Fahckmylife's Blog
Crap adult, OK human.

Before I start ranting here I’d just like to say that I like being a mam.  My kid can be a pain in the arse, but I am happy that I have him and love him unconditionally.  That said I think it should be OK to give out about your kid wrecking your buzz without feeling guilty.  It’s not this perfect little bubble of joy.  And that, my friends, is the main point to this hopefully structured and coherent rant about being a mam.  Feeling guilty and being a mother are two things that inhabit that little bit of a Venn diagram.  They overlap so much.  Now this might just be me but I feel that society bombards mothers with imagery of the self- sacrificing mother, one with no needs or identity of her own, always putting her child (or foetus) ahead of herself AND if anyone dares to venture outside of the parameters of that definition they are made to feel like shit.  You know things like articles in newspapers talking about children who go to crèches being stunted emotionally or making women that don’t want to or can’t breast feed feel like monsters.

This is, in a nutshell, what my PhD is about, albeit through horror and science fiction – the concept of Good Mother versus Bad Mother.  A good mother is the quintessential martyr – no longer with a sexual identity and incapable of even considering self- fulfilment outside of the home.  A bad mother is… well… a bad mother seems to be me.  The thing is whilst I recognise that even the concept of a ‘good’ mother in this generation is an illusion, a cultural throwback to narrower gender roles, and I want to scream ‘get off your fucking cross’ at the idea of it, I still can’t help but feel guilty.   I have needs and wants, and whilst I generally put my child’s needs before my own, I know I have to look after myself and have things, needs and urges that I have to act on to be a well- rounded person.  Does that make me a bad mother?  I know it shouldn’t but it definitely makes me feel that way.

Parenthood, particularly motherhood, is often belittled by those that don’t have any.  YES, crying children are annoying.  YES, nappies really do smell like rancid dog food when squished up your child’s back.  YES, children can be cheeky.  So what though?  I mean when y you can feel the judgemental looks from people in the supermarket because you are dragging your child along the ground by the arm because he won’t get up you have to ask yourself ‘who the fuck made you judge and jury?!’  They’re not judging the kid being an asshole, either.  Oh no, they’re judging you and your lack of control of the situation.  No matter what you do, you’re a bad mother.  Also, anybody saying that says that being a mammy isn’t a real job should be shot in the face.  Especially, if they don’t have any themselves.  OK, you don’t have or want kids, but don’t pass comment on something you know nothing about.  People are so fricking judgey and I’m a judgemental bitch.  Oh and another thing if I want to post pictures of my child on Facebook I will because I’m proud of him.

Now I know plenty of women can achieve complete fulfilment from being a full time mammy.  Great.  That’s their choice and if feminism has taught me anything it’s that there should be a choice to it.  In saying that, that is not me.  There would  be a vacuum right in the pit of my tummy that no cake or child alike could fill if that was what I was faced with, but that would never be a decision I would have made.  Not to get all ‘OH LOOK AT HOW GREAT I AM’ but when I was pregnant I was in my last year of a degree in college.  Lecturers constantly asked me to defer but I wouldn’t.  Sure what else would I be doing?  Sitting at home all fat sweating cake from every pore?!  Fuck off!  Anyway I stayed, they were supportive and I got a first. I took a week off after I had him and went out to a party a couple of days after he was born to catch up on everything that I’d missed when I was pregnant.   I was, and probably still am a stubborn bitch.  Maybe it was more a case of reverse psychology, which I believe works well on me.  So, essentially, I definitely still wanted to be the same person that I was before I had him. 

There is this theory that you cannot be a ‘whore’ (or basically just a girl who likes having the ride), mother and successful worker ( or achieve some kind of personal development and fulfilment of some sort)at the same time.  I think you can.  It’s just society has us brainwashed to believe that if you are a mother you definitely cannot be all three.  Granted, being a successful single mother getting the ride would be a pretty difficult situation to balance but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be allowed try. In my experience, compartmentalising works really well but that still means that I can never be all things at once . Everything is separate which means that I’m any of those three things but only one at a time.  That makes everything a bit awkward and difficult and tiring.  Being a mother should not be the key component to your identity – it should only be a facet.  Even if you are a stay at home mammy, which is cool as long as you want to be, you should still and more than likely do things that you enjoy.  You have to out yourself first and the knock on effects for your kid will be there.  Nobody likes sad mammies.  When I told someone I was doing a PhD before they told me I was great to ‘be doing it for my kid.’  How the fuck am I doing a PhD for my kid?!  I probably won’t get a job out of.  I’m doing it for me because I like critically thinking.  I like being busy.  If I wasn’t using my brain this way it would make me depressed.  I even consider the PhD as much of an important part of my identity as  being a mother.

We’re either demonised or put on a pedestal depending on how giving we are.  I know it’s stupid but it’s there.  Because every time I go to the pub or think about how poor I am doing the PhD or act like a filthy letch I think about how a ‘good mother’ wouldn’t do that.  A good mother would be at home, sitting silently in the kitchen in the dark, never sleeping, waiting for her kid to wake up.  

Yeah.  I was pretty happy with my hair and eyelashes that day.

OK this might not make any sense to anybody but me.  It’s a bit abstract and vague and I am (hold onto your hats) talking about ‘feelings’ but this is something that I would actually like to talk about, with people, in real life, for realises.

Do you ever get those feelings that won’t go away?  Like an unfinished sentence or a rhetorical question that just keeps repeating over and over in your head?  Sometimes I do and it drives me insane.  I like to call this cyclical thinking – where you ask yourself a series of related questions that cannot be answered.  The series of questions expands and contracts, but this doesn’t improve the situation.  It makes you nervous, possibly because you are trying to predict some kind of possible outcome, or to get to the bottom of how you or others actually realistically perceive yourself or a certain situation.  Is it because these situations are out of your control and that you feel helpless that you torment yourself at 4am trying to work out answers to things that haven’t even happened yet? 

