month for me, so I've been playing that a lot. I'm already having trouble balancing WoW with Christmas stitching. And I can't really blog whilst doing either of them. But I'll try to be better.

Maybe...

Wordsmith Wednesdays

Today I'm posting the most recent draft of the first chapter of my stalled novel. I know a few people read my blog, and I'd be very interested in their opinions. Do you want to read more?

Chapter One

Mountains clustered over most of the Elven country of Moreai, all of them reaching the clouds. On the highest mountain of the Colucca range, a wide ledge formed naturally into the side of the rock. A tall, Elven woman stood at the edge of the shelf, looking out over the landscape of her home country. From the horizon in the south, a dark green thread of water, the river Piato, stretched across the landscape until it joined with the lake below. Lake Talia. The green water glittered, the flashes of light reaching the woman’s eyes. At the edge of the lake was the small village of Talia, so close to the base of the mountain that the woman couldn’t see the lights of the homes that she knew were there. She turned back to face the ledge, taking in the flat rock floor. The mountain continued to rise before her, creating a wall sheltering the ledge. Scattered rocks and plants clustered around a small spring that burst through the ground. Rain began to fall softly.

She looked upwards towards the midnight sky. Two bright white full moons illuminated her, making her features clear. A soft, white face with smooth clear skin. Pale blue eyes, flashing with anticipation. Her long, straight black hair fell down her back and her white skin was damp with the moisture in the air. She shivered and pulled a purple robe from the velvet sack beside her. She put it on, gathering its folds around her, then pushed her hair back behind ears that curved into a point. She took a last look out over the country and then began to prepare for the ritual. Reaching into the sack again she pulled out a handful of tall blue candles and placed them at five points in a large circle around the spring. She cleared some pebbles and rocks from the inside of the circle. Reaching out her hand, a thin trail of flame burst from her fingers, lighting the candles. With her magic she traced a fiery circle between them.

She reached into the sack again and pulled out a short silver blade with a white marble handle and a white marble chalice. Footsteps and low murmuring alerted her to the two Elves climbing the track to the mountain shelf and she placed the chalice and blade by the spring before turning to embrace the newcomers. Both were male Elves, as tall as she; one her age and one much older. The older man had the same long, straight black hair as the woman, though his had white streaks betraying his age. He had the same blue eyes, surrounded with subtle lines. He took the young woman into his arms and held her tightly, giving her one soft kiss on each white cheek. The younger man had blond hair, falling in waves to his shoulders. He had deep grey eyes and soft white skin, and he embraced the woman with two kisses on each cheek.

With their greetings complete, the three Elves spread around the inside of the circle, the young Elf to the woman’s right and the old Elf to her left. The female Elf raised her arms to the sky and began the incantation.
“I am Aphra, daughter of Vitus and daughter of Jesslyn. I call upon the Elven magic of my ancestors.”
Her voice echoed over the ledge, spilling onto the deserted mountain.
“I summon all those in past, present and future who will bear witness.”
The young man smiled at her, and all three Elves looked to the sky. Between Xa’s two full moons, a dozen stars grew brighter and slowly closer. The lights removed themselves from the sky, dancing around the gathering like fireflies. The three Elves watched the lights settle to the ground outside the circle of candles. In the blink of an eye, the stars from the sky flashed and became the ghosts of a dozen Elves. A mix of males and females, young and old, all with two things in common. They were all dead, brought back to the land of the living for this ceremony, and they all smiled at Aphra with the loving gaze of family.

When the dozen Elven spirits stood outside the candle of circles, the young male Elf smiled at Aphra again and raised his hands to the sky.
“I am Hayden, son of Nealen and son of Tybida. I call upon the Elven magic of my ancestors. I summon all those in past, present and future who will bear witness.”
The gathering of Elves looked upwards once more and watched as another dozen stars fell to the Earth and joined the circle. Hayden’s ancestors.

The third Elf gazed at the two young Elves proudly. He cast his eyes around those assembled and spoke in a low rumble of a voice.
“I am Vitus, son of Maver and son of Tyfair. I stand here tonight to preside over this handfasting. To join my daughter, Aphra, to this Elf, Hayden.”
He held out his hands, and Aphra and Hayden put their joined hands in his.
“I am father of my clan, this is my right. I stand before these Elves; ancestors of myself and my daughter, and ancestors of an Elf soon to be my son. On behalf of these two, I seek blessings.”
Vitus looked at the Elf spirits gathered, locking eyes with each one and waiting for their smile and nod before moving on to the next. When all the Elves had given their blessings, Vitus let go of the hands he held and reached for the chalice and the blade. He scooped cool, clear water from the spring into the chalice, then turned to his daughter. He took Aphra’s hand, drawing the blade of the athame lightly across her palm. He let nine drops of her blood fall into the chalice, then passed his hand over the wound, healing it with his magic. Vitus turned to Hayden and repeated the process, then stirred the liquid with the athame. The chalice was passed first to Aphra, then to Hayden. They both drank deeply from it, then held hands tightly. Vitus smiled and reached into his robe. From his pocket he pulled two thin strips of silver. The metal was inscribed with runes for love, truth, loyalty and protection.
“Hayden,” he said softly. “Tonight you join with Aphra, to become one. This union is witnessed and blessed by your ancestors. This band is a symbol of your commitment to each other.”
Vitus reached for Hayden’s left arm and wrapped the silver band around his wrist. The metal bent naturally, as though it were made of dough, and the ends fused together when they met, aided by Vitus’s magic. Vitus turned to Aphra and repeated the steps of the ritual, giving her a handfasting band as well.
“And now,” he said, “with the blessings of your ancestors and the mingling of your blood, you are one.”
The couple embraced as Vitus looked on proudly and the ancestors faded one by one.

