Stuff...

I am pretty sure that I need to abandon this blog. I had big intentions, but sometimes, intentions blow up in your face. I have gone back to written diaries (archaic I know - my best friend knows that if anything should happen to me that she is to directly remove all written diaries at ONCE. I don't need records of my deepest thoughts, feeling, secrets, disappointments, etc being found by just anybody thanks very much - but writing is my centric outlet and always has been. I find it incredibly hard to voice my thoughts and feelings, but have no problem bashing them out on paper). It just seems that being a super PA that I can type faster than I can write. I've had a challenging and heart wrenching few weeks. I've had to really look inside myself and decide what I want, what I don't want and just what I'm willing to put up with in all aspects of my life. My baby Nessa (as in neccessary) cat died, which I was absolutely devastated about. Guilt is a funny old feeling. I left her in Oz back in 2001 when she was five. I got her when she was an itty bitty baby of about 3 weeks old and she was the most loyal, affectionate, darling cat ever - I was her mommy and she knew it. She was my baby. It killed me to leave her behind when I moved to the UK. But sometimes you have to be cruel to yourself to be kind. 6 months of quarantine would have been cruel and she had an amazing life in Oz with my family. She passed away three weeks ago, and because I was going through some pretty (what I felt were) traumatic times, I didn't get told until this week. I understand why I wasn't told, as at the time I was going through an incredibly horrid time in my personal life and was only being 'protected' by my family. I'm still sad though. I don't understand people who aren't attached to or feel love for animals. They have always played such a centric role in my life. And it kills me to be without a pet. Luckily, I can shower all that pent up love on to our office dog, Dash, who bless her, spends her days snoozing around the office and sniffing out treats from all of us at lunch time! I'm going home to Oz for 4 weeks in Sept to spend quality time with my gigantic crazy family (especially my gorgeous neice who will be 2 in February and I've never met - and oh - the mom hugs)! I can't wait to get my paws on Bella Boo (especially as my mother says that the poor girl has a tragic haircut)! I will miss TGB, but things have been a bit difficult as late - non-written communication has never been my strong point - and that's something we both need to work on. At the end of the day, I love him to bits - he makes me laugh, feel beautiful, I miss him when he's not around and I love spending time with him - but there are issues that we both need to work on. Usually at this point I would completely bail because it all just seemed like too much effort. This time, it still feels like too much effort, but it's an effort I WANT to make. It's pretty f*cking scary!!! I have set and stated my boundaries, and will have to go through with them if all else fails. I live in hope (even though I am an eternal pessimist). Some things are just worth fighting for. We shall see. Anyway...I have a 'real' job to go to and posh people to deal with, so I am off to bed. For those of you not in the 'know' - the posh word of the day is 'SMASHING'!!! Jesus - I'm gonna have to buy me a Debretts manual! xxx

Eloquent and all encompassing

http://bethaney145.wordpress.com/2007/05/24/things-that-i-feel-that-other-people-already-said/

http://distractedspunk.wordpress.com/2008/06/09/the-earth-and-the-milky-way-too/

Wow. I cried.

My heart...

...is breaking

...I guess Boo really is missing...

Oh dear. I've been neglecting this blog in favour of (gasp) hand written diary entries!!! It's not that I've been completely ignoring this poor little blog (let's face it, I have good intentions and have been meaning to type them all up) but lately my feelings/thoughts/life have been fast forwarded so quickly that I haven't had a chance to update here. Don't get excited...not a whole lot has changed since my last post...that is if you don't count going on holiday with TGB (the gorgeous boy) and being made redundant from my job (not effective until 17 June to qualify for redundancy payment, which if you were wondering, would just be enough to enable me to pack up and leave the UK behind without looking back...but it so happens that that isn't emotionally possible). Just wanted to let you know that I'm not dead yet...I have plans for this typepad! I just need to pull my thoughts and feelings together and send out a semi-coherent post (ahem....working on that)!

So, I'll be back quite shortly! xx

A short update...

Thankfully my stepdad's surgery went as well as could be expected, and he is now safely at home and resting his weary heart (quite literally). I'm not religious by any means (when you've worked with dead people for a while, you start to doubt the existence of any God), but I prayed a lot to something. I didn't get much sleep last week as you can imagine - but I got more than my poor mom who had to go through all of the drama ALONE. AGAIN. What's the use in having a large (albeit crazy) family if none of them are willing to step up to bat when it's needed the most?!?!? Lucky for them I'm on a different continent altogether, as me in a bad mood with my spectacularly uncensored potty mouth + them being ASS HATS = trouble (and me being taken out of numerous last will & testaments). Probably even luckier is that my days of drunken dialling are (mostly) behind me. Everyone is OK and that's all that matters in the end.

