Crap!

Last night, I found that an e-mail had been sent by the Healthy Minds folk: my counselling sessions have come through at last, as of Tuesday 13th March. The first appointment is set for 13:00.

Crap!

I have no idea what to do, what to say.
           At the time of applying, my feelings were clear, albeit it in a muddled sort of way. Now, I am not feeling that way. Now, I am feeling the way I was feeling before the feelings; before the confusion. Now I am feeling as I felt when my heart and mind were being swallowed up by things happening, too involved with coping  to feel any other way than how I used to feel. Determined, focussed, a little numb, occasionally overwhelmed...my attention is back to being centred on others rather than myself.

So...what do I do?

I know the problems are still there, below the surface, but right now...I don’t know if I can access them. So...right now, do I need counselling?
           If I cancel, I will be removed from the list and possibly shan’t be able to reapply, but, should I cancel anyway? Would I be wasting people’s time if I didn’t?
           What if I go, and then can't think of anything to say?

Those were my thoughts as of 4am this morning, anyhow.

Make of them what you will.

B.C.B.F.L.B x
         

I’m still alive.

Yeah. Still alive.
           Things have just been...
           ...lets just say that they have been ‘just’.

I’ve woken up half an hour early today - after enjoying a genuinely lovely dream following the progress of a woman called Mia (MiMi to those she reckons with), who had a nervous breakdown but ended up happier in the end - and now am sat, all ready to shove my iPad in my bag and head off to work, suddenly filled with the desire to talk.
           So here I am. =waves=

In a little over twenty four hours now, we will be burying my darling Grandpapa. ...except that we shan’t be burying him; we shall be cremating him, a fact that now I come to think of it seems wrong in the extereme. Perfectly natural, I expect; not wanting a beloved family member to be burned up and reduced to ash. But in any case, I don’t get a say one way or the other: it’s up to Grandpapa himself, and he wanted to be cremated, so...yeah. Burn, Grandpapa, burn.

In other news, I ordered a pair of bras from Evans and they don’t fit (always a risk), which would be fine, except that I also ordered three grey T-shirts and they do fit, and I want to keep them, because they are really nice.
           =sighs=
           Oh well.
           I shall have to put on my Big Girl Knickers and learn how to do a partial return via post, because I have no use for bras that are one cup size too small, and am determined to keep the T-shirts
.  In fact, I am so determined to keep them that in a fit of drunken peak, I wore one of them to bed last night, and now am wearing another one this morning, so I think I have GOT to keep them.

...at least I don’t have to visit MJ in hospital today.
           Yep, he is incarcerated again. Not his mind this time. His body. He has been Very Poorly Indeed and it is going to take him a very, very long time for him to get better. A process not helped by the fact that his mind has decided to ignore the medication it’s being fed and poison itself into sickness as well.

Yeah.

It’s been quite a rough three to four months.

No end in sight at this point.
           But I’ll keep on trundling down the tunnel anyway, regardless.
           You have to, don’t you?

B.C.B.F.L.B x

The Spoken Word Is Coming Up...

...and I've been mulling over a few poem ideas so as to have something to perform in it (along with the possibility of sitting out this time and just being a spectator), given that my little stock of pages has all been used up already.

I let my mind dwell on it for a while - nigh on three weeks to be exact - to see if it came up with anything, which it didn't - or at least not poem wise, anyway - and then I set myself a subject, and then another, to see if that would help. It did, a little, but not nearly as much as I'd hoped. I ended up with a few half-baked lines here and there, but nothing I was really happy with or had the heart to carry on with.
           Until yesterday, that was, when two ideas I'd pondered over in the past and then dismissed came up to me all of a sudden and slapped me in the face to get my attention.

So, today once I'd dealt with various little I've-not-had-time-to-do-this-until-now tasks, I settled down to try and come to grips with them.

The first one was still not fully formed, so I left that be again for now - after jotting down the jumble that was in there already - but the second, once I started writing, came all pouring out at once, one line after the other. I haven't tried to format it yet. Or even read it out loud to see if it works as a poem - or even prose - but just as with the other things I'd written, it felt jolly good - emotion wise - as I pounded it out, and that's all that really matters to me. So, unformatted, unthought about and possibly very terribly un-good, for better or worse, here it is:

*****

THAT TIME THAT YOU KISSED ME.

