Posts Tagged ‘Adam’

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one week.

September 15, 2011

So I have been living in London for 7 whole days! I officially moved in on Sunday (at 9:15pm, because my landlord couldn’t be arsed to leave his weekend in Bournemouth on time. But hey!), started my new job on Monday, and have most of my stuff in my flat. I have also seen Nick and Adam this week, which has been lush – I feel kinda swanky being able to socialise in West London! I have arrived!

It’s a shame that Toby has been working in Bradford for my first week in London, as I can’t wait to see him – he’s back tomorrow and I am so excited! I have been pretty busy setting myself up this week, and I am pleased with the job I’ve done – I still miss things like my guitar, my pictures and posters, and my bed needs more soft furnishings. I also need to buy some practical and boring things like a bin, an iron and ironing board, and a mop and mop bucket – but I am pretty well set up in my first week.

I have been pleased that I have also been able to walk either to or from work each day this week! I seem to have done quite a lot of walking and I am hoping that in time, I will lose a few pounds 🙂 I just generally feel buzzed – I have finally moved out of home and to the big city to be with the one I love and to be in a reasonably well-paid job. Finally! I have also returned to facebook, which was a controversial move for me, but I will be able to keep in touch with my colleagues from Cirencester that way – and I deleted a lot of my old “friends” and embarrassing photos. So my profile is much more mature and restrained – and I barely check the thing anyway, so it’s hardly like I am attached to it! I am much more active on twitter, which I am more fond of anyway 🙂

I am kinda waiting for the comedown. The first couple of nights I felt a bit lonely and work felt a bit bland as I am learning the ropes and didn’t know how to do very much to start off with, but I seem to be finding my feet – after all, starting anew is bound to have its hiccups and insecurities. But thankfully, those hiccups have been quite minor and I am pleased with my progress. Hopefully I will be able to work on some new music in due course – as I don’t have to get up before 7:40 these days (ahh, the joy of not having to start at 8:30 and do an hour’s drive prior to that!) I have longer evenings. We’ll see. But I am mainly just writing to say that I’m alive, I am here and I am ready for the challenges of a new level of independence.

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dream – Louboutins, teen soldiers & cinema screens.

January 23, 2010

I was with my school friends including Liam and Nick White, as well as my mother.  I remember seeing a pair of Louboutin stilettos on my mother’s bed which were black suede / velvet with red soles, and angled awkwardly at the heels.  It turned out that I was in some sort of travelling military troop, who had to attack evil teenage girls and women who looked innocent but had deathly fighting skills.

On a night off, we’d ended up going to Liam’s house for dinner.  For some reason, I wasn’t quite confident of my friendships with Liam and Nick, and I felt suspicious of them.  Liam was upstairs getting changed, while Nick was sat next to me in the foyer of his house waiting so that we could then go and have dinner. Nick was suspicious of me, and things that I kept saying to make fun of how long Liam was taking were taken the wrong way, and I’d text Liam to hurry up as I wasn’t happy.  Eventually he came downstairs and we went for dinner in a neighbouring room in Liam’s house, with soft blue chairs.  My mother was there, as was another boy from my school called Adam (whom I didn’t much like either).  We ate food, and luckily my mum was really nice to me whereas most of the others annoyed me, and we kept stealing each others’ seats.  At odd moments, Liam pretended to be asleep, and then there was a giant cinema screen in the corner of his house, and he pretended to believe that it wasn’t a screen but a window looking through to the scene being displayed (a sort of tropical paradise scenery with changing, vibrant colours for a sky).  I wasn’t 100% sure he was pretending, as his acting was so convincing, but Nick told me not to be so stupid and insult Liam’s intelligence.

