Backwards Glances

Over the last few days I've found myself thinking back to all of the chances and opportunities that have got me to this point. All those things which, had I not made the correct choice (for this path), might have not happened otherwise.

Take, for example, the choice to begin playing Guild Wars back almost four years ago; without this choice I would not have met Alf, who in turn introduced me to Mark. Before that could happen I needed to make friends with Hayley. If I hadn't met her she would never have spoken to Ash, she would never have formed a relationship with him, and it was him (ultimately) that convinced Hayley to move to AoM and her who convinced me to move... AoM was where I met Neil who introduced me to Alf, who introduced me to Mark. Had Alf not fiddled with the guild secret santa results last year I would not have made friends with Mark at all.

Some of these choices (such as the one to speak to Hayley), were active choices, and some where slightly more passive. I was active in most of them, but sometimes my path was the only thing dictating the outcome. If I take the decision to leave Alex as an example; for so many years I had been making the choice to leave and then disregarding it, but I had been making the right choice all that time, despite not acting on it. Because that's what it takes more than anything: action.

It's fine to say that you're going to do something, or think that you will do it, but if you don't act on it the decision makes no difference whatsoever. The decision to leave Alex was probably the best I made it a long time, but only when I acted on it.

The other part of these thoughts is, of course, the question of whether straying from the path we're on makes a difference at all? Are these choices all planned out for us in advance? Is it "fate"? "Destiny"? Perhaps. But surely if we stand idle these things won't happen by themselves.

The way I see it, "fate" is the idea not that decisions are made for us, but that, because of the way we are brought up, our genes and our experiences, we are bound to make a certain decision. I was "fated" to get guinea pigs again because I had them when I was young and missed taking care of them; if I hadn't had them when I was younger I may not have purchased them. The fact that I did have them when I was a child again relied on how my parents saw pets for children, which relied on their own upbringing.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that there are so many variables in every single decision we make. Depending on your point of view these variables either expand or contract the decision making it either complete chance or inevitable. But whatever your view of the world, I'd say that, because we can't see far along our paths, "fate" is just an idea and it doesn't really matter all that much. In the end it all feels like it's real, does it really matter if it's not?

A Legend... ary Christmas!

I'm sat here, drinking a glass of mine and Mark's Maltese wine and watching my new dvd of How I Met Your Mother. It's a great Christmas to say the least. Mark's company has been amazing, and so much fun has been had today.

Presents were good too, especially from Mark. My collection of glass animals from Mdina Glass has officially reached TWO! Yay! :)

This Christmas has been great so far, and I'm sure the next few days will follow in complete sync with this one.

Pre-Christmas Decisions

Statistics say that the highest peak in the graph for break-up statistics is the week before Christmas. If your year has been rocky, and your woman or man seems a little reluctant to stay with you... well, now will probably be your last chance to act upon it. The second highest is, ironically, just before valentines day.

I guess these statistics didn't really surprise me (when I discovered them around a month ago), the reason being that points, annually, are the ones that make us reassess family and relationships. Especially Christmas, I mean, it's almost a year gone. For most, it's also the biggest holiday in the year that we all share. The giving of gifts is a catalyst to the thoughts of really knowing a person. You need to accumulate all your thoughts about them to come up with something that they, individually, will enjoy receiving.

So what if you're persistently asked what you want by your loved one? Is that a sign that they don't know you? Or just a sign that they're unwilling to take the chance and make a mistake?

This time last year, and the years before that, I remember thinking the same thing. I wondered whether the unromantic gifts of computer equipment were really what I wanted from a boyfriend. I would have loved to have said "surprise me" but if I had done that, I doubt that anything at all would have come of it, let alone anything good. This year, with my wonderful Mark, that is just what I have done. I have told him very little, and let him make the decision.

But is it right to expect this flourish of romantic inspiration from our loved ones? And do they need the extra stress of trying to think of the perfect gift? Especially if they're not the most organised people in the world. I guess that's for you, as a couple (or individual) to decide.

I do know, however, that those unromantic gifts that I recieved on those years have completely slipped my mind. And more than that, I have no emotional or nostalgic connection to them and that day, or them and that person even. They are things that I got at some point, from someone, that I use for something. I'd much rather have something (espeically from someone I love) that symbolised the knowledge of my character.

Take my glass elephant from Mark for example (though spontaneously bought rather than as a Christmas present), it sits on my desk, and every time I see it, it brings back memories of wandering around Malta with him, experiencing things that I would never have dreamed. In short, when I see it, is symbolises the risk both of us made for our relationship this summer, and the happiness we found. Whenever I look at it I can't help smiling.

Getting presents that I can do that with make me truly appreciate the fact that the person is in my life. I have a particular fondness of things for my desk, and anyone who knows me also knows that fact. Another of it's occupants is a model of Buttercup the unicorn in Toy Story 3. It was from Hayley, and I love it and am reminded of how well she knows me.

In no way am I suggesting that there is a way to win your uncertain partner back with the perfect present, but perhaps next time you'll make that extra effort. And by the way, while we're on this topic, don't think that just because it's been more than one or two years in a relationship, you don't need to make an effort. Relationships take effort, and when they're good they're worth it.

Let me leave you with this simile: Relationships are like Bonsai trees, they need constant attention, but when done right, the beauty is as dazzling and far outweighs the effort.

Piggies and Pining

Last night my guinea pig Hades died. He was nearly one, and I have no idea why he died. He could have been being bullied by Thor or he could've been ill. I read that guinea pigs, because they're prey animals, tend to hide their symptoms until the last second. Despite that I can only see the fact that he's thinner than Thor, which (let's face it) isn't that hard.

He wasn't the dominant one, he wasn't the strongest, or the most well fed, but he was my favourite of the two. And I can't help thinking I could've done more. He had been more sickly and weak than Thor in his short life. Maybe I should've taken him to the vet the first few times, but he seemed better.

And now that Hades is gone I've moved Thor into my room, into an indoor cage, at least for the winter. He's making my room smell like guinea pig, and I can't decide if it's comforting or not. He needs a bath, but the shampoo is ordered so that I can bathe him, and I also ordered a brush, because when I stroked him I got a hand covered in fur.

He seems to be settling in but has spent most of today being hidden. I think he may be pining, he didn't really seem to know what had happened to Hades this morning.

More than ever, I wish Mark were here to spend time with me. Snuggles, chocolate ice cream and a good long talk... talk here not meaning talk of course ;)

Still, with all this activity today it has flown by. Let's hope the weather holds.

Severe Weather Warnings

This weekend has seen the arrival of another batch of snow over the UK. For those of us living here it has been hectic, especially for travels home from university and out of the country. Considering the abysmal timing of this devilish white precipitation coincided with the beginning of the Christmas holidays and the busiest day of the year for the airports, there is no doubt that all those travellers and airport staff are pissed off about this.

The fact that Mark is due to catch a flight on Thursday of this week to get over here, via Heathrow (which was closed until this morning), also leaves me worried and praying for no more snow in that part of London so that the airport has time to get back up and running before his flight. Though the BBC predict no more snow there before Friday, it could change at any time, as demonstrated by the predictions of last night's weather forecast verses the ones of this morning. Needless to say, I've become a bit obsessed with refreshing the BBC weather page to make sure nothing has changed in the last five minutes.

Of course, as usual, my title relates to more than just the physical weather conditions. Sometimes I think that emotional weather is far more destructive. Think about it; one bad storm and you could be falling apart, your whole life as you know it. Tornadoes of arguments bringing your world back to foundations. But what if you are solely to blame for it. I know in most cases, blame is shared, arguments almost always take two stubborn people to blow up, it's very hard to argue with someone who's submitting to you.

