Things have changed for me. And that's okay.
How many seconds, minutes, hours of my life have I wasted thinking about stupid, stupid things? Probably many, but now here I am and my whole feelings have changed, my whole outlook on what I thought life should like has morphed into something wonderful. I no longer torture myself with the what ifs and the maybes, no longer sit there wondering. And it's okay I didn't get reply. Isn't that just a reflection on him rather than me? I have a clear conscious, I was the honest one, I told the truth. He didn't, couldn't. So it's his problem, his conscious he has to face, not mine. I'm fine.
Who'd have thought one poxy email could change a whole feeling. Oh well, I'm not about to complain. And yes, I may sound cheesy. But I'm able to look him in the eye now, instead of looking away because of how much it hurt to think that he didn't know. Now he does so there are no what ifs, none at all.
Awesome.
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Monday, 28 April 2008
Well hello!
Long time no speak, I believe.
Well, I can't really say much has changed. I'm taking my driving test tomorrow and I'm losing myself in Stephen King books. I'm revising for my Alevels and trying not to think about stuff I shouldn't think about. And you know what? It's kind of working.
I only get small pangs now when I think of him. Only tiny far away ones, like a harp's strings being plucked along a very long corridor. Fragile but still distant. Oh, yes he could break me again if I wanted to. It's time that's healing this wound. Neglect almost. He's not around to think about, to attend to so my brain discards him. And only when the bus drives past where he lives or I see him or think of him unexpectedly does that pang go off and even then it's bearable.
Bearable.
Living without him wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Certain things remind me of him: SuDoku, skiing, little things like that but I can talk about him now without it hurting so bad. And that's got to be good. Got to be.
He still hasn't told me. Hasn't uttered the two words I dread to hear and long for at the same time.
I'm leaving.
Well just go! I don't want to sit and wait for the email or the message. I don't want to wait for you to care about me enough to tell me because I know deep down in my heart that you never are and I'm wishing on stars that never existed.
Only in this head of mine would I allow him in and I'm blocking him now for all I'm worth.
I did my play. All the weeks of rehearsal and feelings of inadequacy all accumulated in that one adrenaline fueled night. Yes, I loved it. But drama is not my calling. I will never fit in the world that is drama. I'm not the right misfit. True enough I am A misfit but I'm not a drama one. I'm an english one, at best. At worst I'm just a misfit.
I don't know what is in my head. I'm in a writing mood. I could spew shit for the next hundred words and not notice. In the zone, as you would call it. Sometimes, I become frighteningly aware of my own existance, and the fact that I am in charge of a whole life. My life. Yes, I know I should have fathomed that I while back but sometimes it hits me so glaringly in the face that I can't face it, don't want to face the fact that I'm growing up.
Where did my childhood go? Where did it slip away to? One moment it's there, resting safely in the palm of my hand and the next it has abandoned me and I'm surrounded by thoughts of getting a job, and paying for my petrol and finding someone I could spend the rest of my life with. Yes, I have time. Not everything has to happen now but it will begin to happen and when it does how the hell can I stop it? Part of me longs for the freedom of my own life, the freedom that I am granted and the control it brings. And then the other part of me wants to hand it back, wants to cower away from responsibilty and sensible thoughts. Because I am not sensible. I've never been and doubt I ever will be. I'm cautious but they are two different things.
When it comes down to it, I'm just lost.
Well, I can't really say much has changed. I'm taking my driving test tomorrow and I'm losing myself in Stephen King books. I'm revising for my Alevels and trying not to think about stuff I shouldn't think about. And you know what? It's kind of working.
I only get small pangs now when I think of him. Only tiny far away ones, like a harp's strings being plucked along a very long corridor. Fragile but still distant. Oh, yes he could break me again if I wanted to. It's time that's healing this wound. Neglect almost. He's not around to think about, to attend to so my brain discards him. And only when the bus drives past where he lives or I see him or think of him unexpectedly does that pang go off and even then it's bearable.
Bearable.
Living without him wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Certain things remind me of him: SuDoku, skiing, little things like that but I can talk about him now without it hurting so bad. And that's got to be good. Got to be.
He still hasn't told me. Hasn't uttered the two words I dread to hear and long for at the same time.
I'm leaving.
Well just go! I don't want to sit and wait for the email or the message. I don't want to wait for you to care about me enough to tell me because I know deep down in my heart that you never are and I'm wishing on stars that never existed.
