You Can Hear Me Through The Radio,
In That Bright White Noise…
(Because there’s just something so pleasing about that line, and this song makes me want to dance even when I feel most worn out, unhappy and inhibited - and so least capable – of doing so).
~xx~
A Problem That You Have Had.
First of all, let it be known that I do not like this one.
But since I am awake and have the time to write something, I’ll rise to the challenge… sort of.
~
Size 8 jeans are a massive struggle for me to get into.
Size 10 jeans are usually too big, by a margin considerable enough for it to be impossible for me to ignore and get over their too-big-ness.
Belts, even the ‘small’ ones, do not fit me properly; There’s always too much left over, which just looks stupid.
I could eat The World and not put on more than maybe a couple of pounds.
.
My hair grows all wrong, so that there does not exist a style which it will do properly – or a way for it to look remotely attractive. Even when I was little, it wouldn’t do plaits or pigtails or even a simple ponytail properly. I think this is why I decided at some point not to even bother trying to be a proper girl.
.
I had a tendency, through school, to develop undying crushes on guys whom I not only would pretty much never speak to, but whom none of my friends could even vaguely understand my obsessions with. Silent, Secret Agony.
.
I have no boobies. I would really prefer to have some of those. (I’m not stupid enough to even contemplate getting fake ones, don’t worry). I feel like a lot of years of my life would have been a lot less silently secretly agonizing if I’d just grown a pair of those at some point. (This fact probably played into at least one of the above, too).
.
My list of first world problems probably goes on and on, but I am tired and my brain isn’t working properly.
So, um.
Boobies:
~xx~
Something you always think ‘what if’ about.
Something you are proud of.
~
The what if thing is really easy.
When I was little I always said I was going to be a vet when I grew up. This ambition was very simply premised on the fact that I adored animals, and found all of them fascinating without exception. I also liked how they never required me to be polite and come out from behind the sofa to say things to people; things like ‘Hello’, and whatever the appropriate answers might be to the questions *insert relative’s name here* might care to ask me by way of small talk.
Anyway, the point is that I lacked confidence. Everyone who tried to instil it in me over the years must ultimately have failed, because I still lack confidence. Painfully. While such character flaws are mostly acceptable in doe-eyed, cherub-blonde four-year-olds, they are a little less forgivable in tired-eyed twenty-one-year-olds (with hair of god-knows-what-colour).
But up until the point where it started to matter, I aced everything I needed to ace in order to keep my early ambitions a possibility. Then for some reason I lost all faith in my ability to continue my education in the sciences, and chose to study English, History, Classics and Philosophy to A Level. Which in turn killed all potentially lucrative options when it came to possible University courses. Despite the fact that I went on to do well in all of those things and my eventual university degree, I now very much doubt that I will ever become a Veterinary Surgeon. I lament my decisions from time to time… vets make a lot of money; I’m sure that’s almost worth the horror of having to stick your hand up cows’ backsides every now and then. Having made the choices I did back then, and followed them up in the way that I have, I often wonder nowadays if I’ll ever be able to make money out of doing anything I vaguely enjoy. Not to mention the fact that the confidence has waned still further as a result; simply not being terrified of anything I might possibly decide to do seems like an unattainable Holy Grail nowadays. I’ve backed myself into a corner so that I pretty much can’t avoid living a lie, and I’m tearing my hair out in my efforts to figure out which lie would be best to go for.
~
Something I’m Proud Of.
Hmm.
My little sister loves me?
.
Here is a picture of a stumpy dog and its owner walking in the sea at Filey:
~xx~
Your Zodiac/Horoscope and if it fits your personality.
Ok. My zodiac sign is Virgo. So, according to my.horoscope.com that means all this;
Symbol: The Virgin. Element: Earth
Group: Intellectual Polarity: Negative
Favourable Colours: Brown, Green
Ruling Planet: Mercury Cross/Quality: Mutable
~
How accurate is that? If you know me well, you’ll probably have decided that for yourself. For the rest of you…
(I have never been a fan of orange and don’t tend to wear it, but I do think that stone is quite pretty).
~
Unfortunately, accurate or not, I think the stars have very little to do with my personality. I prefer to think I get most of it from my mama, a little from my daddy, and the rest from everyone else who ever played a major part in my life.
