Bellini

Tonight there was no solace in my cigarette. One puff and I was done. I expect it would be much the same with you.

You bite like a peach. No sweetness. All honesty.

You will never be what I expect.

Always a toss of the dice.

Fate still to decide.

Perhaps there is a crossing in our stars. Or maybe it will always boil down to our drinking habits.

Perhaps you are not for me, peach.

Then again,
Perhaps you are.

And life moves on...

I am so supremely grateful to have this space to spew things that I can't on Facebook. Such a release.

First up, it's really funny getting emails from theknot.com saying that I need to start thinking about booking hotels for my wedding guests.....and remembering that once upon a time I was getting married next year. And life moves on.

As a little self-love-and-acceptance project I have decided to stop shaving my legs and underarms (YAY DEFYING SOCIAL NORMS!!) So I think now I haven't shaved in about three weeks.....lemme tell ya. It. Is. Awesome. I genuinely love being hairy. Don't be concerned, I still clean myself regularly. But yeah. I am enjoying this experiment.

I cooked a strudel last night. And by that I mean it was frozen from lidl and I shoved it in the oven for a half hour. It was mucho delicioso.

I am not looking forward to working the weekend.

I so need a new job.

Bleh.

Money.

But, as dear Ms. Billie Holiday sings, that's life I guess.

Back to wasp hunting in my bedroom. The count is up to five. Eww.

Hard Candy

You know, right now I am having a lot of trouble keeping my shit together, pardon my French.

Jamie and I broke up on Thursday. I don't know how to deal with hurting someone like that, especially someone I love. Even thinking about trying to explain it is making me so frustrated I'm not even going to try. But I feel selfish and cruel and generally incapable of, well, holding my shit together.

On Friday I found out my grandmother has a brain tumor. She is having an operation and will be hospitalized. She currently has an on-call nurse assigned to her. We don't know the outlook, but dad's told me to keep my phone on me just in case. Again, I have no idea how to deal with this.

It's like being back in college when I had no idea what was going on or who I was or what I wanted or how I was going to live. I am being flung into myself and I don't like what I see but I don't know what to do about it.

Yeah. I'm feeling lonely and vulnerable and lethargic.

Hoping good ole Dolly will lighten the mood...

This song always reminds me of my momma. It's one of my favourites.

Night night everyone xx

Short Update

Feel free to slap me for neglecting my blog...I deserve it. Most definitely.

Moving right along...

As a side note, I am writing this post on my phone because, unfortunately, my laptop has broken. Poor thing. That is also why I am unable to skype anyone. Sad face.

In recent news:
--Yesterday I got my tragus pierced (that's on my ear, for anyone wondering). I've had a slight drama with it. When I cleaned it before bed the little ball on the outside fell off and it took quite a bit of fiddling a a little bit of pain to get it back on again! But I successfully showered with it in this morning, so I'm improving!

--I am unimpressed with the way the restaurant is handling my holiday pay situation, the tax avoidance situation, and I can't stand the owner in general, so I do believe it is time to find myself another job. It's difficult to find one that will fit around the shop hours, though. There's always the Standard, but I worry that I wouldn't really get along with the people that work there...Jamie excluded, of course (:

--I went to Milton Keynes on Saturday for an adventure day with Jamie. There was a wedding fair happening so I went a little mad looking at dresses and cake testing...ah so fun. We ended up walking the entire shopping centre five times over because we didn't know where we were going, but we did make our mandatory stop at HMV. As usual, I spent far too much money on CD's. And I have no regrets :D

--I've realised how much I hate my customer service voice, so I'm working on speaking in a lower tone. It makes me feel powerful. Mwahahaha.

--I really want to take piano lessons again...but I have no time nor money. Which sucks.

Right. That's all the news I can think of.

Le me = boring

Hello, large internet world full of strangers.

I actually do wonder if strangers read this blog. Probably not much anymore seeing as I hardly ever write.

Here, have a life update.

I went to Spain last week with my dad and nanny and it was *fantastic*. I've always wanted to go to Spain. Lying on the beach, reading and eating...glorious.

Also, yesterday was mine and Jamie's two month anniversay! We had a lazy morning and then dinner together. I taught him how to play chess and we watched a lot of tv (:

Yay love.

Good stuff.

Oh dear god I am so boring.

Sorry.

Residue

My favourite thing about smoking my third cigarette:

The whispy cloud expelled from my lungs after the particles have dug their way through every sliver of my bronchioles. Recycling in its blackest form.

My least favourite thing about smoking my third cigarette:

The bastard midgets that collect at the back of my throat with every inhale, making me swallow hard to keep from coughing. 

All in all, something to be savoured only on nights of particular frustration at work.

Kids

Addressing an upset I sought out earlier which brought me pain that I don't really want to discuss but need to at least say this: an entire year after, and his happiness still causes me enough pain that my only consolation is imagining the many ways he could die tomorrow.

Moving on.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the purpose of having children.

Why the hell do we have children?!

Like, okay. You want to try your hand at parenting. But now you've brought another human into the world that will experience horrific pain and sadness. To have kids for your own happiness is nothing less than extremely selfish. Children don't exist for you. As soon as they can think on their own they will be their own person, with their own goals and wants and needs, and if you had it to take care of you when you're old or to carry on the family name or so you could finally have a scientist in the family.....well...none of that is your choice any more. They are autonomous. 