I’ll never know.  I’ve talked to a few people about this ‘cyclical thinking’ jazz and we’ve not come to any solid conclusions.  Say for example, just to give you a vague idea of what I mean, you start to think you can predict things (not in a mental way, just that you are nearly sure of the outcome of something) and you then explore many of the possibilities of what can happen from said situation.  Each capillary of thought that you explore, no matter how different, ends up leading you down another road that you cannot even fathom the end of but still you are positive that you will end up in the same final position.  In my case, the end point of my ruminations is always negative.  So then I start again, and explore a different route, and before I know it it’s 4.30 in the morning and I’ve smoked 20 cigarettes and watched 3 hours of porn for background noise without even noticing.

I know it probably doesn’t look like or even seem like it and I have no basis of comparison but my thoughts move really fast constantly.  They very rarely stop. Sometimes I go really really quiet.  This does not mean that my brain has stopped.  It means my brain is thinking so much that I can’t filter out anything coherent.   I mean have it under control but these cyclical thoughts are just annoying more than anything.  I have found that I can stop them by focusing on how pointless they are.   The bad part of this is that I have had to force a lot of things down inside, instead of just letting them go.  I am aware of what I do, I continue to do it but see it for what it is, but act like it’s not there.  So yeah, I have feelings other than anger and drunk (because that’s an emotion) but don’t expect to ever really have a serious conversation with me about how I feel about things out loud that will make me feel like I’m exposing myself (not my tits, obviously). Like I can talk about things in a very clinical way but not about the ‘feels’.   Seriously, try it and even if I’m drunk I’ll turn it into a joke, distract you or I’ll completely clam up.  No really, don’t.  That was a shit joke.  All of the above will happen and I can’t deal with that.

So anyway, the point of this was to find out how you dealt with this stupid cyclical thinking thing if you experience it?  Obviously, it takes different forms, from telling yourself over and over that you’re a sap to nearly clawing your face off waiting to hear about a job interview or even just trying to guess where you will be in five years.  Do you get tired from being stuck in conversational cul-de-sacs in your head?  I’m genuinely just interested.  If there is another way to get over it without slowly turning yourself into someone with the emotional retardation.  This annoys me in particular because I’m quite self aware and know where most of my motivations and actions come from (I can’t always change them but that’s OK with me once I know why I do what I do) but I have no clue about this at all.  Where does it come from?  Why do you feel stuck in this line of thinking?

Language gave us the ability to voice our discontent.  Obviously the ability to speak and communicate is fantastic but self awareness and the by-products of it, such as ‘cyclical thinking’ suck balls.  Imagine if we couldn’t talk to ourselves how much easier it would be.  We wouldn’t be as clever but we wouldn’t be as unhappy or able to recognise unhappiness. 

The other day I think I may have complimented someone, as I have been known to do, and a thought occurred to me – I judge people on how they react to them.  I guess the context of each situation is different but perhaps my perception of cockiness is simply a reflection of my own insecurities. Seriously though, have you ever said something nice to someone and they just say ‘thank you’ and think ‘oh my God you fucking asshole!’?  Maybe that’s me.  Maybe that’s an Irish thing – the begrudging attitude towards those that are more confident and a lack of belief in yourself.

It’s a tough one as well because what is an appropriate response to praise?  Fucked if I know!  Even though my reactions are always completely genuine, if not extremely awkward (I’d rather these situations never really arose to be honest), it is really difficult to not make things seem really contrived.  Fake modesty is also annoying, or what could come across pretending to be humble, but what if it’s serious?  Personally I think telling someone to ‘shut up’ or ‘fuck off’ whilst laughing on the verge of hysteria works well.  Either that, or a simple ‘no, you’re wrong.’  This can probably come across like you’re fishing for compliments, and want to someone to fight you on it, particularly when it’s been prefaced by some (genuine) negative remark.  But seriously self-deprecation is way more attractive in a person than over confidence, isn’t it?  I’m comfortable with my mundane averageness.  If I get one, when drunk, all I hear is white noise.

I don’t know why other people being confident, or more in my mind overly confident, pisses me off so much.  Is it because it seems to me that other people’s views of themselves are skewed?  Is it because they are happy with themselves but still can’t feel any better about me.  Maybe I think I’m a better judge.  Maybe I think I’m more realistic.  Maybe I think that other people should be modest, or aim low, because we’re not really all that different.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, getting a compliment can be pleasant, but it shouldn’t be a defining thing that somebody craves but it shouldn’t be something that appears to have no effect either.  It should be taken with a pinch of salt.  There should be humbleness.

I was asked by a professional person a while ago to make a list of things that I thought I was good at.   Honestly, I couldn’t think of much and said ‘fuck that’.  I mean I’m OK at writing and I know I’m not stupid but I had to think for ages and still couldn’t come up with anything.   Well I got to thinking the last few days and these are some things that I know I am good at.  They are pointless things, or even things that I shouldn’t be proud of, but I am good at them nonetheless.

Making the noise of a miniature car/chainsaw. Making horrible dancing faces. Snoring.Drinking a lot of alcohol.  Being loud when drunk. Cutting other people’s hair. Making myself laugh. Sitting completely still.  Thinking about things until they don’t make any sense. Living off little to no money every week. Staying in contact with people. Keeping busy. Being on my own. Painting my nails.  Eating cake.  Compartmentalising.  Procrastinating. Double entendres. Saying ‘boom.’ Squeezing spots. Giving hugs. Being the big spoon. Making lists.

