Because none of it was ever worth the risk…
Bit of a mixed bag this week. I had the whole week off to revel in my temporary unemployment. I had a horrific nightmare on the Sunday night that pretty much set my mind into overdrive for a good two or three days. I remember nothing other than being sat in a very small dark room with a man who looked like either Penfold or Sean, maybe a combination of the two. I knew him to be a guide of sorts. He turned to me and said “Heather, the thing you desire the most is a child, it’s time you stopped deceiving yourself because time is running out”. BLAM! I woke the fuck on up. Brilliant, thanks a fucking bunch REM sleep. I thought the thing I desired the most was a cottage in Cornwall with a fitty who will wait on me hand and foot, and a new camera if that’s out of my reach. I spent the next two days worrying if I’m lying to myself for not being bothered about having kids. I can’t get a boyfriend and even if I were to magic one out of thin air tomorrow, would there ever be a man that I could trust enough to have a child with? I’m no man hater, I actually like men quite a lot but I have to say there isn’t one that has not disappointed me, maybe with the exception of Henry Rollins. Even then I have to block out the abhorrent poetry he has spewed forth. So once again we go back to me setting my standards too high. I look at some of the friends and acquaintances I have, several of them are pregnant or have just had a baby and none of them have been with their partners particularly long. One even less than a year. I don’t think I’d even cope with living with a guy after a year. Or maybe I would, perhaps I just haven’t met The One yet. Whatever the hell that means. Needless to say, this horrifying dream made me question my entire belief system. Do I want kids? If so, how long do I have to do it? Do I even know myself at all? Am I that good a liar to myself that I’ve hidden such a huge issue from myself? After many,many hours of frustation, I came to the conclusion that the whole issue is not even up for consideration until I’ve found that fitty and we are thinking about our cottage in Cornwall. Like I said, thanks a fucking bunch REM.
I spent most of my stewing time sorting out my pigsty of a house. I don’t think I’ve cleaned so much in my life, I have a whole pile of clothes to go in the recycling, I even dusted my books. Lame huh? Still, I have a spotless house, all my clothes are washed, ironed and hung up. It was all very cathartic and has left me feeling accomplished and ready to start again. The dog and I went out on a few lovely walks, she tried chasing sheep and I worked on my summer freckle tan. I’m really thankful that I can drive for less than 10 minutes and be right out in the heart of the countryside. She also had her booster jabs at the vets and I received the horrifying news that the vet thinks Hollydog is… FAT. Apparently she’s a kilo over what she should be. I nearly died of shame. She’s on diet food and extra long walks until she is back to her skinny self. I’ve also had a word with my mother who insists on feeding her whenever my back is turned. My mum is like Mrs Doyle from Father Ted, if she likes you, she feeds you. And she reeeeally likes Holly.
Back to work tomorrow. I found out my shift pattern for the week and had a moment of “Oh my god, what have I done?”. Then I remembered I don’t actually have a life at the weekends other than exploring dirty old buildings. I rarely go out on the lash these days and I have about three friends who still live in town and I see regularly so working a full weekend won’t actually impact on me at all. It will be odd going back to the Foyer in a non managerial capacity but I’m also looking forward to walking away from it at the end of each day knowing I’m not getting calls, covering shifts (unless I want to, rather than having to) and having a bit of energy to do things like the gym and maybe widening my social circle so I’m not such a miserable shit all the godamned time.
Now I’d like to share with you a little gem that my buddy Sean hooked me up with. I didn’t really know anything about ICP other than some beef with Eminem and their highly questionable make up technique. Now I see I was blind to judge them merely on looks alone. Literary wizards that they are, have produced this masterpiece. I will let the magic speak for itself however if you, like myself, ever doubted the power of ICP, I should advise you that enlightenment kicks in around 1:50. You’re not in Kansas anymore Dorothy.
aitcheeevee