So I've concluded that the only way I could justify having children is if it happened by accident. And then I would do my best to bring them up as an apology for ever having to be here in the first place. 

Dear god. There has to be another reason? I have been dwelling on this for a few days. I can't think of one.

Fuck this. Fuck all of it. Fuck life. Fuck love. Fuck sex. Fuck jetlag. Fuck work. Fuck cooking. Fuck shopping. Fuck 9:00 pm. Fuck it all and more. I'm so done with everything.

So. Fucking. Done.

System Malfunction

Sometimes I lay in bed and cry because I don't know how to be alone with myself.

Fairy Tales

In the past month, probably longer, I've put myself at risk by digging up emotions and memories I thought I had buried in order to feel them all over again. I've taken to hoping madly that I can live in my past again, forgetting that so much has changed and no one can ever return from where they grew. To couple this, I have also been desperately trying to learn how to let go of the good times to make room for better times. I get so worried that what I had before I will never again see the likeness of, and that scares me so much. If I can't deal with remembering, a step back from emotion, what if I don't ever find that life or that love or that friendship or that laughter or that adventure again? What if, when I let it all go and tell myself it's okay to embrace anew, life comes up short? There is no guarantee that life will get better, that tomorrow will bring me more happiness than yesterday. My mind is closed, I've convinced myself that all I have is yesterday.

This might have come because of the giant upheaval of life that will be this summer. I'm feeling a bit too overwhelmed, and my strategy for dealing with all of it is to forget that it is happening and live as usual. I have come to the point where that is no longer possible. My little world is changing as we speak, and I am terrified.

I don't plan. I don't prepare. Because that will be recognizing there is something to plan and prepare for. Lots of somethings.

And I don't know if I can do that.

I don't know if I'll be ready to leave people and memories and how things used to be and the people you used to be. If I'll be ready to deal with the people I have now and how the old has changed and how I have changed, and will change, forever and ever and ever and ever.

I hate missing what is out of my reach. Longing and wishing and planning for a fairy tale. There is a life to deal with, mine, and it isn't holding back because I don't want it.

I guess I just have to learn to deal with it.

I'll get myself in trouble one day. Ah well.

Okay. I don't know what's up with me. My stomach has decided to throw a tantrum. And it hurts. So much.

Anyway.

I'm trying to think of something that inspires me so I can share it with you.

I can't.

My music is just enjoyable, but hardly inspiring. I haven't read any poems lately. I finished 1984 (the book) yesterday and I kind of hated it. It was so damned depressing. Winston fails at everything. He gives up Julia. The evil people win. It sucked.

I also liked it.

Doublethink, I suppose.

My main interest at the moment is bar work and making cocktails. I effing love it. I don't effing love my boss. Good thing I don't have to see him that much. But mark my words--the next time he speaks to me like he did last Saturday he is gonna get it. Me or any of my coworkers. How men like him are allowed to exist is beyond me. Ah well. He pays my wage. His bar makes money. I have fun. We're all winners.

I'm also rather interested in Zach, but that's a given (:

Oh, and my sister had a run in with an awful boss the other week. I don't know how anyone thinks they have the right to get mad at her. Because they don't. Not her. Particularly not men in positions of authority who are mainly taking out their frustrations about things that have nothing to do with her or the work she is doing her best at.

This particular man.....there are a few choice words I'd like to whisper in his oh-so-privileged ear.

Some people need a solid punch in the kidney. Preferably with knuckle dusters.

Quite a lot of people, actually.

Hey. I like this song.

Love so good

My thoughts are travelling too fast for my fingers at the moment, and I can't write what I want to.

Why does this always happen?

Hold tight for my usual late-night roller coaster of angst, dashed dreams, and discord with the present.

Here it comes.

I get a thrill from telling you my secrets. So I'll tell you another one. I was engaged when I was 18. Some may call it more of an understanding than an engagement, but there were promises and a ring--an engagement in my book. I was giddy, but we didn't tell anybody. We were going to get married after his mission. And then I changed and thought it unfair to hold him to an eternal promise made to a different Danielle. Off came the ring.

Three weeks later I was dating someone else who pretended to love me, at moments so tenderly and raw that I didn't see the deception until he came clean.

And two weeks after his confession I was dating someone else, heart still stinging. I fell harder and deeper and faster in love than I had ever imagined possible. Three weeks later I moved to another continent without him. In the natural chaos that comes from such a drastic change, this love unraveled in a fit of insecurity and misunderstandings and frustration.

I was briefly in love with an older man who must have thought I was nothing more than infatuated. But I did love him. He won't ever know that. I won't ever know it for sure.

Now I have a love that is real, have for four months. It is paced. A slow mornings and fried bacon love. An afternoon coffee love. A long walks by the river love. Love existent together and apart, in our present and our future. It is not uncomfortable or suspicious or odd. I am finally in love the way normal people fall in love. Yes, I miss parts of my other pairings, but this is the first to feel solid. I love my man. That will be truer tomorrow. Truer next week. Truer in the coming months. I wouldn't go back to any of the others in place of him.