Relationships should be built on trust and honesty; we hear it everywhere, every television show, every magazine, every relationship advice column everywhere. But how do we define dishonesty? Is it just lying? Or would we label keeping something from them intentionally?

Since I got my Sex and the City dvd I've picked up on several things to do with this topic; Carrie, the main character, has a serious relationship which ends destructively, and then finds a lovely new boyfriend. While out with said new boyfriend, she runs into her ex, but doesn't introduce them, she pretends that she just knows the ex as a far off friend. He's married now anyway. But later she ends up sleeping with her ex. Still she keeps this from her new and lovely boyfriend.

Now the question I ask you: is the only wrongdoing she does sleeping with her ex and keeping it from her new boyfriend? Or is she also wrong to avoid introducing him as her ex? Is that also considered dishonest? I mean the past is past right? And would it have made a difference if she hadn't preceded to sleep with him?

If you gain contact with an ex who you'd previously left behind, should you let your current boyfriend know? I mean, is it even any of their business? Well, I guess that depends on your individual relationship really. But if they don't ask, are you obliged to tell them at all? Personally I'd say yes, simply because I would want to be kept in the loop in my own relationship, if only to keep an eye on the situation. By being closer I'd like to think it would be easier to see how to get past it if it did go too far.

Besides, what kind of mindset does it take to look elsewhere when you shouldn't? I mean, I have been guilty of it in the past, but now that I've found something I've been looking for, for what feels like forever, I would say the idea of doing so again revolts me. But what if it's "the one that got away" that extra special person. And then, if they are that person, do you know they'll be good for you? Especially if it was destructive last time. You're so compatible! Well I guess, but have you been in an adult relationship? How do you know it'll work if you haven't? How do you know that all those things you adore about them now aren't hiding those flaws that you just can't live with?

And if you are going to go and do this. If your heart just won't be quietened. Why are you still with your current boyfriend? Is it because you want something to fall back on? And if you answered yes to that, that's pretty damn selfish.

Mannerisms

Sometimes I feel like I carry part of all the people I've ever known well around with me. A vocabulary is a strange thing, seemingly like a parched sponge eager for water, we often pick up the mannerisms of those closest to us, and carry them with us, repeating them long after the person who originally used them has gone.

I see it in my brother and his friends all the time. A name, usually a fairly playfully nasty one, gets bestowed on my brother by my dad, and then, at a later date, hear one of my brother's friends repeating it yelling at a computer game. It's weird how those phrases get passed on to those around us.

I feel myself doing it too, especially with Mark and Hayley. Those people I speak to every day know my signature words and phrases, and I find myself picking up theirs. Sometimes I'll say something to someone and stop and think "wow, that was such a Mark thing to say". I believe the word "pro" in my vocabulary originates from Ben, the word "awesome" I attribute to Hayley, and the elongated "gayyyyyyy" is so obviously Mark's. But sometimes I find myself saying them, and "awesome" has become one of my own.

This talk brings me to thinking about the mannerisms of my characters. Each character needs to be believable, and so shouldn't they be given mannerisms too? I mean we give them habits, flaws, and items they can't do without, but dialogue is often the key to a believable character. And mannerisms are one of the keys to believable dialogue.

In a world where everyone soaks up each other's words, how can these characters not be like that? Perhaps you could even go as far as to argue that this mimicking is a key aspect of humanity.

Innermost Feelings

Something happened last night that I have been encouraging for a long time, Hayley finally let Ash read her blog. There is a reason I have been waiting for this to happen; the communication between the two of them suffers from the heavy baggage that Hayley carries, and the reading her blog gives Ash the opportunity to discover what bothers her in an indirect way, but in a way that he can directly act on and, assuming he takes the words on those pages and does something about them (say opening a conversation about it to chat through it with her) it could benefit their relationship greatly.

Of course, there is also a censorship issue that goes hand in hand with letting your other half read your blog; if there's something you don't want them to read/know about, you're more likely to leave it out. After all, your blog posts are what you make them. Mine, as you may have noticed, rarely enter the emotional zone of my life, simply because anyone could be reading. I tend to keep them more about what my mind is exploring. In short, one could describe mine as: mind over heart. 

The other side of this is that, if the posts are taken the wrong way, the reading of an emotional blog post could become destructive. In the heat of your anger you write something not-so-flattering about that special person and they take offence. In all honesty, it's probably not the best idea to write them in an angry state of mind, but you did... and it's also probably not going to be what you wrote that bothers your partner, it's going to be the fact that you put it out there for the world to see, I mean who knows who comes across your blog?

Destruction of relationships via blog posts is quite unlikely, especially if your other half goes into reading the posts in the right mindset. But if they don't and they read something they don't like what will they do? I mean, they have no power to change the post, all they can do is rage at you, and if they do that are they breaching your freedom? Maybe. But if the post is about them then perhaps they do have a leg to stand on, even if it's a very skinny one. Think about it though, it would be pretty petty of them not to try and sort those issues you mentioned out before ditching you. 

Blogs can be a great way to see the keyhole view into someone's life and thoughts. But, like a diary, they are very open to keeping the secret secret and bringing the past into the present. Sometimes they are reliable, and sometimes they are a load of drivel, and sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. 

The Road Ahead

It must be hell not to know where your relationship is headed. The thought processes that get played with in these instances are often with views of hindsight and cynicism. Perhaps it's the knowledge that my other relationships (or most of them at least) haven't really been heading anywhere.

Now that I'm in a relationship with motives and a future, it's strange to think how, in the others, I pretended they were heading somewhere, as if I couldn't take the idea that they weren't. The most intricate futures were sketched and then carved into what I thought was stone, when it was really only plasticine. I thought they were real, I convinced myself. Marriage, kids, all of the things I want that none of them did.

And now that I'm in a relationship that is going somewhere, it's different, I feel like I can keep my eyes open in this relationship instead of clouding them in delusion. Looking back leaves me wondering how I did it, and whether anyone I know knew I was doing it.

I wonder sometimes if the other people in my life are doing the same thing. The thing is, you're never sure where you're going, and sometimes it's like being halfway up a mountain, you can't see very far in front of you because of low cloud and mist rising off the lake. If the mist cleared it could be beautiful, but there are rockfalls on the road and trees that may have fallen.

You can ask, bring up the subject, try to talk about it; but if you don't have the same ideas about a future, the same thirsts that need quenching, then it's just going to turn into a tug of war. One of you is inevitably going to lose and end up feeling bitter. And if the relationship isn't heading where you want it to, what do you do? I have no idea... I only know what I did.

And worse than the split ambitions is those with no ambitions. When asked "where do you see yourself in five years" they have no idea. So what? They're "young" just over twenty... and they don't know yet what they want from life. Not at all. Oh yeah! There is that house, you know, the one they want in the future... well I say future, I actually mean in the next millennium, because they're not going to be able to afford it any time soon.

Maybe my lack of faith is misplaced though. Who knows? In a few years maybe they will grow up enough to be the man with the dreams you always wanted. Or maybe they won't. Perhaps all this maybe crap is just those low clouds I was talking about at the beginning. Is this delusion?