Only in this head of mine would I allow him in and I'm blocking him now for all I'm worth.
I did my play. All the weeks of rehearsal and feelings of inadequacy all accumulated in that one adrenaline fueled night. Yes, I loved it. But drama is not my calling. I will never fit in the world that is drama. I'm not the right misfit. True enough I am A misfit but I'm not a drama one. I'm an english one, at best. At worst I'm just a misfit.
I don't know what is in my head. I'm in a writing mood. I could spew shit for the next hundred words and not notice. In the zone, as you would call it. Sometimes, I become frighteningly aware of my own existance, and the fact that I am in charge of a whole life. My life. Yes, I know I should have fathomed that I while back but sometimes it hits me so glaringly in the face that I can't face it, don't want to face the fact that I'm growing up.
Where did my childhood go? Where did it slip away to? One moment it's there, resting safely in the palm of my hand and the next it has abandoned me and I'm surrounded by thoughts of getting a job, and paying for my petrol and finding someone I could spend the rest of my life with. Yes, I have time. Not everything has to happen now but it will begin to happen and when it does how the hell can I stop it? Part of me longs for the freedom of my own life, the freedom that I am granted and the control it brings. And then the other part of me wants to hand it back, wants to cower away from responsibilty and sensible thoughts. Because I am not sensible. I've never been and doubt I ever will be. I'm cautious but they are two different things.
When it comes down to it, I'm just lost.
Sunday, 9 March 2008
Life, The Universe and Everything.
It's strange how I can be sitting here minding my own buisness and then I think of you and POOF! I can barely breathe. It's like all of a sudden the mere thought of you takes up all the space in my brain and stops me from being able to do the simple task of pulling in air and exhaling it. That's just not right. I hate that you have this level of control over me and you don't even know, or care the tiniest bit. How can I go on like this? How can I grow old never knowing if there could be something more than the wishing. Never knowing that if I had just said something to you, three simple words, I could have conjured up a life far better than the one I'm living now. How can I not take that risk? Then again there's the possibility that you might laugh in my face, or never want to speak to me again or feel violated or simply think I'm mentally tapped. There's every possibility that that may happen and that is the scariest part of this whole endeavour.
The night before September 9th 2008, my HTC TyNt will make a faint buzzing sound and on the screen will flash 'Tell Him!' this is the prompt that in around 24 hours I will be confessing my love for you and hope for the best. Whether it be in the pub, or through an email or simply whether I throw rocks at your window and do a revers Romeo and Juliet type thing and ask you to marry me. I don't know. But either way I'll have to utter those three words, or maybe lots of words to the same effect, in your general direction. So here is my prototype.
It's been over a year since I officially left you, and in that year I've missed you so much and so hard it has been mentally and physically draining. I think deep down you already know what I'm going to say, I think deep down you saw it in my eyes and knew. Do you remember you got that rose on one of the Valentine's days. That was me. I felt something for you then because you were kind, gentle, funny and just the perfect man for me. How corny. I just want you to know that I don't expect anything from you. Although I've hoped that this might be reciprocated I know that it is probably not and even if it was there is a considerable taboo about it which would hold us back but I'm not even going to let the possibilty of I feel the same creep into my head. I just want you to know that someone out here in this big wide world loves you and thinks about you everyday of her life. Now, that might sound rather creepy, and probably is to an extent but it's also true so if you just want to walk away from this conversation now you can. If you haven't already interrupted me, that is. There have been so many times when I've felt so close to youm where I've come so close to just telling you like I am now, but I decided to wait until now for both of us. For me because I wanted to be sure, I wanted to make damn sure that this was how I felt and if I was going to take the plunge into certain death I was doing it for a damn good cause. And to make it easier on you, because I know it must be hard. And if I'm severley drunk when I say this and you are too, it will probably make the blow considerably easier.
So basically, what this long winded rant is about is that I love you. With every fibre of my being I love you. I guess that's not healthy. But it's bloody true.
end prototype.
At this point I fully expect you to run screaming from the building in horrified bewilderment. Oh, won't you prove me fucking wrong? Won't you turn around and say, "You know what Hex, I bloody love you too and I've missed you too!" Won't you just say that and let me die a happy woman? In my dreams.
So, this is my invite to you if you ever read this. On 9th September 2008 will you **** **** **** please come to the Giffard Arms in Wolverhampton and hear me out? Would you listen to me for one last time? I'm begging you too and never has there been such an obvious plea on the internet because if you were you and you read it you would know full well it was you. And if you don't and are reading this then it is you and you should come and wish me a happy 18th birthday.
