Breathe in

I can smell you on my pillow. I wish my pillow smelt like you more of the time.

I know it's not right but I want to feel what it's like again. I want to bury my fingers in your hair and feel your hand trail down my back.

I want to do what I shouldn't, over and over again.

Come on and dance with me

It's true
that I'm a silver shadow
And you
are always on my mind
You need to get over here; we'll disappear

Your secret's safe,
and no one has to know
I'm your getaway,
and a little bit more than you can take

I can make everything feel so damn good

And how did that make you feel?

I've have problems with anxiety, and with depression. As a result, these are the counsellors I have known.

1. Counsellor at the Doctors when I was at school.

I don't remember her name. I went to see her after my parents split up and I wasn't seeing my Dad. And again when I was about 16 and my Mum started seeing K. I don't remember much about her, she was oldish, greying. She would often say the classic 'and how did that make you feel'? She used to tape all our sessions, I don't remember why. My mum used to see her too and I would wonder if she would compare our perspectives on the same issue.

2. Stress Management guy

Also known as Mike. He lived in the village, and was a private stress management guy, using hypnotherapy and all sorts. My mum paid for me to have a couple of sessions with him, the summer after my second year of uni, when I was having all the panic attacks. He's a nice guy but it was weird that I knew him, and it made me tense that it cost so much, which almost defeated the point. He said I used negative images to motivate myself ('the fear') and that I should picture myself passing the exams and being happy to motivate my work. He made me a tape to listen to when I went back to uni.

3. University counsellor.

I got to see a regular counsellor through the uni service in my third year, after all the craziness. He was a bit strange, when I arrived and sat down, he would look at me and then just gesture for me to start talking, without asking me anything. I could totally picture him as like a sex therapist or something, or something Freudian. I liked him though, I think.

4. Mental health nurse

When I was still feeling anxious and stuff, after I graduated and was living at home, the GP referred me to this nurse who put me in on a cognitive behaviour therapy group course. That was weird. I don't really see how it could have worked, no one was really able to say much, because we didn't have long in each session and there were about 10 of us. No time to find out really why people got anxious. I remember, in the last session, we had to say what we learnt. I felt like I hadn't learnt much. This one girl then said she was feeling a bit better because she was considering visiting another town, and she had been feeling too anxious to leave her home town for months. It was like, woah, because that had never come up when she'd talked in the group. The nurse looked a little taken aback and asked her to stay behind. I'm sensing she was going to need more than that course.

5. Counsellor at the Kilburn doctors.

I asked to be referred to her when I was feeling really anxious again, about a year after I moved to London. It was after R broke up with me, we slept together a few times and i became convinced that because we weren't always careful that he would have given me some awful STD. He didn't, but I drove myself crazy with anxiety over it.
I saw her 3 or maybe 4 times, about a month apart each time, and the sessions were only for 30 minutes. That was weird, because it felt like as soon as the session started, it was over. She wanted me to join a club, or a course or something, because I was so lonely in London. Then she went off sick, my appointments were cancelled and I never saw her again.

6. My current counsellor.

I think I like her the best. She seems smart, and she's the first one to have a little joke with me. Only her, and the counsellor from uni, have been interested in getting to the bottom of why i feel the way I do, and work out a way for me to feel better. I feel the most hopeful about her.

Back to you

The hardest part is accepting that I was (am?) just a symptom. I'm not the turning point. The one that made you realise.

I don't think I could just have been anybody. I hope I'm not kidding myself.

The truth is, when it comes to the heart, you're all I have to think of and you have so much more.

Do I have the guts to walk away or the guts to see it through?

It would be nice to get to a point when we are really friends. Would I get there if I met someone else do you think? I hope so. It's not for want of trying, I just don't meet anybody.

Bandaid

I was thinking tonight as I wrote an email to you, how nice it would be to meet, chat, catch up in person. I have so many things I want to tell you. So many things I want to ask you about, want your opinion on. Will we ever do that do you think? Sit, two friends chatting somewhere.

But then I let myself do something stupid. I was browsing facebook, and I looked up your profile, your real one, and checked your friends list. There she was. She's pretty. I felt stupid.

I know it doesn't work like that, but I felt it anyway, the feelings of jealousy, guilt and foolishness.