The date went well.

It’s not you, it’s me. 

Or the other way around...? There just wasn’t a future.

Or at least, not as you wanted.

Even though that time that you kissed me, it all made sense.

We ate at a café. Shared a pizza.

When you came back from the counter I was writing.

You joked about my taking notes, and I laughed.

But at the same time I was embarrassed, because actually I was.

We talked and laughed. Laughed and talked.

I can’t even remember now what we talked about, or what your laugh sounded like.

Just that when you smiled: I smiled back and felt right.

We visited a gallery. Not a great one; most of it was closed.

But it was there that you pulled me into the ladies room and kissed me

And it felt righter than your smile, righter than your laugh; righter than anything.

Locked together your body felt soft and your lips smelled of raspberry.

I had a brief worry about being a slut to kiss on the first date then dismissed it.

I didn’t care.

All I knew was that your skin was smooth and your breath was warm.

That you were kissing me, and it all made sense.

We walked some more. Talked some more.

Your mind was what my Grandmother would call ‘filthy’;

You saw double entendres, found sexual innuendos in practically everything.

But even though I’ve been called a prude before I didn’t care.

In fact, I found it refreshing. Even fun.

At least at first.

Because I was here and on a date and I was feeling just fine.

We kissed again in a closed shop doorway.

You held my hand, copped feels of my behind, and I did the same to you.

Your arse was the only part of you that was bigger than mine.

The rest of you was smaller.

Round though, and soft. Nice.

And you thought I was nice too.

Which was even nicer.

Because we were walking and you were holding my hand, out in public.

Your fingers entwined with mine: that was nicest of all.

The date only lasted a few hours.

In the finish, we were in your car, ready to drive me back to the station.

We talked some more. You told me about other girls: girls who only wanted one thing.

Though that thing was pretty brilliant, you assured me; don’t get you wrong.

And I believed you.

Because thinking of the two of us lying together made my cheeks flush hot and my breath come faster and my stomach twist up inside.

But it was in a good way: it felt right. Everything felt right.

Seeing the curve of your breasts under your shirt, impulsively I pressed my hand to them.

They felt just as I thought they would: perfect.

If we’d been in a movie you’d have slapped me. Or we’d have had sex right there.

But it wasn’t and you did neither.

Instead you laughed again, and put your hand to mine.

When we were sure no-one was watching, we took a sneak peek.

And pronounced ourselves both satisfied.

Yes, we both agreed: they both looked as good as they felt.

As I got out of the car you took my hand in yours.

You told me that you were glad we’d met: that it felt right for you too.

You wanted me to go back to your flat, and I knew what for, but I balked.

Not yet. Not now. “Not on a first date”.

And you laughed; shook your head, and backed down.

Okay. Next time. Next time we would.

My heart sped up as I said ‘yes’.

On the train home I felt a mix of things.

I was jubilant that after nearly ten years I had done it: gone on a date.

And annoyed with myself that it had taken me so long to get around to trying.

I was happy that it had gone well, and that another was planned.

But at the same time troubled by the idea of giving myself so soon, even though I knew I wanted it.

I was relieved by the utter certainty, banishing the lingering doubts.

And a little sad for my mother, who I knew had deep down been hoping I was wrong and not gay after all.

But most of all, I was remembering how you kissed me: and it all made sense.

Such a lovely day. How soon it went wrong.

I realised very quickly that I was out of my depth, and so were you.

When your messages and calls came through thick and fast, one after the other; each one more telling than the last.

But I tried not to see it that night.

Instead, I lay in my bed and imagined you there beside me.

And my breath came quicker and I grew hot again at the thought of it.

The next day though, I had to admit the problem, both to myself and to you.

Because you were now talking marriage and unbreakable fates entwined on the strength of one afternoon.

A nice afternoon, but still, one afternoon.

And I realised that it no longer felt right: that you weren’t right.

You didn’t take it well, and I didn’t expect you to.

You begged me to reconsider, and I begged you to do the same.

To take a few steps back, to take one day at a time.

To just wait and see, rather than mapping out a vision of a future I didn’t know if I shared yet.

But you wouldn’t, couldn’t; didn’t. You wanted all of it, all of me, all at once.