After that, as part of our troop there were some of the nurses with whom I work in real life at the hospital. We were doing a training exercise on how to stalk, fight and kill some of the evil fighting women, in the setting of somewhere which was a cross between a castle and a garden.  At first, there were just dark grey brick walls, from behind which women and teenage girls would approach me.  At first I didn’t believe they could be deadly, but that was my mistake and suddenly they would lunge for me, their teeth and faces would twist and contort and become all jagged, and I would have to punch them, attack them and kill them with my machine gun.  I was dressed in camouflage military uniform, and at the side of my vision, suddenly there was a screen with different icons.  Every time I killed one of these women, an icon with a tough-looking dark-skinned male face with a tough expression would spin from the side of the icons screen and i would acquire more points – in other words, my quest had become a video game!  After a few kills, the settings became a little more elaborate: I approached two glass doors on the outside of a patio, from which two teenage girls placidly appeared; there was a grey brick turret which looked as if it were going to shoot something straight up, when a woman lunged from behind it.  One of the nurses helping train me, whose name is Sally in real life, gave me some good hints for not falling for the evil women’s traps and keeping my mind solely on killing them.  I racked up a lot of points and a lot of soldier-icons, and that was, as far as I can remember, the end of the dream!

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don’t take it personal.

December 15, 2009

I apologise for not having blogged in a little bit.  Real life has kinda taken over, and if you follow me on twitter (please do!!! – I have my latest tweets on the right —> ) then you’ll have an idea why.  Basically, although I’ve been open that I’m slightly envious of the fact that Mike likes someone other than me, and that other person seems to like him back (although there are marriages, children and mixed signals thrown into the mix), I’ve been handling it pretty well.  Yep, that’s right, you spotted the past tense.  Well, I’m handling it well again now.  But we had our Christmas meal on Friday night, and I might have got a little bit paranoid and possessive.  Allow me to elaborate.

Mike & me are HBICs on our course.  We do more or less everything together, we are friendly with everyone and everyone knows us as the smokers / naughty guys talking dirty at the back of the class / dedicated and working in the library on the sly / fun and easy to talk to / the ones who organise the social events on the course.  The third person in our equation is someone Mike noticed early on, but has only been included in our circle the last few weeks.  I knew that Mike was developing feelings before he admitted it to me, but it is still hard to accept.  I know he’s a straight married man, but what does a not-stunning 33-yo woman with 2 kids, an overly-possessive husband and an average wardrobe have on me?  Ok, she is a lovely lovely person, and admittedly has sparkling blue eyes and a shapely butt. But I’m 24, I apparently “look immaculate” (Julie), am “very pretty / beautiful” (Mike!!! and others), I can sing, dance, write and produce my own music, I smoke, play piano and guitar, I’m quite intelligent and “articulate” (Leanne) and “really good to talk to and understanding” (Penny, Emma, Mike).  What the fuck more can I do?  How many more hoops do I have to jump through?  I’m missing the point.  Sexuality is sexuality, although I firmly believe that although you can definitely be instantly attracted to physical traits, ultimately the body is the wrapping and the gift is the person inside (I mean that not in a sexual way, but in an emotional / spiritual / personal way).  Somewhere along the line, he’s my best friend but he doesn’t see all of who I am – otherwise if he has feelings for the woman, he certainly would have feelings for me as we share a good heart and a love of innuendo.  I’m going over old territory here, but although he’s my best friend at university and I utterly cherish that, sometimes it’s maddening that I can’t have more.