None of these are vital transferable life skills.  There really is no point to them but I can do them and do them well I do.  If I said this about ‘normal’ or ‘useful’ things I’d be perceived as cocky, which couldn’t be further from the truth.  However, I don’t believe those things and never really will but that’s OK.  I embrace it.

This blog in itself isn’t even me being all ‘oh look at me – boo fucking hoo!’  This is me accepting the fact that I am average.  I think everyone should just think about that when they take a compliment.  Do you need affirmation?  Do you have a void that needs to be filled with what other people think?  There will always be someone better than you at anything you consider yourself skilled at.  There will always be someone better looking (unless you’re Christina Hendricks – nobody’s better looking than her), smarter, cooler or better dressed.  We may not all be on a par but we’re  all pretty much of a muchness.  In other words, if you start to run away with yourself, you’ll start to forget that and just come across as a dick who eventually will have lost touch with reality.

That doesn’t mean I won’t say ‘thanks’ when you compliment my dress but it will be followed by the disclaimer that ‘I bought it in Penneys for a fiver.’

‘I’ll get you the money’ he said nonchalantly.

She looked at him sideways and smirked.  How did this happen exactly?  She just felt awkward.  Yet she was intrigued.  Why did he come over? 

‘Would it not just be easier to push me down the stairs?’ she replied, cocking an eyebrow but not making full eye contact. ‘I mean it would save you at least a grand.’

She could feel his eyes on the side of her face but she couldn’t turn to face him completely.  She attempted to look straight ahead but her eyes kept getting drawn back.

‘I don’t know if I could actually do that though… I mean what if you got hurt?’ he replied and she could feel him smile.

Against her better judgement she could feel herself smile too.  She shouldn’t have made eye contact earlier.  This was stupid and pointless.  Her eyes had accidentally met his from across the room at the party for just a millisecond too long and before she knew it he was sitting beside her on the sofa.  She had immediately bowed her head away from him but it was already too late.

Where was Joe?  Where did he go?  Why did he leave her here on her own?  She scanned the room looking for her friend.  One of the few people she knew here.

‘So you’re saying that you have enough money to send me to England?’ she smirked and looked down into her lap at her stiff hands.

This crudely constructed fake abortion scenario was amusing her, there was no denying that.  He seemed like a genuinely interesting person and whatever was going on was far from clichéd.  She just felt ridiculously unsettled.  Her eyes flicked around the room looking for Joe.

‘Oh I would properly sort you out.  I mean it would be the least I could do’ he said.  He must’ve realised the double entendre in what he was saying as a subtle smile spread across his lips.

Why did Joe ask her to come to the party if he was going to just ditch her for a piece of skirt?  She wasn’t as great a mixer as everyone seemed to think she was.  She was pretty content sitting on the sofa in silence.  The music was decent though…whoever’s house it was.  A muffled ambient bass that provided a useful soundtrack for people watching.  A comfy seat to sit and judge from.  A bag of cans to distract her from thinking about….

‘How old are you?’ he asked quietly.

She turned to face him suddenly, a knee jerk reaction to the very brazen question.  Immediately she regretted it.

‘How old do I look?’ she asked, but realised it looked like she actually gave a crap.

He had a very pleasant face, it had to be said.  Big brown eyes, big brown hair and surprisingly nice eyebrows.  He was very drunk but had a smug and slightly entertained look on his face.  When she looked at him he completely locked onto her eyes.  She felt her cheeks redden.  What was he doing?  She just couldn’t work it out and she definitely didn’t want to assume anything.  I mean why would she in the first place?  She was just here being herself and that in itself was proving to be so much effort at the moment.  Not that the conversation was uninteresting but it was more that she didn’t know what to do or how to react.

‘All I know is you’re fun’ he said shrugging.

Just then she noticed Joe in a group of people, talking absently but his eyes fixated on her.  She raised a can at him to acknowledge him.  His face twisted a little and he turned back to talking to the others again.  At least he was accounted for.

‘I’m 28’ he said suddenly noticing her attention was slightly pulled away from him.

He smelled like smoke and a thin veil of cheap deodorant covering stale sweat.  There was something comforting about it.  She let it fill her nostrils.

‘Well I’m older than…’ she trailed and looked down at her hands again.

She must have been on her fourth can.  Two more and her resolve would weaken somewhat. She’d start talking too much and then walk herself into something that she would probably regret.  She could have told him to go away.  She could have stood up and gone over to Joe, who she still noticed was watching her like a hawk whilst trying to appear that he wasn’t.  But she didn’t.

The guy kept talking and she felt herself listening and contributing though.  It wasn’t as much effort as she was accustomed to.  She let him lead the conversation and as her cans depleted she felt it evolve from awkwardness to proper banter.  It seemed more organic.  She was still wary and kept her eyes away from his face as much as she could.  He seemed to read a lot.  He knew a lot about music.  He had a similar dark sense of humour.  Should she let herself enjoy this?  It didn’t have to mean anything, did it?  It was just two people having an enjoyable and playful chat.  Not everything has to end in sex, does it?  They could be the best of friends.  I mean, what were the chances of meeting somebody that didn’t bore her within five minutes?

‘I have to pee’ she said suddenly and grabbed her bag of cans.

As she stood she looked down at him.  He smiled.

‘I’ll wait here’ he said cheekily.

‘You can if you want’ she retorted.

She turned on her heals and walked off.

‘YOU’RE FUN!’ he shouted after her and she was thankful that her back was to him because she didn’t know how to react.