In other news, I am still making forays into the world of therapy (honestly, the man has the most vast array of cardigans and spotty socks I've ever seen). He obviously loves what he does, and must be quite good at it for me to even consider seeing him more than once (tomorrow will mark session FOUR), but it's confusing. I want to work on my (non)ability to have real relationships; he says I have to work on my relationship with myself. I'm not sure I understand precisely what this means, or exactly what it is I'm supposed to talk about. Instead of nodding in agreement, tomorrow I might bite the bullet and admit that I have absolutely no idea of how to go about that. I have, however, noticed that since I've started seeing him, that I've had the most horrid, vivid dreams about people and experiences I haven't thought about in years. Night sweats, nausea, crying in my sleep and waking up thinking it was all real...only to find myself safely tucked into bed with my gorgeous, lovely boyfriend and then the word RELIEF doesn't quite cover it. Does this mean all the stuff I've tried not to deal with in the past 10 years is slowly leaking to the surface? Ugh. Seriously

This blog hasn't been quite what I was expecting it to be. I'm funny, damnit. And I promise to get back to writing funny (sarcastic) stories soon....cause I have a whole plethora of stories to share!

I carry your heart....

My stepdad (who has been more of a father to me in 10 years than my 'real' father has ever been) is having heart surgery (again) tomorrow. Your thoughts and prayers would be much appreciated. I'm trying to be strong for my mom and for him, but really, I'd like to sit down and have a great big sob. Why is it that the people who least deserve it suffer the most? There isn't much I can do from the UK when they're in Sydney...but I'm there in thoughts and spirit. And all I can do is wait and hope.

Mom - I love you both. More than I can tell you. And CALL ME. Wish I could give you a huge hug. xoxoxoxoxox

Cupid's hit me straight between the eyes...

...who knew the little chubby man with wings had good aim?!?!? I feel like I've started this whole new bit of my life - different from anything I've ever experienced or thought that I would - and I'm terrified. But loving every minute of it. I'm falling in love. And taking a new approach to myself, my life and relationships. And even though I know that the path ahead is going to be hard and I've got a long way to go - this time I don't want to go to bed and hide from the monsters in my closet. I'm smiling for no reason...and I LIKE it!

Mr Smarty Pants may have hit the nail on the head...

Therapist - 1
(and he was wearing the same socks....maybe they're his 'Tuesday' socks)???
Boo - NIL

"Self sabotage is any behavior which thwarts your efforts to accomplish your goals. Self sabotage is when we say we want to accomplish something then go about making sure that we don’t. Self sabotage is when we work against our own best interests. Self Sabotage is Unconscious.
Most of us don’t consciously work to sabotage ourselves. We consciously work very hard to get where we want to go, but something gets in our way. That something is often ourselves and our subconscious. We subconsciously work against ourselves and this internal tug of war is often evident in our thoughts and feelings. We want to go the gym, but somehow don’t get there. We want to apply for that job, but somehow don’t manage to get our resume turned in on time. In this mental tug of war, the subconscious will always win."

Fuck me. There's a whole lot of unravelling to be done.
That is all.

To shrink, or not to shrink...

...well...today I took the plunge and actually went and saw a therapist. He was softly spoken, wearing a cardigan and blue socks with red polka dots and was really quite nice. So it turns out that maybe I'm not a hopeless case after all, and that we can work on my 'relationships', which he sensed was what I needed help with (thanks, tips). I'll write more when I've had some time to mull it over. But I feel...hopeful...

History for £500 please...

