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.