Now. Right now.

And I wouldn’t, couldn’t; didn’t.

So left with no choice I did the opposite instead and pushed you away.

Gently at first. Then when forced to, hard.

Twenty four hours. I couldn’t believe how quickly you came and went.

How quickly you had to go, because I had to make you.

And I’m sorry: I really am.

Because I did consider it. I did think of it.

I did make myself try and see it the way you did on my behalf.

Because I could tell that was what you wanted.

But you wanted it in the wrong way. Wrong for me.

I couldn’t do it just to make you happy.

Just to be nice.

Even though you were nice.

Not nice enough.

Not for that.

So I’m sorry.

And at the same time I’m grateful.

Because although it ended badly, it had proved that I could.

If I wanted, when I wanted. To make me happy, no-one else.

Because it had reassured me of what I wanted, when I wanted; that I wasn’t wrong. That the realisation which had come so late yet left me so relieved and at peace was as real as I was, and no less.

That I was no less.

So sorry, to you, from me, and thank you.

For that time that you kissed me, and it all made sense.  

Written by Alice Collison. 24/11/2107.

*****

B.C.B.F.L.B x

Today Has Been A Good Day.

Well!

So far, I have been: a Mopping Marvel and Wiping Wonder, a Sporting Spinning Superstar (until I fell over), a Slippery Slide Supplier While Wearing Mismatching Socks, an Owl Pendant Provider (and to Ruby's horror when it came to it, also an Owl Pedant Preventer), a Stealthy Stealer of Bouncing Baby Smiles, and a Wowed Watcher Of Wondrous Wings (swans. 15 of them).

😊...Today has been a good day...😊

B.C.B.F.L.B x

The Next Few Posts May (Well, WILL, Probably) Be Long, Rambling And/Or Not Make Sense, So Please Bear With Me.

Honesty Is The Best Policy (1): 

Well, here I am.

            A very dear friend has asked – no, ordered. No, begged – me to start writing down all of my worrisome thoughts, really really honestly – brutally honestly – because he is extremely concerned about me. So, here I am. No matter whether I actually know properly what my worrisome thoughts ARE, or what to do about them if and when I do; just start writing, and see where my troubled brain – and I will admit, it IS troubled – leads me.

            So here goes.

Okay. To sum up. I am jealous of family and friends that are in relationships because I no longer want to be alone, and yet am terrified by the thought of NOT being alone, because…I don’t know: I am scared that being not alone any longer will be worse somehow, or that worse; it will be better but won’t last. I am also afraid that I will not be able to find someone to be with me because I won’t be good enough. Not that I am not attractive enough – although that is a worry too, and one I am working on – but that the inside of me isn’t good enough: that I am not interesting enough, or funny enough, or kind enough, or….or ANYTHING enough. Or that the someone will find me nice to begin with, then get tired of me. That I will be happy, then my heart will be trodden on again because of something I do, or don’t do, or something I am, or I am not.

I am worried, too, that my leaving, if and when I leave, will cause problems for mother and MJ, because they are so used to having me there. The rational part of my brain tells me that of course they would be fine, and that even if they’re not, it isn’t as if by having a life separate from them I won’t be able to help them. But the worries and niggles are all there underneath. What if they go to pieces? I’ve been a source of support for the pair of them whenever needed for so long… What if mother has another breakdown, or my brother spirals back out of control, without my constant presence there to reassure them? And what if mother cannot survive financially without me? She may have to leave the place that for the past eight to nine years has been such a happy home for her: what if that breaks her heart? Or perhaps she could stay but only if she takes in a lodger; how horribly wrong might THAT go? Oh, God, it’s such a worry, you see? There are just so many worries…

So even if I find someone, and for some reason this someone actually likes me just the way I am, better job or not – we’ll get to that – or boring or not – working on that – or fat as I am now or thinner or fatter – working on that too – what then? I’ll have to make a decision. I will have to make a conscious choice to leave them both and if it goes badly wrong for them it would be my fault, and then if it goes badly wrong for me it will have been for nothing anyway, and I KNOW that I am worrying about things that haven’t happened and may not happen and that it is holding me back from doing things and that I should just get ON with it, but the worries won’t go AWAY. They just keep going around and around in my head like malevolent sharks, snapping at anything that moves.

