I’ve been drunk and thinking a lot recently.

I haven’t blogged for a while (which a couple of my friends mentioned to me) and I feel like I owe you an explanation. The only real reason is that I am lazy but have good intentions; something I’m pretty sure my teachers said about me at school.

So I was having a little scout around my old diaries trying to find a particular entry and, instead, I came across one where I seem to be struggling to explain how I feel about women. At this point, I know I like women and have come out to a few people but, alone at night and doing some deep thinking, I try and rationalise how I’m feeling; and it doesn’t end well. I won’t include the passage as it contains plenty of swear words and, in all honesty, it’s a bit embarrassing. However, in light of recent conversations and thoughts I decided it would be a good idea to think about what I would say now to the younger me, hunched over my diary, scribbling away furiously at 11 at night (that was very late for me then – don’t judge!).

Let’s go.

You know, kid, they’ll come a day when you’ll be sitting in your friend’s car and you’ll be more than a little bit drunk and Macklemore’s “Same love” with come on the radio and you’ll be furious. Not because you don’t like the song though – you’ll be angry because the radio presenter will say his name wrong. But it kind of won’t matter in the grand scheme of things because your friend will say, almost to herself,  “I really like this song” and, even though you know all the words, you only sing a few lines because you kind of like hearing your friend sing a bit. Because she sent you a link to it on Facebook because she knew you’d like it. And it doesn’t stop there.

One of your friends will be able to list at least three Tegan and Sara songs and she’ll know the difference between stone butch and soft butch and you’ll wonder why you were ever worried about coming out to her. I mean come on kid, she knew from the beginning; and I can bet you she’ll be there to the end.

You’ll have a conversation with two straight friends about sexual fluidity and you’ll realise that you’re not the only person who thinks that it’s possible to love outside of your “normal” gender preference and you’ll realise that if you three think the same then it’s likely to a lot of others do too.

Your friends are at a pub across town and you’ll walk there and tell them what’s happened and how you feel used and how you have no faith in women anymore and they’ll hug you, make you laugh and offer to buy you more drinks until you’ve lost your key but you don’t care because you have a group of people dancing to “Play hard” to get back to.

It’s one in the morning and you ring your friend and cry down the phone to him. He’s barely awake but he still manages to humour you as you ramble on about how shit you feel and how drunk you are and how you actually really liked this one or how upsetting it is that she’ll never like you back because she’s straight. He listens, not because he has to but because he wants to.

One Sunday you’ll text your manager about a Facebook message from a woman. Not many managers would be willing to talk to their twenty year old employee about their lesbian near miss. It’s a shame it was a near miss, because it wasn’t a near miss in my mind – just a miss for me.

And so right now you can’t explain how you feel but you don’t really have to because in five years’ time people will know you and they’ll get you. They’ll understand what you’re trying to say by the way you sigh or the way you look longingly at that woman. And they won’t care. They want you to be happy, regardless of what makes you happy. They’ll moan about the women that let you down the same way they rant about the men that have screwed them around and it’ll just feel right. It’ll all be alright.


Scrapbooking. Or not.

So back in early September I ordered a scrapbook online. I was so excited and bought a huge rainbow of pens and lots of additional decorative stuff.

But the scrapbook didn’t arrive.

I contacted the seller and informed him of the issue and he said he’d get another one to me in replacement. But it has never arrived.

I’m now not only angry but also down money. But here’s the issue, will he believe me if I contact him again and say I still haven’t got it?

Do I buy a scrapbook from a shop and just get on with it? Do I try and order it from another person or do I get in contact with him again and risk being judged for lying.

It seems like a small issue, I know, but I was so excited to get started and now I can feel my enthusiasm dying down a little.

Scrap that. No, literally.

Scrap the diary idea. I’m going to start making a scrapbook. Yeah, I know. I’m not an artistic or creative person so this could be interesting but I am fed up of train tickets, receipts and Kit Kat wrappers falling out of my packed diary left, right and centre.

So I’ve changed tact and, as of tomorrow, I will be a proud owner of a scrapbook.

But what does one put in a scrapbook? How regular does it have to be? Do I have to annotate stuff or can I just stick it in and scribble the date next to it? Do I have to write large passages or is that taboo? Does it have to look pretty or can it just be bland and straight to the point like me?

What kind of scrapbook should I get? What types are there? I’m thinking something with a hard cover and thick, absorbent paper so I can glue till my hearts content.

I know it’s for me and that I shouldn’t be worried about how it looks but I’m pretty fanatical about my diary as it let alone something as personal as a scrapbook.

Do I want one that says “scrapbook” on the front or one with flowers or stripes or a block of colour? Am I going to decorate the front or is it completely pointless?

I know all these questions seem stupid but my diaries mean a lot to me. I’m a very expressive person and so I take pride in how I express myself. Even if no-one else ever sees my diaries and scrapbooks I want to know they’ve been done properly.

And what if someone were to see them? As I’ve mentioned in previous posts I am considering publishing little annotated segments of my diary and some of my old poems. And I’ve also promised a friend of mine from school that when I die she can have my diaries and publish them in their entirety. Or what if a grandchild of mine stumbles upon them and I have to explain to them why it all looks so rushed.

