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The last batch I did was Nov 2007 and before that... 2003 or something (I have them somewhere). Nov 2007 was particularly awful but that was a sea change in my life; things moved fairly quickly after that. I wasnít going to stay in THAT situation forever. I knew that even then. So then I started talking to James, got a job on a few grand more, and moved out on my own. I like living alone. I finally finished rewriting my novel and am sending it off. Things move slowly, but thatís partly my fault, Iím one lazy cow.
I went to writing group tonight- Iíve been going for eight years now! Thatís nutso. I wonder if Iíll miss it when I move out of London? I bet I will, Iíll miss being queen bee. I get away with murder at that place. Itís a dysfunctional family but thereís some damn good writers. I was talking to a girl in the pub after and when I said where I worked she said sheíd love to work in the charity sector. I just fell into it. Similarly, thereís someone out there with my ideal job that doesnít even want it.
James is so much like me, it's untrue. I've never met a man who moans so much! He makes me laugh SO much. We have a shared language like I've never had with anyone else, and exactly the same obsessions. And I've never known anyone love me more, for exactly who I am. He loves my writing, my body, my views. I broke the pattern. I feel like I could marry him, and I've never felt like that about a man in my life. He was lost, and I found him. He means everything to me. He matters so much.
I feel like I get more immature each year. My music taste is regressing to such an extent my 14-year-old self would have probably have turned my nose up at my current obsessions (although it's the same type of music- in fact the exact same music, really- I haven't got into cheesy pop or something). I'm still wearing the same sort of thing; bright colours and plastic jewellery. I still think the same way! I think I am genuinely emotionally retarded. Look at my eating. And every year I think Iíll crack it. Actually I donít. Iím too far gone.
Do other people just pretend to grow up? Or maybe just wanting a house and kids makes people fake it. I donít want that! Well, I want the house. And two cats. And to live by the sea. And the time to write. I donít think itís that much to ask. Now I sound grown up a bit. I do know myself better than when I was 20. But I never didnít know myself. James said I have a strong sense of self. I donít know where that came from; it was nowhere external. I think itís just in me.
James and I had traumas from the start, but we found love as big as a black hole. I remember getting off the tube to meet him for the first time and thinking Ďwhat the fuck am I doing?í I when I saw him, I thought, Ďheís not my type.í We were arguing within seconds, about a place to sit, kfc, painful shoes. I fell for him in that cosy Brick Lane bar, bowed by his enthusiasm and honesty, and when I watched him pace outside smoking, thinking Ďwhat if?í When he came back with crisps, the deal was done.
My work is such a weird place. I thought working in the charity sector would be easy; but it's the hardest job I've ever had. Working in policy is nigh on impossible; I can barely understand the isssssues even after a year and a half. And I also don't want to. I like working somewhere ethical, but I just want to write. And the people are weird. Some more so that others. About a month ago I walked out and didnít go back for a week. When I came back, no one really noticed. I will be leaving, very soon.
I donít want to go on about James, but itís nice to have a forum where I can articulate what he means to me, and this is my little box, anyhow. We fell for hard in a lot of ways before we even knew what each other looked like. He opened himself up to me in a way in which could have gone badly wrong. I sent him my novel, which had sat unread by my ex, and he read it in one night, and still constantly eulogises about it. He is my biggest fan, in more ways than one.
But I love him so much too; I didnít think I had this in me, to believe I could be with someone forever, to feel like I could forgive them anything, or that I wouldnít need to, because we could talk about anything, anyway. To be listened to in all areas of life; from my views on everything from sex, to music, to feminism. Itís just respect, isnít it? Yeah, we drive each other mad sometimes. But it doesnít matter. I know heís right. That feeling is frightening in some ways; what if he dies? I donít want anyone else.
I've been taking various low level drugs for sixteen years now, over half my life. Some of my friends have stopped; some carry on. I wonder what the cut-off age is? When I was 17, Iíd have said 30. Now Iím 29. I wonder what the long-lasting damage is, if anything, if it can be worse than the damage I do from my diet. The quality of drugs now is not what it was ten years ago. In London, you'd think there'd be a great choice, but there isn't. It's not like you can write to Watchdog to complain afterwards.
I think the letter lurks in the background for him, like my dadís phone calls. I want to make it right somehow; I want to write my own letter to his parents, and send them photos of us, but I donít think heíd let me. I know itís probably not worth it. But itís criminal they donít know him, what kind of a man he is now. I feel angry at them, and sorry for them at the same time. How could they have ignored that bright, breezy letter? I want to fix it. But I donít think I can.