And the biggest thought looming in my head while I am sitting here typing, now I am actually making myself think about it, the biggest worry in my head is that Bingo is getting older and older and his body is showing signs of getting ready to give out, and within a comparatively short time – between two to three years from now at best, but given various things wrong with him, it could be any gosh awful time now – he will die and leave me, taking my ability to defer decisions with him. And then I will be left with a truck sized hole in my heart and I will be in pieces, but will eventually have to pick myself up and start living again and my main reason, my biggest and best excuse for not making any major changes will be gone and I won’t be able to delay any longer, because in leaving me, Bingo will be taking away my existence. Because without him, I have nothing left to show for the past decade. There will be nothing. And in order for there to be something in the future I will have to DO something. I will have to make choices and make changes and what if I make the WRONG decision, or make the WRONG change and make things worse?

Because right now, things aren’t perfect, but I know where I am, and what I am doing. Things are familiar. Things are comfortable. But without Bingo there, my comfort is gone. And there is the crux of it. Oh God. Right there. Bingo is MY source of support, and now I can see the end of the tunnel we are in. Within a few short years – and possibly a hell of a lot sooner than that – we will reach the end of the tunnel and Bingo will turn and go in a direction that I can’t follow, and he will be gone, and I will have a mass of new tunnels to pick from and whichever one I pick, I will be going down it completely alone.

And there it is.

And now I am crying.

So, what I’ve learned in the past hour worth of typing is that I worry about worries that probably don’t even need worrying about in the first place, and that I am dreading my dog’s demise because I am a coward who doesn’t want to face the future.

I hate thinking.

B.C.B.F.L.B. x

Not A Bad Week.

This week's been much better, all told.

Work's been easier, for one thing, as for the first time in months we've been fully staffed, so that's helped my mood. Then college went well, too; with me powering my way through Level 1 Access in one afternoon. I spent Thursday afternoon going back over it to make sure things were definitely solid in my mind, and will be starting Level 2 next week with the aim of powering my way through that as well (although of course it will be at least a little more difficult, being more advanced).

In other news, we've finally news of The Puppy. The problem is early onset arthritis brought on by partial displaysia of both hips. As a result, he will need a daily schedule of pain medication, a special diet (no more treats allowed at all. None. =sad face=) and regular physiotherapy appointments from now on. Not great, BUT not bone cancer, or some other catastrophic desease which is going to end a young dog's life before it's even begun. So, in that sense, absolutely great.
           As far as The Puppy is concerned, I should add by the way; life is just great. His legs were painful to begin with, so he had to slow down for a while (which he disliked but bore woth that calm acceptance that the majority of species - other than most humans - tend to have), but the painkillers soon fixed that, and now he is pretty much back to normal, albeit avec a different dog food and sans treats. It takes quite a bit more effort than it used to to stand up and lie down, still, and apparently that won't improve much, but that's it problem wise. He's a happy dog.

Choir is also going well. We have all three pieces now (Merry Chris Mouse turned out to be the mystery music we had been waiting for) and are working our way through them with our usual cheery vigour.
           I couldn't sing the week before as my throat hurt like heck - thanks to the cold I caught from Best Friend 0.5(1) - so I just sat and listened, following the music. This week my voice has come back - though I'm still a bit stuffed up - so I was able to make beautiful music along with everyone else once more.

Other than that, there's not much to tell. I wrote a few more paragraphs of Story, walked the dog, had lunch with Best Friend 3 on the Tuesday, helped at the library on the Monday... The usual thing.

Today has also been a happy one so far.
           My shift at work went as well as any one on Saturday afternoon can, and in the morning I met up with Best Friend 0.5(1), during which time I tried my first Sausage McMuffin, talked about various subjects (including the Salvation Army's past, Best Friend 0.5(1)'s parents' reaction to his (to them, new) girlfriend, The Apprentice, and the fact that I waste energy and time worrying about and overthinking things that either don't matter all that much or may not even happen at all), had fun browsing in a toy shop, made doe eyes at some bunnies and guinea pigs and gerbils in a pet shop, enjoyed another muffin (ginger and cinnamon this time), and got called Dolly Knockers and Sugar Tits so many times that I lost count.
           Fun times...