I’ve had a look for some online. One promises to be able to contain my whole life. My whole life in a book? Now that’s a scary thought. It boasts a section where I can write about my education, employment and even a section reserved for a list of things I want to do before I die. But do I really want it to be that structured? Do I want to feel like I’m filling out a job application detailing my every move of the last 19 years?

I think I’m going to have to shop around though I’m concerned I’ll find it hard to settle on one.

I want one that will last me at least a year and promises some form of structure but, as I’m a complete novice, I don’t know where to start.


Stuff that’s good.

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from diary reading/writing it’s that anything can have a positive spin. A couple of years ago I attempted to write one good thing and one bad thing a day in my diary.

I reckon I can apply the same thing here except I will only post good things because they’re the ones we need to focus on. I’m going to call it “this happened today and it was good” followed by the date.

This happened today and it was good – 14/08/12

I’ve started re-watching the comedy series Miranda and it made me laugh so much because I had forgotten how good it was.

There. Done.

I know a lot about me.

For a while now I’ve wanted to write a book. Not a bestseller full of gratuitous lexis and extended metaphors but a simple book about something that is hopefully good to read. Yup, just a simple book.

I’ve tried to write in the past: a trilogy focusing on the relationship of some lovers, a play about teenage years and self-expression and a short selection of stories about sport. I even tried to write a book about a lesbian relationship – one that portrayed what really happens but only clichés filled my head despite how much I tried to steer away from them. None of them meant anything to me. I always felt like I was trying to say what something but that I couldn’t get it across because none of the characters and none of the situations were about me.

So I thought, what do I know lots about? Me. Simple.

Now I’m not stupid: my life is incredibly dull. But I haven’t always seen it in such a raw form. I used to keep a regular diary (as many of you who read my blog will know) and in it I described in heart wrenching detail how awful and confusing my life was. Sometimes if I’m feeling low I’ll read a few pages and think to myself if only I could talk to my 15 year old self.

I know this sounds deeply philosophical from a girl who’s still only 19 but a lot can change in 4 years. I think I would say the following to my younger self “Look kid, it’s rough now but it isn’t always going to be. You’re going to get decent exam results and no-one is going to reject you when you come out. You’re going to get more cats (yes more!) and you’re going to lose one as well. That will be awful and it will conjure up all sorts of painful memories for you. You could do with focusing a little more in sixth form – you get kinda lazy. You’re going to pass your driving test and get a job and you’ll love and hate both of those things. You’re going to get a girlfriend. But breathe; it’s not as scary as you think it is. Your friends will support you throughout all of the above and so you need to keep them close. And keep your enemies closer – it’s not made up nonsense, it helps.”

I’m thinking of taking short extracts from my diary and reflecting on them with annotations, pictures and maybe even colours. I’m pleased that I can finally find something that I’m excited about writing.


I’m such a hypocrite.

Firstly, I never follow my own advice. This can be demonstrated in many different situations.

1. Whenever people are getting down with how much they’re working I suggest they turn down any extra hours they’re offered. But the moment my manager utters “overtime” I automatically agree and, before long, I find myself leaving for work at half 6 in the morning; cold and grumpy.

2. When people are angry or upset or bored I tell them to do something that makes them happy or takes their mind off whatever is on their minds. Now I think that is quite good, constructive advice. What do I do when I feel like that? Sit at home and wallow.

3. I tell people that I think writing a diary is good. I explain how much it helped me in the past and how amusing it can be to look back on. Have I been keeping a regular diary recently? No. Occasionally I’ll do a little update like:

Dear diary (I never actually write that but I feel the need to on here…)

– I still work at the same place.

– I am still desperately lonely.

– I am still fat.

4. I make jokes about crazy cat ladies yet I have three cats and would like more…

Yeah, I’m such a hypocrite.

This week.

This past week I’ve not been myself. I think it’s the weather. Some people strive in the sun but I just feel frustrated and powerless. I think it’s because I can’t do things I normally do without accounting for the beaming sun. If I want to go for a drive in winter all I have to do is flick on my lights but with the sun pouring through my window I have to think about what I’m wearing, how long I’ll be in the car and what I can use to cool me down.

I’ve also lost the enthusiasm to work. I mean I didn’t have lots to begin with but with everyone being back from uni and sunning themselves I feel jealous that I have to work, especially in this heat.

A couple of days ago I was speaking to a woman in a shop about the weather. She said she thought it was too hot and I told her that I worked in a kitchen/behind a hot plate and that it was stupidly hot. She remarked that because I worked in a kitchen I should be used to the heat. What? Why? It’s not like I spend my time with my head in the oven preparing myself for the two days of sun we have a year.

See what I mean about me getting frustrated?

This week has gone extremely quickly but I feel like I’ve achieved very little. The days have merged and, despite seeing a lot of people and enjoying seeing those who are back from uni, I’ve felt quite alone. But not in an alienated kind of way or a “no-one understands me” sort of way just in a “there seems to be a constant stream of thoughts in my head and I kinda want to express them but can’t for some reason and so I just keep thinking about stuff” kind of way. I’ve not felt like this for a long time and it’s a shock to again and so I’ve started writing in my diary again in the hope that it’ll rationalise some of what I’m thinking.