It feels so good.

Ex-Mo Thoughts

The longer I am out of the LDS church the more I understand why people who leave the church "can't leave it alone" (to quote various general authorities).

It's not because we have this inner turmoil about turning against God and deep inside know that we're wrong but we need to cover it up so we lash out. It's really not like that.

It's because our life now makes sense. Because we can see how harmful the church was and we can see how it is affecting the people we love and we don't want them to have to live with all that pain. Especially not without realizing what is really going on. Because the worst abuse is abuse that you don't recognize and are accepting of.

I haven't ever posted anti-Mormon stuff. So far, I've just talked about my own experience and what I believe and all that. This is still me kind of doing that. But I feel like I needed to clear that up.

Also, the hypocrisy. Some Mormons can't leave the ex-mos alone (enough that this is a point worth mentioning). We get texts and emails and prayers and invitations and 'friendships' and random missionary visits and prodding in the street. Like, I don't know if you know but I am never becoming Mormon again. Ever. I left. Forever. Doing all of the above is not going to change my mind about that. Telling me "Oh, we miss your smile so much! and those primary kids sure do miss your piano playing!" isn't going to bring me back. Nope. Noppity nope nope nope. "But the church really is true, and I know it, and I hope one day you'll be able to stand with me and declare it too, because I love you!" Nope. This is not only unlikely, it is crossing the line of acceptable communication into the realm of rude and impertinent.

Anyway. That was on my mind. Hopefully one day I won't even feel the need to post about my religious experiences.

Running into my old self

I was looking through old email folders two days ago and came across one labeled "Gratitude Journal". It was completely neglected, begun while I was talking to Bishop #2 as a way to combat the pornography. The idea being to fill the hole I created by avoiding porn with All Wholesome Activities, relaying the things I was grateful for being one of them.

It was pretty interesting to read.

September 11th, 2012: "My plea today? Oh, Lord, help me to finish all of my homework before class. The only thing I've completed is anthro. Don't let me forget HAZCOM and don't let me get penalized for that. Please help me to keep on task and to get this dang essay done first thing in the morning. And please help me to have enough money to do laundry. Amen!"

October 27th, 2012: "'grateful for CAden sorry I'm not doingt == tihings the right way" (I'm not sure what happened there....I think I was falling asleep...)

August 22nd, 2012: " I'm grateful that I was able to have pizza, that Siale is brining a shower curtain, and that everything is going to be just fine :)."

July 1st, 2012: "sleep, happinies, peace, unicorns, mah puter"

June 6th, 2012: "I will do yardwork. I promise I will, because I haven't done it at all this week."

June 3rd, 2012: " I'm grateful for the walk with mum, and for making E&R laugh more than I make them cry :)... Grateful for everyone who cares about me so much more than themselves, and I sincerely hope that I can be like them one day."

It is strange to read what I wrote then. So much has happened in the time between.

So I cried in the bank.

This is the 69th post on my blog.

Ha.

That's really not a lot seeing as I've had it for, what, two years? Ish?

Ugh. I am so frustrated with my words. I am repeating myself over and over because I can only use these words that I've used millions of times. I put them together the say way, and I have a natural tendency to start sentences in the same way and it seems to rote and planned and frustratingly mediocre.

asd;f sdf.xjxfkj in cmkeiufnc am,wefl izxjc nakejnf idn mw,efl zxdh nfwelifucxh w;ekjf hsd

I wish you could hear the thoughts in my head as they come, and the thoughts that aren't really thoughts they're more like feelings. Because I can't translate feelings.

I'll tell you about the other day. I was in the bank, waiting in line to make a deposit, and at the counter there was a mother with three little children. The little girl was sitting in the pram, and the two boys were playing somewhat unruly on the floor. But instead of getting annoyed with her children, who were obviously keeping her from doing what she needed to do, this woman spoke like an angel. She was so kind and supportive. She used positive language, told them how good they were to be waiting when it was so boring for them. Seeing this display of love after working in a shop where the benefits mothers waddle in and constantly scream, "Don't TOUCH THAT! I told you NO! Get OUT of the shop! NOW!"--I broke down into silent tears. This woman reminded me of my own mother when I was that little person playing on the floor of the bank. Love like this was a real mother's love, the love that I was given. It really got to me. I approached the woman and told her how wonderful she was. I had to choke back sobs. I don't know if I made her uncomfortable. But I wanted her to know that I wished all mothers would love their children like she did.

Anyway. That's my story. In my stupid English that is giving me serious grief. Oh well.

I'm a pond. A pond that breaks its promises.

You know how I have that character flaw where I'm never consistent with my word?

TA DAH!

Sorry. No daily blog posts for you. I felt that the pressure of coming up with something to write about would only produce stupid writing that didn't really have a point.

I have a secret. I'm not going to tell you what it is, obviously. Don't ask about it either, because I still won't tell you. It's not about you. Promise.

I don't change. Ever. I don't. I am the same person I was five years ago, ten years ago. I have made more choices since then, true. I've experienced more things. But there is a great difference between growing and changing. My life is a pond, and time is pouring water into it until it's all full up and I'm dead. The shape of the pond is there the entire time, I just have to bide the years as it fills. That's growing. No changing involved, except for how much water's in my pond.