(This blog post has been therapeutic. I had just about convinced myself, yet again, that there is no place in this world for the likes of me. But every story needs its tortoise as well as its hare, right?)
~xx~
I missed two days.
On Friday I was sleeping then working then absolutely shattered from the working and the cold that seems to have really got me at the moment. (That’s probably my fault for verbally bashing people who are overly dramatic when they catch a cold. Oops).
On Saturday I got up really early to drive a few friends down to Alton Towers theme park, where we spent the day getting thrown around and screaming like girls. Which was a huge amount of fun, but of course did not help my situation where not-being-able-to-speak is concerned.
[I'll just add here that unfortunately there would seem to be little the UK's theme parks could throw at me that will thrill me now. While I still get a tiny bit nervous in the queue for Oblivion, as one friend pointed out; "Steph, you jumped out of a plane..."]
So here’s what I was supposed to write about on Friday;
Five Guys Whom You Find Attractive.
This is another one of those things I’m cagey about sharing, because I will be judged. Well, here goes…
Here are five celebrity guys I’ve had crushes on in the past (Only mildly though, might I add; I always saved my proper crushes for real people).
1. Orlando Bloom. Won my favour as Will Turner in the first Pirates of the Caribbean film. Can’t decide whether I prefer him polished or casual, so have both;
(I want to steal his watch)
2. Alex Pettyfer. Caught my eye as Alex Rider in Stormbreaker. Much more age-appropriate, considering we’re still talking about me aged around 13, at this point.
3. Josh Holloway. As ‘Sawyer’ in Lost. Nobody ever was jealouser of Evangeline Lilly and her freckles. ;)
[But this one was far, far too old for me].
Harder to explain. I think it was as much the bad boy persona of the character as anything else…
5. Jared Leto. In 30 Seconds to Mars, (a band I could never really pretend to be into for any other reason than his prettiness).
Particularly in the video for ‘The Kill’, where he’s screaming (THIS IS WHO I REALLY AM) at himself.
(I know that’s only 4. I hoped you wouldn’t notice… I guess I just prefer crushing on real people from real life, ok?)
~
As for Décimo Terceiro Dia, Your Opinion About Your Body and How Comfortable You Are With It, well that really depends on the time of day, day of the week, week of the month, month of the year. Some days there are parts of my body that I like. Some days there are different parts of it that I like. Other days I hate it all. Currently I am slightly annoyed at it for succumbing to minor illness (the aforementioned cold) for such a long time. I want my voice back. Don’t think there’s much more I can say to that right now.
~xx~
Put Your Music Player On Shuffle and Write The First Ten Songs That Play.
From my main Spotify Playlist (in need of some editing, it seems) entitled ‘Roar’.
~
1. I Didn’t Mean It – The Belle Brigade.
2. Show Me How To Live – Audioslave.
3. Substitution – Silversun Pickups.
4. Wash – Pearl Jam.
5. Discipline – Nine Inch Nails.
6. The Captain – Biffy Clyro.
7. Badman – Newton Faulkner.
8. The Walk – Imogen Heap.
9. So Happy I Could Die – Lady GaGa.
10. Thickfreakness – The Black Keys.
Bonus Tracks:
11. Fury – Muse.
12. Dance Yrself Clean – LCD Soundsystem.
13. You Are A Tourist – Death Cab For Cutie.
14. One Day Like This – Elbow (There are many different shades of Roar, y’know).
15. We Can Make The World Stop – The Glitch Mob (If I could choose a soundtrack for the more ass-kicking moments in my life, this would most definitely feature).
I hate hate hate telling people what I’m listening to. I could be World Champion of self-consciousness. Well – go ahead and judge me. And can I just say; all of the songs you haven’t heard of up there, look them up? Shuffle actually did quite well, I think. Interesting selection.
~
Anyway. More importantly than my loser taste in müsyk…
Today the lovely Mr. David Kanigan, of Lead.Learn.Live nominated me for an award…
The Inspiring Blog Award.
So I need to say a big thankyou to him. I would never ever consider my words to be inspiring at all, but I am very flattered that someone out there found something in one or more of my posts that resonated. It means a lot; cheers Dave. ; )
Next thing I’m meant to do after linking y’all to his page and putting the logo up there, is list seven facts about myself. I’ll leave that part out since I just gave you all that music^; that was kinda like telling you some stuff about me, if you listened. Then I have to nominate 5-10 other blogs, and tell them I’ve done so. If you want to accept and pass on the award, those are the rules.
