In two months:
Get a job that's 16+ hours a week
Get off benefits
In three months:
Pay my fair share of the rent
In four months:
Take driving lessons
In eight months:
Finish the first draft of my novel
In one year:
Lose one stone in weight
In one year and six months:
Pass my driving test
In two years:
Pay off my RBS overdraft
Start saving money
In three years:
Get a car
I had the most wonderful dream. I was sort of in a film/sort of in Skyrim/sort of in real life, and I was waiting at the side of a lake, watching this silhouetted character move every so often. He would go from sitting, staring out over the water, to lying back on his elbows, to hugging his knees and facing inwards. He was mysterious and I was attracted to him, but because I couldn't see him clearly I was worried he might be a ghost, or a violent nord drager. I gently paddled over in a driftwood canoe, ever so slowly. I could now see he was human. I quickly paddled past and strained my neck to steal a glance - he was an old, old man, but I could tell he was under an enchantment. Beside him sat a woman of about fifty in a beauty tunic with fried pink hair and cat-eye glasses. I paddled in to the library next door to collect my thoughts, but no sooner had I dropped my huge plastic box of books and toys on to one of the square shelves, than the pink haired lady and detectives busted through the door! Clearly, the film was in its penultimate scene and It was time to solve the mystery. I was lead through to my enchanted love, now a beautiful young man of about eighteen, but a 1940s/James Dean-kind of eighteen. We grabbed hands and splashed through the water filled tunnels away from the investigation. We were speedily returned, but not before stealing some of the most perfect kisses I've ever experienced - our bodies were made to be held against each others. As the fast-talking detective bamboozled us all in to expelling secrets we didn't know we were keeping, my hair grew and turned firey red as I became the female lead. My voice was soft and I would say cute, indignant things in reply to the two bantering lovable rouges as the credits rolled over footage of the town shot from a moving carriage. And then I woke up.
It's 2am here in Scotland right now. I'm sitting in bed watching trololol covers on my sister's netbook, quite content when I happen to take my headphones off. There is a tap-tap-tapping on my window. The curtains are drawn, but they're not quite hanging down at one end and so someone would be able to see that my lamp is on. My sister and I live on the ground floor - it could be a friend tapping on the window but it is so quiet and persistant, it doesn't even sound like someone trying to get my attention - just freak me out! My heart's beating like a fucked clock, but I feel a little outraged. I decide to whip my curtains open and shock the culprit with my angry face, but when I pull them apart all I can see is my own angry reflection, it's pitch black outside! I grab my torch and open the window - this is it, I'm going to get 'em...when I realise it's raining. And some drops are falling in to an old basin that a neighbour's left outside my window in the garden. And drops are falling in it tap-tap-tap.
Been a long time since I updated the ol' white box. I'm now staying with my sister, and having a much better time of it. I have my first WWOOF placement this September and the closer - and therefore realer - it gets, the better I feel about it. I've heard back from some other farms I applied to, and should get back to them to set up placements and then book my travel, but I've been putting it off. I do think it is the right thing for me to be doing about now. Sometimes I feel like I'll manage and just take on and work with whatever problems crop up, and other times it all seems impossibly scary and I worry about not having home comforts and being out of my depth. I can feel what the right thing to do is though, and as Maria said in The Sound of Music; 'I have confidence in me'.
I sage-smudged the flat Kim and I are staying in. I had been intending to for a while and we were both becoming increasingly afraid of ghosts and paranoid at night. I only did it yesterday but I do feel more calm and rational since. I also hung a little protection bag over the front door, hoovered and swept and lined the threshold with salt. I certainly feel more secure and confident. I have a sense of being more in control than usual. In general when my anxities start to surface I take a moment to forgive and assert myself, and say I'm doing the best I can, I have a right to be here in this moment and act however I want as long as I'm hurting no one. I also take the time to simply say 'thank you' when I'm feeling especially grateful. Things seem to work out, and fall in to a recognisable pattern for me recently. Just today I was searching Kims desks for envelopes when I saw a packet of perfect ones on the floor. Or I'll decide to make a pie and my gran will tell me she has a bunch of apples I can have. Little things like that.
Lastly, I think the presence of fat-postive sites and communities, fatshionista in particular, have done a lot to help me check my attitude toward myself in any anxious moments I have. And it seems to have spread out to other aspects of my life, and just given me a little more assurance and confidence. Feelin' good.
*crawls out of a crusty hole in the ground* Hi everyone! I bought Sims Generations a few days ago and have now developed the beginnings of a blister where my mouse hand rubs against the table. I shit you not. I would be playing it constantly but I have to stop to take inconvienient naps and pour bowls of sugar puffs. I remember when I first got Sims3 and would play it before work, count down the hours during my shift and run up the last flight of stairs to get home faster and turn my computer on again. I think this addiction returns with force when my real life isn't so hot, and so the virtual lives of my sims become so much more appealing and managable.
I have a wooof placement booked for September on the Isle of Mann but I'm so worried they're going to send me home after a fortnight for being so out of shape. I want to be moulded in to a real person with work ethic and physical staminia but I can't see that happening until once I'm there, and what if once I'm there I don't last long enough to be moulded? *worry*
I made my sister a unicorn cake for her birthday (pics to follow) and she showed a picture of it to a work colleuge who commissioned a lego man cake for her son's eigth birthday! It's to be ready by the 13th and I'm still missing a few things. I'm going to head to the Cake Guru tomorrow to pick them up so I can get started.
For a while I went through a phase of wishing I had doting servents who could, say, bring my my juice if I sat down to my meal and had forgotten to fetch it. Then I realised I wouldn't feel comfortable ordering them about to do these kinds of tasks, and would fret over if they wanted to be there and what they thought of me. So today I came to the conclusion that I'd much sooner have a house elf. Most house elves are thrilled to serve their masters and they take great pleasure in it, Dobby being an exception (R.I.P) So I had a lil' elf I could say "plug in my massage chair, I don't want to get up to do it." or "put on a delicates wash so I have pants for tomorrow" and "here's 50p, run to the garage and get me a pack of McCoys salt and vinigar". It would be awesome.
What is not awesome is that my dad's started drinking again, even through the doctor's warned him he has to get his cholestrol down. In fact, he may be drinking partly because he's so worried about that. I want to tell him there's no point in going for jogs and switching to half-fat milk is he's going to binge drink three times a week. I don't know, I've googled what to do so many times but British families run on never saying what you're really feeling, especially if it's important. I can't imagine us all sitting down to an intervention and then shipping him off to rehab. Realistically, how guilty does it make me if I just don't intervene and his health keeps deterorating? I called him on it once, when it was just the two of us in the house and he kept going back and forth to the garage for top ups and he told me 'I'll try', which he does, but then inevitably fails. He was T-total for years at one point until I noticed he drank champagne on my eighteenth birthday. I remember taking yucky-tasting sips from his beer can when I was little.
The end! It's 2.45. I always want to stay up late until like 5am when I think 'I'll just close my eyes for ten minutes' and then wake up at 2pm like 'DAMMIT!'