Whelp. That's my philosophical thought for the night. Bedtime now.

Taking A Shower

I currently have brandy, rum, Bailey's, Malibu, and Disaronno running through my veins. Small amounts, to be fair, but enough to have me feeling rather lovely right now.

Tonight was wonderful. I didn't get ID'd. I pretended to bring my roast chicken back to life. Dinner was truly delicious, every part of it. I got to listen to Zach laugh, my favorite laugh. We went for a walk. I wore beautiful heels. We went to the Auction Room where I may soon be starting a bar tending job. I think I made a good impression on the management. I really hope the job happens because I will be needing the dinero. Oh! And I took a shower! Clean Danie!

Might not sound so difficult, but it takes a lot for me to shower. So much effort goes into collecting bathroom stuff, disrobing, getting wet, lathering and scrubbing and repeating. Sometimes the water's freezing. Other times it is so nice I stay in there for 30 minutes, fingers of water trickling in, around, under, over. And then I'm usually late for work with wet hair.

But I managed it today.

Whoop.

Peggy

So this is a really funny thing I've noticed: when I post links to my blog on facebook, my average readership is around 70 views (not including really popular ones, like the why I'm not Mormon one, which currently has 501 views.....whaaaat?!). When I don't post a link, I get an average of 12 views. I would like to thank the small number of loyal readers I have. I will be faithful to you, and I will not start posting facebook links just to up my numbers. I am a bigger person than that.

Well, I'm trying to be a bigger person than that. So I might share the occasional earth-shattering revelation :)

There are a couple of things about today that struck me.

When I woke up it didn't seem like it was going to be a spectacular morning. But I managed to wash the dishes before work. I didn't get snappy with anyone for two whole hours. After that it kind of went downhill. For a while there, however, I was feeling pretty normal. It was nice.

There is an old woman I have bonded with in the shop. I think her name is Peggy. She is Irish, short, loosing her hair, has dementia, and talks to me about how much she wishes she were dead. After listening to some of her life stories I can understand her attitude. Her dad abused her. She worked in shops full time from the age of 15. She has one daughter who only uses her for her money, and a grandson that does the same. She is in and out of hospitals where the doctors tell her nothing is wrong, though anyone who can hear that hacking cough of hers would know something is up. She didn't get flowers or a card for mother's day. And all she wants is to be out of this country to bide the time until she dies, as she tells me every day.

But that's not all she is. She has a sharp and funny wit. There was a front page news story about some athlete that had come out as gay, and when she'd read it she turned around and said to me, "Why is that on the front page? I'm lesbian, but I don't go around telling everybody!" And the one time she was telling me and my co-worker about shrooms. He said to her that his father's advice was to try everything once but not get addicted, to which she responded she'd already tried everything by now. He insisted that she couldn't have enjoyed all worldly pursuits, to which she replied, "You're right; I haven't tried you yet!"

I. Love. This. Woman. She is so miserable. I don't think anyone has ever told her how much she is worth. She's lonely and old and nearly at the end of her life. But we are friends. She tells me she wants to adopt me, that I can be her granddaughter. And I happily say that I am, because I need to take care of this wonderful lady who is so alone and so much like me. And I know she'll be gone soon. I dread the day when she doesn't come in for her pack of cigarettes, asking three times how much they are as she rummages around the pennies in her purse. She needs a person, and I want to be her person. It's been a while since I've felt the desire to extend kindness towards anyone. Now that I have, I don't want to loose her.

Good Day

I only feel slightly bad that my post for April 1st is happening on April 2nd, but I have yet to go to bed, so it's still the same day for me. Therefore I can count this towards consistency. Yay for consistency.

I am rather proud of how I managed my day today. I organized, washed, and hung two loads of laundry (currently hanging up on every available space in my room--on the plus side, it smells like freesias in here). I washed the dishes. I went to work. I got to see Zach three times. Needless to say, all three of those times were the highlight of my day. A quick walk into town and back with a doughnut, a short McDonald's munch in the hallway, and cuddles and discussions of mothers. These are my highlights, world, and I wouldn't trade them for anything. I wouldn't trade him for anything.

It's been a good day.

Banana growed up...gitting murried...

Two days in a row? Crazy! I know! I was looking up blog post ideas and most of them said the most important characteristic of a blog is consistent posting. One of my issues is not being consistent. Posts are like accidents here. I also added up the number of hours I'm on the internet every day and the grand total was....a lot. Most of which is switching between tabs just in case something interesting appears.

Yeah.

So I figure I might as well put my down time to some use and write.

I am happy for my sister. It was difficult for me at first, because I always imagined I would be with her when she fell in love and we'd stay up all night swapping stories and she could tell me how he is more wonderful than any man she could have imagined and I could tell her about all the mistakes I've made and she could tell me how they wanted to get married and how happy she is to be with this wonderful man. But I wasn't there, so it happened all surprisingly and it was a little hard for me to understand.