1. Vincent Mars
3. Pink
6. Cherry Coley
The first two for inspiring me to write by doing so kind of beautifully themselves, and the rest for inspiring me more personally by being continuously supportive of my efforts on here.
In other news, there is a cat – normally a very antisocial little fella – resting his head against my leg and purring while he sleeps. ^-^
Lotsa Love,
~xx~
hurt so much less than words. I almost enjoyed the burn across the back of my hand in comparison to the one across my self-confidence. Here’s something that happened to me today that most definitely did not make me feel good (but there is a sort-of smile at the end if you stay with me… oh, and LISTEN UP);
I’d just moved over from serving/doing various small tasks behind the hot food counter in order to help out D, who was serving on the deli counter at the time, because a bit of a queue had developed there.
As I arrived where I was needed, the guy who was apparently next in the queue – somewhere between middle-aged and old, I’d say mid sixties – was chatting to the woman in front of him, whom D was serving at the time.
Addressing both man and woman with a blanket hand gesture, sort of <——-> I said something like; ‘Hi, are you two together or…’
and then addressing just the man, ‘… or are you waiting?’
He said to me, ‘What is all this? (waved his arms a bit) Are you doing sign language at me or something? I don’t understand what you’re saying to me while you’re waving your hands all over the place.’
So I tried again; ‘Sorry, I was asking if you two (*hand gesture* – I can’t help myself, I talk with my hands more than my mouth, mainly because often the words have trouble finding their way out of my mouth in the right order, LOUD(ly) ENOUGH and C-L-E-A-R(ly) E-N-O-U-G-H and things, when I talk) if you were together, or if you were waiting to be served. Clearly you are. Sorry.’
At which he snapped, ‘Yes I am waiting to be served, actually. I’ll have two slices of the honey roast ham’.
Resisting the urge to put in the please he left out, I gritted my teeth and went and sliced the ham, put it on the scales and read out the price; ‘That’s one sixty-two there’.
He said nothing for a good ten seconds, so I assumed all was well with one pound sixty two and got on with wrapping the ham, maybe visibly disgruntled by this point. As I was putting the label on the bag, he piped up;
‘Sorry, did you say something to me just then?’
Confused, I looked at him for a second before looking down at the scales again and then saying, louder than before, ‘er… yeah, sorry, one pound sixty-two for the ham...?’
‘Oh well it’s just that I didn’t hear a word you said. You didn’t even look at me. Oh never mind, that’ll do’.
So I handed him the godforsaken ham, and enunciated ‘Oh, right… really sorry about that. Thanks, bye’ in a voice as raised as I could manage while fighting back tears, (it had been a really stressful day up to that point, and surprise surprise I was feeling tired and lifeless and hungry and anxious beyond all rhyme and reason) then spent the next hour or so fighting the same tears with around a 70% success rate.
~
Normally, after such an event I’d just quietly rant to a colleague about what an arsehole that guy was and how I hoped he’d choke on his stupid honey roast ham. But some days life apparently isn’t that straightforward. He had me worrying about whether I really do talk too quietly, mumble, avoid eye contact to the point of perceived rudeness, as a habit. If I do that means I’m barely further on now than I was at age 4; shy to the point of being physically unable to say hello to relatives when they came over (sometimes going so far as to hide my clammed-up shame behind furniture).
Does everyone struggle to hear a single word I say? Do I really speak all that quietly?
If my customer service technique was so far from up to scratch, my boss might have noticed too. My abject failure at fake smiles and pleasantries might outweigh my efficient working habits and my OCD supercleaning of everything and my always making sure everything looked pretty, and if so I might get sacked. Especially if the guy had decided to complain to someone in authority about me. From that point on I made sure I always raised my voice considerably to talk. I tried extra hard with the eye contact and the sickly smiles. I wondered if there existed a job that didn’t involve interacting with other human beings and berated myself for being so antisocial. Most of all I wondered why, why why why was this bullshit bothering me so much? How far have I fallen if I can’t even stop myself from crying in front of people over silly little things?