Later today, of course, there will be nice chips and games avec Mother The Grandpapa, followed by a nice stiff drink, followed by a nice lie in .
           ...Yep. There's a whole lot of Nice to be had today, and Sunday promises to be just as good: starting with the lie in (I may go wild this week and get up as late as 7am!), followed by a nice leisurely walk with The Dog, followed by breakfast and a session of lounging around enjoying doing very little, before Cousin 1 makes an appearance and after an obligitory snuggle and toy throwing session with The Dog (he insists that all guests, who obviously are there to see him; The Centre Of The Universe) we set off for a nice lunch.

Yep. This week's been Not Bad at all.
           =nods=
           Yep.

B.C.B.F.L.B x

Not A Good Week.

I haven’t had a good week, folks.

I haven’t had a TERRIBLE one, you understand. It hadn’t been unutterably ghastly, and some nice things have happened as well; it just hasn’t been all that good overall.

To list the Not Good things (in no particular order of importance):

* my That Time Of The Month lasted far longer than usual, keeping me in discomfort and my hormones a wreck for nearly two weeks.

* due to this (and other stuff) I’ve not been as careful with my diet as I should have been, so have gained some weight when I’m supposed to be losing it.
           ...And yes, I know the I-Felt-Shitty-So-I-Ate-Shitty excuse is pathetic, but it’s the only one I have, so I’m going with it…

*two separate groups of people on two separate days took it upon themselves to inform me at an ear-splitting volume how disgusting they thought I looked.

*I found myself comforting a hysterical pregnant girl after her dog was attacked (and thankfully not hurt) by another dog.

* the next section of my college course has turned out to be far more difficult than I had expected, which has caused me to have to reevaluate the date I had been hoping to realistically finish by. Not the end of the world, and I have as much time to complete as I want/need, but I was disappointed nonetheless.

*one of my Aunts, having lost her dog (Paddy: brother to my dog) to bone cancer last year, is having to have the eight month old puppy she was pressured into getting far too soon afterwards and who is now going off his back legs tested for a variety of problems including – guess what? – bone cancer.

*I have a spot on my left cheek – having popped up during That Time Of The Month – which will not go away.

*work has been more ‘UGH’ than usual due to an inspection, which has uncovered all the things that need doing that us Cleaners no longer have time for because The Store decided about a year and a half before that it would be a spiffy idea to reduce the amount of hours we worked and removed one of the morning staff (which is essential) to work in the afternoon instead (which isn’t). This has led to an ear-wigging from The Store’s Big Bosses (who still haven’t quite grasped the idea that having drastically reduced the length of time to clean, some jobs are no longer physically possible and so aren’t done) and a flap and panic from The Store during the week long period they’d been given to ‘improve standards, or else’.

* during choir rehearsal last night, something set my asthma off, and I had a couple of major coughing fits, both of which required the use of my inhaler and the embarrassment of disturbing everyone and then having to leave for a while to recover.
           ...My word, but those stairs creak loudly!

* upon arriving home after the above mentioned choir rehearsal, I saw that I had received a message, and decided to look at it rather than wait until morning. This led to what turned out to be an ill-advised ‘forwarding’ of a message warning about hacking to every contact within Facebook that I had (then, 15). The result was: three people annoyed (one of who, called me a “fucking moron” and promptly de-friended me) and three people gently informing me that actually, the warning message itself was almost certainly an attempt at hacking using the ‘forwarding’ to gain access. I then sent an apology to those who hadn’t contacted me already and went to bed, having been screamed at for being fat and ugly, embarrassing myself in a choir rehearsal, making an idiot of myself on Facebook, and being called a “fucking moron” by an angry American from the LBGT Support page.
           ...Looking back, of all the days this week: Thursday really sucked...

* there is also a (very sore) spot on the right side of my bust, and another on my bum.


And that’s it.

Like I said, nothing really terrible has happened. It’s just been this series of small, annoying, upsetting things one after the other, culminating in my overall mood being classed as ‘Low’.
           Next week will be better, I’m sure. And even if it isn’t, I plan on dealing with it a hell of a lot better than I have done. Because after all; seven days worth of moping is surely enough for anyone.
           It sure as heck is for me.

B.C.B.F.L.B x