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I used to post on here many years ago, but I wasn't too careful about my pseudonym and I was discovered by someone with a lot of time on their hands. I seem to attract people like that: people who want to use my words against me. Why would they bother? I'm not that interesting. Or am I? Sometimes I think I might be. Sometimes I think I'm way more interesting than most people, or just different. But if I could hear their thoughts, I probably wouldn't think that any more. I'd probably be stunned. I'd probably like them more.
You dragged me up the street like a child this morning and when I asked you to slow down you said, ĎYouíre late, you idiot.í It still shocks me when you speak to me like this. I said Ďfuck offí and you said Ďfuck youí and hurried on. My face was already red from crying in bed last night and the cold and air conditioning conspired to make my skin itch. I have scratched my face raw today. I feel dead inside on days like this. You once told me, ĎYouíre going nowhereí. Thatís true in more ways than one.
I saw a giant on the tube today. I only noticed when he ducked to get in the lift. Itís weird because I watched that programme on giants last month, and now here was one. I came up to just above his stomach! Two girls laughed at him in the lift and I called them morons. Someone else laughed at him when we got out. Even I had to look twice. I canít even imagine how that must be, to be ridiculed or stared at wherever you go. Iíd end up nutting someone. I guess you just block it out.
I was so embarrassed of you last night. I could have killed you. I wish you could see what I saw. I had spent three hours doing polite, doing my duty. And then you arrived like a drunk whirlwind. It wasnít so much that you were rude to a complete stranger, although you were. It was more the fact you were so patently oblivious to my feelings, like someone in a soap not noticing the person they are proposing to looks like their oldest friend just died. I thought that was a ridiculous soap convention. But you proved me wrong.
I wonder at what age you start to appreciate views. I donít mean massive views like the Grand Canyon, a great fuck-off wonder of the world. I mean the types of views they talk about on daytime property programmes. I donít consider a field a view. I donít consider some smoggy rooftops a view. I wouldnít pay extra to look at a cow. I wonder what age you start to like gardening, as well. It seems to be about the age your back or knees go. How ironic. I wonder when people decide they are grown up. Is everybody acting?
Someone shoved me on the tube this morning, a huge man with a backpack. I find it hard to breathe sometimes, it's a claustrophobia spawned from my first broken heart. I think I've had four or five Ďpanic attacksí but I would never class them as such. I have headaches where the room gets too bright and I have to lie down but I wouldn't presume to call them migraines. I find it hard to measure my pain against someone elseís. I miss my car. I miss the freedom of driving, the freedom to run someone over if I want.
I was caught by surprise today, by someone acknowledging my beliefs and saying they agreed with them. It makes a change to hear that when you are so used to being ridiculed. Someone saying, I believe in you, keep the faith, you're not wasting your breath. It was a really strange feeling, this feeling of being understood. And then I realised, I'm proud to be a feminist. I'm proud to have a brain, and that I can speak up about things I believe in. I'm proud to care passionately about things that are important. Maybe I am useful, after all.
I heard a pigeon sneeze today. It seemed strange because everyone in my office is sick and sneezing at the moment, and then there was this pigeon, exhibiting the same symptoms. How can they sneeze, anyway, they donít even have nosesÖ The pigeons in the park were also kicking their way through the massive amounts of autumn leaves. Well, maybe not kicking. But their feet made the same noise as mine would. Also, no one in my office EVER says Ďbless youí when I sneeze. I wouldnít mind, but I say it for them. Maybe they know Iím beyond blessing.
Once everyone knows the worst thing that's ever happened to you, you are free. It's not there like a foot on your back anymore. Of course it still is in certain situations, like when you see that sign saying you're back home. But generally, it's not there anymore, not day to day, like it used to be. It seemed so obvious to tell her to listen for once, and to not try and make it better by pretending it wasn't as bad as it was. But finally something clicked. And she listened. And I was brave. Now I feel better.
Things are much better now. Things seem to get awful then fine again, and I wonder if it's my perspecitve that's skewed, if I'm over-reacting. It's like both of us know it's not forever. He said 'you'll see me in the park with a kid one day'. I said, 'I won't, because I won't be in London.' But we both said it kindly. I think he thinks I'll change my mind. I think he thinks I'll stick around forever. But I know from experience what I'm like. Eventually I'll start selling my things, planning what will go where somewhere else.