I know this is odd and very fanciful of me. But this is my leap of faith. I can't live my life not knowing if things would have been different and if you actually felt the same. If you don't, fair enough, but even the most improbable is possible.
The night before September 9th 2008, my HTC TyNt will make a faint buzzing sound and on the screen will flash 'Tell Him!' this is the prompt that in around 24 hours I will be confessing my love for you and hope for the best. Whether it be in the pub, or through an email or simply whether I throw rocks at your window and do a revers Romeo and Juliet type thing and ask you to marry me. I don't know. But either way I'll have to utter those three words, or maybe lots of words to the same effect, in your general direction. So here is my prototype.
It's been over a year since I officially left you, and in that year I've missed you so much and so hard it has been mentally and physically draining. I think deep down you already know what I'm going to say, I think deep down you saw it in my eyes and knew. Do you remember you got that rose on one of the Valentine's days. That was me. I felt something for you then because you were kind, gentle, funny and just the perfect man for me. How corny. I just want you to know that I don't expect anything from you. Although I've hoped that this might be reciprocated I know that it is probably not and even if it was there is a considerable taboo about it which would hold us back but I'm not even going to let the possibilty of I feel the same creep into my head. I just want you to know that someone out here in this big wide world loves you and thinks about you everyday of her life. Now, that might sound rather creepy, and probably is to an extent but it's also true so if you just want to walk away from this conversation now you can. If you haven't already interrupted me, that is. There have been so many times when I've felt so close to youm where I've come so close to just telling you like I am now, but I decided to wait until now for both of us. For me because I wanted to be sure, I wanted to make damn sure that this was how I felt and if I was going to take the plunge into certain death I was doing it for a damn good cause. And to make it easier on you, because I know it must be hard. And if I'm severley drunk when I say this and you are too, it will probably make the blow considerably easier.
So basically, what this long winded rant is about is that I love you. With every fibre of my being I love you. I guess that's not healthy. But it's bloody true.
end prototype.
At this point I fully expect you to run screaming from the building in horrified bewilderment. Oh, won't you prove me fucking wrong? Won't you turn around and say, "You know what Hex, I bloody love you too and I've missed you too!" Won't you just say that and let me die a happy woman? In my dreams.
So, this is my invite to you if you ever read this. On 9th September 2008 will you **** **** **** please come to the Giffard Arms in Wolverhampton and hear me out? Would you listen to me for one last time? I'm begging you too and never has there been such an obvious plea on the internet because if you were you and you read it you would know full well it was you. And if you don't and are reading this then it is you and you should come and wish me a happy 18th birthday.
I know this is odd and very fanciful of me. But this is my leap of faith. I can't live my life not knowing if things would have been different and if you actually felt the same. If you don't, fair enough, but even the most improbable is possible.
Saturday, 26 January 2008
Insane Genius, Inane Twit
Now to scrape some of that fantastic wit from the walls of my brain and smear it all over this unsuspecting blog!
Yes, my friends, the time has come for Hex to pick up her quill and take you three levels past ecstasy with her fine tuned words that will make your eyes bleed. Roll up! Roll up! Ladies and Gentleman (wouldn't want to be sexist now!) and watch the freak perform.
Ahem, drum roll please.
Cue applause.
Thank you, thank you! You're all too kind. Now, lets get down to it.
Here I am sitting in my bomb site of a room staring at the beast of a PC and writers block is tantilising dancing around the outskirts of my imagination. The bastard.
Now, I imagine this 'writers block' as a person. A very fat person. Who sits on the source of your creative juices therefore disallowing them to spring forth and went your quill with the ink of imagination. (Oh, I do love poetic imagery!)
Yes folks! The journalist has turned poet. How very bohemian of her. Maybe she'll start sitting in abandoned cafe's and writing in crayola. Then again, maybe not. I only enjoy Starbuck's coffee. Seasoned tastes you see. The crayola thing might work though. Maybe a nice green or red though. Or, one to suit every mood. Green for jealousy. Red for anger or passion! Or passionate anger! Blue for sadness! Yellow for melancholy.
You see, when you're a poet you see the dull sides of life. No, I'm wrong. When you're a failing poet you see the dull sides of life, thus you only write about the dull sides of life.
Teardrops fall from my glass eye.
Alas! a monocle I fear.
