The Word Cloud

Since I changed my pic I have had about 3 messages from lady's who apparently have fallen in love with me, now call me cynical but as most seem to be from Africa, would this be some kind of scam?
Or am I just drop dead gorgeous? and I will know if your lying! 

Our daughter, Daisy, is back from her travels. She and her boyfriend, Adam, left on the 31st March and finally returned today, four months later.

I missed her - of course I did. She's only ever been away for a week before this and we are very close. I think it's the hardest thing for parents to have to really let go of their children. Up to now I've always been able to intervene when there's been a problem. This time there was nothing I could do. Sometimes we wouldn't have any contact from her for a couple of weeks and then she would post her blog - tales of far eastern adventures and photos of her in less than salubrious circumstances - and there was nothing we could do.  Admittedly we occasionally paid for a night in a better hotel than the ones they were used to. Tales of cockroaches and bedbugs were partly the reason, but if I'm honest, we also had the ulterior motive of a phone in their room! The occasional relaxed chat using an 0844 cheap number was wonderful.

It's been good for me to relinquish my parental control. She's returned an adult in many ways and that means that, from here on in, my role of mother shifts once again.

It's exciting, this change, and I am so glad to have her home.

Seriously.

I just got thinking, about writing and the like and how difficult it is. Everyone knows writing is impressive, finishing your work is even more impressive and getting it published, even more so.

However, although I respect (some of them) I would like to ignore all the bigwigs who are currently selling their ten millionth book and got published by sheer luck. All the people whose books actually suck but still somehow they got published.

I would like to honour you.

You are the people who slave away endlessly inside your own minds, being beaten up by your imagination and cursing yourself for not "getting that once scene just right."

You are the ones who sit for hours at your computer screen, writing a line and then re-writing it, then deleting it completely and then undoing the delete because it actually wasn't that bad.

You write in the strangest of places and get teased by friends and family who simply cannot understand the love and passion that is trying to eat it's way out of your soul. You put up with "oh have you not sent it off yet?" - NO I have bloody not. In fact you stupid ignorant person, I haven't finished it yet.

You try to curb the pain of rejection and the dreaded writer's block by drinking copious amounts of alcomohol and then eating all the biscuits in the cupboard - the only problem is, to everyone else you have no "real" reason to do that, or to feel like that.

So I salute you. Because although it's a passion and a love and blah blah blah, at the end of the day it is still bloody difficult. So good on you, as Winston Churchill said in an episode of Dr Who: Keep Buggering On.


Here, have a funny picture of a duck:

Those of you who quite kindly both read and commented on my last blog will know that I have quite a tendancy to whine.

Last night, I was sat in the living room watching NCIS (phwoaw Mark Harmon) with my laptop and I spiralled down into sadness because of the following:

1. I cannot have someone I want.
2. My friend who is younger than me and can't even drive has just been bought one of my dream cars.
3. NCIS was almost over.
4. I didn't save all the lovely editing I did for Korinne. 
5. Blah blah myfuture blah blah stuckinarut
   
6. My friends are leaving me to go to Uni and I shall be lonely
7. I will never meet my Cloudy friends
8. All of the above.

So, as the title of this blog suggests, I have a very very good way of beating the darkness!

Step one:

Eat two Curly Wurlys.

Step two:

Listen to The Script's album.

Step three:

Watch The Mentalist with your mother and discuss serial killers and sociopaths

Step four:

Drink two scotches and promptly fall asleep very quickly.

& there you have it. xx


Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm:










You are welcome

OK if this goes well I reckon I have cracked the old Blog thing.

Critiques please. 

 

I'm not the type of person to spew out my heartfelt guts online, or even out loud, but here goes.

What do you do when you love someone you can't have?

Saying move on is all good and well but I can't. It's not fair.

For everyone else it works out:  they like someone, they go out with someone, they love someone. The End. But for me it has to be that little bit more difficult. It's upsetting when the sinking realisation settles in, when you realise you can't have what you want.

It's with me when I go to sleep and when I wake up, the constant reminder that I will never be happy with him, and that upsets me.

My wife died last December. I have been mentally wandering around trying to find some reason to keep going and a direction to go in.

I have done some decorative calligraphy that is going to be in the local village craft show and some artwork on display at a local preserved railway. But where to go from here? I'm scared that noone will like them and thatI shall just give up again.

I want to get back writing again, but I cannot concentrate long enough to get anything meaningful down on paper. I have plenty of ideas, but no confidence.

I have been getting out and about with the dog. We went for a long walk round the Blickling estate today and had a picnic by the lake.
Saw a pair of green woodpeckers and a red kite.

Must go and feed the dog otherwise she will think that her mouth has healed up!

Again I try, again I feel it will fail, what the f**k am I doing wrong here, I assume its me?

Here's a quick way to check.

Have you ever just stopped and froze for a moment, so deep in thought you forget to breathe or that you're supposed to be standing upwards?

I just had that, and not for the first time. I was just thinking about little silly nonsensical things, that aren't really worth talking to someone about but aren't useless enough to not write down.

I think about the life that I want in the future; of houses with low windows next to the bed so that you wake up and see a dove outside sitting in a bare tree. Sharing a toaster with someone so that you argue when they leave it out but laugh when you wipe the crumbs away. The IKEA furniture that's bright and matches the goldfish bowl you have because it looks more homely. You have a dark green vase and fill it with flowers you bought on a whim because they looked lonely. The carpet that covers the stairs is worn from feet making journeys up and down the levels and somehow, jam is on the bannister of the stairs.

That's what I think about.