--

Vitus left the young Elves to their embrace and began to dismantle the circle, but a thundering of heavily booted feet distracted them all. They rushed to the edge of the shelf, Aphra and Hayden still holding hands. Halfway up the mountain track, getting closer and closer to the shelf, was a troop of twenty Human men, all dressed in black. Scabbards were tied to every Human’s belt, and each man held his sword aloft, the heavy weapons reflecting the moonlight. At the head of the troop was a Human a head taller than the others who held his sword in one hand and an ebony wand in the other. The Elves pulled back from the edge of the shelf, and heard the man thunder;
“In the name of my Lord, I purge you.”
Vitus crouched to begin an incantation as Hayden and Aphra reached for their swords. A red beam of light hit the edge of the shelf, shattering the rock as the men climbed up and onto the ledge.

Hayden and Aphra moved into defensive positions in front of the spell-casting Vitus. The leader of the Humans aimed the wand at the wall behind them, sending the red beam into the rock, carving out chunks that fell on the Elves. The men advanced, baring their swords and looks of fury. Aphra glanced briefly at the handfasting band on her wrist, then stepped forward, swinging her weapon to clash against a man’s sword that was coming towards her. She fought hard, bringing her sword forward over and over again, Elven steel meeting Human steel and Human flesh. Beside her, Hayden fought more of the men, keeping pace. Each time her sword rang against a Human’s, Hayden’s sword rang in echo. Hayden caught a sword on the side of his leg, and he stumbled, blood soaking his robe. Aphra pressed into the man who had attacked him, bringing her sword down on his head, cleaving into it. The Human fell. Hayden dragged himself to his feet to cover Aphra’s back. His sword entered the stomach of a man who fell beside his comrade. The battle continued and two more Humans fell; one losing an arm to Aphra’s blade and one losing his head to Hayden’s.

Behind them, Vitus brought his incantation to a close and a raging storm began to climb the mountain. Aphra could hear the thunder getting louder as she turned back to back with Hayden, crossing sword with Human after Human who circled the three Elves. There were six left, while the leader stood at the edge of the shelf and watched. Hayden and Aphra took down another, bringing their swords together through his chest and ignoring the taunts coming from his companions.
“Filthy Elves!”
“Scum of Xa!”
“Waste of flesh!”
“Plague of this land!”

Vitus’s storm reached the mountain shelf and the driving rain drowned out the sound of the taunts. The leader of the Humans moved out of the way of a striking lightning bolt, stepping into shadows. He watched his men fall without compassion, waiting for the perfect moment. He stood, ebony rod and sword waiting for action. Two of his men broke out of the circle and pressed forward to strike. Aphra and Hayden turned as one to block the attack. The leader used the opportunity to move around the edge of the shelf until he stood behind Vitus. The elderly Elf was concentrating on the storm, using its rain to hinder the men and it’s lightning to attack them. He didn’t see the leader aim the ebony wand at his back.

Aphra saw the red beam hit her father. She saw the ball of brilliant white light that was his magic rise from his chest and hover above him. The storm died as the leader pulled a small crystal vial from his pocket. He called “Come!” and the ball of light sank swiftly into the vial. Then, without even looking, he thrust his sword through the Elf’s back. Aphra lunged towards the leader with her sword raised to take his head from his body. The Human dodged her blow easily; she was angry and careless. Her ill-timed attack left her on the ground by her father’s body. The Human glanced at her once, a look on his face that could have been a smirk. Aphra stayed at her father’s side for a moment, leaving the man who rushed her from behind to her husband’s blade.

Another man swung his sword into Hayden’s shoulder and the force slammed him into the wall. His head struck the rock and he slumped to the ground unconsciously. Aphra saw her husband fall, and stood. She flipped her sword out to her left, beheading one of the men who attacked her. She prepared to rush the leader again, but the remaining men surrounded her. As she fought against them, she watched the leader from the corner of her eye. He approached Hayden’s fallen body, bringing the ebony wand and its red beam onto the Elf’s chest. Aphra cried out as Hayden’s magic rose from him. She fell to her knees as the leader arced his sword, slicing Hayden’s head from his shoulders even as he called the magic to the crystal vial.