I think I’d have dealt better with being physically kicked. Until my brain bled out through my ears.
But. While at least two colleagues (the male ones, of course) had a good giggle amongst themselves at my expense, there was one person who saw me cry and was kind about it. Which kinda made me feel like crying more at first, but then I realised I was right the whole time about who the nice ones were gonna be, there. (I placed bets to myself on day one, regarding each co-worker’s true colours – or at least which ones might give me the time of day; so far I think I’ve been pretty much on the money).
So I really hope a lot of good things happen to her.
I also hope this madness-sadness-stupid-shit ends soon. Like, before I’ve managed to lose everything I once held dear. Such as that little shred of dignity I think I might have had at some point.
…
Pygmy Shrew;
~xx~
Someone To Love.
Something To Do.
Something To Look Forward To.
~
Thus read a plaque I saw in a tiny, crooked little gift shop in Boscastle, Cornwall, when on holiday there with my family 2 years ago.
(From where my mother acquired a gargoyle to add to the extensive collection of Green Men distributed around the external walls of our house).
I think I treat the people I love pretty badly, most of the time. Where this doesn’t make them disappear pretty quickly, my efforts to make up for my failures usually only end up making things worse – and making them disappear eventually instead. (I would add here that in my case the Someone to Love would probably have to be loving me back for me to be Happy. Not sure if everyone would agree there, but Heck I guess I’m just needy). Family can’t very easily disappear all too permanently and are more forgiving than other people, so I guess I’m managing about half for the first one.
['So if Heaven is where the good people go, Up There, (pointing) and Hell is where the bad people go, Down there (pointing) ...where the Hell is Heck?' asked once my eight-year-old self, of my 'Hell is a swear-word' Grandmother - thinking I was being so damn clever. I eventually came to the conclusion that Heck must be where bad animals go when they die].
My job is (very) part time, and I’m so useless at it – despite it being pretty much the most mind-numbingly simplistic job ever – that whenever I ask for more hours I’m generally offered about 4 more per week for 2 weeks in each month. (I’m a nice girl who means well and they don’t really want to upset me, but damn why am I so useless?)
I’m not complaining. Every little helps and all that. But the fact remains that there are 4 days in most weeks during which I have absolutely no obligation to do anything at all. My friends all live somewhere between pretty far away and really far away. I haven’t really made any friends at work, yet; I try, and small talk is mostly better than no talk, but being there still tends to make me feel pretty lonely. Even the old friends that aren’t all that far away are still far enough that visiting regularly takes its toll on my fuel tank and consequently my bank balance. I’m trying to keep some moneys safe so that moar university remains a viable option where my not-too-distant future is concerned. So my masses of free time these days, even when spent doing actual stuff, tend to be mostly spent alone. I need ‘Me-Time’ (and I hate that phrase) but not this much of it. Finding another job that would leave me with less of it is proving difficult, mainly because there don’t seem to be any available that I could really get excited about. I invariably get halfway through an application before realising that I could never find the enthusiasm required to convince an interviewer that I even really wanted the job, never mind showing I could actually be good at it.
Maybe I’m just being pathetic. Maybe I am just pathetic. Because I’m pretty sure I’m as terrified of change and as useless at people right now as I have been all my life. As for alternative mind-numbingly simplistic jobs, I would appear to be living in the actual middle of actual nowhere; there just aren’t any within a 30-mile radius, and I’m probably quite lucky to even have the one I’ve got. (I thank my lucky stars for my manager in York thinking I was ‘a really good kid’, and for my manager here thinking I ‘sounded nice on the phone’). I want to write for a living, because although I may not be all too great at it, I find it a damn sight easier than out-loud real-life verbal communication.
(Have you ever had that thing where someone says something to you and it takes you so long to process what they just said that by the time you’ve come up with a proper response you’ve already awkwardly laughed and mumbled some kind of non-response and looked stupid and the conversation’s moved on/ended? Have you ever been concentrating so hard on making sure you’re smiling and making eye contact as much as is socially normal that you weren’t concentrating hard enough on what the person was saying and so the response you gave to their question just came out sounding really dumb? I guess all these things are excusable if you manage to prove yourself to be witty, charming and socially capable later on. Or perhaps if they’re male and you’re pretty and flirty and trying really hard. I tend to fail repeatedly, get angry at myself for my repeated failure and shut up, so as not to make things even worse. Where pretty is concerned, the best I could ever hope for was ‘cute’. And skinny. Unhappy really really ain’t cute, and skinny is only acceptable when proven accompanied by healthy).