Anyway, I admit I’ve been a bit envious.  But I’ve also been more than there for him as much as I can, despite my own feelings for him (which he knows about).  The day of our Christmas meal, I was feeling extremely nervous and on edge, despite telling myself that they are adults, they can do whatever they like and it’s not my job nor my place to keep them apart.  I felt that I didn’t want Mike to be regretting anything the next day, that I might be a bad friend if I let him down by not keeping him rational, and that I would have my heart hurt in the process.  I played “Russian Roulette” multiple times, since that song, those lyrics and the whole Rated R album seem to be the story of my life right now, and nervously arrived at Mike’s house.  For a while I felt fine – we got to the restaurant, Mike said that after we went for late-night drinks and conversation the night before he was feeling more balanced about it all, I was confident and happy.  But then she eventually arrived, I felt the focus slipping away from me, I ended up having a lot to drink (note: 5 sambuca shots in one go is never a good idea), and then my hitherto good handle on the whole situation (which admittedly I had been managing pretty well, considering it’s a lot to bear) flew out the window.  I had to corral our whole group (who were splitting off in various directions, somewhat annoyingly – again I blame the alcohol!) into BSB on Corn Street, and then no matter how much I danced, smoke or drank, I couldn’t help but keep looking back at the two of them chatting in the corner.  In short, I was driving myself crazy, and Mike knew that I was really tense.  Apparently I said a couple of not-so-nice things about how little I trusted her (the drink talking, not that that’s an excuse), and I was dashing on and off the dancefloor and in and out of the club like a crazy person trying to keep my emotions and sanity in check, and then failing miserably.  I didn’t offend anyone, I didn’t do anything stupid or say anything revealing – I even managed to cover for the two of them when an observant Jenny remarked “how close they are… I wonder if they like each other?” (my reply – “Nah, we’re all just close friends” before linking my arm through Mike’s).  I am a good friend and my heart was and is in the right place.  But that night, my head was not.  More than my own envy or my own feelings, I wanted to be a good friend to Mike and stop him from doing anything he would regret in the long term.

At the end of the night me and Mike were walking back from dropping Jenny and her at the car park, and we had a little talk.  I was in a very bad mood, and it took me a while to work out why.  I called Mike to apologise for my mood, and he said it was ok, and I offered to explain what it was tomorrow.  First thing next morning, he texted me to ask how I was and why I had been feeling down.  I explained, he said I didn’t have anything to apologise for and not to worry or think so much. (For the record, “don’t think so much” is an astute but lousy piece of advice!!!)  I felt silly all weekend, but I thought that things were going to be ok and I was looking forward to seeing him on Monday.  Since I had his house key, I had arranged to give him that back.  Fast forward to Saturday night – Mike isn’t replying to my texts (this is unusual behaviour!), I was feeling fed up, caged at home, and decided to go out with Nick to a party and get drunk.  I had a fantastic time, and although I still had Mike at the back of my mind (or midway, maybe), it was whatever.  Life goes on.

Sunday I was in Starbucks working on my essay, when I get a call from Mike (after not replying to another text of mine telling him I had a crazy dream where we were both mercenaries undercover at an underground Nazi gathering led by Daniel Craig, except Mike was being hunted by the police for drug trafficking… yeah) to ask me if I was at home, and if I could give him his house key.  I had his key in my bag so I met him and his nephew Jack outside Harvey Nichols, handed it over (along with some tobacco, since I had run out of cigarettes on Friday night and smoked several of his rollies… it was also a little bit of an “apology offering”) and we had brief conversation.  Once again, everything seemed fine.  But then in the evening, we had texts which went unanswered, others which were answered and I just didn’t know where I stood.  Obviously I was overreacting, but nevertheless I couldn’t stop my own guilty feelings from colouring my judgement and thinking that I might have ruined our friendship.

Monday comes, I’m talking with Henna outside university when Mike rolls up.  He’s fine, but melancholy.  I apologised, we talked a lot about Friday, but things just weren’t the same.  He seemed glum, I was sad, and although we were talking and spending time together it just wasn’t the same. No innuendos, no physical contact, and at one point he thought I was in a piss with him (when I wasn’t!) and I explained what I was feeling and he said that “although I promised I’d never hit you, if you keep worrying then I will!”  Despite that, it was like our friendship was a shadow of its former self.  I texted him in the evening, but no reply once again.  I felt like I was being punished when I had apologised, been told there was nothing to apologise for and not to worry about it!  I felt like I really was a product of my mother’s emotional fuckery and my father’s control freakishness, and yet I couldn’t stop my brain from over-analysing every little thing (I apologise to Nick, Adam, Nana and everyone else I stressed out to over the past few days – y’all are so understanding and I really appreciate it.  Thankyou. 🙂 ).  I felt so down, that after everything our close friendship had been somehow ruined, that despite my ability to be truly honest with Mike about my deepest darkest secrets and tell him things I can’t remember telling anyone, he couldn’t come correct to me and tell me what the matter was.