Guilty Pleasures

About a week ago I ordered the first six seasons of Sex and the City, and yesterday, they arrived. I call it a guilty pleasure not just because the ridiculous amount of sex in them, but also because of the giant amount of stereotypical drivel. I admit it's not the most cultural show, but I love it. It also raises a lot of relationship issues, I suppose you could term it "research" for real life, though of course, highly exaggerated.

So many times in Sex and the City they use the phrase "well he's a man" as if it excuses everything the men are doing wrong. The stereotypical-streak borders on domination, and I sometimes wonder if that's all the show is based upon. Of course, being a man is not an excuse for anything except having a penis. It can't excuse bad manners, controlling behaviour, lack of romance, or even inability to connect with emotions. The only thing that can even begin to excuse things like that are upbringing and a mature member of the human race will take the blame themselves.

In the next two weeks Mark, once again, lands on British soil. I'm looking forward to it for obvious reasons. This Christmas is set to be a great one, probably the best yet. Maybe Mark is the missing ingredient in my life, after all, he treats me like every day we spend together is our anniversary. I love it, and hope it never changes.   Even though Mark is technically not a guilty pleasure, being that I feel like shouting that I'm his from the rooftop (if you'll pardon the cliché), this Christmas I'll be indulging more than usual.

Just a short post today I guess. Have fun readers.

Dirty Laundry

As I begin to approach the idea of being independent, of flying the nest (I guess), I've started examining what independence really means. What does it mean to be independent? Well of course it's depending on yourself, taking responsibility for yourself, looking after yourself. Cooking, cleaning, doing your own laundry, paying bills, earning an income, driving your own car. And if you're not doing the entire bundle can you truly call yourself independent?

I mean say, for example, you don't do your own washing? What if you take it back to your parents' house? Well I'd say, if that were the case, you need a damn sharp thwack over the head. Your parents raised you, sure, but that doesn't make them your personal washing service, besides they have lives too. Why do you live under the impression that they should have anything to do with your washing now? You moved out of their house, you're no longer their responsibility. And what are you going to do once you have kids? "Oh here dad, here's our entire family's washing for you!" If I were one of your parents I would tell you where to go. Respecting your elders? Hell, you don't know the first thing about respect.

In a year or two I expect to be packing up and flying away from this "nest" myself. Let me tell you, I will certainly be doing my own washing (or at least sharing duties with Mark). As far as I'm concerned, the cooking, cleaning, and washing are all joint things, just as watching TV, gaming, and sleeping are.

So what if your partner refuses to do their part? Well, if they're a human being who respects you, they will listen when you tell them, and do something about it. And that's what it comes down to, respect. Because if they respect you then they also respect your use of time, and your effort to put the house to rights. Respect extends to all things in life, when someone feels like that about you then they show it in everything. The Lily Allen song "Not Fair" fits with this quite nicely. In the first line she says that her man treats her with respect, but then in the chorus she says that, when it comes to the bedroom, he is only out for himself. Whenever I hear it I think "well, then he's not treating you with respect is he?"

On the flip-side of that, of course, there is the absolute disrespect of someone. Some people confuse it with hate, but it's not. Disrespect is a basic lack of respect for someone. Perhaps it's not respecting their boundaries or as simple as not listening when they tell you to stop. If you think they're joking the first time, well, fair enough, but when they tell you to stop repeatedly and they don't, well, that's just vile. And disrespect goes further than that at times, becoming violent. Rape would be an example of this, and in some sense perhaps any kind of abusive behaviour is rape. I mean, when we kill enemies without a care in games we describe it as "raping". Perhaps that could even apply to the parents and laundry thing, after all, you are taking advantage.

The third part of the respect coin would be loss of respect. This can only happen when there was respect there at one point, and usually comes about when someone breaks a promise (or many) or does something that violates you or others. There comes a time when you can no longer blame their failings on the rest of the world (as they do), and you have to give the blame to them (let's face it, they should be shouldering it anyway). Bad memory isn't an excuse either, if you don't like something, and they know, and they forget, well, they obviously don't respect that enough to remember it, or even write it down! For God's sake! There are ways to improve memory!

All this stuff: moving in with someone, not taking your laundry to your parents', doing your fair share in life; it all comes down to respect. Without respect there is nothing there, and it will fall apart. All you need to do to see that I'm right is look around, the lack of respect is plain!

The Giving

Yesterday was spent mainly in my bedroom, watching the internet pass by and (finally) getting my critical essay done. That's two out of three needed in before Christmas completed, and I feel light. The essay was the most worrying to me.

With the plans for today focusing on the giving part of Christmas, as well as spending time with my lovely lady friend Hayley, I find myself wondering. Of course no one needs an excuse to give presents to the ones they love, and no one needs an excuse to celebrate God. I mean those that do, already praise whenever they can, and those that don't use Christmas as a break from the normal, to come together and enjoy family, however much turmoil that causes.

In the last few years I have had strange Christmasses, I can speak of a house without a tree, or decorations, or even proper presents. There was no unwrapping together by the fire, surrounded by the sound of Christmas day cartoons, no real feast. In short, there was no atmosphere at all. And I missed it.

I was brought up, for seventeen years, in a house that did proper Christmas, with us (the children of the house) bugging our parents for the right to open presents. Still in our pjs we'd come downstairs at six am, woken by our own excitement, and we'd see all those presents neatly laid under the tree just waiting for us to come and open them, tear a corner of that wrapping paper to guess what's inside!

Nine am was when they'd let us open them, the older ones of us enforcing the young, making sure we were fair. We had to have breakfast and be dressed (at least partially) before we could open them. Mum and dad had to be back from the mass they attended on Christmas morning (a time we'd spend watching tv and staring longingly at the presents, occasionally discussing what we'd open first).

Then when nine was on the clock we'd pull our parents into the room and sit down as a family opening presents. We had to be careful not to open too many too quickly so that we'd avoid the jealousy of not having surprises left like the rest. We were always encouraged to keep a list to write the thank you cards later (not that we actually did that for most of our years). All in all, it was over in around half an hour. The wrapping would be lain in the fire, the presents hauled up to rooms to be put away before church, and then in hats and scarves and gloves we'd head out and attend church.

Seven minutes down the road we'd walk, to the church that we'd attended every Sunday since we were born. We'd exchange "Merry Christmas" with everyone there. Get asked what we got, and then bundle into the main hall where we'd spend an hour being reminded what the day was about, and always taking something we'd been given for Christmas to show off to the rest of them. There were always those quirky little gifts that people had thought would please us. And then, when the hour was up we'd head home again, wrapped up in our cozies.

Lunch was started once we got home, ready for around one pm. Nibbles preceeding it, peanuts and tomato juice, the tradition in our family. We'd watch tv, play with our gifts, perhaps challenge each other to board games. All the while the cooking ensued in the kitchen, bright smells wafting through with the warmth.

Then lunch itself in all it's affair; roast turkey (usually), complimenting veg - roast potatoes, roast parsnips, cabbage, carrot, swede, mushrooms and always sprouts. Then the sausage-meat stuffing, and the mini sausages. After came the Christmas pudding, and mince pies and other Christmassy noms.

Finally we'd help clean up, all taking our share. We'd return to our rooms, or to the living room for tv and possibly board-games. Spend the rest of the afternoon digesting. Turkey sandwiches (if we wanted them) in the evening. Crackers at some point, laughing at the jokes even though they were terrible with those plastic prizes that were enjoyed oh so much.

The giving part of Christmas has become my favourite in recent years. The receiving is nice, but seeing the other person opening your present to find what they wanted is more reward than the present in return. The giving, I think, is what was missing in recent years. I gave, but being given to in return is a different thing. When you're around selfish people you learn what it is to give without expectation. This year, I know I will see free giving in return, and I will appreciate it more than the gifts. I have discovered what the phrase "it's the thought that counts" truly means.