But I am actually excited to meet this new addition to our crazy family. And make sure that he is worthy of my sister. Because that's still in the back of my head, no matter how at peace I am with this :D. This is just a weird thing to come to terms with. Hannah's going to be an Olson. It's like she's not mine any more. I don't own her though? And she's happy. So I shouldn't feel like this.....regardless of the validity of that feeling, mostly I am happy for her. Happy that she is ready to take this big huge giant step, that she is smart enough to have it planned out, and that she is in love enough to make this commitment.

Good job Han :) I am SO PROUD OF YOU!

25 Things That Make Me Happy

25. Walking out the gate to the car park and not seeing a single other person. This is even better in the morning when the air is crisp. It's like I'm the only person on the earth, and it is wonderful.

24. Fairy tales, especially interesting re-tellings. I have a book of fairy tales that my daddy bought me when I was little. It's still one of my favorite books. 

23. When the perfect song comes on to the radio. This is best when driving a car full of friends on the way to an adventure, then proceeding to belt out the lyrics like maniacs. 

22. Circle discussions on the grass with the girls while the boys play frisbee (seriously, that was the best summer ever)

21. Old ladies with old photographs in their purses. I love to hear the stories.

20. Children playing happily (not noisily or messily or crazily).

19. Making dinner and getting sincerely complimented on my attempt.

18. Train rides to anywhere.

17. When people are able to debate in a civil manner rather than argue and assert their intelligence/dominance/righteousness through cruel insults and ridiculous accusations.

16. Beautiful women.

15. Patient teachers that care more for a student's growth and development than grades.

14. The extent to which my daddy loves ice-cream.

13. Letters from my little sisters.

12. When I get my makeup the way I like it. This is quite a feat. 

11. Successfully placing random items in other shopper's trolleys at IKEA.

10. Being told I had a positive effect on someone I don't know that well.

9. Having what someone needs and being in a position to give it.

8. Books that force me to think.

7. Music that takes me to another place.

6. Reminiscing with old friends. 

5. Having more money in the bank than I thought I did.

4. Thai food. Particularly Thai tea. It always tastes like magic. Like I'm privy to all the secrets of the universe if I only listen closely enough.

3. Messages in my "Other" folder on facebook.

2. Old churches with ornate carvings and paintings. 

1. Soft, wet kisses.

*BONUS*: Chopin Preludes

This is why I'm not Mormon anymore.

Name the moment that continues to define who you are today.

For me it was last spring. April. My second semester at BYU was coming to a slow and painful end. I was not at all happy with myself. I was unraveling, every end of me. Backing myself into a corner like a wounded animal. I felt trapped by school. No one cared if I went to class. No one noticed. So I didn't go. I didn't need to wash myself or eat properly because no one was checking up on me. I didn't care any more. What was the real point? I was going to therapy and seeing my bishop (my third, dear goodness, since I was twelve years old), fighting against this struggle that constantly got the better of me. I was being assaulted at church Sunday after Sunday after Sunday with doctrines, delivered by teachers that seemed so fake. No one cared. Those who knew about my 'issue' also knew that I was strong-willed, and assumed  I would overcome it if I just put my mind to it.

We were taught at church how to be good, chaste young women. We were told how we should never, ever under any circumstances date a young man with a pornography problem.

Because they are dirty.

Because boys who watch pornography are dangerous creatures.

Boys who watch pornography will never respect you. They probably masturbate (cue gasps and wondering what the hell masturbating is throughout the Relief Society). They will want your body. Their minds are contorted. The devil has a hold on them. They will drag you down that slippery slope and before you know it they will have you in their beds. They can't even control it. You will be helpless.

A good young woman who wants a good temple marriage needs to cut such men out of her life. Tell them you would be happy to talk to them when they've gotten over their 'issue', but until then they are not worth your time. Because you don't want to be near boys who act like that. <-----THIS WAS THE ADVICE WE WERE GIVEN. BY THE STAKE PRESIDENT. IN A SINGLES WARD RELIEF SOCIETY MEETING.

Do you know how that felt? Sitting there the whole time and thinking...what? I'm not worthy to even be TALKED TO? Because I like PORN? And this is ME. The WOMAN. Who is naturally supposed to be so PURE. I must be so far gone. I must be such an awful person. I obviously need constant supervision because I can't control myself. I was told to get rid of my laptop. I was told to come running to my bishop every time I had a single THOUGHT that was in the wrong place. Pray constantly, Danie. Fill your life with God. Fill your life with homework and washing dishes. Fill your life with preparing for a mission, for marriage, for children. Remember all that is broken and lost because you want Satan's way. A fiancee. Parent's trust. The sacrament. Time. Love. Worth. (Strangely enough, not my calling. Probably because I was good at it.)

This is why I was seeing a therapist. This is why I couldn't concentrate on school. This is why I stopped going to church, why I left early from meetings. I couldn't take it, anything. I was suffocating under this huge PROBLEM that defined me from sunrise to sunset.

Too much too much too much too much too much too much too much too much too much too much

And then I met someone who didn't think I was a dirty whore for having the cravings that I have. And it was that moment, when he kissed me after knowing everything I was, that changed me into who I am today. He taught me how I was normal. And go ahead and judge if you like, but he helped me to understand myself and put at ease my cravings simply by validating them. Now there was a solution, and that solution was to leave the source of the excruciating pressure I was being put under. And so I rejected the Mormon faith.