I don't know my own mind. I don't know if I can do this any more, but I don't know if I can not do this any more.

Since we can have no more, I wish I could be sure that we could be friends. I want that so much.

Who am I to you?

Did you ever see the film The Last Kiss?

Good film I think. Made me wonder who I was in it.

Made me wonder who he was too. Was he Zach Braff or Casey Affeck? Was I effectively Rachel Bilson? - someone I wouldn't mind being compared to normally, but not on this occasion.

He's probably neither really, but it still got me thinking.

Are we really friends? We know the score really, his emails never mention her.

So why does he keep in touch?

Because he wishes things were different?

Because he wants to keep his options open?

Because he feels obligated? guilty?

Or, in my darker thoughts, simply because he wants to keep me sweet so I don't cause trouble?

I wish someone else would come in and take over my heart.

Would he miss me if I stopped replying?

I'd miss him, and I hate that.

She's like Confucius

As I staggered out my room this morning, wishing for not the first time in my life that I was someone who threw up, just so I could feel better, my housemate commented "I always think it's better to have a hangover on company time, rather than your own."

How wise. And with that I depart for the office.

Don't you think we ought to know by now?

Don't you think we should have learnt somehow?

I could say I don't know why I still think about you. Or why each time I check my emails I hope a little that I'll see your name. But I know why. My mind's just built that way.

You're always there, somewhere in the back of my thoughts. Even now, months on. I've come to accept what I always knew, that you'll always be someone I wonder about.

And I always knew too, you know? That we were headed nowhere, that it didn't matter what happened that sweetly.... desperate night. It wouldn't have stopped me though. I still smile to think of it, despite myself.

It was no win and no hope and no chance.

It was over before it started and we knew it all along.

Suburbia will claim your heart and who knows for mine.

Maybe it would never have worked. Goodness knows how it would have. But that doesn't matter. We don't get to find out how it would have played out.

I'll file you away.

I'll go through the motions.

I'll be swept along, meet someone new.

But I'll think of you.

And hope that sometimes you'll think of me too.

"Memorable....provocative....relevant"

Overheard on the streets of London. How do people say shit like that without needing to beat themselves over the head with a shoe?

Have a word with yourself.

Changing lines

There's a line in the film Changing Lanes - "Can you give me back my time?" - I was reminded of that today, when, having taken the morning off to go, I arrived at the dentists to discover they had no record of my appointment. It was actually an appointment with the hygienist, and I'd had to pay a deposit just to book the freaking thing (course they had a record of taking the money, that bit they care about). So it's rebooked and the first appointment that wasn't in the middle of the day or similar was mid June. Apparently good oral hygiene can wait.

Anyway.

Do you ever wish you could pull off.... those lines that you could never actually say, like "Hey....If you're ever in London....here's my card, get in touch"

I'm not sure, outside of films, that anyone pulls off those lines. Maybe they do in the states, because clearly it's like one big film set over there.

Two things that me feel all happy inside

1. When I'm at a gig or concert or whatever, and there's someone there who's obviously hugely hugely into the band/artist and are just dancing and screaming the words with complete wild abandon, not giving a flying fuck what they look like to others. Tonight at the Matchbox show, there was this guy up in the stands going totally crazy and he just looked so damn happy to be there. Then the guitarist went up into the stands and was playing right in front of the guy and I swear he probably just about died.

2. Trainspotters. I know it's a funny one but when I see a trainspotter I just feel all happy. I mean, I'm not sure I'd want to have a conversation with one, but I just think it's nice that they've found this little thing that makes them so happy, seeing the trains and noting down the numbers, quietly in their own little word of geeky enjoyment.

Fun in years to come

Today I had lunch with my colleague/friend B. We were meeting because it was her birthday at the weekend, she was... somewhere in her mid -thirties I guess, I don't actually know.

With my friends in their thirties who are single, there's a little part of me that kind of looks to them for hope, because I imagine that's me, in say 10 or less years time.

So she was telling me about how she'd been to her sisters for dinner and for not the first (or no doubt the last) time, there had been some contrived matchmaking situation with a single gent invited along for the evening by said sister. And we laughed about how people in couples are just so rubbish at that and at times leave you wondering 'Seriously, that's who you see me with?!' when you're presented with their offering.