Rising Tides

The night before last saw the unexpected return of the Tsunami dream this time with a twist of the tsunami being made of snow (I guess that's something to do with recent weather). The dream (as many of you will have read) is linked whole-heartedly with my brain and the possible sense of the overwhelm that I feel with my life in general. This time it's most likely the work-load that needs to be handed in in the next two weeks pending Christmas. Though I have started all three pieces, I am slightly unsure about where to take them and wonder how much I will manage in the next week, as (ideally) I should finish all three before the end of this week and the one to be handed in this Thursday before Wednesday.

Instead of using this time in lessons or writing essays, I have been sat here checking out my blog stats. There seems to be someone who is on vista regularly checking out my blog, I'm not sure who, but I guess I'm fairly interesting after all. The fact that 48% of my blog is also viewed on firefox is also interesting, especially as Hayley has recently started using chrome, like me and Mark also do (seriously, firefox has got really slow). 

Last night was spent sat at my computer singing along to Christmas songs, and over the weekend the wrapping of presents began with much stroking of my presentation skills and the attention to detail that makes those little things in my crafty life-style extra special. Sadly I ran out of ribbon which means a trip to the shops. The up and coming visit to Southampton with my fabulous Hayley is one thing I definitely am looking forward to this week, possibly with the addition of an Ikea visit to purchase some nifty furniture adjustments for my room making it wholly more guest friendly and tidier.

One thing I've noticed about my life in general these last few months, is that having a tidy room makes my entire life seem much more clean and crisp and simple. It's as if, instead of searching for an answer under a mountain of crap, my answer is sat in plain view. I guess part of that could be with the drastic contrast in the relationships over the past year and not having to wade through, what felt like, mud full of sharp subjects that could derail the peace. To be blunt: I'm no longer in a relationship with a sulky four-year-old but with a man who has no trouble taking on his demons.

I also find myself becoming slightly obsessive in my cleanliness, though this could be a good thing more than a bad one. My desk is the main source of this obsession, anything that shouldn't be there annoys me to such a degree that I must move it. Even plates and mugs get removed daily and my need to use a coaster has become intense. I wonder if the mindset change has been brought about by a new-found want to move out of home and in with Mark, though I know that won't happen for a couple of years, the tidying and maintenance of my own space will help me when it does happen. 

Tonight I plan to modify my ceiling. Though I love my danglies it is time to prune them back and dispose of those that have been around so long and grown stale and old. Some of them need re-hanging, some need throwing away, and some need simply to be moved to a new location. I want my room to keep it's quirky charm while adding a sense of style. Let's face it, the ceiling's over-crowded.

I must also admit it's getting to the stage when I need another Hayley night, though with the essay season falling fast upon us, it may not be possible in the next few weeks. I also hope it doesn't snow before the twenty-third of December so that the next instalment of Mark is set off smoothly. 

Right, that's enough ramble for now. Later readers. 

Not a Weapon

The snowfall last night was as much as we had last year, if not more. The stacks of it that formed on objects were significant enough to warrant boots instead of just shoes (as Chris found out) and bloody cold. The perfect carpet of snow was truly beautiful this morning, however, and I took many photographs of it. Despite the many literary beautiful descriptions of snow, I don't actually like the stuff, especially when it is cold and I have somewhere to be. Today I had no where to be, so I enjoyed snuggling up with movies and dvds and drank fruit tea and enjoyed the solitude.

Watching stuff got me to thinking about a topic that I have always found quite disgusting: the use of sex as a weapon.

To take a most obvious example of this, I would like to present exhibit A: Carla in Scrubs. How many times have you heard her say "no sex for a month"? Many many times. But using someone else's urges to get your way? Well that's just plain manipulative. Give me something I want and I'll give you something you want. If sex is as special as some people claim, as I myself would claim, if it's a privilege, is it fair to use it as a weapon too? Some would argue yes.

I'd agree that it's something special indeed, but the place I see it having in a relationship is as a key way of bonding with the other party. If you're withholding it as a punishment then you're starting to undermine that bond that the two of you share. If you think something is wrong then talk.

There will still be those who argue against that, and I do understand that. It's a means to control. And some people think that control is the only way to get what they need. Of course, I'm in no way saying that if you're not in the mood to, you should have sex regardless, but this brings me on to my next point.

What happens when the control becomes something more? Something malicious perhaps? Here I'm talking not about denying sex, or at least not just that, I'm talking about gearing your partner up for sex, making them think it's going to happen, and then stopping for the sheer enjoyment of watching them battle their own urges. Ask yourself, is that fair? Of course it's not. If you turned the tap on to fill the bath and then leave the room, the bath is going to overflow. To clarify a point, I'm not talking about teasing here, teasing can be a useful tool in making the sex more intense. I'm also not talking about when you get halfway through and are too exhausted to continue, or you realise you'll be late, or whatever. I'm talking about the times when there are no legitimate excuses other than that you think it's fun to make the other squirm.

Me? I don't use sex as a weapon, I never have, and I never intend to. The only thing I've ever done with sex is enjoy it.

Expectations

A conversation today caught my attention, pulling my thoughts into a group ready to be put down on paper (well blog).

Ask yourself this: What do you want from the next five years? I know what I'd like personally; a job, a home, perhaps a marriage... these are all realistic things, obtainable things. But what about those who want more from the next five years, and what if you don't know what you want? A lot of people have no idea. 

Where do you see yourself in the next five years? With that same partner that you're with now? In the same job? In the same house? And if the answer is no, is there a reason you're not making plans to be otherwise? 

Do you and your partner want the same things? This question isn't meant in terms of little details, such as what kind of job you'd like or how you want to decorate your living room, but in terms of the big things, house, children? I mean, for a relationship to succeed you need to be on the same page, have you ever tried looking at a magazine with someone who was already looking at the page ahead, it's annoying as hell. 

You need to have at least one common goal with that person, otherwise where the hell do you expect it to go? 

The timeline is important too, are you willing to wait around all those years for the proposal that you know will only come from years of heavy hint-dropping? Or do you want someone who has the same timeline as you? Someone who would happily achieve and surpass your expectations? Well everyone wants that, everyone wants to find the perfect partner. 

And if you have that, patience is key. I read a book by a man about cracking the code of men. It told me a load of things I already knew, but it also told me that patience, in any situation, is a key virtue. Bickering, shouting, some people air their thoughts that way, but each of the partners see it as something that isn't serious. They don't mean what they're saying, it's an argument, they're angry. But that doesn't mean that there is no truth behind it. 

In order for the relationship to survive the ages, there needs to be patience, and trust. Because if the shit hits the fan, and they don't do anything to help then they're just adding to the damage. You can't hold everything together on your own, even if you're the strongest person on earth. You need a backup, and there is a reason you're called partners. 

On another note, honesty is how you should start out. No matter how insecure you are, you need to show the other person who you are, and not some confident persona of you. If you show someone that you are something, someone, you are not, they go into the relationship blind. You wouldn't want that so why should they be put through it too? That way they know who you are and how you work, and they're less likely to try and change you into someone they'll like when you become comfortable enough to drop the persona. 

As Mark would say, "start as you mean to continue" meaning: if you put the effort in at the beginning, don't let that slide away. She wants morning sex? Give her morning sex, and not just once. He wants to be ravaged at the neck? Do it every time, not just once. Both women and men are guilty of this. It's about appreciation. 