As she navigated through the obstacle course of the house she came across Joe standing on his own in the hall.

‘Who’s that guy?’ he asked looking out the door in the direction of where she had been sitting.

‘Just some guy, I dunno’ she shrugged.

She never went back though.  In fact she left shortly afterwards.  It was too much effort.

She was lying on the sofa in a half asleep daze when he finally returned.  Her eyes flickered open in the darkness as she heard him shuffle around aimlessly and she wiped a sticky stream of drool from the corner of her mouth.  Small streams of yellow light punctured through the gaps in the curtains catching tiny particles of dust in the air.  The figure in the hall bounced slightly against the wall before entering the room she was in.  She pulled herself up slowly and yawned. 

‘I tried calling you’ she muttered rubbing her eyes. ‘You OK? Where were you?’

He paused at the door and swayed slightly.  Then it bypassed her and sat down at the computer opposite the sofa, back to her.

‘It was a bit of a mad night’ he said simply, turning the computer on, back still turned away from her.

She sighed.

‘I have to leave soon’ she said scrambling up.

No response.  He still didn’t turn around. 

There was a strange sensation in the air.  Her words could mean anything now.  His words could mean anything.  Anything was potentially a viable outcome.  The right combination of words could give her all the information without asking any direct questions.

Careful now…Careful…

‘Who were you out with?’ she asked, ensuring to keep her voice friendly.

His shoulders tensed ever so slightly and he momentarily stopped typing.  Not a massive gesture, very minute , very subtle but there.

‘Ah the usual, y’know’ he replied.

There were bubbles popping in her tummy. Starting in the pit and fluttering upwards.  Her breathe felt like glass. 

She stood up and moved behind him, slowly throwing her arms around his neck, in a weak hug.  The smell of smoke and drink filled her nostrils and something else…. Something earthy and dirty and stale… He tensed again and she pressed her mouth against his warm ear.

‘Straight into the arms of another woman?’ she whispered and laughed gently.

He stiffened even more and turned his head towards her his eyes opening marginally wider than usual. 

‘What?!’ he asked, shocked.

She pulled away and laughed.

‘I know that’s not what happened’ she smirked and walked off laughing.

But that’s what it was.  That was the nagging feeling in her gut.

Stupid stupid stupid…

She gathered her things fighting the panic, maintaining some level of dignity.  Time away to regroup.  She pulled her stuff as awkwardly as possible across the room and stood at the door staring at him.  He didn’t look around, still busy clicking away at the pointless shite he always looked at online.

‘OK I’m off’ she said, rubbing her face, waiting for some kind of reaction to prove her wrong.

Suddenly he stood up and sheepishly approached her.  He put his arms around her.

‘I love you’ he said firmly and leaned down to kiss her on the mouth.

She twisted her face so his mouth, that filthy lying mouth, got her cheek instead.  She pulled away and stared directly into his eyes.  The expression of his face was both one of guilt and confusion.

‘Yeah, right’ she said and left dragging her bag behind her.

She walked down the end of the garden and pulled out her phone and sent him a text:

I know what you did but it doesn’t matter because I don’t want to do this anymore anyway.  Fuck you though.

The bubbles had disappeared.  Anger had taken over.

Stupid lying bastard.  Dudes are shit.  Time to get me a girlfriend?

He never replied.

Not bad for 45 minutes! This could’ve been way longer but I guess people annoy me enough as it is!

I know that I’m probably not the most articulate person but there are some words and phrases out there that just shouldn’t exist (let’s push text speak out of the equation completely because that just makes my brain sore). Some are obviously just incorrect but others are just irritating… well to me anyway. Maybe this post will actually give you more ideas as to how to annoy me more than anything but I’m sure you’ll find some of these annoying. Sometimes it’s the laziness of these that makes my skin crawl, whilst others just make me want to put my head into a gas oven. It could be the sounds of the words, their incorrectness, the combination of certain words together or their overall sleaziness. So here it it…. SHUDDER

Phrases (and I have heard all of these said out loud, but even written they are appalling):

‘I am a very sexual being’
Oh seriously?! Is that just a really sleazy way of saying you like having sex?! Why would you ever NEED to say that sentence? It sounds like a 60-year-old saying something to be offensive because they expect that nobody thinks that they are capable of having sex. UGH!!! I know you can have sex I just don’t want to think about it.

‘Making love’
Again is this for real?! This one really makes me feel sick. Sex is sex. You are not creating a fucking emotion. You are excreting juices and doing a series of undignified things. There are no stupid rose petals on the bed or any of that ridiculous jazz (saxa-ma-phone included) and that’s fine. Don’t dress it up as something is isn’t. Even when there is an emotional connection involved in having the ride you are not ‘making love’. Or maybe you do… just don’t say it to me or I’ll vomit.

‘Mainstream’
This implies ‘high’ and ‘low’ brow stuff. When used, for the most part, this implies taste. There are many shit things that nobody watches/reads/listens to. It doesn’t make it good and being condescending or making assumptions about what constitutes ‘mainstream’ (again this depends on context) makes people seem like pretentious twats.

‘Package of cripps’
Please just say packet of crisps. It’s not a bundle of paper tied with string and filled with this mystery snack. They are crisps. They come in a packet. Say it properly. It’s even shorter.

‘Cheer up it may never happen’
Why do people feel the need to ever say this to another human being that they don’t know?! Why?!!! It’s usually builders, average middle age men whose biggest problem is how many pints they’ll have after work. Someday I’m going to answer back and say something about somebody dying completely dead pan at them. Then we’ll see who should cheer the fuck up. Also, if I want to have a cranky face I will. It’s not up to some stupid dickhead to point out to me that my face is offending them or ruining their day. Imagine something terrible had actually happened to you that day and someone said that to you. Obviously it already has happened.