This morning I waited for him at our usual block, on edge and feeling sorta upset.  We met up and went to the library, he apologised for not replying to my text (I pretended it was nothing) and the black cloud persisted for a while.  But I soon realised that it wasn’t to do with me – in fact, I was the only person he could spend time with but still be honest about his moods.  I didn’t press him, but I realised that his home situation was really getting him down.  I offered him reassurance, friendship and a hug where appropriate, and tried to give him space.  As the day went on, we perked up (despite the fact we were writing an essay!) and I felt finally reassured that I still had his friendship, and that I can’t be responsible for him always being in a good mood, or for him being down.  His being sad makes me feel sad for him, but however much I might drink on a night out or however much guilt I feel, I can’t hold myself responsible for his moods, no matter how good friends we end up being.  I learned that I really do take things too personally, that I can’t turn my brain or heart off however much it might be convenient sometimes, and that I can be someone’s best friend but I can’t stop them from making a mistake – all I can do is be there for them, give them space to breathe and a shoulder to lean on when they need it.  This weekend was an emotional rollercoaster for me, but it wasn’t without its lessons and I try to take that away from it.  Drinking and love doesn’t mix, and you can only hide your heart under a façade for so long before it nevertheless starts to chip. Now I’m repairing myself and we’re all taking a deep breath and gradually going back to normal, and that’s a relief.  But I promise not to forget what I’ve learned this weekend, and I appreciate (once again) my friendships so much.

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fight or flight.

September 13, 2009

Tonight I met up with Adam to wish him well as he moves back home to Devon, and we went to Cabot Circus for some drinks at Giraffe and a meal at Gourmet Burger Kitchen.  Walking into Cabot Circus, I bumped into my friend Annie who works at Harvey Nichols; we exchanged pleasantries and enquired about each others jobs – the usual.  As I said goodbye to her, I walked along towards the Cabot entrance by Zara, and I saw what suspiciously looked like a group of my old colleagues from the Perfume Shop.  After the untruths that they have been telling both themselves and other people, I really have nothing to say to them so I turned around and walked into Cabot the other way.  Walking back past Annie, I said to her “actually, this way is quicker!”  She laughed, my excuse was made so that I didn’t look totally bizarre, and I met Adam, positioned overlooking the escalators so I could hide should the Perfume Shop crew be approaching my direction.

This is the second time recently that I have had this sort of reaction: to want to actively avoid certain people.  It happened when I was in Zara with Hannah and my ex L was at the till, and it happened tonight.  In both cases, I turned around and walked the other way.  Was this the right response?  After all, I have nothing to be ashamed of: I never meant to hurt L the way that I did, and it was his choice not to accept or to believe my apology and explanation for what happened.  I never stole anything from the Perfume Shop, and I never gave discount to anyone I didn’t know, no matter what they say.  I don’t feel any guilt, and there is no reason for me to be ashamed.  So why did I walk away?

It was the fight or flight response.  In each case, I made a very swift judgement call, and in both cases my brain told me to get out of there.  Part of me resents that; like I said, I don’t have anything to feel ashamed for, so why should I leave? Why should I run away?  Isn’t it the stronger thing, the better thing to stand there and fight and show that I’m not going to be cowed or intimidated by anyone?  That I believe in my own convictions?

But nevertheless, I chose to avoid the confrontation.  Perhaps it is just easier to get out of there; to avoid things being said that might worsen the situation, to get into an uncomfortable exchange that might only leave an unpleasant aftertaste more bitter than that which lingers already.  Although part of me feels that I should stand my ground, another part feels that the more mature thing is just to rise above it and conduct my life along a different path.  I have plenty of my own shit to focus on without dealing with other people’s shit.  I don’t need to deliberately put myself in the vicinity of their insecurities and problems, because even if I have no reason to run away, it doesn’t mean I should purposely seek out such a confrontation.  I had a lovely evening tonight, and had I approached my old colleagues, that could very well have been ruined before it had even started.  So even if I should have been unashamed to stand my ground, I stand by my decision to choose a more positive alternative and bypass the negativity altogether.  Avoiding a toxic situation is preferable to fighting poison, because even in fighting it you risk becoming poisoned yourself.  Sometimes we have to choose our fights, and whether it’s best to fight on, or to fly high; this time, I chose to fly high.