I guess we're not so different after all.

Roots

Though the snow today didn't lay, I still sat and watched it fall for a while. The pictures would have been better if it had been laying and the flakes weren't big enough to catch the falling. More than before, I found myself wanting to be with Mark or Hayley, sat eating snacks and watching movies or snuggled up watching the snow fall. Perhaps I've become romantic, or more romantically driven at least.

My thoughts recently have been about growing roots and extending them. A tree is almost always destined to stay in the same place all its life, and my metaphorical roots are here, in southern England. Though I may not always want to live around here, at the moment I am content, and will be even more so next summer. However, with view of last summer, I believe I have found a new place for my roots to extend to. To say they reach all the way to Malta would be wrong I think, but perhaps I can go as far as to say that the man who has captivated my heart is fertile soil for my roots. 

I guess in a long winded way, I am trying to say that I see a long future with him, and if things continue as they are now, well, I could guess at even longer. 

After a couple of days of pondering, I think I'm finally ready to turn from the past. It is past for a reason. I know there are some who wish me to go back, for their own selfish reasons that only they get any kind of gain from. But talking out issues that I have already swept up and binned will not help me, and for once, I have decided to be selfish and not indulge others. As far as I can see there is nothing to talk about. You may think me blind, but it's not your place any longer to tell my what to do, and it never was.

Moving onto another subject, this last weekend has not only proved my feelings about Mark, but also reinforced them once again. The fact that he was willing to travel so far for just a few days, a mere seventy-two hours at most has reinforced the dedication to me that I see in him. It was just one birthday, but despite the risk of snow, the long travel time and the fact that he needed to work the next day, he still travelled all those miles.

Sometimes when I look at my life now, I wonder if I am stuck in a ridiculously euphoric dream. To have such good friends surrounding me with love and respect (yes Hayley I'm talking about you here), and to have people to lean on when things get tough, that seems more important to me than it ever has before. I can find material possessions every day that I don't need, but to find a true friend, to be blessed with two of them, that's something extraordinary. 

Faith-in-Boots

As any of you who actually know me will know, it was my twenty-second birthday on Friday, and for it we decided to head into Winchester, walk around the market and then go and see the new Harry Potter film in Eastleigh. It was an amazing day out in my opinion, and the company in particular was exquisite. There is nothing like spending a day with your best friends.

All in all, we decided that it was a much more Faith sort of day out. Last year wasn't really my kind of thing. Pub-crawly kind of things never really were, the only reason we really did it was because I was twenty-one and it seemed that kind of thing.

As it was cold and, as I was wearing a skirt, I decided to wear a pair of boots that I had recently purchased (hence the title). They are comfy and stylish, and if felt awesome!

Harry Potter is a good film, more so than the last few I think, though with the split into two halves it means they can take more detail into account. They seem to have done that quite well, though there is not even a hint of Harry's obsession with the Hallows in the film, which could've been done, especially seeing as it is the main thing that pushes the texts forward when they're nearing the end.

Saturday (yesterday) was all-in-all, just as good as my actual birthday, the day was spent with Mark and my family, and I got a lot of photos of that day, and ate lots of good food. The evening was, of course, the best part of the day, spent in bed with Mark watching dvds. It was probably the high point of the weekend, though parts of Friday come very very close.

Both Mark and Hayley commented that they'd make this the best birthday I've had so far, I have to say they did a really good job of fulfilling that and it comes close if not making it completely. Still, I had more fun with some of this last summer. That might have more to do with the distance from home and the holiday from the history that was still so near at that time.

The presents were good too of course, though some where a little unexpected and one was completely unwanted. My favourite is still my camera, though the surprise prezzie from Hayley, for seemingly no other reason than to cheer me up (she is the most awesome best friend), was also very much appreciated and has a permanent place on my desk.

Anyway, that's it for now. Have fun readers :D

Frost

As many of you are aware, I'm sure, the last few days have been cold, and it's set to continue. With this morning came a thick, hard frost. It's like the world is adorned in white crispness. I actually love frost, I much prefer it to snow anyway, it's not nearly as destructive as the latter, and it doesn't disrupt anything.

Yesterday my birthday present from Mark arrived and after charging it last night, I set out this morning to take pictures of the frostiness. I have to say I'm very pleased with it, not just it's aesthetics, but also it's usability. I was particularly pleased that Mark chose a camera with it's own battery (I hate having the search for AA batteries all the time or, worse, the infamous AAA). It's red too, and beautiful. 

So this morning I took pictures of the frost from my window, but also ventured outside to take photos of it whilst also feeling it's coldness on my skin. Heading out in one's night-clothes is interesting, but at least my feet were used to the bite, so it was pretty easy to resist the temptation to flee.

With the impending arrival of Mark, once again, on British soil, there is much to be done today. Things that would normally have taken place tomorrow have also been pulled forward to today, and so my hours before his presence are set to be full of activity. My birthday is set to be busy too, and the only time I'll really get to relax will probably be Saturday and perhaps tomorrow morning. 

Waking with a headache this morning didn't really help, and I have a feeling that I'll need to keep refuelling my caffeine system today with view of my current body clock. One mug just isn't going to cut it. 

Still, I'll leave you with some of the pictures I took of the frost this morning. 

Needs

A picture of Cascan,
made for me by the talented
 Karl Dernburger.

At the moment I feel the pull of writing on me, my mind is reeling with my FYP (yes I finally got there) and I have a thirst to write. This is a good thing, last time this really happened I wrote for a month straight and covered over 30,000 words. But this time it could coincide with my birthday, and Mark's next visit.

Of course, if that's the case, I will have to prevent myself from writing. Friday should be easy, being out all day and enjoying myself. But if it strikes on Saturday how will I prevent it? This impossible desire, like a vampire's thirst almost, it's very difficult to resist, especially when you've been embracing these moments for the past six years. 

Thursday could be exactly the day to blow off enough steam for the weekend, and I can write more on the Sunday. The thing that spurs me on is that the Plot is about to get interesting. It needs work, understandably, I'm not entirely sure where it's supposed to go yet. I do, however, know that Val needs to die in order for the plot to work correctly. Not hard considering the state the character's in. 

More than ever, I need to get myself into some kind of disciplined writing. There are those who say they only write when the mood strikes them, to them I say look at the writers who wrote a thousand words before breakfast, look at how many novels they churned out in their lifetime. Two a year on average... that's so many chances at best sellers. Editing is a different thing, if you can get the first draft done it's all worth the work you put in. 

I was reading an interview with Terry Pratchett this morning and came across something that made me wonder. With the release of the first part of the seventh Harry Potter film, the infamous J.K.Rowling is back on our minds. Hayley and I were discussing her inability to let go of her texts. The interview raised issues of translation to American and I seem to remember J.K throwing a hissy-fit because they changed "mum" into "mom". As Pratchett pointed out though, "We're talking the "pavement vs. sidewalk" argument. If the use of the English word is not only unfamiliar, but changes the meaning of the sentence to the reader, then it makes some sense to change the word." thereby making J.K's insistence that the word "mum" remain English a ridiculous decision as she seems to be sacrificing her reader's understanding because of her control freakery.

It's the whole "Dumbledore is gay" argument too. At a certain point your text needs to speak the story for itself. It's like a child growing up, by the time it's ready to be sent out into the world, you've done all you can for it, and now you need to let it stand alone. If my books ever got taken to the screen I think I'd throw them the manuscript and let them get on with it. Of course, if they wanted my input, all they'd have to do would be to ask, but ultimately the film would be a reproducing of something that no longer belonged to me. We can't keep hold of things that are publicly available, it just makes us look like a bitch.