‘It just… y’know.. . it makes you think…’
Sorry… I know that you may be shocked but this sentence makes no sense. This is usually used to the context of a death. If this phrase suddenly made you think about dying you are clearly retarded, unless you are super young. Even the thickest of us are constantly thinking. If it’s about your own mortality you should constantly be thinking about it. You should constantly be thinking about things anyway. Nothing should really make you think specifically about something as big as death.

‘Strong independent woman’
This is like an overstatement. In using both of these adjectives it is implied that this is not ‘normal’. Are ‘normal’ women dependent? Ah Beyoncé, stop making a big deal out of the fact that you are strong and independent whilst simultaneously pushing beauty products that make women feel inferior. You have a nice ass and all but get over yourself. It is good that she reminded me how weak and dependent on people I am. I would’ve clearly forgotten that.

‘On your period’
This conjures up images in my head of a woman sitting on the back of a red dolphin. Why? I don’t know. To be more accurate you could say ‘oozing ‘, ‘dripping’ or simply ‘having’ your period. You don’t sit on because of it. This is an example of improper use of prepositions.

‘You have my heart’
I can’t remember whether this was in a film or what. Nobody has ever said anything as ridiculous to me. If they did they would be punched in the face and then I would vomit into their face and then I would cry.

Words:

‘Moist’
This is one of the most unpopular words in the English language. I dislike it thoroughly. Nothing good is really moist ever. No good can come of this word.

‘LOL’ ‘ROFL’ ‘LMAO’
If you are not literally doing any of these things do not write them down. You are not literally laughing out loud, rolling around the floor laughing (very unbelievable if typing) or laughing your ass off. Imagine saying this out loud and think of how stupid they sound. Also, as a side note if I ever write ‘hahahhahaha’ in a text I was laughing. I wouldn’t write ‘ha’ unless I made a noise. SO there!

‘Air Con’
For a second when I hear this I always think of Nicholas Cage’s finest work ‘Con Air’. Then I realise someone is just being lazy and not finishing the word air conditioning. Then I become sad because I wish it was the film that they were talking about. ‘Can we turn on Con Air?’… SEE

‘Panties’
Used in combination with ‘moist’ or ‘make love’ is just pure vile. Also, it makes me think that all my knickers aren’t sexy enough. Not that ‘panties’ are. In fact, it sounds more like children’s underwear than anything else.

‘Titties’
Similar to ‘panties’ but just makes me think of neon signed strip clubs in 1980s cop action films, where there are lots of tits. It’s a particular kind of breast that I think of too when I hear this word. Perhaps even accompanied by a pair of denim hot pants.

‘Rig-out/gear’
Used mostly in reference to clothing purchased for your Confirmation or some other stupid shit. Makes me nostalgic for LA Gear runners with the lights in the sole, lemon yellow leggings and WAISTCOATS… not!

‘Zany/Wacky’
If you create a word to describe something being really weird it fails to be anything other than a contrived load of bullshit. You are not ‘crazy’ or ‘abnormal’. They made these words up to point out how fucking harmless you are.

‘Raunchy/Saucy’
What do these words really mean? They cover such a spectrum. They sound like grannies and Rick Mayall use them in a creepy way. Does it mean something soft core porn related? Or is it even more innocuous than that? Who knows? It’s gross.

‘Feisty’
‘Oh you’ve got a bit of fight in ya feisty?’
‘Go bite the back of my bollox.’

Unrelated and unflattering picture

This is an oldie too but I am in the process of reworking it….

Mantra

At four o’clock in the morning, she sat in her dimly lit kitchen, staring blankly ahead of her, contemplating the day.  She turned it over and over in her mind, following all possibilities down endless capillaries, and it made her sick.  Her left hand began to shake.

Today had been a beautiful day filled with sepia tones and long silences engraved with implications. Today had twinkled and ambled along, time passing quickly, eventful but with exaggerated slow motion too. She supposed that she could be pretentious enough to even say it felt like a long and slow relaxing sigh that had been waiting an eternity to be exhaled. She smiled weakly.  It had been a nice day and it had all clicked into place.

He slept upstairs now. Nestled tidily in a foetal position in her bed, like a little embryo in a sack. He was probably snuggled up with his securities and possibly a pillow that he thinks is her. Snoozing away, perhaps even satisfied with his decision tonight. Despite her scepticism about his motivations for tonight’s events she was secretly happy with the way things worked out too. In fact, she thought that might be the understatement of the year.

Up until now everything has been a long series of chaotic disappointments. A sequence of events that have been built upon unstable foundations.  She had always felt broken. I never could never be anything but that.

There’s only so much smiling you can fake before your face starts to hurt, right?

She thought about taking  the time to sit down and break down everything that had happened to bring her to this point  but realised that it would make her just lie down and never get up again.

What’s the point, right? It’s not like you matter in the grand scheme of things and everyone else has their own shit, right? There’s no competition with that and to be honest it’s all relative anyway. That person’s dog dying is the same to them as you being beaten up for no reason.

She noticed that her hand had stopped twitching.  It moved to her eye and she swept her hair back repeatedly from her eyes to attempt to combat it.  She knew what she had to do. Her solution had started to crystalise just after midnight in the darkness, lying under his warm arm in the sweaty little bedroom.  She had slunk down the stairs in her soft dressing gown and rabbit slippers.  It wasn’t a question of what but how.  And now she sat in the grey light, listening to the hum of the fridge, pondering the possible outcomes.