No one ever gives me advice. I want someone older to give me advice on what things I'll end up regretting. I want someone to tell me to shut up, that I'm not old at 27. But when I pull my eyelids down now to take my contacts out, or to put my eyeliner on, the skin doesn't spring back like it used to. I guess ageing is just a way of getting us used to dying. So we want to exit our clapped-out bodies and it's not a tragedy; because we've had a good life. Or our chance to.
I had the worst tube journey ever tonight. I waited for a tube for 15 minutes as the crowd grew and grew, then I squeezed myself into a minute space by the doors. It was boiling. Then someone pushed the alarm. I was having a virtual panic attack. My heart was rattling in my chest. I asked someone to move up and she said Ďgo sit and wait for the next one.í I said, no. This Jamaican woman called me an animal and said, Ďwhat species are you?' I replied, 'I'm not an animal. I'm just trying to get home.'
My tolerance to vodka seems to plummet when I leave the house. I was a proper cliched drunk- crying, stomping off. A lot of it is blank. We walked all the way home... it should have taken an hour; it took us two as we argued the whole way. No buses came! They never do on that road. I took a detour through the park and couldnít get out the other side. The gate was locked. I slept on the couch. I thought youíd be mad at me the next day, but we both laughed about it. I was glad.
I really hate it when you go to the Post Office to send a package and they try and sell you a credit card or some travel insurance. The staff look embarrassed doing it, but still they try. I donít want any of that shit! I just want some stamps, quickly. If I wanted a credit card Iíd go to a bank. The post office is there to send letters and packages and it canít even do that properly. I hate their self-advertising on TV screens in there, too. Your adverts are crap. Your queues are humungous. Sort it out.
I'm definitely falling out of love with London now. No; I was never in love with it. I want to walk down the street and not see another person for miles. I have romantic notions of living by the sea. I want to live somewhere where everything doesn't look like it's covered in a fine layer of dirt. I'm sick of the people. I'm sick of the lifestyle. But Iíd probably hate living in a small town, too. Iíd probably hate the people. Iíd probably be bored. But I donít see myself in London past 30. Iím rattling the bars.
I used to joke that I left a trail of glitter on the pillow of everyone I'd ever slept with. Well, those days are pretty much over. But my life does seem defined by the plastic of toys, hair-grips, sweets, clutter and kitsch. I keep everything. My handbag is full of sachets of salt. My clothes are in obnoxious prints. I am proud of my past. I am proud of what makes me me. I am a failure. But I have been chasing my dream since birth. No one can take that from me. I never change: I'm too stubborn.
I was banished to the bedroom tonight so I listened to a load of old music I haven't listened to in ages, Britpop I was ashamed of liking a couple of years back. And a bit of grunge. I sold my Pearl Jam CDs over ten years ago. But I fancied a bit. Some songs mean everything, more than people. My past is sound-tracked by this stuff. I canít imagine ever giving in and liking radio music. I probably will be an embarrassing middle-aged person, going to gigs. Itíll be alright. Iíll stay indoors for the rest of the time.
I had to go for an interview today at short notice. I looked a state. I'd mutilated my fingers the night before with a pin. I wasn't dressed smartly. Even when I dress smartly I look like a fraud. My hair won't be tamed. My coat is three years old and scruffy. I hid my bag in a drawer at work. I couldn't be seen with it- not there. I had to pretend I was presentable. They always see through it, though. I can't do the plastic smile. One day though, I might get lucky. The people might be human.
The interview went well actually, but they always seem to go well. The people were very human for an agency and were interested in my writing. We had a laugh and a joke. The pay is amazing. It would be hard work, though. No more cruising out bang on home time. I would have to do the tube at rush hour as well. But it would be nice to work in Soho. It would be nice to have a 'career'. Am I cut out for it? I don't know. Will I get it? Probably not! Iím too negative. Or realistic.
I met up with some old, old friends last night. He came with me but he was OK, he was drinking and smiling. I had to hold him up on the bus on the way home. It was nice to see my friends again, especially her. I think she's calmer, older and wiser. Still, my friends have some bad habits, and I do, too. I guess one day things will change. At the club the music they played meant it could have been 1995. I loved 1995. But I think I glamorise my teens. There were some horrific times, too.