To J.K I say: seriously woman, get a grip.

Just Pretending?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm just pretending. I've been set straight a few times this week, the evidence has been handed to me, but I still feel like I might be pretending. Yet you seem so sure... 

Hayley's Alex pretends all the time, with every girl, it seems, perhaps even with her. Think about it, he said he loved each one of them, did he say he loved you Hayley? Did he say he wanted you? Did he break your heart, we both know the answer to that one. 

I was pretending for the majority of my last relationship; pretending it didn't hurt because he wouldn't listen, pretending that everything was alright, that it would be ok if I ended up married to him, two children down the line, perhaps I would've woken up? Then it would've been too late. He would've been no kind of father. 

That girl, the one you've been stalking, she's too emo to matter. Her boyfriend should be gone now, your stalking him isn't healthy, perhaps it even has the reason to your unhappiness attached to it. 

(wow this is an emo post)

I've been drinking lots of water recently, it's like I'll dry up or something. The thirst for tea is gone, water is fine, coffee is ok, but wine would be appreciated more than any or all combined. Not masses of wine, and only one particular bottle, the one we discovered in Malta. The bringer is the wine I really need though, to show me, yet again, that you are not a ghost. Yesterday you said it was hard being without me? Well, shit, it's hard for me too. But the year is needed, and both of us know it. Solitude is what we wanted. Once a month? Once every two months? Whenever. 

Oh! Why do I moan? You are here next week. Barely four days, and I'm moaning to my own blog. I've moaned to you, to Hayley. It's hard without touching you. But again, next week I'll get to. 

Trust me, next weekend I won't let go.

Happiness?

Recently, part of the news broadcast on the BBC has been a new scale to measure a person's happiness, 0 - 10 with 10 obviously being the happiest possible. It seems a strange way, to me, to measure the general happiness of the British public, especially given that most people can't tell when they're kidding themselves, and most people wouldn't know true happiness if it hit them in the face. I admit that this is a critical view to take, but I really have no option; to say I was always happy when I claimed to be would be extremely hypocritical because before summer this year I hadn't been truly happy for a long time.

If I were to measure my happiness right now on this scale I would pin it at around 7.5.

Today has been one of those days when the words just won't come. I sat for two hours with my document open, and wrote around 200 words, which is obviously not a lot. I need another 400 at least by tomorrow evening, but I hold out hope that tomorrow will be a much more productive day on that front. At least I got a lot of other things done though, the fish are all clean, for instance, and the piggies got cleaned out. But only one and a half points of my less-than-fully-happy rating would be attributed to today.

The other half of this is the gaping whole that is the absence of Mark. When I say absence I mean that he is not there to touch. I never realised that touch played such a huge part in the development of a relationship, and I count myself lucky that the beginning two months were host to such a long time together in person. It's made it much easier to be away from him, even after almost two months, I can still imagine his body against mine and still smell his delicious aroma. Of course, complaining now is not really worth the effort, especially with his next visit beginning a week today.

I remember blogging at the beginning of his last visit that I approached it with mixed feelings. In contrast, this time I am looking at it with all my feelings pointed to the pleasure of being in his company again. I'm also glad that this year I am doing exactly what I want to for my birthday. Last year, for my 21st, we went out on the town, had dinner and then had a couple of drinks in different pubs. Not a pub-crawl as such, but still not me. This year it's Christmas market, Chinese and Harry Potter! Saying I'm looking forward to it would be an understatement.

Over all though, my life in general is much more tidy. My room is tidy, my pets are now all tidy, my gaming life is tidy, my relationship with Mark is tidy and consistent, my friendship with Hayley is tidy, and those two main relationships in my life are complimenting each other, even after over four months, that's still a strange concept to me.

Anyway, life is good in general.

Re-Writes and Rambling

With the submission of my final year project in approximately six months, I'm really in the need of making headway. For the project I decided to set myself the task of re-writing the first part of my first draft of Just Out of Reach, my first novel. It's tough going, and getting back into the story, though challenging, is also very very interesting. With a break-up still fairly fresh in my mind, my glance at what Erin (my main character) is going through, takes on a new perspective.

When I started writing the first time, I was in the process of getting over my first big relationship, and the break-up that Erin was taking part in was essentially that one. Now, though the situation is still almost the same for her, I look on it with new eyes. Time has given me, the author, more rose-tinted glasses than I can count, but also thrust me head-first into reality at times. I look at myself, and I look at Erin, and though I see two very different entities, our stubbornness and determination are one in the same. 

I suppose you think it weird that I am talking about a character, but she's more than that to me. She carries the weight of my entire novel on her over-aggressive, control-freak's shoulders. Her drives are those to quench her curiosity and hurt the people who are involved in making her worlds fall apart. Anger management is something she was never very good at, something that her daughter also struggles with in the second book. Perhaps it runs with the telekinesis.

Sometimes, I wonder whether the friendships I have made these past few years will last. There was a time, after all, when I was tightly attached to each one of my friends, and I wonder if that will last. I want it to with Hayley, and I want it to with Ash, and definitely with Mark... 

With recent developments being what they have been, I am sat thinking that maybe friendships thrive on a mixture of differences and similarities, of course, that's not news, but I'm thinking more that people need an exact balance, a balance that is difficult to find, and when found is difficult not to tip. For someone like me, addicted to love, romance, mystery, and making friends, perhaps the balance is easier to find simply because I put myself out there. I will randomly strike up conversation with a stranger, sometimes they result in friendships, sometimes not, but ultimately I always learn something. Take this summer for instance: sat next to a woman on the plane, we talked for two of the three hours, made jokes like we'd known each other for years, I don't know her, I only ever learnt her first name.

Today, Mark is doing something that I have been secretly longing for him to do for ages. He's letting the majority of his extended family in on my presence (not that most of them don't already know). I've been waiting for this moment for a long time, almost since we started being official. To be honest I'm not sure why he was so hesitant, I love him, he loves me, what does it matter if they are scathing? The conclusion he came to this afternoon: it doesn't. I love him all the more for that realisation, because with the shit I've been through in recent years I doubt his family could do anything to dampen my resolve, if anything they'll make it burn brighter. There are two members of his family who do matter, both of them have met me and seem to like me.

I read an article once that told me the secret to a successful marriage is to think in terms of forever. If you think that at any time you could leave them, you'll be more likely to take that route if something happens that you don't like, simple. Of course, for that to work the relationship has to be a good one to begin with, compatibility and communication with each other are the key. The other side is, of course, your needs being met. I've met my share of false men; that charming and loving persona? Some of them think it's the only way you'll love them. A man doesn't need another him to speak to you, or take you in his arms to secure you just to get comfy in the next year and lose you again. Stimulation of whatever kind engages your mind, body and soul is the thing that matters too. That man you met a year ago, that talked to you about all those things you love, all those things that interest you? Well if he loses that spark he loses you, but few men understand that. 

Dead Romance

Sometimes I think romance is dead, so many of the couples that I observe fade, with time, into the monotony of everyday life. To keep hold of someone you need to be extra-ordinary, at least to that special person. It's not enough to sit and play computer games together when you only see each other occasionally, and it's not enough to expect sex.