I got the results of my blood test back today, and he read it out like 'your sugar level is ok...', 'your cholesterol is ok', 'you're not anaemic' and I was just waiting for the bomb to drop, and it didn't. Somehow, I am healthy. I tried to get some more good sleeping tablets off him but he wasn't having it. He told me to take Nytol. Yeah, I know about Nytol, thanks Doc. I told my mum I couldn't sleep because of worrying about work. She advised, 'stop worrying.' Yeah, and depressed people, just smile more, you miserable gits.
I was really surprised when he slipped up. My ex used to call them Ďthe Waltonsí sarcastically, but I thought they had it sorted. I thought he might propose when they went to New York. Instead she found a message on his phone to another girl saying ĎI want to dream about you.í That would hurt me more than a drunken kiss because it speaks of something intangible, some depth of emotion. The hard part is putting things back together. I agree with her giving him another chance. And I feel lucky itís not me, not this time, thank god.
Having my tonsils out was pure trauma. Donít believe the jelly and ice-cream myth. I donít know which was worse; trying to get to sleep on crappy weak painkillers whilst choking up blood and having to call an ambulance, having to leave the house to go back to hospital to get stronger painkillers then having to get the tube home, or the next day, when I took the codeine on an empty stomach and threw up all over my bed. Two weeks of hell. But James really proved himself to me during that time. And now, no more tonsillitis. Right?
Watching yourself on video is really weird. I have this little flip video thing and it just makes me realise how annoying I am! It's an odd thing to witness. I think it will be really good for holidays and things, and it's a nice document of my relationship with James. I'll miss my little flat when we finally go. It's like my little nest away from the world, and I have really loved living here. I do complain a lot, but I haven't got a bad set up here, really. I'm independent, and I do exactly as I please.
Oh my god, I was searching for a news story and found this racist website basically laughing about the fact a woman got acid thrown in her face by her black boyfriend. This website had a LOT of members, hating on jewish people, black people, gay people, women. I don't want that to exist. I don't want those people to be given a voice, anywhere, even on the fucking internet. The stuff they wrote was so grossly offensive, it made me feel physically sick. Just drop the bomb. We're not worth it. We're not worthy of this planet, or freedom.
I haven't been writing much lately, I can't seem to find the motivation. I'm so exhausted after work, I just want to watch TV and go online. I can't sleep either, I'm up until 2am each night. I know it's mostly job stress, but my job has calmed down a bit lately. Everyone is out of the office next week except me so I should get a chance to send my novel off a bit and take a couple of long lunches. I'm hope I do get a new job soon; otherwise I'm going to have to commute next year.
I just went to the shops and there was a great roar coming from the corner; shouting, swearing. I wondered what was going on. Turned out it was people (no, sorry, men) watching football shouting 'fuck off, fuck off'. Why is that acceptable? Why is aggression OK in that context? Well it's not. If women carried on that way, do you think we'd get away with it? If we congregated, drinking and swearing, or got on trains in packs of fifty, shouting and mouthing off? We'd be shut down in two seconds. I find it pathetic, and embarrassing. Stupid football.
Applying for jobs is such a tyranny. I need something to fill in my address for me. And my name. And my qualifications. And my past jobs. It's just endless, some sadist invented those application forms to have as many columns as possible and to make cutting and pasting as tedious as can be. Then there's the interview process, which is even worse, frightening and embarrassing combined. It doesn't help that it's the CREDIT CRUNCH (vomit) and the amount of jobs to apply for has halved. I should be grateful to have a job. But I'm never grateful for anything.
James and my Placebo obsession has gone off the scale this month. It's funny to like a band when you're younger then to get back into them so heavily when you're older. It was a total accident too, but it just struck a chord with us somehow. It's really fun to get into a band with a partner too, it's like falling in love again, when you're digging out old b-sides, making you tube discos and planning gigs. None of our friends get it, they think we're nuts. I like crushing over a band. It makes me feel alive.
I suppose I am more worried about my diet (and weight) than I used to be. The weight creeps on for normal eaters, for me, it'll be less creeping, more jumping out from behind a door. What can I do? I tell myself it will change when this happens, but it won't. I'm already overweight, but can get away with it, for now. I honestly don't mind not getting really old, but I don't want to have a stroke at 40 and be a burden. Ship me off to Dignitas, or stick a pillow over my face if that happens.