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untouchable.

August 30, 2009

I was sitting in the back of the car on the way back from Tetbury today, where my parents and I went for lunch.  I was in a pretty foul mood, for several reasons: since upgrading my Macbook to Snow Leopard yesterday, I’d had numerous application faults, and the latest was that I was unable to use my printer, which meant that I was unable to make a start on the preparatory task I’d been given for uni.  (I’ve since fixed the printer, and after numerous re-installs and restarts, Snow Leopard seems to be working fine now, and has also made my iPod go back to working at normal speed! 🙂 ) I was then feeling apprehensive at the prospect of having lunch with my parents, because it’s always the same: we go to a pub out in the country, have some standard food and drink, either make stiff conversation or blend into the background while my parents talk to each other, and then turn around and come home again.  I just can’t be bothered to make the effort for something so boring, and playing ‘happy families’ feels so fake.  I then had to get changed to go on this lunch, and I realised that half of my wardrobe is effectively shit, which meant that I ended up throwing a pile of clothes across the room in search of something to wear.  When I found a garment that was suitable, I had to pick these clothes up and put them back on my chair.  I dumped too much hair gel on my head in the midst of this rage, and then had to make it work. (I did.) Then I got downstairs after my mother kept hollering at me to “hurry up”, and proceeded to wait for my parents!!!  If they were telling me to hurry up, why did I end up waiting for them?

So I was in a mega-sulk.  I was listening to Courtney Love / Hole on my iPod and saying nothing, reading American Psycho.  After walking around Tetbury (since it is so tiny, it did not take long), we ended up going for lunch in a place called The Crown.  For the first half an hour, I was quite unimpressed by The Crown.  The decor was a bit run down, but that wasn’t really an issue.  However, my mother ordered a tonic water, and received half a glass, which I brought to her and then brought back to the bar to check that it was meant to be that small an amount of water. (It was.) Then two dogs (why were dogs in the pub?!?! They weren’t guide dogs) proceeded to have a loud fight in the corner, and my father brought over the food menu, which consisted of 6 items, including “lazange” and “cod & chips in sause”.  After clearing up the residue from the bottoms of our glasses, because we were not provided coasters (nor did they seem to exist anywhere in this establishment), I settled on the “lazange” because my parents were getting irritated at my mood and the fact that I could not decide what to eat (they said that we might have to go elsewhere, and I did not want to deal with the combination of their annoyance at my indecisiveness, and prolonging our stay in Tetbury any more than was necessary). It turned out that the lasagne was lovely, and so was the garlic bread that came with it.  The food was that place’s saving grace; still, I don’t think I will be going back there again.

Eventually, my parents engaged me in conversation and things started to improve as my mood slowly lifted.  We talked about my mother’s friend who looks like she is going to die of cancer quite soon, then about certain friends and relatives of mine who have pissed me off either by criticising my every decision (I am not a moron: I know the risks and possible consequences of smoking / using a sunbed / drinking a coffee at Starbucks / spending a lot of money / not getting as much sleep as would be ideal.  I’m an adult and I can make decisions for myself and weigh up the pros and cons.  If I decide to do something, I don’t need you on my back asking me if I’m sure I want to be doing that, because this is my life and I don’t tell you how to live yours. Yes, you are criticising me and my ability to choose what I want to do, and I have had enough of it thanks, so please don’t ‘impart your wisdom’ in the future, because I don’t want it and I don’t need it.) or by suddenly getting indignant that I don’t want to see whatever crappy film they choose, because I am tired of wasting my money on films I have no interest in, and going to the cinema is not a particularly sociable activity anyway, so why is it suddenly such a problem if I don’t want to see your film and am happy just to go to a café and converse?  And when somebody else is busy, I politely accept it, but now that I have other commitments, it inconveniences them and I’m supposed to feel guilty?  No way.