And what a release that was.

It was not a coward's way out. I was turning my back on my entire belief system, having to build a new paradigm from the ground up. But now I am at peace with myself and the human way that I am. I don't feel...lesser.

This may come as a shock to a lot of you. But I'm okay with that. I didn't even mean to write about this. It just came out. I suppose it's time for people to know.

I do not believe pornography is wrong.
I do not believe masturbating is wrong.
I do not believe participating in sexual acts before marriage is wrong.
I do not believe being aroused is wrong.
I do not believe reading sexual literature is wrong.
I believe that every human is entitled to an all-encompassing understanding of their personal sexuality.
I do not believe anyone should be afraid of their bodies or their thoughts.
I do not believe anyone should be shunned or looked down upon for believing and/or living the above.

I believe these things because I live them and feel at peace with myself. More at peace than when I was a Mormon girl trying my hardest to obey all the rules and having to deal with constant failure and alienation. Now I am okay.

Amsterdam...I've written that so many times it looks odd...

I try to complete at least one productive task per day. Usually that's all I can manage (heh usually I can't even do one). Today's task was filling out my passport renewal form. Why might I put myself through that frustration, you might ask.

BECAUSE I'M GOING TO AMSTERDAM.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah. I'm a wee bit excited. As in I just took a break from this post to look up flights again....oh I am so excited. I have never traveled this much in one year. And I get to go with my dearest boyfriend, who has never been on an airplane. This is gonna be SO MUCH FUN.

SO MUCH FUN.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

*ahem*

But first I have to get this application filled out and sent off, and I regret to inform all of those who believe I am a functional and capable adult.....writing rote information into segmented boxes is seriously stressing me out. It will be so worth it, though. So I've taken a break from it, and I'll be researching Amsterdam and the many things to do there (you know, besides pot and prostitutes :D)

('Amsterdam' by Coldplay....one of my favorite songs...)

An Unconventional Childhood, Part I of ???

I think it is safe to say that I had an unconventional childhood.

For a start, my parents were divorced. I think I was five. Maybe four. I remember watching through the bars on the landing banister, my mom and dad at the front door. I don't remember what I heard. I just remember my daddy in a black jacket, holding a suitcase. Mom giving him a look that said 'leave and don't look back'. I was supposed to be in bed, but something was going on and I had to be part of it. I was used to my daddy leaving at night--that was when he went to work, night shifts for a security company. But this was different, this was final. Somehow I knew he was leaving. But why, but why? I couldn't call out because I was supposed to be in bed. This scene was not meant for a toddler's eyes. That's what I see in my head, though, when I think of the divorce. The image of my daddy, walking out the front door.

For another, my best friend was my sister. That doesn't happen often anymore. Usually there's an intense competition between siblings, a need for outside attentions away from a suffocatingly close family. But my sister was what I had. I was truly awful to her. Bossy, unkind. I ate her chocolate. I got mad at her at school. I did everything I could to assert my dominance. How kind she was, though. How lovely. The perfect playmate. We would wear the same clothes, have our hair braided in matching plaits. We would lay awake at night in our room and tell fantasy stories of all the adventures running around in our heads. Whisper secrets to each other, giggle. Take turns humming into the fan during stifling summer nights. See how long we could keep it up until Mom came in a told us off. I remember we'd say our prayers, kneeling next to our beds, and I'd always stay there far after I'd finished to appear more pious. Hannah and her beautiful cheesy smile, and her animal love, and her wild composure. I would not love my childhood had I not been loved by Hannah.

I moved around a lot. The one sure thing I always took with me, no matter what, is Bob Bear. I got Bob Bear from my uncle Tommy when I was four years old. I still have him.

Bob has been smothered in tears, snot, vomit, sweat, screams. I've told him all of my darkest confessions. He's the first one to know of a boy I like. He's the first one to hear of a fight I got into and WHY I AM SO RIGHT. I've thrown him across the room and then run over to save him and fix his broken limbs. I will have Bob until the day that I die. I'll probably have him buried with me. Once my mom put him in the washing machine and he came out looking like a sheep and I'm not sure I quite forgive her for that (sorry mom :) ). Once I attempted to convince my schoolmates that he came alive when no one else was around. I carried him in my backpack when I was in Iceland. When I went to therapy I would come home and sob endlessly into his belly. His face is squashed to one side because I have hugged him for fifteen, nearly sixteen, years in the same position.

I quite enjoyed writing this, so I'll probably do it again soon. Thanks for the suggestion momma :)

P.S. My mom has a blog. If you want the link message me.

WANTED: More Life

So I'm pretty tired of the way my life is going lately.

Clarification: I am pretty tired of my lack of motivation to get myself out of this rut of going to work and coming home and eating everything and then watching netflix until I make dinner then eating and going back to my room and watching netflix until I fall asleep.

I also had a money scare the other day, and realized how desperately I need another job.