As for the future I suppose I can say I’m working on it. Not knowing what’s next in my life – because nice as the people I work with may have been to me thus far, I really can’t stay there much longer without properly, irrevocably losing my mind – is probably what’s killing me most. I’m beginning to think that applying for jobs that really don’t appeal to me that much but would require me to move to an unfamiliar city far from home all by myself might not be the best course of action for me. (For Me, Y’ hear?).
So I’ve decided instead to apply only for the ones that really do appeal, when (if) they come up, and otherwise maybe – if there’s any possibility of anyone lending me the money to do so – prepare myself for Postgraduate study next year in a subject area that I know I could really fall for. I go crazy if I try to follow the dreams and goals that everyone else would approve of, so maybe I’ll give following my own a go. If that doesn’t work out, what I’ll have lost will be more money; I’ll have an even more Heckish debt on my shoulders. What I’ll have gained? More/more impressive letters after my name, more pieces of paper saying I’ve learned some stuff, some work experience in the big city if I’m lucky, some time to figure things out a bit more (and maybe become less scared) if I’m lucky, and perhaps even some of the people skills that I’m told I lack so sorely but cannot ‘go anywhere’ in life without. Or, perhaps the skills with which to go somewhere in life all by myself with bare minimum people skills. Or perhaps the courage to say fuck it all and take myself somewhere completely new and far away and just take my chances.
Anyway, Who Cares? If you’ve read this far I imagine I’ve done a pretty good job of boring you to death. That’s what I don’t understand about blogging; people talking about themselves and their lives and the things they know and care about. Nobody likes to hear other people talk about themselves, do they? Yet everyone likes doing it. I read a post yesterday where someone was essentially complaining about people complaining in their blogs. You have nothing to legitimately complain about unless something really, genuinely tragic has happened to you. Fair point, but… But I think in reality perspective is something of a Holy Grail at times. I try to always apologise for my unnecessary negativity, but I often wonder why I should. This is my blog and surely I can write what I want to write. Often, what I want to write is all of the nastiness away; writing this stuff is like therapy. People don’t like me writing or talking it at them – they’re not my therapist, and they have their own lives to live – but I feel so much better for writing it all somewhere, and naturally I find myself wanting to feel better wherever possible. The answer is simple; if you don’t like what I’m writing, stop reading.
Humanity is stupid.
Sometimes, I really regret not asking for the number of the skydiving instructor I fell 15,000 feet with, when afterwards he said to me; ’So, Sociology… That’s all about how humanity’s basically fucked, right?’
We could have been ‘happy on the inside’ jumping out of planes for a living together. (And he was cute. And he kissed me on the cheek when I left. And the mind wanders when it only has itself for company).
…Photo?
Here is my favourite among Mum’s Green Man Army;
.
His name is Steve. He was named after me, because my sister and I decided to name one Green Man after each member of the family. This one definitely had to be Steve, since he kinda resembles Steve Martin, the actor. Right?
(We’re all mental to some extent, here. That’s why for now I call it Home).
~xx~
… is a story I cringe to tell, and only ever will if I have absolutely no other option.*
But yeah. I’ve mentioned my goldfish, Apple Strudel, before haven’t I? (Here.)
Well, a little while ago I got a new fish tank. On Tuesday I moved Strudel into it, and bought a new wee fishy which is currently in quarantine in the old, small tank before he/she can move into the grown-ups’ tank and be Strudel’s friend. (Said newbie is also in need of a name; preferably a gender neutral one alluding to a dessert and/or a somewhat lethal alcoholic beverage).
: )
Here’s the old-timer;
And here’s the teeny tiny new baby;
.
They pretty.
[I swear I am not the goldfish equivalent of the stereotypical crazy cat lady].
In other news I have this horrible feeling my laptop may be about to die a hideous death on me. So, umm…
Love ‘n’ hugs
~xx~
*other options include forcibly removing my own premolars/eyeballs using blunt cutlery, and throwing myself blindly out of the nearest (closed) window.