So I let off a bit of steam, my parents assured me that I was utterly in the right and had nothing to feel guilty about, and that to just let the people who were on my back have some space and it would all be fine.  A sensible plan I shall try to adhere to!  We left Tetbury, and I started thinking about other people who have gotten on my nerves.  My thoughts turned to my ex, and my mind went over how I had sent a text message revealing my intent to break up with him to him instead of to my friend Hannah.  He chose to believe I had done it on purpose, that I had orchestrated the whole thing on purpose for an easy escape and to humiliate him in the process.  That was totally not the case, and I tried to explain it and was sorry to have sent him that message; it was an honest accident, and Hannah was meant to receive the message (it even said her name at the beginning!).  But his friends, who had never met me, told him I must have done it on purpose, so he chose to believe them rather than me.  That’s fine, that’s his loss.  I don’t apologise twice, I didn’t want to be with him anyway, so I let him believe what he wanted – I was emancipated at the end of the day. I regret causing somebody hurt like that, but I don’t feel guilty because it was an honest mistake that I had apologised for; to have that apology thrown back in my face by not only him, but other people who don’t know me at all made the whole thing easier for me to just move on.

But thinking about it, I thought that I couldn’t believe that I let him touch me, put his hands on me, kiss me.  It makes my skin crawl, not only because he was so clingy, but sometimes the thought of physical contact makes me shudder.  I’m generally quite at ease with physical contact – I’m quite close to my parents and my friends, hugging them and such.  Obviously, I’m not a virgin so when I’m in the mood to be intimate with someone, it feels right and I’m not forced into it.  But when I put my mind to it, I don’t like people seeing my naked body (and never have); returning to the idea of façades, I try to give off the idea that I am confident in the way I look and at ease with my body, because it makes me appear more confident and flawless.  But in reality, I don’t like feeling exposed and I don’t like being touched or kissed or anything like that.  I have major trust issues, I know that.  Every single person I have dated has let me down in one way or another, and quite a few of them have just wanted sex from me and then got bored, either because they weren’t going to get it, or because they got it and then they didn’t have to pretend to be interested in me as a person anymore.  At times, it makes me sick that I’ve let these people touch me, put their hands on me and use me to further their own pleasure.  Sometimes I wish that I were untouchable; sometimes I wish that I could just disconnect my heart and mind from my body and float off somewhere while people are doing what they want to do with me, to me, for me.  Sometimes I wish that I could be with somebody who really liked me for who I am.  Because I am tired of protecting my heart, only to let somebody in and then it all goes wrong and I am hurt and used anyway.  I guess that whether it’s physical or emotional, it’s the thought that I have been used that makes me really sick, hurt and regretful.

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jagged little pills.

August 8, 2009

It’s hard for me to remember a time in my life or my musical experience before Mariah Carey’s Butterfly album, because that has shaped the way I sing, the music I aim to make and so much more besides; to me, it is nearly the perfect album (I don’t believe there is any such animal).  But before Butterfly, I was obsessed with Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill.  I bought the CD when I was 10 years old and I played it to death.  I don’t really listen to Alanis Morissette anymore, but for a while she opened my eyes, my ears and my vocabulary.  Listening to “You Oughta Know”, I used to think that “going down on you in a theatre” meant that she was going to attack him.  I guess I was sort-of right… It’s things like that that make me really that I was a curious blend of precociousness and naïvety as a child; perhaps that’s true even today… I remember my parents being astonished at the fact that I had decided to cling to this singer so; after all, she was quite controversial and her lyrics included explicit language and sexual metaphors.  My parents have not been shy about swearing in front of me since I was about 7 years old, but thankfully I didn’t hear much about their sex life until I was maybe 11 or 12.  But my parents thought I had good taste (for once), and we used to play the cd in the car and we all enjoyed it.  There was a period during my summer holidays before starting year 6 when I would literally go up to my room after breakfast, slip the CD into my black Sanyo CD player and sing it all the way through.  Every day.  For at least 2-3 months… It was crazy, and I don’t think I have done anything like that since, nor would I want to.

