Had you once. A job, a love, a life, a home. Then something else came in to play, an addiction. That became my purpose, I guess, my sole purpose. Not a purpose that had to be thought about, or worked for, it was too easy and I slipped seamlessly into the arms of that “purpose”. There I lie still.
Blogging hasn’t ever really been something that has ever come easy to me. I feel like such a boring person because I don’t have any real discernible hobbies or pastimes, aside from writing.
Writing. That which I profess to love and yet have done so little of in the past two or three years. Its said that you should write what you know. The thing is, I don’t really feel like I know any subject well or deep enough to appear any form of authority or even reliable source on it. That being said, we all have some stories, just through the sheer absurdity of the human condition, which are interesting and even amusing to others. I guess I could write about those for a while, see if any inspiration is forthcoming from the feelings that remembering them brings forth?
Unfortunately, my own personal stories, the more colourful ones at least, come from previous relationships. I haven’t traveled extensively, sky dived, nor have I done great works of charity or anything that would ever go viral on Thought Catalog. However, I have had the pleasure of some truly awkward, embarrassing and downright bizarre experiences in my dating history. So the few people that read my blog can look forward to a few chuckles (I hope) over the coming weeks as I lay bare the choice stories from my twenties.
Thanks for reading! I look forward to trying to get back into the blogosphere!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “First Sight.”
I can’t remember the first time that I ever read a full sentence. Since two years of age I have been able to read. My mind doesn’t throw up many memories prior to age five so I guess words, literature, have just always been there in my living memory. Reading opened up a whole new world for me as a child; helping me to escape from the real world I inhabited, but didn’t much enjoy due to various reasons. Never really able to express thoughts, feelings or ideas vocally, writing enabled me to make sense of the world as I saw it, and see it still.
I fell in love with people whom had lived, and died, hundreds of years before I was even a twinkle in my Mothers eye. Writers such as Dickens, Keats and Hardy awakened the love for storytelling within me. I had never known such passion for something. Writing, stories, poems kick started my souls journey through life. They are there for me when no-one else is, or when I am not able to let anyone into my world.
My saving grace then, now and forever.
Last Friday night turned into a Saturday morning with old friends, one of those great unexpected nights that you can’t plan but always are bound to enjoy. I am now still paying for this physically on Sunday afternoon (as I write this), but that’s another story.
As is oft the case when people are sleep deprived, and in varying levels of intoxication, conversations and their subjects turned to the deep and meaningful/controversial. Allow me to first give some context; my friends at the gathering aged in range from mid twenties to mid thirties, so it was a largely Generation Y based participatory discussion.
The conversation turned to the state of current adolescents (children we deemed from 11 upwards), and the way that we believed sexual discovery for them has been ruined, in part by the Internet. The general consensus was that none of us would want to grow up and…
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We live near the Thames
The life blood of London
Of a Sunday, we eat, drink and are merry in
Old pubs, where the dockers of past downed post labour pints
Something within the air here makes me feel safe
Strolling through an autumnal Southwark park, just the other day
(My 29th birthday in fact)
We took in the green, red and golden hues of a winter, fast approaching
Smiled, breathed in crisp, cold air
And knew, once again, that we were home.
You come between my boyfriend and I
He says that I spend too much time, staring
Staring listlessly into your gentle light
You’re my vision into other worlds
My silent, stalking partner in crime, whenever I snoop on a frenemy
Or nine, now and again
Hours swoop by, as I gaze at you, open mouthed.
It’s a funny old thing. On a television show recently, I heard a man of advancing years refer to his lady friend as his “girlfriend”, they seemed to be around the mid sixties mark in age. I’m no ageist, but it felt a little odd to hear him refer to her as such, the word girlfriend (or boyfriend) has more youthful connotations for me, personally. It brought to mind the question, what do we call the person who occupies the romantic interest position in our lives?
Partner, life partner, girl/boyfriend, other/better half, husband/wife, significant other, lover – to name but a few choices for the moniker we have for that important one in our life.
Personally, I refer to mine as my boyfriend, I’m 28 and feel that this is a suitable term to use when referring to him and/or our relationship to others (he’s 36) at this current time. However, I feel that as we grow older and our relationship deepens, it may be necessary to adopt a term which we feel reflects the level of commitment in our relationship.
Who knows though, maybe the old term “boy/girlfriend” will stick and work just as well for us through the years? After all, no-one in any relationship should ever have to prove their commitment to others, and it may be just another word, another definition which society, by default, feels the need to categorise people into.
How do you refer to that important person in your life? Or are you not bound by terms and simply just choose to be?
There is no such thing in existence as a stupid question, only stupid ways of asking.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Clothes (May) Make the (Wo)man.”
How important are clothes to you? Describe your style, if you have one, and tell us how appearance impacts how you feel about yourself.
Clothes are of changing importance to me, depending upon how I feel at any given time. This being said, a new outfit can have a great positive impact on how I feel about myself. I would describe my style as being eclectic, at best, haha!
An avid fan of charity shops and flea markets, I love shift dresses and smart, but simple workwear that flatters, rather than accentuates the lines of my body. Classic, rather than current fashions are more appealing to me. They say that style can never be bought, sadly I don’t think I possess a particularly “cool” style, but I think I have gained a basic understanding of what does and what doesn’t suit my body type, over much trial and error through my teens and early twenties!
It would be a lie if I were to say that appearance doesn’t matter a little to me. However, that is it, it only matters a little. After all, don’t we all feel that little bit more confident when we’re looking brand new and ready to face the world head on? 🙂