WANTED: PART-TIME POSITION

Afternoons only, at least minimum wage. Must be an engaging work environment. Co-workers and managers must not be idiots. No customer service or interactions with the public. Opportunities to be creative and grow intellectually. Having a laugh, strengthening relationships, and making the most of life must be priorities. Bonuses: cake, travel, music, dancing, jokes, nap time, books.

So basically what I'm looking for are people, not positions.

If anyone knows of a job that fits above description, please PLEASE let me know.

THINGS THAT I LIKE ABOUT MY LIFE RIGHT NOW:

• Zach
• Guitar
• Skyping Hannah
• Spending time with papa

THINGS I WOULD LIKE TO DO WITH MY LIFE THAT I AM NOT CURRENTLY DOING:

• Exercise (I have eaten so much lately it's no longer a joke)
• Laundry
• Write something important
• Get driving license
• Become a stable, independent young woman who knows what she's doing

I went with dad to an antiques shop in Olney the other day and it was so much fun. I love antiques. I bought a ring, totally fake, but it looks pretty. And Zach and I had the most fantastic day when I got my guitar on Tuesday. All of the bedford crazies were out. We had paella for dinner. Took Scrappy for a walk. Listened to him play ridiculously well as I sat in the kitchen eating biscuits. Happy Danie :)

Anyway. Sorry, this hasn't been terribly helpful or exciting. There are a lot of things I am attempting to sort out at the minute. Another thing is this move to Norfolk. I can't get it around my head that I'm moving again. I would like to live on my own and pay for myself. It frustrates me so much that I STILL can't take care of myself. That I have people to rely on. That I have to move wherever dad and Debbie go because I don't have a single other option. 

Sorry guys. Ugh. I'm kind of depressed now. Time to watch an episode of Dexter.

Shop Etiquette: Why Your Cashier Wants You Dead

After working in a shop for so many months, I have a long list of things I hate that customers do that I didn't think about before. I am going to share with you so next time you go to the shop the cashier doesn't throw you a dirty look. Or attack you with a mars bar.

Don't give us crumpled notes: You have time to un-crumple them. Seriously. This is so annoying.
Don't expect us to read your mind: If you want ten Sterling superkings menthol, ask for ten Sterling superkings menthol. I don't know what you mean when you say 'ten fags', 'superkings', 'ten of those', 'ten menthol', or just look at me and point vaguely at the entire cigarette counter. Grr.
Don't pay with more than 10-13 coins: I understand you want to get rid of your change, but it takes way too long to count. Especially when I can see you have a 5 pound note in your purse.
Don't shove things onto the counter: RUDE. SO RUDE. If you do it accidentally, apologise and I'll be understanding. Otherwise, expect your change to be thrown right back at you.
Don't put an item on the counter and then leave: Get what you want before you come to me. I will not make the other people in line wait while you just run back to get a drink, crisps, a magazine, a newspaper, and a lottery slip after putting a pack of gum in front of me. No. Just no.
Don't expect me to come to you: You see I'm standing at my till. MY till. Not the one on the other side of the counter. I am going to stubbornly stay there. I will talk to you there. I will run your transaction there. But I will not come to the other till because you cannot be bothered to walk the extra six feet.
Don't buy a scratchcard if you don't know how to do it: It's okay if you ask me how. That's cool. I can explain. But when you bring me seven cards with only the verification number scratched off, and I check and you didn't win on a single one, that is just a waste of my time. Waste. Of. Time. You basically just paid for it and then made me do it for you. I cannot stand that.
Don't be offended if we I.D. you: Look, it's my job. If I don't I get put in jail. I am sorry if you are significantly older than the required I.D. age, but I seriously can't tell people's ages just by looking at them. Better safe than sorry.
Don't get angry with me if we've run out of what you want: I'M SORRY I RUINED YOUR LIFE BECAUSE WE DON'T HAVE ANY MORE COUGH DROPS. Please take your tantrum outside with the five year olds.
Don't shout at your kids in the shop (at the very least): Yeah, I can see your kids are being unruly. But it makes my heart cry when you verbally abuse them 'cause they just want sweets. And you wonder why they misbehave.
Don't try to hold a transaction over the shoulder of the person in front: This happens so many times it is ridiculous. The old lady I just served is putting her change away, she's collecting her bags and her walking stick, and you can damn well wait for her to leave my counter before you shove your newspaper money in my face and rush out. No. You will be old one day too. Give her time.
Don't make me get stuff for you: I am not your personal shopper. I have to stay behind my till. I can't come out front and read all the greeting cards for you because you forgot your glasses. I can't get your newspaper. I can't get your wine. Do it yourself, please.
Don't flirt creepily: This is mostly for all those old men out there. A smile is sweet, perhaps a small joke. But don't be rapey about it. Eew.
Don't touch anything behind the counter: The counter is a boundary. I give you the printed lottery tickets, you don't reach around and take them. The alcohol behind the counter is for me to get for you. It is my space, and if you enter my space I will punch you in the stomach.
Don't mumble incoherently: I'm not a psychic, remember?
Don't make conversation about boring or possibly awkward topics: You do not know how many times I have to talk about the weather in a day. Also, I probably won't agree with your political opinions or be able to give much support with regards to your recent hospital visit. Sorry :\
Don't talk on the phone and come to the counter: This. THIS. Yeah, I'm an attention whore. I will not be your second priority. You don't whisper to me and then shout at your phone. Srsly.
Don't leave rubbish on the counter: I have a bin. Ask me politely to put it in there for you.
Don't get mad at me if you messed up your lottery ticket: No, I don't have the time to fill out an entirely new one for you. Why yes, you'll need to go to the back and do it again. Stop freaking out. Stahp.
Don't treat me like a lesser human being: I can tell when you're being pretentious. I really hate that.
If all else fails, just be nice: Nice people get forgiven for breaking rules. Just be nice.