So today I was browsing through wikipedia on the net and I end up reading Alanis Morissette’s album pages.  I remember the situations I couldn’t relate to so much back then have now become fully fleshed-out (when I was younger, I would just connect to the song’s emotion because I had no experience of romantic or sexual relationships).  I understand the Catholic angst of “Forgiven” better now than I ever used to, and that is coincidental because I was discussing religion and Catholicism with my friend Adam today while watching the film Doubt (I caved and bought the dvd).  The concept of living up to being the “perfect child” under pressure from my parents, family and peers has never lessened but my maturity lends new hues to the song “Perfect”.  I remember nearly having an affair with my peer mentoring instructor, drama teacher and counsellor while listening to the song “Hands Clean” (we never had an affair, but I had a crush and we were close.  And all my friends at school kept checking that we weren’t sleeping together, which obviously we weren’t).  Listening to “Joining You” today reminds me of when I was younger and contemplated suicide on more than one occasion, and realising that life really can be that depressing if you let yourself get caught up in it so much.  Sometimes levity and fun are not a bad thing, and in fact vital to our survival.

I wrote a hell of a lot of songs and poems during my childhood as a direct result of Alanis Morissette’s inspiration.  I pray that none of these poems or lyrics come back to light, but perhaps they aren’t as bad as I imagine them to be.  I also expect some of them are a lot more risky than what I produce today, because as I’ve honed my craft, I’ve also made steps on the journey to finding who I am and how I can best express that.  At 11 years old, I knew a lot for my age but I still had so much growing up to do and so the poems I wrote were a mishmash of everything.  I imagine it to be a bit messy and at times laughable, though probably heartrending all the same.  I would never go back in time, because I’ve learned a lot of hard lessons and I don’t want to have to relearn them thankyou.  But at the same time, as unhappy a child as I was, I remember the growing and the learning and the insecurities, I see how far I have come, and although according to R “I put too much pressure on myself”, I can’t help but smile and remember the little boy who was doing all the “right things” and still felt so lost.  And at least I stand here today, and I’m a tiny bit more found than I used to be.  Who isn’t a work-in-progress?  But some progress has been made.

Listening to “Unsent”, I think of the people I have dated, and why it has gone wrong every single time.  Of course, it takes two, and as much as I can blame myself and push myself to learn and to act more rationally and maturely, and as much as I push myself to be more perfect and model-ready, it can’t all be my fault.  I always seem to settle for less, and now with B and with R, I feel caught in the middle of two non-boyfriends who emotionally connect with me but can never give me enough in return, for various reasons.  Last night, R’s boyfriend hijacked his msn and effectively said that R spends too much time talking to me (and other guys) on msn.  This morning, R said that the boyfriend was jealous (I suppose understandably).  I don’t want to be a homewrecker, I don’t want to be the jump-off, I don’t want to be a booty-call or a one-night-stand or a throwaway boyfriend.  I don’t want to be waiting around for B to wake up and smell the coffee, and I don’t want to be caught in the middle.  Like I said before, I can’t even imagine myself not single, and yet I’ve racked up all these nearly-guys.  I suppose I am the stronger and the better for it, but it gets tiresome… however, at least like Alanis, I get some pretty decent lyrical material out of it!  I guess part of being older and gaining experience is that you hurt and get hurt along the way of life.  I don’t really know how to conclude this entry very neatly, but I try not to feel bitterness if I can help it.  I try to stay pretty zen about my relationships, and I don’t think that we need to stay friends with our exes every time, but after a while I don’t want to waste my time hating them either.  The more open I keep my heart, hopefully the more likely someone is to find it who is worth my time and then I’ll prove my self-fulfilling prophecy wrong and be able to enjoy what everyone else seems to without trying to walk the line of perfection to everybody.