In search of pain

I am too happy to write. I might be on to something. I mean Sylvia Plath was not exactly a freak of nature. Writers are morose people, in so much pain that only ink and paper can alleviate it.

I am pretty content. I have dark thoughts at times- but without proper context, it just comes across as wanting to kill dumb people.

Writing like hooking up needs context. A space in which to exist and just be. Without context all you have are words strung together- and that hardly ever inspires anyone.

I suppose what I am saying is that I will dig deep within me for some pain. Damn the parental unit for being so nice to me. I wonder if nice can illicit some higher meaning? I shall look into it.

Since I am boring even myself- let me sign off.

They call it the blues

Here I am after exactly 3 months of this new venture. I chickened out as I am prone to do- but am ready to give it my best shot. Well rather this for now than a certain nagging report that requires proper grammar.

For a while now I have known that writing is my calling. My purpose, that elusive something I was meant to do. Luck me right? People leap off buildings because they cannot quite figure out what it is they are meant to do. Alas (I love using this word, always makes me feel a bit more grand than I am)lucky I am not.

Seemingly more is needed from me than a simple realisation. Apparently greatness requires action as well. So instead of filing my tax returns for some missing years- my focus is this. This need to be the best me (puke) is getting in the way of...well being me.

I have drawn up a few questions that might help me onto a better path.
1. What is it about writing the defines me?
2. Was the last thing I wrote (we can skip this piece) any good?
3. Why are deadlines so scary and massive?
4. Why do I refuse to venture out into the unknown and read new authors instead of the tried and tested?

These questions really have no scientific way to get me writing- but listing a bunch of questions you do not always answer is the first step to self-reflection.

I am afraid I am rather blue lately. I am young enough to still have the potential to be great and therefore it is way too early to develop a drinking problem and be bitter.
See my problem?

It needs to be written

Emotive writing is what I usually claim to be good at. I suspect that is not a real term or probably means nothing. What it is supposed to tell people about me is that I write under extreme emotional pressure. Either very happy or, sad, angry and so on. Although elation usually produces sentimental crap, at least it is written down.
This will serve as my #1 excuse for never writing anything. Someone needs to make me cry to get me writing anything. Achey hearts are the best. I have written some of my best pieces because my heart was not functioning properly. It was pumping blood okay, but that is secondary to its primary function. To feel.
The #2 excuse would probably be the age-old question of inspiration. That is too complicated to get into right now. We will shelve it for later.
The point of this post (because all posts should have points, sharp ones) is not the above. Well the above acts as an introduction to why I would just randomly write. As you can probably guess I am a tad upset. I do not know if all the employees at Harpo really do feel the love of the great-O or not, but something makes me think she is the kind of employer who would want you to know how appreciated you are. I am sure she gushes about the tea all the time, so the tea lady feels nice inside.
Appreciation is a dying art. We go about our business feeling entitled to a service just because we have certain titles. However, without a group effort it would not be the same. I need to feel worth something. Not just sometimes or as part of a person’s good deed of the day. I have concluded that the point of this lack of appreciation is because I am not where I need to be. Fulfilling my purpose if you will.
Fear and a bunch of cleverly worded excuses stand in my way. But I will break them down one by one until one day I can call myself what I was destined to do.
I am sorry if this sounds like something the great-O would say. It needed to be said so that now we have our goal. A mission if you will. Time to sharpen my ninja tools and get my stealth-mode on.
Thank you for scanning this quickly. I appreciate your split attention!

To my neglected blog

I have missed you. Truly and deeply. I admit, ours is an unbalanced relationship. I use you. Thoroughly and not always in the most fair of ways. That I admit. But the world is cruel and mostly boring stuck in an office. A girl needs an outlet- that is where you fit in.

Dear blog. I have kept my deep dark secrets to myself. But I do give you hints as to how my heart bends. Only you know how deeply the love messes with me. Twists me inside out, until I want to bleed for a little relief. Then the sun comes up and his limbs are all tangled up with mine. How can it be anything but divine will?