The one bit of advice that I have never forgotten, and for some strange reason has stuck with me thus far, was my nan saying to me once (when I was about 13) "In a relationship, there's always one who loves more - and frankly, it's always better to be the one who loves less". At the time (being the relationship virgin that I was) I thought this was a life mantra that I could heed and live by. The smartest piece of life advice I'd ever get. It would be easy to always be the one who loved less. And you know what? Now I'm 30 and I think it's possibly the saddest piece of advice I've ever been given. And it's always stuck. And it's always been true. Horribly pessimistic, but seemingly and undeniably true. Let's face it - the first time you "fall in love" you give yourself wholly and completely, and at 15, when you think you're an adult and have life all figured out, a massive blow to your previously unbroken heart (not to mention your ego). With each heartbreak, you give a little less, and hold back a whole lot more. The little things you were then determined to overlook before are the things that ultimately kill off a little bit of your heart and soul each time....until you look back one day and wonder at the cynical, scared, judgemental, undeserving (did I mention TERRIFIED) person that you've become. And you wake up one day and realise that every misdemeanour your heart has ever been dealt is a bulky bit of baggage and mortar that you carry on to your next encounter with love. And that makes each new relationship just that bit harder. Because like Pavlov's dog, you've learned that a certain situation leads to a certain outcome, and although you shouldn't judge one person by another person's standards, you can't help yourself. I have never claimed to be smart at love. I'd go so far as to say that I'm emotionally retarded in my real life. If anything, I am a hopeless case. All the ones I've ever wanted have never wanted me (although let's face it, the ones I've always thought I deserved and wanted have all been first class WANKERS), and all the ones that wanted me, I've never wanted, but because I felt I had the righteous higher ground, they were easy because I just didn't care all that much. And it was safer that way. For my sanity, it was easier to be with those who worshipped the ground that my mortal feet walked upon. And those who I would have (and did) walk over hot coals for? Turns out that even though my brain knew the reality, my stubborn heart refused to accept the truth, and chose instead to live in a fantasy laden Sweet Valley High novel in which a 'relationship' existed (did I also mention that whilst wallowing in my own depression that it was so much easier to live in make believe land? Being depressed is what I'm good at. It's rather comforting and familiar, and should be listed as a 'hobby' with awards and everything). And looking back? I know that I've never been in a relationship so far where there has been equal parts of love, respect, awe, friendship and sexual longing/satisfaction - I've never been with anyone (until now) who made me want to be a better person, or made me feel that with their love and support, I could conquer anything. And we won't even get into the trust issues that are simmering below my surface after being cheated on. That's a whole other blog entry waiting to be written. Sure, there's been the falling over backwards to be who I think you want me to be, along with the 'your last girlfriend did what? I shall try my hardest to be the complete opposite of that' mentality so that I can keep you and feel somehow like I've achieved some sort of crazy one-up-manship in my deranged head. And while I've been the one trying so hard to be the one that she wasn't, I managed to lose myself in the process. And now? I'm in the situation where I feel like I am the one who loves more, and I'm scared. I think about him when he's not around, and it makes me smile. I love being around him, and I can't help but touch him just because he's there and it feels like there's some magnetic force that compels me to do so. He makes me laugh. And he makes me feel beautiful. And I trust him when it comes to almost letting myself lose control in areas I've never let anyone delve in before. And despite all of that? There is a deep, dark shadow lurking in myself that I don't know how to control. The evil voice inside my head that doesn't think I deserve this happiness, and wants to convince me that I am nothing more than a passing whim, the girl that is OK for now, but in reality, he is with 'for now' whilst on the search for someone 'better'. Every text, call and email that he receives in my presence (and in my imagination) is automatically putting me on edge...because it could be from the unknown, unspoken of and imaginary 'her' - the more deserving, funnier, skinnier, saner version of myself who he really wishes he was with and is still looking for. I am a mere imposter, a stop gap, in my mind. And I am my own worst enemy. I really, really don't want to fuck this one up. I wish I could explain it better than that, but I can't. I wish that when he says things that upset me, that I could open up and state rationally why it is that I'm upset, instead of feeling like I've been punched in the stomach and might throw up and then internalise that and turn on the infamous silent treatment that I've perfected over the years, that I could say rationally that my feelings have been hurt, and that I'm petrified. I wish I could stop myself from thinking that I'm not good enough, and that if I let myself open up and shift some of that self depreciating armour, that I wouldn't feel vulnerable and unworthy of being loved. That I could feel that I was, just this one, 'enough' and didn't have to pretend to be anything other than what I am. I so much want this to be the real thing. I want this to work. And I want more than anything for this to be the one that I don't sabotage. I'm running out of countries to run away to...but what I want more than anything in this world is to just be happy. And now? I'm going to take my irrational self to bed. Because as we all know, I have to be on time for work tomorrow. One does have to pick ones battles.

I've been a bad, bad girl...