This is the stuff only I could think of, isn't it. But hey, I enjoy it and it's a far cry from my old poetry.
I slit mi rist
cuz ma mum said
I culdnt av cake.
Boohoo.
Man, there's so much more to life than this. Ho,ho,ho!
I'm cold. I'm sitting here in my snoopy pyjamas and my legs are cold.
See! There I go again the glass is always half empty!
We can't have that! Fill it up! Fill it up so I can drink it all and feel more of an effect than half a glass. If it's half full or half empty, it still has the same alcoholic content and that just won't do at all, sir.
Heavy eyelids. Sure sign that insanity will claim me soon, before insomnia does. Or is that the other way round? I seem to have lost all grasp of coherant thought. Brava! The girl finally dropped her bag of marbles! Watch them roll away into dark, satanic corners, where naturally she will never find them again.
Ah, she took the blow well.
Patrick. Oooh, when were you going to sneak into these crazy thoughts?
Crazylicious. Is it so bad that I want you? Not an ornament, not a friend, not so much a gentleman but a tool.
Trust me, honey. She only wants dick.
Ahh, well. I tried to tell him but Myspace hints just weren't enough! Plus, he has a girlfriend. Can't compete. Or can I? Split, split in two, by me, by you.
Want, want, want. We're always wanting but never getting. Maybe becayse we don't give anymore. I try and give but no body wants. Ha! I wouldn't want from me either.
Heavy eyes, that has to mean something. Oh! Maybe it's a sign that you really want me rather than her and there is no competition because you love me anyway! Sweet, Merry fucking Christmas.
You know what, Johnny Depp's right. We all deserve to die. Some big plague should wipe all us fuckers out and then the human race should start over. We're all bloody corrupt. Sex, Money, Lies, Dirt.
Where's the love, people? Oh! Not only am I bohemian I'm also a hippie! Fab! Just what I always wanted. Happy fucking new year.
Bed? Only if he's coming with me. I can't sleep alone anymore. Crazy, crazy, crazy. Pillow people. How we love alliteration. I have pillow people, pillows that act like people. Well, their bodies. You can't have a decent conversation with one but you can certainly ride it. Well, it's like some people then.
Exhausted. Eyes hurt, back hurts, heart hurts. STOP THE MADNESS!
So I will and bid thee fairwell.
Yes, my friends, the time has come for Hex to pick up her quill and take you three levels past ecstasy with her fine tuned words that will make your eyes bleed. Roll up! Roll up! Ladies and Gentleman (wouldn't want to be sexist now!) and watch the freak perform.
Ahem, drum roll please.
Cue applause.
Thank you, thank you! You're all too kind. Now, lets get down to it.
Here I am sitting in my bomb site of a room staring at the beast of a PC and writers block is tantilising dancing around the outskirts of my imagination. The bastard.
Now, I imagine this 'writers block' as a person. A very fat person. Who sits on the source of your creative juices therefore disallowing them to spring forth and went your quill with the ink of imagination. (Oh, I do love poetic imagery!)
Yes folks! The journalist has turned poet. How very bohemian of her. Maybe she'll start sitting in abandoned cafe's and writing in crayola. Then again, maybe not. I only enjoy Starbuck's coffee. Seasoned tastes you see. The crayola thing might work though. Maybe a nice green or red though. Or, one to suit every mood. Green for jealousy. Red for anger or passion! Or passionate anger! Blue for sadness! Yellow for melancholy.
You see, when you're a poet you see the dull sides of life. No, I'm wrong. When you're a failing poet you see the dull sides of life, thus you only write about the dull sides of life.
Teardrops fall from my glass eye.
Alas! a monocle I fear.
This is the stuff only I could think of, isn't it. But hey, I enjoy it and it's a far cry from my old poetry.
I slit mi rist
cuz ma mum said
I culdnt av cake.
Boohoo.
Man, there's so much more to life than this. Ho,ho,ho!
I'm cold. I'm sitting here in my snoopy pyjamas and my legs are cold.
See! There I go again the glass is always half empty!
We can't have that! Fill it up! Fill it up so I can drink it all and feel more of an effect than half a glass. If it's half full or half empty, it still has the same alcoholic content and that just won't do at all, sir.
Heavy eyelids. Sure sign that insanity will claim me soon, before insomnia does. Or is that the other way round? I seem to have lost all grasp of coherant thought. Brava! The girl finally dropped her bag of marbles! Watch them roll away into dark, satanic corners, where naturally she will never find them again.