He's in one of his cold moods today. I can't work out why he's mad at me; is it because I stayed up late or stayed in bed late? He could have woken me up earlier if he wanted to. He pleads ignorance if I say he's being funny with me, even though normally he'd give me a cuddle or smile at me. He has barely looked at me today. I don't think I deserve this. It gets exhausting. I canít stand to pussyfoot around, so then I confront him, and it all kicks off. Why does he do it?
I found out why he was mad at me. I've got bruises on the back of my legs. They are quite bad, but I don't know where they came from. It became pretty obvious where he thinks they're from. He kept saying; you must remember where you got them. But I hadn't even seen them. There was an awful, awful scene. The worst it's been in ages. I felt totally destroyed. It's hard defending yourself against something like this, when you don't have the answer. The answer is for him just to trust me. Maybe I've got some horrible illness.
I left the house and called my mum. She was furious. She said, you shouldn't have to defend yourself against something like this. She said, remember who you are. But I know exactly who I am. I didn't go to work today. I felt so tired, I was drained from crying. It isn't fair, when I've done nothing. He was out with me on Friday night anyway. It felt so horrible to have him looking right into me, trying to suss out if I was lying. How can you prove you're telling the truth? You can't. You shouldn't have to.
I've got a second interview for that job but it's not for two weeks. I'm happy but quite scared. Am I cut out for it? Will they like me? I'm scared to leave where I work at the moment, as it's quite comfy. The pay is crap, but they know who I am there. I have my own little groove. It's the eternal dilemma though, isn't it? I don't give a fuck about any of it, frankly. I just want to write. I just want to be free. One day I'll start making some proper decisions. But not this year.
My ex-friend turned up at the pub last night after Iíd run the writing group. I was going to go for a drink, but I just turned around and walked out. I felt stitched up by my other friend who must have known he was coming. Today she sent me an unrepentant email saying ĎIím not his keeperí. Fine, but morally I donít wish to socialise with someone who told me I was too demanding, didnít quite make the grade of best friend, and then hacked into my email to steal my novel for good measure. Donít they get it?
In the past month birds have started tweeting outside my window at midnight when Iím in bed. Itís never happened before. Normally even if Iíve stayed up all night, they donít start tweeting until 4am or 5am. Unfortunately I canít sleep unless thereís complete silence. I can hear a tap dripping from a hundred miles. So trust me to have psycho nocturnal birds outside my window. My boyfriend thinks they must think that the street lamp is the sun. I find that highly unlikely, or the entire balance of the natural world would have collapsed when man invented the light-bulb.
ĎI am sorry to email but thought it would be easier than calling you at work. Things here have changed a little bit as we have literally just met someone who we have offered the job to. The candidate only came in this week and we felt she had exactly the right experience for us and we had to make her an offer. I am very sorry given we had offered you a second interview but obviously we need to cancel it now. We felt you had excellent experience and are sure you have a good career ahead of you!í
I couldn't help feeling relieved when I got that email. I don't think I was cut out for an extra hour on my day and no lunch, even for five grand more. Maybe they could see the fear in my eyes. I don't think I have a great future ahead of me. But I really would prefer to stay in the charity sector, or of course, preferably, do something with my writing. Of course I'm a little bit pissed off. But I've been for about 15 interviews this year and got none of them, so it's not exactly a shock.
Everyone and everything is gay at the moment. There are three gay people in my department at work, three of my friends I went out with last week are gay and two people (at least) at the writing group are gay, too. Another girl I work with lives with gay blokes who had a fight and had the police called on them last night! A gay domestic! I feel in the minority for being straight this month. I must admit, I've never had any gay feelings in my life. I don't think I could be more straight if I tried.
So I made it. It seems like quite an eventful month, really. I always think nothing happens in a month, but there's been a lot of ups and downs in November. Am I going to do December? I doubt it. But I will do another batch soon. I enjoyed it. I donít think Iíve really changed since I first posted on here five or six years ago. Maybe Iím less neurotic. Maybe Iím less angry? Iím still bloody miserable though. As for tonight, I'm going out with my best mate in the world, and then the countdown to Christmas begins...
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