You know how silly I can be. Easily hurt, but I throw back the knives just as hard. A true brat through and through. Yet my friends still like me. It irks me sometimes how they act as if they did not know that side of me. How I ask. They better than my family and lover, know the brat. I get it, I am too much for myself as well. Sometimes.

I neglect you, when I should nurture you. Let’s catch up. I am to be wed to the love of my life. How trippy is that? It sounds warped even as I write it. Ah, but it is so true. You should see the ring. In that ring lies the trick to my betrothed. Somehow he knows me at my most basic level. It’s simple and complicated- but never at the same time. I am happy- truly, all round happy. Work is better than before- a huge make-over will happen. But it is good. I hate my wardrobe. I shop with fear- I need to be fearless about my style. I feel nondescript in my clothes. It helps that I like my body or it would be a disaster. That I am definitely going to totally change.

Till next time- sweet blog. I promise to be deep. Maybe even funny.
Be good!

when wisdom hits

It is a sad triumph that working people take in that clock hand hitting five. Suddenly they are all like ‘VICTORY’, I made through another day. Then they often think they are entitled to some sort of reward, and that is how most alcoholics started out. With that after work drink. There might be something- I should come back to it.

Since I am getting married (yay and happy dance- because people are convinced I am not nearly as excited as I should be) I am no longer confused by my status as an adult. Of course I am grown-up. An actual (rather adorable) boy-man wants to marry me. And once I am hitched- I will be Ma-what-what. Wait, I think I need a kid for that title. Crap! I digress, as usual.

My point was going to be that as a full-fledged adult, I need job satisfaction. Sure annoying colleagues whose thought patterns are obscure and dull management make that hard, but not impossible. So I pledge to go against the tide. To take pleasure in ALL my work and not just the creative bits.

And now I am off to celebrate my victory!

Marc by Marc Jacobs

I really do apologise for my last blog. It is almost a pity I wrote it sober...although in my defence I did think I was close to the end.

This past Saturday I went to a vintage-market-sale thingy. And for once I am proud to say I did not have to be dragged there. It is really disturbing how maybe 7 times out of 10, I have to feel like I went somewhere out of duress- when I’d rather be at home, doing nothing. I digress.

The point is I went under my own volition. And even though said-friend-who-did-not-drag-me-there would like to claim responsibility I bought my first ever proper designer bag of my volition. The bag is a rather cute Marc Jacobs workwear pink leather bag. See picture.

I am not really a designer-label junkie. My fashion criterion usually rises to cute. The cheaper the better. Cheaper and of awesome quality- even better! I know, very hard to find. The point of my recent purchase is that this bag is my first. I will treasure it for a while to come. More than the bag- I really like Marc Jacobs. Usually designers make a little impression on me beyond their clothes, but Marc is quirky and cute.

I also found out that vintage store people tend to look down on designer-purchases. The sales person at the store insinuated my purchase was absurd and I am sure he thinks I kick hungry kids in the street. So unfair. But that is the price one pays.
The phone keeps ringing- so I am going to have to stop. Point is- I love my new bag. It’s been a long time coming.

dizzy spell

Last night, someone locked me at work. It was not a complete disaster as I had my tag with me and an alarm code. I found out this morning that it was actually my boss who’d done it. It was disturbing that he is not aware that for the last couple of months I have been working late almost every night. It is not for noble reasons (I have to wait for my person to pick me up), but still.

Anyway- that little incident got me thinking about being forgotten. It fucking sucks. Friends, lover and parents have all forgotten me at one point or other.

Not fucking cool.

I have some difficulty in writing this blog as I suspect I might actually die. I am on this medication that says to ‘avoid alcohol’. Who knew they were serious? I had like two sips. My head got sore. I stopped. But now, it is still sore. I am a little itchy and I closed my eyes for 30 seconds and now I am seeing stars.

This might be the last thing I ever write. So if your prescription bottle says ‘AVOID ALCOHOL’ then just fucking do it. Who knew dentists are like real doctors?? Not fair. Great- now I feel nauseous. Woe is me world. Can’t even remember what I started blogging about and frankly I don’t give a damn!