Then B tells us about a blind date that she went on, set up by a mutual friend. She's on her second cup of coffee with the guy when he reveals that he writes letters of complaint. As a hobby. He keeps them in a file and everything. And I'm thinking (hey, because it's all about me) oh dear god, that's what's waiting for me. As the years pass and all the normal men get hitched, I'm going to be left on a date with a guy who corresponds with complaints departments for kicks.

It's like my previous manager, S, who was on a second date with a guy she was set up with who she wasn't all that sure about, but she thought hey, she would give him a chance. They're on the date and chatting away when there's a lull in the conversation and he says something like 'well, i guess we've said all we're going to say' and she's thinking 'ok, yeah, a bit blunt, but true... i guess we should finish things here, we're not the best match' and then he pushes an envelope over the table to her and says something like 'see what you think' and goes to the loo. She looks in the envelope and finds Viagra tablets. Nice.

So in short, today left me wondering if all that awaits me in my thirties is dates with men who write complaints letters for the blinding fun of it and those that think a lull in a conversation means lets have sex with some pharmaceutical assistance.

Ah romance!

Things a grown up girl should do

Argh. I just checked my online banking and I got charged a late fee for not paying my credit card bill in time. The most annoying thing about this is that it wasn't a deliberate "I don't have any money to pay it, let's hide from the receivers" ploy. I just go through random phases of forgetting to check that everything is ticking over, and also wanting to avoid seeing how far into my overdraft I am.

This is beyond foolish. I'm 27. I should be vaguely capable of keeping on top of the basics, and I shouldn't be employing some kind of Ostrich mentality when it comes to my own bank account.

I have to say though, this month I really have taken it down to the wire. Let's all hold our breath a little bit til payday on Tuesday.

Your year ahead

From the calendar I was given free at the Chinese supermarket, fortune for those born in the year of the monkey:

Career: Gossips and hidden traps are around you. Keep an eye on everyone and learn to protect yourself.

Fortune: Economical flaws are there and early patch up is needed. Be prudent in financial matters and do not underestimate your counterparts.

Romance: Feeling is dull. The more you expect, the greater the disappointment.

Yay! Another winning year ahead!

Take the advice and run

My friend pointed something out to me tonight. I might expand on this more in another post, but tiredness means this will have to do for now.

"Thing is, you are really funny, don't get me wrong. But I've seen guys come up, and you shoot them down in a machine gun fire of sarcasm. I mean, you're terrifying. Funny, but terrifying. I know when they're drunk, they're annoying. But maybe you could be a bit nicer...it would be OK"

Actually said in the nicest possible way. And actually could be so very true.

Bitter?

My goodness some of my posts lately have been on the dark and bitter side (excepting maybe yesterday, still laughing about that), particularly in regards to men. I wonder if some of it is because most of the time I go about my business trying not to let on that it gets to me. It's like this blog is an outlet for the unpleasant thoughts I have.

K, one of my flatmates, left for a year in Canada at the weekend. I saw her off on the train home, and I don't mind telling you I teared up as I walked away. It's been quite the year, and I'll miss her.

On a more optimistic note, her replacement A, seems lovely, and has promised to teach me how to play pool. No longer will I feel foolish and lame-girl like when faced with a cue.

And I have a new addiction - Gossip Girl. Every thing a guilty pleasure should be.

xoxo - indeed I do love you.

Just made me laugh so hard

My flatmate - "Talk about the last vestiges of romance:
'Fancy meeting up for a shag?'
'No, I can't, I'm on the blob.' "

I don't want to go out any more

I just don't. I don't know how I got to this point, but I don't want to go out any more. I don't want to go out and spend too much money surrounded by people who don't notice me, get fed up with the same old same old same old music then come home tired and pissed off. Half of the matter is that even if they did notice me (of course I mean guys here, who am I kidding?) I wouldn't be interested, but at least I'd be turning them down. Sure sure sure, it's also about having fun with your friends. But I swear we have more fun at home, listening to my music playlist and eating creme eggs.

You know what else? Maybe I've just heard them too many times, but I don't go wild when I hear Summer of '69, or Livin' on a Prayer, or goddamn Loveshack. They leave me cold.