Ah, she took the blow well.
Patrick. Oooh, when were you going to sneak into these crazy thoughts?
Crazylicious. Is it so bad that I want you? Not an ornament, not a friend, not so much a gentleman but a tool.
Trust me, honey. She only wants dick.
Ahh, well. I tried to tell him but Myspace hints just weren't enough! Plus, he has a girlfriend. Can't compete. Or can I? Split, split in two, by me, by you.
Want, want, want. We're always wanting but never getting. Maybe becayse we don't give anymore. I try and give but no body wants. Ha! I wouldn't want from me either.
Heavy eyes, that has to mean something. Oh! Maybe it's a sign that you really want me rather than her and there is no competition because you love me anyway! Sweet, Merry fucking Christmas.
You know what, Johnny Depp's right. We all deserve to die. Some big plague should wipe all us fuckers out and then the human race should start over. We're all bloody corrupt. Sex, Money, Lies, Dirt.
Where's the love, people? Oh! Not only am I bohemian I'm also a hippie! Fab! Just what I always wanted. Happy fucking new year.
Bed? Only if he's coming with me. I can't sleep alone anymore. Crazy, crazy, crazy. Pillow people. How we love alliteration. I have pillow people, pillows that act like people. Well, their bodies. You can't have a decent conversation with one but you can certainly ride it. Well, it's like some people then.
Exhausted. Eyes hurt, back hurts, heart hurts. STOP THE MADNESS!
So I will and bid thee fairwell.
Saturday, 29 December 2007
So why don't you slide?
I had the nicest dream about you last night. I was supposed to go out with this guy, but he wasn't very nice, and you offered to drive us. You said something to him and he let us go together and you took me to this restaurant. It got as far as paying some sort of charge but then I woke up. I was so depressed when I woke up. I only want to spend my time with you, as pathetic as that sounds.
In the dream I wore this dress and you told me I looked beautiful and you linked my arms. You were wearing a suit, you looked perfect.
Man, I wish you weren't so far away. I don't even know if you're in Wolverhampton at the moment. All I know is that I miss you. So much. I'm so close to e-mailing you but I know that you don't think we should talk properly until I'm 18. It's just so far away, and what if it's too late. What then?
Man, only idiots fall in love with...people like you. But dammnit I have and I wish you read this blog.
In the dream I wore this dress and you told me I looked beautiful and you linked my arms. You were wearing a suit, you looked perfect.
Man, I wish you weren't so far away. I don't even know if you're in Wolverhampton at the moment. All I know is that I miss you. So much. I'm so close to e-mailing you but I know that you don't think we should talk properly until I'm 18. It's just so far away, and what if it's too late. What then?
Man, only idiots fall in love with...people like you. But dammnit I have and I wish you read this blog.
Friday, 21 December 2007
Can You Pretend I'm Amazing?
I love this song so much, I'm gonna share it with you all.
Amazing - Blue October
Amazing - Blue October
How am I supposed to breathe?
I try to relax. I touch your still frame
So I can watch you closer
And study the ways I believe I belong to you
I scratch at your waist line... your doll hair
I dig up the thought of how your eyes glow
So I make you my religion, my collision, an escape goat
So have I found your secret weak spot, baby?
Can you pretend I'm amazing?
I can pretend I'm amazing...
Instead of what we both know
I cut to the punch line baby
Can you pretend I'm amazing
Instead of what we both know
Now our history is for sale
And for that I apoligize
You see you're my only know how
The study of when I believe I belonged to you
You see I've made you into something delicious,
My sweet ghost
So have I found your secret weak spot, baby?
I try to relax. I touch your still frame
So I can watch you closer
And study the ways I believe I belong to you
I scratch at your waist line... your doll hair
I dig up the thought of how your eyes glow
So I make you my religion, my collision, an escape goat
So have I found your secret weak spot, baby?
Can you pretend I'm amazing?
I can pretend I'm amazing...
Instead of what we both know
I cut to the punch line baby
Can you pretend I'm amazing
Instead of what we both know
Now our history is for sale
And for that I apoligize
You see you're my only know how
The study of when I believe I belonged to you
You see I've made you into something delicious,
My sweet ghost
So have I found your secret weak spot, baby?
Great lyrics, Great song. Download it. Now.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
I take it all back...
Does exactly what it does on the tin. I'm sorry I was shit with you up til now. There's so much I didn't say, but I think I said enough. I hope I did.
Keep in touch
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