They had drank some wine earlier. They went for dinner too, which was when her head became a little warm and foggy. In the last three months she’d found some kind of constant in him. She never had her hopes up though. She was expecting to chalk it all up to experience. A totally out of the blue day, in no way contrived,  and made her feel that there was a purpose to everything. The obvious flaw is that eventually this, like everything, must end.

Having a grating feeling way down upon you everyday taints your view of the world. Inside you feel like you could do so much more. Inside you are stuck watching your imagination take you to the places that you once thought were options. Challenged and motivated and happy. On the other hand, lethargy sets in too, ruining any chance you have of physically doing them. You can blame this all on tiny insignificant details and trivialities. Maybe, even just write it off as depression and use the excuse of waiting until it passes. Ultimately, whatever state you are in, you remain the same and watch as everything and everyone around you changes.

She got up and filled herself a glass of water.  There was no need to rush anything.  She smiled at this silly notion as she wiped the moisture from the glass against her face.  She was warm.  Very warm and her breathing became shallow as she noticed it.  She sat back down and sipped the water, trying to calm herself, but not wake anyone.  A tight weight pressing on her chest and twisting in her gut.  A single tear trickles down her cheek so she forces the water down in one go.

They had lay on the sofa at home afterwards, talking quietly and laughing. Everything moved slowly. When he wasn’t looking at her she traced the outline of his pretty jaw with her eyes and played with his perfectly formed fingertips. She thought about how she couldn’t have had a chance of making this more permanent, especially with the obvious physical inconsistencies between them in this hyper-superficial age. She had looked at the most minute of his features to reinforce this thought and sighed once this is confirmed.

Whatever his reasoning is for this I know it can’t end well.

Her biggest problem was always herself.

Despite somebody apparently wanting you, you can’t handle it.

Not only did she feel ugly but also unworthy. She attributed this to the fact that maybe when she was younger bad things happened.  When she had finally realised some people were nice the damage was already done. She just simply couldn’t believe that somebody would be interested in her physically, emotionally or whatever.  Well, at least without the intention of messing her around or using her.  She felt empty and as though she needed someone to make her complete.  This annoyed her, that she needed another, like she was a simpleton.

You aren’t a real person though. You’re still an empty vessel. The same gullible little kid that wanted to be liked.

She looked out at the sky.  Grey.  Bleak.  Silent.  The thought of writing something down crossed her mind.  She decided against it and opted to pace for a while.  Her breathing had relaxed.  She wouldn’t let herself cry anymore.  It wasn’t worth it.  Nothing had happened yet. 

He had said the words earlier.  Those three little words.  The words that ruined everything.  They implied obligation. They implied duty.  Despite this had felt something tug inside.  Something that she had promised herself could not be allowed.  Yet she said those three words back and she had meant them.  Now she was vulnerable.  Now he knew that she needed him too.  She was back in position that she had not been in for years, where she never wanted to return to, but all she could do was kiss and smile and cuddle him back.  The two staring in soft focus into each other’s eyes.  Now the thought made her sick.

Words are meaningless.  They can change.  They can be lies.  They can be open to interpretation.

She got another glass of water and headed to the press.  It was getting lighter outside.  She turned the heating on so she could run a bath. 

She did not want to have anything to do with him initially.  She had mocked him outwardly and how when asked about him she had said that there was nothing to it.  She thought about how she would not contact him first because she was trying to convince herself otherwise.  Then she thought about how she when she got a text from him her face would light up. 

This is as good as it gets.  It’s all downhill from here.

She ran the bath and filled it with bubbles.  The steam made her hair stick to her forehead as she locked the door, repeating the mantra It’s all downhill from here over and over in her head.  She slipped out of her clothes and wrote her message on the condensation of the mirror.

Tonight had been perfection.  Feeling loved and wanted and happy.  She could finally admit that.  Everything after would only prove her right; the pornography, the cheating, the fighting, the marriage, the kids, the hating each other, the ‘oh you’re letting yourself go’ conversation, the smell in the bathroom after, the in-laws, the crappy holidays, being taken for granted, getting a nine to five shit job to buy a house together, the loss of interest in sex and then finally looking at each other one day with pure unadulterated contempt.

She sank down in the bath and started to take the tablets.  It was 4.35.  She had five hours or so before he would wake.  She smiled and swallowed as many as she could.

And the mirror in the bathroom for months after would end up saying ‘its all downhill from here’ when anyone had a shower.

A while ago I found a heap of stuff that I’d written that makes me seem like a complete misandrist (spell check doesn’t believe this is a word…surely you mean misogynist, Caroline?) despite the fact that I’m not.  I think this story is like two years old or something.  Some of you probably read this already.  Anyways, I haven’t checked it for spelling mistakes and I’m not 100% happy with it but sure have a goo.

All things considered it was pretty easy once I had found him.  To be honest, I was impressed with my detective skills, despite them simply involving the Internet and a phonebook.  The beauty of it was the fact that so many years had passed and bouts of severe depression had physically taken their toll on me.  Add a change of hair colour, a bit of make-up and nearly ten years and you have a totally different person – at least superficially anyway. An apparently confident me and completely unrecognisable as my former self.  To think that I had just seen his picture in the paper.  To think that this had triggered such a chain of events…

So now we’re kissing at the end of his bed in the orange half light from his lamp.  I love the pretence of us having a drink as I think about how they remain untouched on the bedside locker.  I love the way he thinks that this was his idea as he starts to gently push me down onto the bed.  I love the way he’s putting his weight onto me and I’m being a good compliant little girl.  I love the fact that I know he thinks that I am enjoying this – I mean I am but not for the reasons he thinks.  As his fingers start sliding under my top he makes an eager little muffled sound and I feel sick and excited at the same time.