That pretty much sums it up. I didn't realize how long that list was...

Mind Games

Little heart,
stop your racing

The organic electrics that keep you awake
are not yours to feel
Back to the younger darkness
Back to an ebb in the flow
Back to a place of little expectation
Where anticipation quelled the mutinous thoughts as they were so labeled
Preventing  a possible nothing or, at worst,
guarding an emotional genocide

Inhale all rote, exhale all mediocre
And let true lovers languish
in themselves

Tears

I cry when I think of how much the men I love are loved by their mothers (if I loved you once I will love you forever).

I cry when I see a kindness being offered that I did not have the courage to offer.

I cry when my sister cries, when she is made to feel less than the glorious woman she truly is.

I cry when I think of the faith of my mother, raising two little girls in little houses all by herself. She is strong.

I cry when the character in my book gives up what he or she loves to fit into the world or normalize.

I cry when real people do the same.

I cry when I loose the line between true love and a lie. When I think I am asking too much, but still wanting it all, unsure of how demanding I can be when it comes to degrees of affection. I give all.

I cry when I realize I have underestimated myself, when I gave too little, when I come up short.

I cry when I remember being elated with a person I no longer speak to.

I cry when I attempt to fathom eternity, the vast loneliness of it.

I cry when I disappoint my father through neglect of gratitude or neglect of duty.

I cry when I simultaneously want opposites.

I cry when life appears pointless, when I want nothing more than to drown out of existence.

I cry when I can no longer play the songs I used to play.

I cry over misunderstandings.

I cry reading my own poetry. Usually poems about the men I love (if I loved you once I will write about you forever).

I cry when I remember how awful university was.

I cry when I hear this song.

I'm writing a book! and other tentative midnight thoughts...

I'm in a weird mood. Therefore I blog. Dems da rulz, yo.

No joke, something just fell down in my room and I don't know what it was and it's dark so I'm kind of scared. Because things falling down is always scary. I should be sleeping. But I feel like I just want to be with someone else who is awake right now. Or, more accurately, just be awake with someone right now. Like there is some other human out there who is awake and also listening to this ridiculous rain that can't decide whether it wants to fizzle or flood, and I would really like to talk to that human about our overlaps. Because they could tell me a thing or two about what's rattling around my head.

Relationships are scary. Self-control is hard. Patience is hard. Not worrying about every single little thing is hard. Learning how to fit into another person's life is frustrating. I'm tired of apologising for everything I do wrong, to be honest. But I still feel I need to, because everything I do is well meaning, and I need to clarify so you don't think I did anything on purpose or to make you upset. No. I'm still learning. I'll never stop messing up, because I will never perfectly understand who you are or what you want. But I sure as hell am trying. You seem to be worth it so far. Although I spend a lot of the time we are apart thinking about you in a way that would most definitely be defined as breaking the current set of boundaries we have, I can see that you are definitely someone I will love. Without a doubt. And the day will come when you are allowed over to the flat and we can do normal things together, like cooking. Or not so normal things, like sitting upside down on the couch watching Bargain Hunt. And what I really hope, beyond anything else, is that this lasts, and I don't end up being a disappointment for you.

It has been mentioned to me a few times recently by different people that I'm not so bad at this writing thing when I put my mind to it. So I've been considering writing something bigger than a blog. The hardest part is starting. I'll keep you posted.

Today I went to Milton Keynes and bought Lorde's Pure Heroine CD. Never have I ever been in so much awe over the work of a sixteen year old. It is BRILLIANT. Five gold stars from Danie. Also bought were a compilation of trance tracks, Disclosure's Settle, best of the Pet Shop Boys, Bastile's Bad Blood, and Kodaline (I've forgotten the album name). I am somewhat irked that the past few times I've been they haven't had any deadmau5 in stock. :(. I need some of that in my life.

OH OH NEWS I'M GOING ON HOLIDAY NEXT MONTH TO FUERTEVENTURA! I'm a wee bit excited.

I've got nothing else to say. Stay classy. DFTBA.

You for a second time, xxx

Nowadays my heart is full of the way you smell and the timbre of your laugh and the soft of your mouth and the rough of your hands. And it is lovely. Just like you. And the degree of missing you when you go must be a measure of affection, because it is deep. The depth is what I think about as I fall asleep, when I put on my coat, when I read, when I sit around doing nothing but thinking. You and depth. Depth and you. How lovely, and sometimes lonely. But that's only when you go. I have to remind myself there is always tomorrow--the elusively well-rested and productive tomorrow, when our time together is deserved rather than stolen. Oh, but I love being a thief with you.