Evening.

Dear Mindfuck,

Dear is too formal and Mindfuck is too informal.

Hi Brainsmush,

Is that better? Who the feck knows.

You’re probably sat at home on your sofa right now watching tv and snacking. I’m trying to get to sleep but evidently it isn’t working.

I feel like I’ve got a lot to lose. I’ve got my pride and my bravado and a hell of a lot of weight.

You have more to lose and I understand why you’re clinging onto it all.

I can’t and won’t guarantee you that this will be easy. I’ve learnt from my therapist that nothing can be guaranteed. 

She has a point.

I will not make promises that I can’t keep. With that in mind, I promise you these things:

  • I promise that I will always be grumpy before 6am.
  • I promise that I will always be allergic to cats and covered in their fur but that I will always consider getting more.
  • I promise to take note of the little things – like how your eyes seem brighter when you have no make up on.
  • I promise to be annoying and needy and ever so slightly immature.

On paper, we don’t make sense. It’s a good thing that we aren’t just fictional characters. I am not your ideal man and you are not my ideal woman and yet I feel like a nervous teenager when I see you.

I’m ready to lose my bravado.

Love, Similar Mindfuck 

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Dear DTB 

Dear DTB,

This is tough. This is like well done steak kinda tough. I mean I like my steak well done but I still want to be able to get my teeth into it. I can’t get my teeth into this.

People say that it’s a burden or emotionally abusive to say that a person is instrumental to their happiness. Unfortunately, despite its connotations, you are instrumental to my happiness.

I can only really gather the courage to write this because I don’t think you’ll ever read it. If you were to discover this I hope you wouldn’t realise that it’s for you. If you were to realise that, you’d be angry. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me?!”, would be your response.

I can’t talk to you though. Not now. You’re a teenage boy in a cave right now; agitated and isolated and you love it. 

I’m asking you to be someone that you can’t be, at least not yet. I’m not there yet either, my therapist calls it “fake it until you make it”. I’m faking it so much that I don’t think you know that I’m terrified like you.

You think I’m strong which is why you talk to me the way you do. I’m not strong, I’m barely getting by.

I wonder where we’ll be in ten years. Will we find this funny? Or will we still be bitter? 

I think we’ll find it funny. We’ll be different people by then. I’ll still be stubborn and you’ll still be grumpy but we’ll be a bit softer.

Years of “good living” and hindsight will have made us softer. 

I cannot wait until we’re softer. I cannot wait until life is how we imagine it to be. We’ll be the envy of people on Instagram (if it still exists) and we’ll be smug. We will be allowed to be smug because of all the shit we will have to endured to get to that point.

This is the shit and I’m sorry that right now even my name annoys you. Guess what, yours doesn’t make me best pleased either.

But when I think about my life at 33 you’re there. You are instrumental to my happiness and that irritates me so much. I’m stronger with you, and that bothers me. We’re better people when we’re together. We’re softer. We’re faking it less and making our dreams a reality.

This, right now, is shit. You’re being shit and I’m being shit. At least we’re consistent.

In 10 years time you will no longer be known at DTB; isn’t that a refreshing thought?

So I’ll let you be a teenage boy in a cave as long as you let me be a middle aged woman having a midlife crisis whilst going through the menopause. This is making us softer. The steak is no longer as hard to chew.

Adult life.

I thought that, at 23, I’d be married to my teenage crush and that we’d be living in our own house with little versions of us running about causing havoc.

In reality, at 23, I’m drunk texting my teenage crush at 3am to tell her that I love her. We’re friends, it’s fine, she obviously thinks it’s platonic…

I was wrong about adult life. I had visions of me effortlessly drifting through it, ticking off adult goals on the daily.

Nope.

Adult life is me eating a “funsize” bag of popcorn for breakfast in the car on the way to see my therapist.

Adult life is me updating my union membership to premium even though I don’t know what it includes and it costs £10 more a month.

Adult life is me trying to find songs I like for my goddaughter to dance to that don’t involve words like “fuck”, “pussy” and “bitch”. 

Adult life is painting pottery on my day off when I’m hungover and trying not to vomit up 5 pints of cider.

Adult life is getting excited when my Tesco vouchers come through and then spending them on Pokémon cards. Pokémon cards for me. That I collect. At 23.

Is this what life is like at 30? Does Christmas ever become dull? Will I spend my pension money on cat toys for the cats that they don’t even play with?

Is anyone actually an adult?

From the outside I think I seem fairly mature and like I’ve got my shit together. I have a responsible job and people trust me with their children. Underneath that am I just an 8 year old who wants to nap, eat pizza and play in the snow? Yes. I’m not an adult. I’m a fraud. 

My intentions.

Blogging from my phone is difficult but I have a free hour so…

When it comes to a lot of things I have good intentions. I want to read a lot of books, lose a lot of weight and make my room a tranquil place of rest.

In reality however I start and don’t finish books, gain weight and watch my room slowly fill with things that I can’t seem to shift.

It’s not that I’m lazy or don’t have much time. I can be extremely motivated when I feel like it and I have days off work fairly regularly. So I don’t really understand why have a stack of books to read next to my bed.