I suppose that I should explain here that I’m not shrugging my own accountability here.  I should also point out that I’ve lived with things that weren’t my fault for long enough.  Yes, I know that how I’ve lived my life up until this point has really been up to me and I fully accept responsibility for my own actions.  Still, seeing his face in the newspaper, so smug and un-aged, captioned with a large cheque and congratulations, enveloped me in anger. It made me realise, after nearly a decade of blaming myself that to a certain extent I was a product of my own environment.  If that one horrible incident had never happened I wouldn’t be in this situation.  So, in my defence, tracing my life back to that one point proves a defining moment in my life.  A moment that I’ve only come to realise is not my fault but it’s tarnished my existence ever since.  And he’s the key player in that life changing moment.

He is completely lying on top of me, groping and breathing in the most undignified way possible at such an early stage of ‘foreplay’.  He still seems to think I’m enjoying myself so I kiss him back and mimic his noises a bit, forcing his hands more firmly onto me.  My clothes inch off seconds at a time, his head buried in my neck, gasping and fumbling the whole time.  If he could see me now he’d see I was rolling my eyes.  If could see me know in this light, lying like this he might recognise me, even for a second so I close my eyes.  His fingers begin to dig and root and soon my trousers are on the floor.  He pulls his own top off and I start to unbutton his jeans to avoid looking at his face.

You see I went through a horrible period for a while after the ‘incident’.  I liked to try and play it down but it didn’t work that way.  Not in retrospect anyway.  Let’s just say that I abandoned my childish things with ferocity and threw caution to the wind.  I mean it wasn’t like it mattered anymore, right?  It wasn’t like I was actually worth anything to start with so I tried to level everything off to zero.  So in a nutshell, I lost myself in the usual things, effectively drugs, drink and in turn a series of virtually anonymous sexual encounters, in the hopes of finding something of value or finishing myself off.  If you think about it logically it really defies any rational thought.  You’d think that I would avoid all those things and stay locked inside a little bubble to protect myself – at least for a while anyway.  But, the darkest moments were those when I found myself completely alone with my own thoughts and blurred visions of his face.  So I went on a rampage, lost a lot of things I did not realise were important before, my health for one as the doctor had confirmed, essentially leaving him as the victor.  Seeing him in that paper, the stark contrast of black and white, unmarked by the past, pulled me through it.  I had a new focus.  A new goal.  My time was limited but I knew I could have the last laugh.  I’m not saying that it’s right to do what I have done but at least I could show him some of what I have experienced at his hands.

I moan in a way that I have grown accustomed to accentuating from my promiscuous years as he roughly pokes and prods and roots around for something he seemingly can’t find.  I smile for him though and pride myself on my acting skills.  I stroke and I feel and utter the odd swear to assure him he’s doing such a fucking great job.  I lick and I squeeze and I rub and push my head as far away from his as I can, making sure that our eyes don’t meet.  His hands are everywhere and nowhere in particular, grabbing and clasping and basically doing nothing of any great purpose.  His fingers jab into me viciously, I doubt it’s intentional, but it hurts and only serves to highlight the fact that he wants this so badly.  Not half as much as I do though…  He momentarily stops in an effort to try to reach his locker, so I pull him straight down onto and into me, holding him tightly in place with my legs.  He doesn’t resist that much and pretty soon it’s like he’s forgotten what he was trying to do in the first place.

See what he forgets, or fails to even notice is that tonight is not the first time that we have met.  Ten years ago we had one conversation together.  Admittedly, I was a bit of a naïve 16-year-old.  Admittedly, he was an attractive 22-year-old.  Admittedly, we were both drunk but were getting on pretty well.  And admittedly, I did decide that I agree to go upstairs in the house with him to one of the bedrooms. OK, so yes I did kiss him and lie down on the bed with him, giggling and cooing.  Ok and so yes I did let him open my bra.  But, it was never my intention to have sex with him.  It was never my intention to be pinned down by the wrists with him grunting on top of me.  It was never my intention to lose my virginity watching him looming over me in such an undignified way, holding a hand tightly over my mouth, muffling my protests, hot breath on my face.  My intention was to bite through his hand, scream and get away, but the more I bit and the more I squirmed the more he seemed to enjoy it.  His eyes locked onto mine as if to claim me as he shouted ‘bite me!’

It was never my intention… It never was…   

He hasn’t really picked up any definite rhythm.  It’s more like a random banging and it hurts a bit. If I actually cared about having sex with him this really would not be up to scratch, but I moan and curse and grab his ass cheeks.  I flip myself around without disconnecting so I can avoid his face for a bit longer.  I reckon it’s more likely to achieve the desired result in a shorter timeframe and getting me closer to my own goal.  He starts to grunt now, a familiar grunt, like from all those years ago and his breathing gets a lot more frantic.  He slaps my ass.  The end is nearly in sight.  It’s not like he really cares how much I enjoy it anyway.  I put up a little resistance.  I guess he likes that.  The whole force thing must do a lot for him. His pounding away at me has become especially panicked now.  I can tell it is very nearly over. I smile again…

‘Bite me!’ I shout.

And surprisingly he does.  Right on the neck.  I demand blood to be drawn and he does.  And soon it’s all over as I feel it ooze down the inside of my thighs.  My necks stings but it’s all going according to plan.