You'd think I wouldn't stop going out, since how would I ever meet anyone then? I don't even care anymore. I never meet anyone anyway, and I just don't think I can take one more night out in that fleapit hellhole club pretending to have a good time.

"Thing is, we're about 10 years older than what's attractive, so you have to make it about personality"

Number one on the list of what not to say to a girl who's STILL IN HER TWENTIES. Yes, thanks for that.

Lyrics for black moods

"You left a stain on every one of my good days"

"I know this hurts, it was meant to"

"She's got it out for me ... but I wear the biggest smile"

All kinds of ways I could waste my time

"I can't find my watch, can't find my wallet, so how in the hell am I supposed to find the one that I love?"

We came second in the quiz today. Wonder if Mr Quiz knows L would rather win him.

Does someone grow on you? Or do your standards slip?

The First Aid trainer was filled with anecdotes today. Anecdotes and very little real information. Wonder if he knows I couldn't give a tiny rats ass about his stories. Now the assessment is tomorrow and my knowledge could certainly not be described as refreshed. If he keels over he'll rue the day he skipped over that chapter with us.

Take a photograph, it'll last longer

The internet is a dangerous thing. Yes yes yes, it has all that awful stuff like how to make a bomb from socks and porn for the elderly. But I actually meant it's ability to give you a window into the life of someone long since, and probably best, forgotten.

You type the name into Google. You don't know why, you just wonder what happened to him. And there it is. Nothing shocking. But he thinks of himself as a photographer now and so you look at the pictures. They're good. Maybe. If you're feeling generous. You wonder if life will ever play out like a film and you'll cross paths again, so you can be suitably.....something when they do. Yes, probably, only if you've headed out in your leisure pants with yesterday's makeup smeared on your face.

When I was home at Christmas I saw someone else I sometimes wonder about. I hadn't seen him in a long long time, and I wasn't sure how it would play out. He came into a restaurant as we were leaving. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but we didn't look directly at each other. I wasn't about to go over. I don't even know if he saw me. I doubt he would have wanted to chat even if he did. I don't think I would have wanted to either.

In TV shows and films, you meet again by chance, and take the moment to say everything you wanted to, everything you meant to. Life rarely presents such closure.

And in the end the sun will rise on one more day

The worst thing about feeling low, is the feeling of guilt that comes with it. That feeling that you should not be down or sad or frustrated like this, that you should be pushing on and ploughing through. That you should be shrugging it off and moving on. That worst things happen at sea. And on land, come to that.

That your problems are not on a par with the crisis in the middle east shouldn't matter, everyone's problems are their problems. Sometimes I think you can spend so long resolving to be happy that you don't just allow yourself to be sad when you need to.

Which is a round about way of saying.... I feel low. I feel low, and blue, and sad, and frustrated about lots of things. It's not my health, or my family, or my general nearest and dearest. No one has died or is ill. But still every day I wake up and drag myself to work to feel....everything from apathy to rage. I'm tired of the frustrations. I hate that I didn't get the job last week. The commute seems to steal a bit of my soul every day. I'm single and tired of being single and tired of having to be OK with being single. I'm tired of being out all the time, I'm tired of having no time and no sleep. I'm tired of being tired. And I'm tired of him, of being powerless to stop him drifting into my sleep at night, while I'm at the mercy of my unconsciousness.

Sometimes it feels like, a few years ago we were all unwittingly playing a game of musical chairs. Someone stopped the music and most people grabbed a seat. But some of us didn't realise that the music had stopped, so we're keeping on going, not noticing all the chairs have been taken.

...but I'm just drowning, going under, wishing you'd say we could

Still have you
In my sleep
For with our dreams
I am always weak

Have a little faith in me

"When the road gets dark, and you can no longer see, let my love throw a spark, and have a little faith in me"

I had a job interview today, and it didn't go well. This afternoon, parts of the morning kept coming back to me in horrific flashbacks, causing me to feel crapper and crapper, beating myself up even more than usual. But then I was listening this song and it struck me how unneccessary that was. I'm harder on myself than any other person could conceivably be. If you want to insult me or bring me down, don't bother, because I got there first.