HR (that would be Human Resources aka 'anally retentive, politically correct, useless bastards' to those in the corporate world) and I have a tumultous relationship at best. And that would be an understatement. I'll let you in on a little secret. I am NOT a morning person. I'm not ashamed to state that in the 12 years I've been slaving away and paying taxes, I've shown up on time at any one job approximately twice (once was a complete accident, and the other time? I'd stayed up all night and had lost my keys - the office was closer than home - don't scrunch your nose up in disgust - I made it to my desk via the gym showers). I have (a) a LUMIE SAD lamp/alarm clock (b) my blackberry alarm (c) a 'deaf person' alarm clock (but...um...I thought being deaf meant you couldn't hear. At all. And this little beauty makes the same noise as a large lorry when it's backing up. I need to get myself a deaf friend who can stay over and test this puppy out cause I'm by no means deaf and this still doesn't rouse me from slumber). I sleep through ALL of the aforementioned. According to my mom (who, might I add, rocks) I have always been a night owl. 10pm hits and I'm ready to rock and roll. Sleep alludes me until well after 1am. 7am hits, and I hit the snooze button. Repeatedly. But I'm sure you're detecting the theme here. I can sleep through anything. But I digress. I am currently employed on the trading floor of an investment bank. I say 'currently' like that's a good thing, and we can all pretend that the profits of this bank rely on my turning up on time (that would be 08:30 if you were wondering) but that would be a lie. Because for the past year and a half, I've been rocking up at around 09:30 and the profit margin doesn't seem to be effected. My excuses for being late so far? Well, I'm a PA (and a bloody good one I might add). However, in my current role, I could 'WFH' (work from home) and still do a stellar job. In fact, until I got hauled into a meeting with HR last week, I was. I'm scarily efficient in my pj's watching daytime TV. I'm bored shitless in my current role. I rock up, log in, get breakfast and a large filter coffee from the canteen, call my mom in Oz for a daily catch up, read about 15 blogs to see if I've missed anything overnight, book 2 or 3 meetings and some flights, and then spend my day surfing the Internet. A (very well trained, typing) monkey could do my job quite easily for peanuts (oh, wait, I work for peanuts...and luckily for me I don't have a nut allergy). In a nutshell (oh the pun) it really wouldn't matter if I physically didn't turn up on a daily basis. Now, I'm not late ON PURPOSE. But I suppose it does occasionally appear that I 'take the piss'. To make a long story short, a few tattle tales on my floor (not that I'll mention them by name - Maxine Carr look-alike and The Weasel) have been tracking my comings and goings. Which has resulted in my lovely, born again boss having a word with me over the past few months about my time keeping. Which resulted in HR becoming involved and a meeting ensued. I was 'allowed to take a friend within the company' for moral support to my sentencing. And proceeded to pretend in all seriousness that my lateness was a 'serious matter'. N.B. my 'disciplinary hearing' was scheduled for 3.30pm - they didn't rock up until 3.37pm - ironic, no? I accepted full responsibility for my tardiness, blamed it on my chronic depression, promised to be good and had to leave the room whilst they decided my fate. The result? A 'verbal' warning (which strangely was written down in a letter, which I had to collect myself from the first floor). I now have to be AT MY DESK at 08:30 every morning. OR ELSE RISK BEING HAULED IN AGAIN. OR FIRED. Eeeeek. Needless to say, I've taken this *seriously* and have complied (give or take 10 minutes - I'm not a saint for fuck sake). And it's killing me. I hope I get an ulcer before I get a new job, and can then be signed off with 'stress'. On the plus side? Well, there isn't one. And that, kids, is my first installment on HR. There are plenty more stories in the pipeline. I'm just too lazy to type them all up now, as I have to get to bed...to get up on time.

The first post...

I am lazy. Always have been, probably always will be. That's why it's taken me a whole year to create this blog. I'm all talk and no action. Not that I expect life to dump loads of goodness straight into my lap (well, that's a lie), but this whole being a grown up thing? Disappointingly hard work. Especially when you turn 30 and realise that you're still waiting for 'real life' to start. I am very good at quitting (except cigarettes, alcohol and men - those seem to hang on in there), and am the queen of ignoring things until they go away. I was a pioneer on-line dater in London (back in the days when it was pretty taboo) but after more than a few disastrous dates, more than my fair share of failed relationships and some pretty funny stories that I can now regale at dinner parties, I seem to have stumbled upon a real live boy who I adore (well, it is still early days and I have now probably jinxed it). Problem is, I am rubbish at relationships. Depression has played a huge part in my life from the tender age of 18, and I have been on anti-depressants for that long. I'm too lazy to make an appointment to see a psychiatrist to (a) sort my shit out, and (b) try life without meds, but thankfully am blessed with a great group of girlfriends whose counsel is free. Who knows what this blog will spill forth...