You see he has ruined my life and in return I plan to ruin his.  It’s very simple really.  Because of him I have never been able to maintain a normal relationship with anyone.  Because of him I have never been able to treat myself with any self worth and as a result…

I immediately start to put my clothes on, mopping up the blood from my neck and the spunk with tissues from my pockets.  He laughs on the bed, giggling the way some people do, after they have had an orgasm.  He looks at me and continues laughing nearly hysterical with an arm over his forehead.  I pull my jeans up saying nothing, letting him have his moment of euphoria or whatever it is when you actually enjoy sex and have an orgasm.  I smile weakly at him.  There is no going back now.  I sit on the edge of the bed.

‘That was deadly…’ he sighs looking up at me.

I smile again.

‘You remember a girl called Jenny about ten years ago?’ I ask in a casual tone.

He does – I can see it in his face.  He shakes his head.

‘Lie back down… give me a few minutes and then we’ll start round two…’ he says trying to pull me back on the bed.

I stand up and look down at him.

‘I know you do…  because when you asked me my name I lied… My name isn’t Sarah…I’m Jenny’ I say and put on my coat.

‘What the fuck?!’ he says starting to get up from the bed, pulling boxer shorts up his legs.

‘And about ten years ago you raped me at a house party…’ I trail.

I can make eye contact now.  It’s difficult but I can…

He stammers.  Unsure as to what to do.  It’s not like he can deny it.  We both know what happened.

‘Look I know what you’re thinking…’ I say matter-of-factly and start walking more towards the door.  ‘Why do this now? What do you hope to achieve etc., etc., etc.,….’

‘Yeah well…’

‘Well you see after you raped me I went a bit mental…. Slept with a lot of people to make myself feel better and it didn’t work…Maybe it wasn’t that… I know you didn’t make me do that but still I was’ and I laugh here ‘a bit fucked up to say the least…’

He looks on in awe as I open the door and step outside.  As I peer in the door I turn to him, a safe distance between us.

‘In fact …I got HIV then.’

And I walk down the hall and don’t look back.

Cranky and moderately disapproving picture of me?

I wish I could write something.  I wish I didn’t just have to stare at this screen hoping for words to spill out in some kind of coherent way.  I wish I didn’t feel this urge to paint some sort of picture for someone.  Not that I should care.  The chance of complete fulfillment has more than likely completely passed me by by now.  And when I start thinking like this I start to wonder whether there is any point in trying to write any more.  I think maybe that I’ve been quite distracted recently and possibly that my cynicism is fading.  This bothers me immensely.  Without my cynicism I am nothing!

Is the sole purpose of life to get bored or hurt in order to express your sadness?  Is your creative success based on your ability to convey your dissatisfaction with life to others and for them to think it’s clever and identify with you?  So that we can all bond over how unhappy we are?  Yeah, sure the human condition is pretty pretentious in itself, always searching for things that it cannot handle. So much so, that the mundane and trivial, which previously would have been adequate lifestyles for other generations seem stupid and futile now.  And, unfortunately, being able to articulate your feelings, does not help you understand your frustrations or your sadness any more than if you had kept it simple.  In many ways simple would be easier.  Although, then again, there would be no art for some if there wasn’t tragedy for others, right? Also, if everything was easy and simple it would probably make you a slow person because as we all know happy people aren’t interesting.  In fact, the more fucked up someone is, the more chance that I would like them.

I always wonder about interactions as well.  At this stage I’ve come to expect the worst in people and to a certain extent this gives me an elitist approach.  I’d like to think that I only tend to surround myself with people on at least the same level as me.  I have no time to waste on fools anymore.  When I look more closely these friendships, relationships and whatever, it appears that I have become quite weary of everything.  Unless something is extremely well established its position within your life it should never be assumed or taken for granted, and even then, it still should be treasured.  People can string people beautiful sentences together or make impressive gestures but instantly its meaning can evaporate.  For example, the sentence ‘I love you’ is only meaningful as it is uttered.  The reality of this is that everything can change, even over the course of a second, and can be rendered meaningless by another thought or sentence, which in due course can continue through the very same cycle.  This leads you then to wonder about everyone’s perceptions of various words or ideologies again.  Nothing means the exact same thing to anyone.  No two people will ever conjure the exact same mental image of a chicken in their heads (let alone have any feasible way to measure this) so how can a more complex matter such as love, happiness or grief aspire to fit into some key indicator for communication between people?  Your definition of love may hold similar characteristics to that of mine but there may also be differences, both subtle and striking that make our overall perceptions completely different to each other. I’m sure this is why most people who care about each other fight.  This just leads me to question whether or not this means that two people can really truly love each other, especially if they are operating under two different definitions of ‘love’, and what is expected of them as a result.

A child’s love is unconditional until they reach adulthood.  It is still a selfish love though but none-the-less a touching one, appealing to the rational logic of instinct in most people.  The idea of being needed is for lack of better word, lovely.  The idea that someone relies on you for almost everything emotionally, physically and mentally is fantastic.  If you have never experienced that kind of love or need (which I never had until I had Oscar) it is amazing.  And then you start to need them.  Sadly as they get older they need you less and less and then your relationship is only really guaranteed in blood.  You hope you aren’t making the same mistakes that you resent your own parents for.  You find you are making your own new ones though and hope you balance being a friend and parent effectively.  You hope you mould your child into a nice little person, tolerate and friendly, arty and then you question your own stupidity.  Are you really fit to be teaching your child anything?  And then you remember the kid you saw on the bus in the morning whose mother had given it Meanies for breakfast.  Sure, you might be a bit silly and sure you get cranky sometimes when you’re tired but you aren’t that bad.  In some cases guilt still forms a major basis for relationships being maintained into adulthood.  

Forgive me.  I am pretentious.  I digress.  I’m just exercising my brain muscles.  Maybe something usable will come out soon.