Why do I let myself do that? If I don't have faith in myself, who will? Today might not have gone well, but it doesn't define me. One thing I hang on to is that I'm good at my job. I know I'm good at my job, I know I'm an asset, and although it's a cliche to say, if they don't offer me the position, it's their loss. I don't need to feel bad, I don't need to eat my body weight in chocolate, or drown my sorrows in wine. I may not be a very religious person, but I have faith in myself, and faith that life will muddle its way to where I need to be.

I'm moving on.

Next.

The start of a fine romance

I am exhausted. The trouble with friends in London is that you often know people separately, for different reasons, and so you can be out every night catching up with individual people. Some friends I've managed to 'group' together, but by and large it's a one to one affair. I was out every night last week and I have commitments every night this week. I know i shouldn't moan, i love my friends dearly, and there was a time when i felt like i had none here at all, but i feel almost desperate to just stay in and watch excessive TV. I put the breaks on this weekend, because I had a job application to write. Seriously, what is the deal with those things? I'm almost done but I tell you, Booker Prize winning novels have been completed in less time.

Friday night was a different story however. I was invited to my friends birthday party, which he was holding in a rather old school 'cool' pub. Think bluebloods and politics rather than 'I'm so arty and cool, I refuse to like a band anyone would have heard of '. Fun, but I can only take so much policital chat. Why can't we just talk about last nights Hollyoaks? Anyway, I have known my friend who invited me since I was 7, we went to school together throughout, though he was a year behind me. However to meet him now you'd think he would have spent his formulative years in Eton, not a quiet Yorkshire town. He's a policitian now, though at least for the Labour party so that's something. He's also gay, a fact that doesn't bother me in the slightest, but still seems to cause him some discomfort, as he's not really 'out' at home. It has become something that I know, and he knows that I know, and he knows that I know he knows, but we never speak of. I decided this was ridiculous, so when chatting and catching up, I asked if he was still with J, his partner. Of course I knew he was, J was there, along with a gaggle of girls and a host of gay movers and shakers (seriously, never go to one of S's parties with a view to meeting a man. Unless you're gay of course, in which case you're set). S looked uncomfortable, and confirmed that he was, but made murmurings about not telling people at home. I assured him that I would not, but that he should remember that the only people were still friends with back home couldn't care less (and in fact, let's be honest, knew anyway). I also demanded that he stopped hiding J, and instead bring him round for dinner sometime. Whenever I see J, he is always lovely, and I when I mentioned this plan to him later in the evening, he was delighted and insisted on taking my number to ensure it happened.

Anyway, this is a rather long introduction to the other people we met there. I had brought L, my housemate, and as we sat there chitchatting and feeling like we needed to be blonde and about 10 times more attractive to belong there, a blast from her past walked in, in the form of K, a guy she knew at school. A guy who was mercilessly bullied at school, and was now attending this party with his equally charming boyfriend. I discovered from L later that K had seemed as shocked to see her there as she was he, not least because he wasn't really out at home. So I guess it's a common tale. L and K are not from Yorkshire, but they are from a small Midlands town, so they understand the sentiment.

You know, I always maintain that you're better off being fairly uncool at school. After all, who wants to peak then? You're less that a quarter through your life. S is now a happy political guy. K is a respected Doctor. Even I do something vaguely useful. But you'll never really block out those little fears when you go home, which I guess is why K and S are still walking those lines.

But what's the start of a fine romance that I alude to in the title? It's that moment when you make a new friend, and you're just as pleased as if prince charming himself had swooped into your life, wisked you off on his gallant steed and taken you to a gay bar. K and his boyfriend were fantastic fun, we headed off into the night with them, and had it not been for L being suddenly overcome with too much wine, we would have partied til dawn. I'm going to invite them over at the same time as S and J. I think it should be fun.

If I was dreaming, you'd see me, I'd be understood

I'm never all that sure what to make of dreams, especially when they're really vivid ones that feature a person I should probably remove from my mind. When I came back from China, I remember wishing that I could just take my brain out, give it a good wash, remove all unhelpful thoughts and put it back in, ready to face the world, lobotomised, but happy.