Money is a major problem. How can I earn almost 28 grand and still be broke? Answer: pay £600 a month in rent, plus various debts. I want to splurge! I want to go on a shopping spree and go on holiday. Instead I'm budgeting on a spreadsheet, and scratching round for pennies. I'm no better off than when I was on 17 grand, because at least I didn't have a credit card then. I just want to have a house! It's not fair that people get given houses for nothing just for having a baby. I don't want one!
I read this article about this newsreader who's wife had alzheimers and he put her in a home because he couldn't cope. I don't blame him. The worst part is the person still being alive, but defiling the memory of the person who was. Where does that person go? How does dementia tally with the idea of the 'soul'- does the 'real' person just go into hiding? I think not. It's an irreversible soul malfunction. There are many horrific things that can happen, but Alzheimers has got to be one of the worst. Cruel, cruel, cruel. I'll take the tumour.
Going to be doing 'normal' things at the weekend, going to a party, and to a spa! It's not really me, but Nic got it as a present. I don't think I'm the pampering type. The party should be fun, and Nic has just moved so be good to see her new flat. We'll hardly know anyone at this party but hopefully just get drunk and pretend to be sociable. I think I might struggle! I'm considering getting all my hair cut off that day, too, which is probably a bad move, but I just feel a bit cavalier now.
Morrissey collapsed on stage yesterday. I suppose it seems more scary in the light of Michael Jackson popping off at 50. My mum texted grimly; '50 is a dodgy age for men.' I think Moz will be OK, though. He just needs to relax a little, and stop touring so much. I don't know what we'd do without him, or how we'd react. It would be hard to see people jump on the bandwagon after that, when he is ours completely. The Yarmouth gig was SO special this year. I've never seen James look so happy, so un-self-conscious.
I feel grumpy today but I know it's just the time of the month (!) and the clocks going back. I just got paid and all my money is just going into paying things off, or saving up to move to Brighton. Every penny I have is accounted for. I just want to go out for the night and have a laugh. That's not to say I don't have any leisure time, but most of ours takes place indoors. I'm on my own at work all week, which you think would be easy, but apparently it means I'm in charge. Eek!
I'm still in a bad mood today. I don't want to be Jordan to James' Peter Andre. I don't want to drive him off. You know when you just feel like nothing can save your mood. I rattled round at work today. I just feel fat too, I feel out of sorts, and just ergh. Maybe it is the onset of winter. I just want to punch someone walking down my road, all the street furniture, the gangs of men blocking up the pavement. I don't want to live in grotty London no more. I need a change of skin.
I had ALL my hair cut off today. I like the new hair but it's got that hairdresser thing going on, I need to scuzz it up. I thought I was going to a party tonight, but realised it's tomorrow. My memory is fucked! So now I've got a night sitting on my own! I bought Nic a house-warming present, and realised the wrapping paper I got has cannabis leaves all over it. It was a pack of wrapping paper, and I never noticed. This is the kind of thing that could get a Daily Mail reader very excited.
Do you ever stop and think what an idiot you are? I think I'm probably really annoying, like unbelievably so, and my views on things are probably infuriating. What must people think of me? But the thing is, how can you help who you are? What can you do to be less insufferable? I have good manners, but I am easily angered. I'm probably quite cocky in a way. Who would put up with me? People say you change a lot between 20 and 30, but I feel the same. I've regressed if anything. Set in my ways; until death.
I made a complete prat out of myself at Lisa's party. I drank the best part of two bottles of champagne myself, and puked up in the bath. Nic had to virtually carry me home, where I puked up again (twice). I don't drink heavily very often, so when I do, it's like I'm 16 again. The party was fun, but I was being noisy and obnoxious. I watched a bit of video back of the night, and it was even worse in the cold light of the morning. I don't think anyone else was that bothered. I hope, anyway!
So I woke up on Nic's blow up mattress with a hangover, and we went for a spa treatment, which she'd got as a gift. I've never done anything like that before, mainly because I don't like people touching me. I had a facial, and it made me realise how uptight I am! I could NOT relax at all, I just didn't like my space being invaded like that. My skin did feel lovely afterwards, though! That sort of thing just isn't me. So this is it! I did another month. Now I just need to do some creative writing...
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