When I say sex I mean sex, I don't mean making love, I mean sex, without the foreplay. It may have been enough when you first started, but back then you were doing all the foreplay automatically. Now the sense of discovery is gone, and you're perhaps not interested anymore? I don't know. But how can you claim that she's not interested when you don't try to make her interested.

Of course, as with everything there are two sides. She may think all you want is sex, but she can't know that. Perhaps if she tried to take the lead, show you how amazing the love could be. But it can't always be her. Why not embrace the lion within you? Take control, she wants you to want her, she wants you to want to be with her as a man, not as a boy. She doesn't need you to drive her wild with pleasure, or anything, all you need to do is make her feel loved. "where have the make out sessions gone? Where is the man I fell in love with?"

Not that I'm alluding to anyone in particular; I remember thinking the last quotation myself with Alex. Though the sex was always great, right up until the last (apart from his need to control), but the love, there wasn't any past the first year. Mostly I think I put up with him for the technological fulfilment, but I did try to tell him. If you want more info about that though, see my post on communication. This one's about love.

On the outside she needs to be strong, but inside she's like every other woman, she needs you to need her, and not in the wallpapering the living room way, in the needing her as a lover way. Lovers love, they don't just have sex. You remember all those things she told you she likes at the beginning? all those things you did once, and she liked? Yes, well she still wants you to do them, time doesn't change that. As Mark reminds me frequently, love needs to be earned anew each day. It's something we live by, and I hope will continue to be our philosophy after all the newness has worn off. If one of us is horny we say so, we make out when we're together, we kiss and touch for hours. It's about loving the other, not getting to sex as fast as possible.

I even see dead romance in my parents. My sister is funding a meal for them as a gift. I'm talking a meal in an up-scale restaurant, a good time out, nice food, nice ambiance. But my dad doesn't want to go. It's not his thing apparently, it's a waste of money... so what he's not paying! Go enjoy it! As Mark said, you only live once!

Life is far too short to be quiet about what you need, what you want, and all those issues you're sure are too awkward to discuss. And if they won't listen? If they push you away (like Alex did)? Get rid.

Playtime

When I was younger I shared a bedroom with my sister Lizzie for about two years between our brother's birth and our older sister, Rosie, moving out. We fought, though not a lot, for space and used to divide our bedroom in half (mine was always the messy half). The one time we were united was when we played. Most children play with lego, or marble runs or cars... but we used to play a lot more with our soft toys. Each of them had a unique personality, a place that was special in our stories. Of course there were the bad guys, and the creepy ones, and the "it couples" and then there was the leader.

Tanya the turtle, that was her name. I recently stumbled across her in a box of children's toys for Imogen, and actually realised she was always a tortoise, not a turtle. But she was the matriarch in our small society of the "valley" between mine and Lizzie's beds. Her chief advisers were Ragtail (my favourite toy to this day) and Little Spot (Lizzie's). They had their own stories too, their own partners: a crocodile named Croco for Ragtail (despite her being a rabbit) and a platypus called Patty for Little Spot (he was a duck so it wasn't all that bad).

In a discussion with Lizzie about our childhood playtime, we recently discovered just how aware of things like creepy men we were, and how aware we were of possible sexual predators. We were around eight and nine at the time, but our games had been going on before we moved into the room. The sexual predator I am referring to here was a frog named Freddy who had no girlfriend and was always trying to convince others to break up with their own lovers and be with him instead. The way he did it came across as creepy though, I mean if a guy came up to you, all salivating and moaning and asked you to break up with your boyfriend, what would you think?

I wonder, as reflection on my age back then, whether we can ever truly protect the young from learning about this. We're not supposed to talk to strangers, yet our parents want to keep us innocent? Perhaps that's hypocritical...

I wonder also, as someone with a very early sexual activation, whether the sex education in schools is enough early enough. My brother, who is almost thirteen, knows less about sex than I realised. Upon talking with him about it he told me that "proper" sex was when you did it to have babies. I asked him what unprotected sex was, he replied that it was without a "comdom". I guess you could argue that there's truth of some sort in that, but not really enough. In less than a year (if he is put in the same place I was) he could be experiencing it - I hope to god he won't but that may not stop him - and if he is he won't be properly prepared. At my old school, the one he now attends, they don't teach it until year nine, which is far too late. That's after all the pressure is put on, and after all the boys have thrown on their bravado about how much they have had it. I mean, if they're going to do it they need preparation.

Oh well. Playtime, it seems, is burdened with dangers, mostly of ignorance. Is this ignorance brought on by our own parents? Sometimes I wonder...

Fireworks

It's weird to think that this time last year was the only big event in my calender back then. I'm not saying I'm massively party-driven these days or anything, but there have definitely been more days I'd like to remember since the beginning of June than there were in the previous three years.

This year the main attraction wasn't the usual, it wasn't the fireworks. This year's attraction was the chance to catch up with people I hadn't seen for a long time and scoff down jacket potatoes. Most of those people were church-goers from my old church, the one I no longer attend except occasionally at Christmas.

I always remember, when I visit events like this, why I thoroughly dislike going to them. Those friends of my parent's who know all about me yet somehow still seem to want to know how I'm doing. Half of them, I know, just want to compare me to their own kids, and the other half are just trying to seem interested for god knows what reason. As thrilling as these moments are, I hate that little panic that goes on inside me when people ask how my course is going at uni, and especially when they ask what I'll do after. As soon as I tell them I don't know yet I see their faces drop, as if they think I've already thrown my life away. I know what they're thinking too, but there's more to going to uni than getting a job after. I went to uni to learn about writing, I like doing it. As far as I'm concerned I am going so I can become better at my passion. I consider it money well spent.

Mark also came up in conversation a couple of times under titles like "Mediterranean boyfriend" and "your guy in Malta". I guess my parents have been bragging about Mark, they approve of him. This is also a very good thing, especially considering he's visiting so much in the next few months and I am again to be trusted into his care when I go back over in January.

Other than that, spending time talking to people within the same age band (or near enough) as me was fun. It's amazing how much I have in common with some of them, despite the fact that they have children/jobs/are in their 30s. They don't ask what I'm up to, because they're still at an age where they remember what it was like.

The fireworks, of course, weren't that great, very few of them even made me look up. Exploding chemicals were never really my thing, despite the four years before this one. The ones in Malta near the end of my visit were far better, made that way because of the company and the fact that I could stand on a balcony in just a dressing gown being embraced while watching. Fireworks are far better when you're being cuddled by the one you love.

It seems weird to think that this day is in memory of failed terrorism. I mean I guess it was a supposed warning to those would-be terrorists. Still, it seems a strange thing to celebrate in the grand scheme of holidays. Not that it's international of course. Imagine if he had managed to blow up the houses of parliament though. What would have happened? Would there be new ones? What about the parliamentary members? I mean, replacing all of them over night would be a hell of a task.

Anyway.
The bangs still go on, the wind still blows, and my bed is oh so comfy.

Later readers.

Windy Nights

The end of October - along with the beginning of November, and Halloween - brought the changing of the clocks. It takes a while, understandably, for my body to adjust to it. My sleeping pattern, which was set early by most standards anyway, has hit an earlier time than before.

It also gets dark a lot quicker too now (I know this isn't really true, and it's just earlier on the clock, but whatever). Twilight hits at around half past four at the moment, and dusk follows shortly after five. The lights on inside make it seem even darker too, though it has got to that stage where the dark nights bring more than just dark, they bring winds. 