I think I’m a good procrastinator. I will do almost anything to avoid the most important things in my life (going to the bank is a good example of this!) and I worry myself unnecessarily and make these important tasks seem impossible.

I also have a short attention span. I can’t watch a film in one sitting (I even get up and pace around the corridors at the cinema) and if a book hasn’t featured a death, an affair or some sort of apocalyptic event within the first 5 pages then I’m not likely to finish it.

I guess you could say that I really value my spare time and so don’t want to waste it on things that I don’t find exciting or funny or worthy.

And I’m acutely aware that loosing weight and going to the bank are worthy. So maybe I am just lazy after all.

“You’d love it!” Actually, I hate it.

I didn’t get into OITNB until it had been out for about a year. Everyone told me I would love it. Just because it had lesbians in it? I wasn’t about to bow to that kind of stereotypical, narrow minded way of thinking. I like shows with straight people in so THERE.

But I loved it. They were right.

And then I was told about another Netflix original, Kimmy Schmidt. Apparently I’d love it. I did.

But I think this is where that loving trend ends.

I’ve tried (and failed) numerous times to get past the third page of Little Women and I can’t. I just can’t. It bores me to death. And I know by saying that I’ve enraged people who love “classic” books but I just can’t do it.

I want graphic sex descriptions, swearing and disturbing imagery from a book. I want (and will always want) nearly anything written by Irvine Welsh. Or Sarah Kane; her plays hit the spot too.

I don’t think I’m hard to please when it comes to books and TV yet I seem to disappoint a lot of my friends when I just “don’t get” the things that they love so much.

I’ve been told to watch “Making a murderer” and, to begin with, it was interesting. But now I’m an hour in and I’m struggling. In my opinion, it’s slow moving and depressing (I don’t want to hear about a cat being set on fire, ya know?!).

So what makes some things instantly appealing and others a complete drag? Is it because of my innate stubbornness that I have that tells me that I am right and nearly everyone else is wrong? Is it that I am actually really hard to please but I just don’t know it?

One friend recently described me as “judgey”. Oh. Maybe I do need to give things a chance.

With that in mind, I’m going to plough my way through “Him and Her”, “Making a Murderer” and some stand up shows from Lee Evans. Yup. I said it, I’m not a Lee Evans lover. And I’m sorry, ok?

Evening all.

Or should that be early morning?
I’m up unusually late because I have an unusual pain in my stomach.
Like any other wise person, I turned to Google for the answer and now I’m being a typical hypochondriac and convincing myself I have every illness or infection going.
I expect I’ve pulled a muscle.
Not that I’ve done anything particularly strenuous. But then maybe it’s a subtle hint from my body to start moving more and sitting less before I find the small things taxing.
But I’m not listening, I’m just lying here in bed waiting for the ibuprofen to cut in and ease the pain that I should really be listening to.
If something seems scary, silence it.
Wise words from someone with a ridiculously low pain threshold.

Girl crushes and how they confuse me.

Not me personally, obviously. If I felt confused every time I had a thing for a girl I’ve have had a breakdown by now.
No, I’m talking about “straight” women who have girl crushes. Am I mocking straight women by using the quotation marks? No, straight women exist I’m aware of that. But what I want to challenge is if straight women can have girl crushes and still be straight.
Controversial? I hope so.
I recently read a post in which someone tried to describe why they had a girl crush on a certain celebrity. But they couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t that they liked one specific thing about this celebrity. They didn’t want to be her friend, they didn’t like her fashion sense and they weren’t jealous of her lifestyle. They just had an unexplainable feeling about her.
Yeah I’ve had that about women too. That churning in the stomach (not caused by an undercooked piece of meat), the shaky hands (not caused by some form of withdrawal) and the heart palpitations (not caused by a caffeine overdose. Speaking of which, I’m not drinking caffeine again – hurray!).
That unexplainable feeling could be attraction. Just sayin’.
And I don’t think people are against those feelings because I understand that a lot of people are open minded and that it’s possible to fall for somebody because of their personality and not their gender. I get that.
But then why the need to identify or label themselves as straight? Why not explore bisexuality or pansexuality?
And let’s say a woman likes a specific celebrity because of their looks. They like her black hair and her petite figure. What’s to say that’s the only woman with black hair and a petite figure that they’ll like? What if they like other women who look like that?
When does a girl crush/multiple girl crushes become a sexuality thing rather than an admiration thing?
And I’m not trying to recruit, I’m just puzzled.
And I get that if someone finds someone else’s hair nice it doesn’t necessarily mean they want to jump into bed with them. I think Rupert Grint is a cutie but I don’t want his kids.
I’m also confused by the whole “the difference between a straight girl and a bi girl is two drinks” theory. First of all, bisexuality is not a drunk sexuality; it is a legitimate sexuality and doesn’t deserved to be undermined. Yet I don’t understand why when some women are drunk they kiss other women? Or why some women say they’d kiss a woman/sleep with a woman if they were drunk. A friend of mine always used to say that drunk feelings were sober thoughts and I can’t help but wonder if this is the case.
I guess I haven’t really got a conclusion to this because feelings aren’t something that can be plotted and measured but I’d like to hear people’s thoughts on this. 🙂