Babies and Cigarettes

Every one's growing up.
Does no one else fear this? I do every day. I never wanted to grow up, I wanted to go to Neverland with Peter Pan. Cunt never came for me.

I know a few who are pregnant or already have babies.
Not that I've talked to them about it, the wonders of facebook. You can care about someone without them ever knowing.
What would be the reason for entering someones life again other than your own selfish nosiness?
I used to be really broody. In the first year of my relationship. I was so desperate to have a baby. There is still a sense deep down, under the never wanting to give up cigarettes, booze, partying, careering.
Babies would ruin mine and mark's life, without a doubt.
But when I see these people on facebook who I know with babies or are pregnant I feel such a sick pang of jealousy. It makes me very angry very quickly.
Which is stupid? Right?
I know that I want more than anything in this world to be a published, successful and free writer, to play music, paint and knit in my spare time.
Babies would fuck all that up. I wouldn't be able to adventure.

I look at all the friends I have now, they are ambitious and feisty and don't ever want to be anchored by a baby. I feel happy and uncomfortable when I think of them, my life in a nutshell.
So apart from the girls with their babies and secured homes.
I hate being a woman. I know mark doesn't have this pang. I know most men don't have this maternal pang of doom (of course some may I'm not generalising totally).

So to get my mind off it I'll plan my attack on the governments new plan for outcasting smokers.
They're gonna put cigarettes under counters, out of site, in blank packets (no image, insignia or text) as off April next year.
Way to make smokers feel punished.

Sick Days.

And what is the expected routine of a sick day?
Well the time inbetween your head throbbing, stomach aching (hunger and sickness), listening to your flatmates jibber their loudest and bang around on the floor above you whilst screetching stupid fucking noises, trips to the toilet to wee out all the water your hoping will make you better and being the bitterest, nastiest tempered person alive... you watch Hellboy and read Fances Osbourne.

And if these don't work you try to sleep through the racket and dream of living in the middle of nowhere, lying in a bed that didn't break 2 weeks ago so you've had to resort to the matress again, eating nice food and not just the half emptied, cold box of free takeaway noodles next to your 'not bed'.

Seriously I'm just short tempered, at least I have an understanding boss, who doesn't chastise me for not coming to work when my had has (metaphorically) fallen off.
Mark unfortunately is at work and in a job that he hates.
Sorry babe.

Day off.

So named 'Days Off' are meant to be relaxing, get the menial tasks you've needed to do, done. They are meant to carry a certain amount of activity in. Maybe a walk or a trip into town, but no more than what is comfortable. Some people just spend all day in bed, watching shit, eating crap. Some people read all day, or play games. Days off are important for your mind, body and attitude. How ever much you put your fingers in your ears and sing loudly, you can't deny that a little R and R is essential to carry on.

Too many people I love dearly stick their fingers in their ears.
Growing up with parents who never stopped. Ever. Workaholics and stress heads.
A (soon to be) husband who will brutalise himself if he has a second off working.
And now a best friend who has hospitalised herself.
I realise this mind frame, I have it but I have vices that help me chill, knitting and drinking among them.

Stress is a killer and I get angry when people damage themselves.
So calm the fuck down everyone.
Things will continue with or without you damaging yourself.

Another Hangover

The title explains it all.
I've been pondering on many things today. Will the Hulk with Edward Norton be any better than the Hulk with Eric Banana? Will a fish finger sandwich cure me of this hangover? How will I tell my friends that I have no money to drink with them tonight and not get the stink eye from them? Will I watch them plunge their hands in their pockets and sigh?
Questions that won't answered until they are experienced.
The only answer I can find now is that Twitter is a bigger shit container. At least on facebook you see photography, on my space you hear music, blogs you read fiction. And twitter? It's one liners that no one wanted to know in the first place. It's 150 characters of shit, (or whatever the required writing space is).
People keep adding me, I haven't written anything on it for a months.