Aphra’s body went numb. The remaining men drove blades into her from all sides, but she felt no pain. She stood, dropping her sword. Grief and fury coursed through her veins, swelling her magic to dangerous proportions. Her eyes clouded over and she flung out her left hand. A white ray cast from the palm of her hand, hitting the riders to her left in pure, uncontrolled emotional magic. In a matter of seconds, their skin began to sizzle and cook, then disintegrate. The flesh and blood beneath began to boil, and their bones turned to ash. Aphra moved her hand in front of her, sending the white ray across the ledge to hit every remaining Human. They met the same fate and the furious Elf turned her gaze on the leader. The Human who had slaughtered her father and husband glared back at her, the last man standing. He showed no fear in his eyes, no emotion even. Aphra let her arms fall to her sides, the white ray vanishing. The Human met her eyes again, and laughed. She closed her eyes, and then she vanished.

- - -

Wordsmith Wednesdays

Here's a piece of prose I wrote nearly four years ago, about a guy I was seeing at the time...

Intelligence Excites Me

In a world where language is rotting; in a world where the average dolt on the street knows nothing unless it’s been in the glossy magazines; in a world where loud-mouthed morons are famous for having no talent, for embarrassing themselves on national television; in a world where people with any sign of intellect are ridiculed and outcast; in this world, intelligence excites me.

I sleepwalk through life needing minimal brain power to function. Spending more thought on simplifying words than exercising my vocabulary. I’m locking away my genius, caging it. Each night in my dreams a manifestation screams at me, begging me to release it. It’s only a matter of time before I’m indistinguishable from the mindless zombies that surround me.

But there, a lighthouse beam in the fog that threatens to envelope me, is my salvation. Someone with intelligence. Someone whose brain will awaken mine; fire it up with an electric jolt, and battle with it. Conversation! Oh how I’ve longed for conversation to defy the grunting caveman mentality I’ve had to cope with until now. Reasoned debate from someone with a better argument than “cos I said so.”

I’m awake again. Alive. My brain has been set free. Running wild across the landscapes of capable thought. My blood races through my veins, filling me with life and energy and excitement.

Each nonsensical moron I encounter now, each attack of stupidity, slides over me and leaves me unscathed. My beacon waits for me at the end of the day, armed with stimulation, friendship and hour after hour of uninterrupted, unadulterated intelligence.

Wordsmith Wednesdays

Here's a cutesy kid-like poem I wrote when I was about 15:

Frogs

They’re slimy and green,
And can always be seen,
In rivers and lakes,
In witch biscuits and cakes.
In France they are eaten,
But not in Great Britain.
Spotted in bogs,
Of course, they are frogs.

30 Day Meme - Day 16

Day 16 - a song that makes you cry.

Lots of songs get me emotional. The Take That song "Rule the World" from the movie "Stardust" which was mine and Neil's second date/first day. "As Long As You're Mine" from Wicked, which is a song I share with a very good, very important friend I'm no longer in contact with and who I miss very much. "For Good" from Wicked, which is one of mine and Jen's songs.

But they only make me cry if I'm already feeling low and emotional. The only song that actually makes me cry is "Old Rugged Cross." I'm not a religious person, but it was played at my Grandfather's funeral a few years ago. I never considered myself particularly close to him, but after a lot of family issues, when he died it was hard. Being at the funeral was hard too. I was feeling very lonely, and my sister was there with her boyfriend, and my mum had her sisters, and... it was a bad day. At the wake I texted my father to tell him I was at grandad's funeral and that I loved him (this was after a hundred years or so of us not talking). He replied that it was "reciprocated". The whole day was horrendous. And this song still makes me cry.

30 Day Meme - Day 15

Day 15 - a fanfic

I haven't read any fanfiction in years. Partly because I nearly always end up reading the more risque stuff, which works as well as porn for me. I'm trying not to think too much about that kind of thing at the moment, what with my visits with Neil being incredibly sporadic.

In general though, I think fanfiction is a wonderful invention. I guess it must have been around before the internet, but possibly not shared quite as much. Isn't the internet wonderful? My favourite thing about the internet is the same as my favourite thing about New York City. Anything you can think of, any combination of anything at all, can be found there somewhere. This applies especially to fanfiction. Any book, tv series, film, cartoon, comic, etc. that you can think of, you can find fanfiction for somewhere on the internet. And if, by some slim, infintesimal chance you can't find it, then you can write it. The delight of the internet means you can write it and publish it and hundreds of thousands of people can search for it and find it and read it.

Have I written any fanfiction? Well, I tend to think fanfiction an awful lot. The number of fantasies I've had about Clark Kent, or the guys from Supernatural, or the grown-up Harry Potter characters, of the Buffy Scooby-Gang. But when I try to write them down afterwards, they just aren't as good as my fantasy was. Somewhere though, I do have a book which has the beginnings of a Harry Potter fanfiction. It's meant to be a novel, and I started it before book seven came out. I have a plot drafted out, and I even have chapter titles. Unfortunately I only have about three hundred words of the actual book. It's been sidelined, along with everything else I've ever started writing, when the writer's block kicked in. One day I'll get back to it. I'll probably publish it when I'm 90, if I ever make it that far.