island time

Only boring people get bored - An adage I was told as a child growing up (like cool your socks and pitch the circus tent).

I've always assumed it was true, that if you don't have the creative capacity to entertain yourself you probably are a bit of a bore... And so there's been many days when I sit in a stupor watching tv, silently berating myself for not being a more 'interesting' kind of girl; just passing time, wasting time, withering.

But today I refuse to believe I am a boring person simply because I am bored. There's only so much you can do to entertain yourself when marooned on a desert island. I've built sandcastles, foraged for food, lit a fire. Unfortunately there's no footballs here to make friends with. The problem is that when faced with little resources it does become quite difficult to continue to find new things to do, and repetition of tasks gets old.

So I'll write a blog post in the sand and occupy another 20-40minutes of my day and wait for the hours of my maroonment to conclude. I do not like being forced to play on this island day after day and I hope that soon some entertainment will come, perhaps a wayward cruise ship or a wandering polar bear, anything to add a spark to the monotony of my days, the 9-5 of it all.

type-ohs

Ah the great romanticism of putting an inky nib to some bleached tree guts - an old fashioned phenomenon, I know. We live in an era where our closest relationships are with our laptops or tablets or phones (be careful with phones, they can break your heart), I don't think it's necessarily a negative thing, simply something we have to accept. The way the world has turned.

I took some time today. I made a cup of tea and now I'm sitting here writing, watching as my hand moves across the paper forming some beautifully formed cursive, followed closely by some illegible scrawl - there's definitely something hypnotic about it. Beautiful. I hope it's not something that falls by the way side as technology booms. I am an avid typist, I like the way my fingers slide across the keys and the words appear before my eyes, before I can think of the word I am going to type. Even while I am penning this post I know later I will be typing it into the world wide web and I feel a little saddened by it. As I sit rambling about how mesmerising it is to write and the humour in the way the words form so inconsistently I know what I am sharing with you will be typed and flat and sterile, a format that can be read anywhere in the world... and this original purple penned mess? I suppose it will most likely make its way to a recycling bin.

Handwriting is messy and imperfect and raw... but there's no typos.

all grown up

my old posts make me sound like I have bipolar. Up and down they go, mood swing high to mood swing low. It's like a game. I read them and I wonder, was I really every that confused? Have I figured that much more out, Or simply grown up a little?

So many posts about loneliness, unhappiness and a desire to find my one true love. It's nice to know these aren't grey clouds in my life anymore, that I've overcome the need for a partner, a lover. That I have accepted myself and my life as, well, exactly that, MINE. People can come and go as they choose but they can never dictate the course of my life.. and I will never wait for them. I will continue on my way.

I suppose figuring out all that bullshit love stuff is really just a part of growing up, it all sounds so pathetically sad to me now; that I wasted so much time pining over lost loves, future loves and past loves.

I find myself in a place I never expected to be with a man I never expected to be with but I'm happy here, I feel content. I don't have the restless feeling I had in my early 20's, I dont need to run, I can take off my shoes and I won't get prickles in my toes.

I can follow my own heart and my own mind and be happy with the choices they make for me.

deep in flight

What can be said about the experience of flying? Flying has always been something I've wanted to do: to be caught up in a strong wind and carried around (gently, not cyclonically) to see the world from a new perspective, a new dizzying height. It's something I yearn for in a romantic fairy tale kind of way, I have the experience mapped out in my head, I know what it will feel like and I will be able to whisper my destination to the clouds as I wave to the people below.

With warnings of dislocated shoulders, closed in shoes and neck pain, I suited up - strapped my pants to my shoes, plugged my ears, helmeted my head. It was time. 

Walking into the chamber ready to fly, to float, to be at peace finally. The door opened and as I let myself fall I began to think... being suspended in a tube of wind... This wasn't flying no matter how they tried to sell it to you, and as for being dangerous? Not even remotely.

Still, it was exhilarating, floating there. Lacking control, at the whims of the winds. I can see how you could get addicted to it though, and how the desire to learn tricks could see you spending hours inside the tube, bouncing off the walls trying to maintain some balance. It's more like a trampoline than a sky dive, but hey, I'm not too cool for a trampoline.

singapore sling

I hopped aboard a metal bird: 8 hours of wars, dragons and beheadings saw me arriving tired and confused in a land of lights. A place where ships sailed atop skyscrapers and mythical purple gardens rose from the ground like alien trees.

With swollen ankles (a mark of ankles unaccustomed to flight) and heavy bags (both in my hands and under my eyes) I stepped into a new world and went out into the night. There was delicious food, dancing, and a horizon littered with the lights of the living.

As dawn drew near I found a place to rest, I lay down staring out into the city with excitement brewing in my heart, what would tomorrow bring?

shh.. winter is sleeping

I'm sitting at my desk this morning, reading over my old blog posts. 

I'm sipping on a mug of hot water, sniffling away all rugged up in my Gryffindor scarf and red riding hood. 

I'm realising that my blog never got to see summer, I guess my fingers like typing in the cold to keep warm. 

Part of me thinks I should take a leap back, write a post about one of my many summer adventures, or should I forget the past and write back the numbness that has again returned to my toes? But another winter post, surely thats a bit tired. 

And so here I am, almost a year since my last post; sitting, typing, wondering what to write about... trying not to fall asleep.

any farmers want a wife?

Lately I'm starting to think that I might have been the victim of some kind of reality TV stunt. It's sort of a cross between Farmer Wants a Wife and Wife Swap except it's void of any romance or children (thank god)... We should also throw a little bit of Jersey Shore into the mix just for some debauchery.

I had everything... and by everything I don't mean a good job, a good car and a good relationship, because I had none of those things, but sometimes, actually, I'm going to bet that most of the time, those first three things have nothing to do with being happy.

I had my perfect life, I had a beautiful room in a beautiful house where me and my dog could run free, I had a job that had the most amazing waterside walk en-route, I had the most incredible friends who loved going on big adventures, and I was happy...

And then it happened, the phone call, the dream job offer, the beginning of what I thought would mean me finally growing up, except that it meant moving back in with my mother.

So now I get up for work in the morning, roll off my sofa bed, stumble dazedly past my mother doing her 6am stretches and into the shower where I contemplate the mundanity that will be my day. It's cold in the country and despite having grown up in this town I feel like an alien, and as I sit here sipping my skinny-mug-o-chino I can't help but think that this was a trick. That I packed up my life and moved home for something that never really existed in the first place... but I keep getting told I have a job for life.

And it sounds like a court ruling.


(L)