To me, it's always seemed that the night brings harder, colder, and more windy winds than the day does. Perhaps this is just because the bustle of day is gone so I hear them playing in the chestnut tree at the end of next door's garden, but perhaps it's not, it could be moon rise that brings them in, like the tides. I don't know the science behind it, or if there even is any, but my poetic mind likes to think of the wind as being a woman, mysterious, cloaked against the cold who flies to the top of the chestnut tree and sits in it fiddling with the leaves while her children, the gusts, dance on top of roof tops, and blow out candles or cigarette lighters lit by next door's occupants.

I find nights like these to be calming too, despite the goose-bumps they raise on my arms, I do enjoy listening to the wind. Night's like these are the nights when stories come out of thin air and the darkness isn't as solid as children see it. 

That monster under your bed? He's lovely, he came to my bedroom last night and licked me all over, his tongue feels divine. It tickled. He says he loves me, he wants me. He lives under your bed so that your older brother doesn't catch him, you know how he's been since your dad died? Well let's just say he keeps a rake by his bed. The Monster has hair all over him, it's blue, but don't be scared, he enjoys my company, he finds my bed comfy too. You heard me screaming? That was good screaming, he wasn't hurting me... you'll understand when you're older.

The cat is sat outside on the limb of that tree. He's looking at the stars, he can see through the clouds. He can see through the wind. She strokes his fur with loving fingers, he purrs. She is the only owner he can accept, the only owner he'll let caress him whenever she's around. At this time of year she comes around often, but he misses her in the summer.

The north wind is the wind of change, bringing snow on laden wings. The western wind, the one we get here most of the time, comes with the same old rain, the same old winds. Not cold, not hot, not dry, just right - for me at least. 

Nights like these are the nights when tales are written and stories are told around camp fires in valleys in America on camping trips with the boys.

Yes readers, I love windy nights. And now, I'm going to enjoy this one and all it has to offer.

Pumpkin Pie

With the dawning of halloween comes the usual stream of messages on facebook proclaiming costumes, drinking and generally good times.

The downside to this is, of course, the supposed evil undertones. Until I grew out of it I was prevented, by my parents, from partaking in halloween activities of any sort. Supposedly halloween was the work of the devil, and they didn't want me celebrating it. As far as I can see, if it brings people together does it really matter where it came from? Times change. Scary movies come out all year round not just on halloween. That said, I wouldn't want the children I may have in the future going trick-or-treating simply because I wouldn't want them on the streets at night, no matter how safe I thought our neighbourhood was.

Television is going halloween crazy too; there was always The Simpsons, sure, but even Glee has gone a bit crazy. Though the slaughter of the Rocky Horror Picture Show isn't really halloweenie, I mean that musical is popular at any time of year. I really am going to have to go and see it when it next rolls into town.

Guild wars is also celebrating halloween with an ever more accessible quest chain making the gain of sweet points, party points and drunken minutes all the more available and the market for such items flourish. With the quest chain currently set at three quests long and only the middle one a bother, halloween has become profitable for normal players and not just the elite and farmers out there.

The new costumes have also been added to Guild Wars, for a small fee you can dress up as the court members of The Lunatic Court (presumably the court of Mad King himself) or the fallen angels of Grenth. I must say, along with being highly dyeable and very slutty, they are also rather fun to run around in. The Lunatic set comes with three pieces: a flaming pumpkin head, a dress and a headless version of the dress. Running around as a headless monk was a strange feeling.

The return of Mad King Thorn is to be looked forward to as it is every year, with his pumpkin head and apparently new and lively sayings and games and jokes. He's also a symbol of new hats, and I hope, much better ones than last year. A witches hat of some kind would be what I'd like, but I won't hold my breath. But at least this year's celebration won't give us all a feeling of deja vu.

Enjoy it readers.

Yet More... Addiction

Yes, dear readers the monster of addiction has reappeared into my immediate life once again. It was self inflicted, I shall admit that, because I have recently purchased season six of Desperate Housewives. I know that upon this revelation half of you at least will sigh with exasperation. Obviously you judge this television show as rubbish. But have you ever watched it? Really? More than one episode? If not then how can you judge.

It's the same with films. Something is labelled in a certain genre and you won't go near it. Whatever! I mean there are more films out there right? But if you want knowledge of the world, of life, then everything has some value and in order to claim to have experienced life you need to have experienced whatever it has to offer. Or, at the very least, taken in as much as you can.

Anyway. The recent addition of this box set to my collection has whetted my appetite for it, and now that I've started watching them I don't plan to stop until the series is finished. The writing of the episodes is just as good as always, and the gripping plots and hilarious black comedy brings me to laugh, and loudly too, which is something I don't do all that much when I'm alone. With only six episodes left, and still only a limited idea of what will happen, I find myself ever gripped. My uni work, thankfully, isn't pressing at the moment, so I am finding enough time. I plan to watch the rest tomorrow and then work on uni stuff on Thursday and Friday of this week.

Other than this the count-down is on for Mark's visit to me on my birthday. With pretty-much all the creases ironed flat planwise, I find myself wishing the time would go quicker. I have actually been wishing that since his visit in September, but now that it's getting colder I find myself thinking of it more and more. To say the least I'm looking forward to having him in my arms again. I could easily become addicted to having him around.

My last year at uni is also going well so far, with one of my creative pieces already written and two more in the process, it's really just the critical pieces that need work, and they're the easier ones. There's plenty of time left to do them all too, the earliest due date is in two weeks time and all the rest are spread near the end of November and beginning of December.

That's it for now. Have fun readers.

Turning to Winter

As nights start to turn colder here, my mind turns to the joys and jollity of late autumn and winter and what all of that has to bring. This year should be especially fun and, with the next two months playing host to two separate trips from my beloved Mark, looks to be one of the best winters yet. Before the fun starts, of course, there needs to be work put in, some of which I am glad to say I have started and even if I haven't written a word it is guaranteed that I'm thinking about it.

Hayley seems to be getting on better this year too. She's mindful of the work she must do, which is a great improvement already, and she's started to panic over a week before the hand in, instead of the previous years in which she kind of panicked from forty-eight hours before and tried to get it done just a handful of hours before it was in leaving no time for editing and such.

I've also had the first of my FYP tutorials. It went well, although a last minute change of plans on what I was going to do has nullified the two-thousand plus words I wrote over the summer. Still, it's not all bad. All I'm required to do is one-thousand words every two weeks, which considering my writing history should be quite easy, and send it to him in advance of our sessions. I've already written part of it, and part of my meta-fiction piece, which is turning out to be very fun, yet challenging, to write.

As well as all these things there is still my birthday to look forward to. That's right people, in just over a month the great Faithzles will be turning twenty-two and into what I hope to be a great year, hopefully the best yet. A fun filled time is assured as Mark turns up the day before, arms brimming with long awaited hugs and lips spilling kisses. Mmmmm. And then on the day comes a trip to the market followed by the long awaited Harry Potter film and food of some kind. It's set to be a great day. But the day I'm actually looking forward to more will be the day after when I have Mark all to myself for the entire day.

The frost has started to form already, though it is only the end of October we have already had at least two. With the temperature dropping the Guinea pigs will soon need to come in, and our plans this year are to give them part of the aviary that my dad has just redeveloped. They'll be on concrete, which will help wear their claws down, and have loads of space all the time with a sleeping area filled with warm cosy hay and plenty of places to hide in. They'll be warmer in there too with a heater that kicks in if it hits too low a temperature.

All in all, winter looks bright if cold. But the cold is all the better for snuggling up with dreamtime tea and a duvet and that special someone.