A night on the town

Now, before I launch in, let me make it clear that I love my housemates dearly. Over the years, I've had a mixed bag when it comes to living companions, so I know I'm lucky. But there's something amiss when we head out for a night on the town, and it's something I've found with previous housemates as well.

Last night, we wandered down to Clapham's bars after playing CSI:Miami drinking games. Gotta love Horatio and his sunglasses of justice. We went into one of the bars, which was blasting what I call dancey elevator music. i.e it's just non-descript beats and electronic noises. I'm not like a music snob or anything, sometimes I like dance music when it's house vocally type stuff, but the music last night did not impress. But here's what really pissed me off - they were playing it at a volume only appropriate in a club, and if you were dancing to it. We could only communicate by shouting at each other, and there was no way of striking up a conversation with the people (ok, men) next to you without acquiring a loudhailer. In circumstances like this, it can seem like a lot of effort to chat to the person next to you, who you see every day and only moments ago could discuss crime scene issues with so easily. So...and this is what really bugs me, we ended up, as we have so many times before, holding drinks, jutting our heads idly to the beats and looking around, looking every inch like bored girls out only to find men. I'm not even denying there might be an element of truth in that. Last nights main objective was CSI:Miami fun, then dancing our hearts out, but I'd say that none of us would have objected if Mr Right, or even Mr Right Now, walked into our respective lives that evening. But there's just something so...unseemly about standing there, with faces like smacked arses, waiting for someone to come and entertain us.

I tried to strike up a conversation, to give the impression we were having fun (after all, there's nothing more attractive than someone who looks like they're having a good time, natch), but to no avail. And I think this is essentially my problem sometimes, when out with housemates. If you're going to go somewhere so packed and loud that you can only talk to each other, and if you can only do that by means of projecting fully from the diaphragm into their ear, what's the point? What's the point when you could just hang out in the flat, talking at normal volume, playing bad 80's rock and eating creme eggs? Don't get me wrong, I love going out with groups of friends that I don't live with, chatting and catching up, drinking and dancing the night away. But when my flatmates and I go out, we always struggle. We get on like a house on fire in all other circumstances, they make me laugh like a drain. But when we're out? not so much. The only real exceptions are when friends join us, or we go to a houseparty, or we're in a bar playing music slightly below Ministry of Sound levels and we get the chat going with groups (read: groups of men) nearby. Then, we're witty, we spark off one another and I don't doubt that we're very entertaining (and modest with it ;).

I'm not sure what the answer is here. I can't very well go round asking bars to turn the music down, though actually my Gran would so maybe I should take a leaf out of her book. I don't know. What I do know is that I'm hungry, and the best thing to eat after the night before is a fried egg sandwich. See you in the kitchen.

A return

How times, they are a changin'. Or something. So I gave up on this blog, almost as quickly as I started it, which was maybe unfair. I think a paranoia about my flatmate at the time reading it kicked in. Anyway, so to conclude the previous posts...

I found a flat. It was still a huge stress to get in it, but i found one, and live now with one of the girls I was originally searching with, and a university friend. They both make me laugh like a drain, which I think is important with living companions.

The job... did not work out. I'm back at my old one now (there being the beauty with local government secondments). Turns out my new manager was a insecure, controlling bitch-troll-from-hell nightmare and I had to run for my life. At the time I was desperate for the phrase 'what goes around comes around' to be true, but highly doubtful that it would be in this situation. But now a few months have passed, and her reputation is slowly going to the dogs, which, as immature as it may seem, pleases me greatly. And this is not as a result of me telling everyone she's a nightmare, as much as I would have loved to. Alas dear reader, I am too professional for that, but it turns out I didn't even need to, as her behaviour does it all for me.

My knee...is still a mess. Mainly because I never do the sodding physio exercises assigned to me. But I did go to China and walk the great wall. Had my heart broken in the process but I think that's another post.

And my sister got married. Turns out the bridesmaid dresses would be the least of the drama, when it transpired barely 2 weeks before the big day that no one thought she should marry the guy. My sister found out and raged hell, we were all uninvited then re invited then uninvited again, before everyone took breath, took a truly British approach and just ploughed on as if nothing had happened.

I think it's true what my mum's friend said, diaries are the best way to remember how you felt at a point in time. I'll amend that to diaries and emails. I'm going to try and keep up with both.