Subject of today. Minecraft. A fascinating world which creators can expand beyond their own map making ablilites.
I thought it was geeky and shit to begin with. Block people with block trees and block mud, but I'm finding it ever more addicive to watch on YOGSCAST. A youtube commentary of two nerd explorers who have a wonderful imagination and are fully ready to acknowledge how nerdy they are, which makes it very fun to watch.

Tired from traveling for hours to and from work. Sick of noodles for lunch but have a day at home tomorrow. Not my own day mind. A day of typing and converting 1930-50's knitting patterns. Hard, arduios work, but the end result will be cracking. So worth it all in the end.

No result without effort.

Shit Containers

After heavy internal debate about whether to watch a film or a borrowed series, I decided to check my 3 sites. Hotmail, Facebook, Ravelry and was promptly reminded by a co worker of fibre and clay that... what is that? I have a blog? Shit. I must have forgotten it's exsistance. Like when you forget the existance of a plug lying tongs up and then you stand on the fucker a couple of months later and you feel really bad because someone may have stood on it and hurt themselves as much as you just did.

So I thought I'd actually do something about the plug, instead of letting people stumble on the blog, see the date and think, this is unloved and usless and I should just go and stand on a plug to relieve the bordem it poses.

I find it very hard to keep continuous face, webbly speaking, I tried to do project 365 days. A photo every day for a year. Upon loading my first photo I was filled with excitment, enthusiasm and energy, that maybe I could properly commite to something on the internet. And it would be piss easy. Take a photo a day. I do that anyway, I'm a fun loving person who wants to record all the wonderful things that fill my days... I haven't put up another photo since.
That was almost a month ago.

I did really believe that my interest for it may stay a little longer than 24 hours but alsa no.
Keeping a record on the internet why?
I could make excusses to why I haven't, but are there excusses because people do?
Day in and day out of their lives.
What have they cooked? What did their kids do? What is the weather doing?
I find myself scrawling through the pages and pages of blogs and becoming utterly suicidel.
Every blog is not like this of course and I realise it is a powerful advertiser for a independant product.
It is also a good way to illuminate yourselves it you want to be illuminated.

But I was put off by the shit containers in blog form.
And every time I've tried to do it myself I've asked myself does anyone care enough?
No. No they don't.
But if it makes me feel productive then fuck them.
I'm going to try and perservere with my shit container blog.

A Great Come Back.

Almost a months quiet on the blogging front.

Without Internet things have been increasingly difficult to do online (as one can imagine).
Days have been filled with setting up my life after university. After leaving educational structure and not having a family home to fall into like I did in my year out I've been presented with the future.
My own mark in life, my own way of living and gaining the next step.
This is not an easy thing to find. And although I sorely miss my musical desires I think I may have started building my future.

I started working for Fibre and Clay, a beautiful specialised sweetie (yarn) shop. It's in Knutsford (2 hours journey from my house) but is a scenic journey on which I can write short hand ideas. Riana (a saucy South African who likes to say 'golly') and Nigel (a book extremist like myself) are the proprietors of this shop and an absolute pleasure to work with.
This takes up three of my days.
I've also started an internship with Arbour House publishing, which is run by Gavin the sweet tooth and Susan mistress of vintage design. They also govern the very popular knitonthenet and like growing overly large cauliflowers. I've just been given a book to skim through and give my opinion of that is a probable next in line to be published, which is fantastically exciting.
This takes up two of my days.

The two days off I get are spent writing the first chapter of 'Fixed' which is now 'Rucksacks' and seeing friends.

I've also started diary entries of becoming a zombie and what goes through a zombies mind from day to day. This is just a fun writing activity for now, but who knows where it may lead.

The only thing lacking in my life is my family, who I miss desperately every day more and more. With all of this woolly work I long to show my support and help for The Natural Dye Studio, who have been my way in to everything.
I will still only ever create with their wool. It is truly the Superior.
All of my family are taking big brave steps towards their future and I admire them and wish I could be there with them to support and laugh and cry.

I'll endeavour to do this as much as possible but that all depends on where I can find the Internet.
Over and out.