A letter to my future daughter....

My daring little girl (for that is what you will always be). There are some home truths that I felt it best to tell you. Some little bits of advice, that I wanted to share with you.

Fandoms are the best places in the world to get caught in. Never worry that you read too much, or seem too obsessed. It's okay to be a fan girl, and there will be so many of your fellow kind out there, to support you when things go wrong, or even sometimes, oh so right in your fandom. You are all of one, they will become a part of your family. It's okay to immerse yourself in fiction; fill your head with as many pages, words, stories and worlds as possible - for the imagination is one of the greatest human tools.

Never let anyone ruin your imagination, or try to ground you, or bind you with their "realities". There is no limit to what you can achieve if you can imagine it, go for it. Your imagination, and what you can do with it, is the best escape from the harsh reality and difficulties of the world around you. The world is your oyster, and never let anyone stop you. You can be anything you want, if you try hard enough. Don't dream it, be it!

However, there will be times when they set you back, and hold you from your goal, but your family will be here to help you up again, dust you off and push you in the right direction. Never underestimate the power and importance of your family. You'll always want your independence, and that's okay (no matter what I say), but you can always come home; there will always be a shoulder to cry on and a cup of tea waiting for you. Mum and Dad are always here for you, and it's okay to come running home. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

Always, always (!) wear sun cream. I never believed them when I was young either - but really, sunburn hurts, and can play havoc with your skin. You could be lucky, but you might not, and then your health will pay for it later in life. You don't want to ruin that beautiful skin, and look old before your time. Believe me.

Maths is difficult - really difficult. If it seems easy, you're most likely doing it wrong. Always go to Daddy for help with maths problems, for I truly have no idea what the hell is going on - and I'll always have a calculator for you somewhere.

Red lipstick is tricky, stubborn, and rarely worth the effort. All your clothes, possessions, friends and family will somehow end up with stains all over them, and they will not be impressed at all.

You never need as much make-up as you think you do. You are so naturally beautiful, don't spoil it with piles of slap. I didn't listen to well meaning friends and family who said the same when I was younger, and looked very stupid for a long time, until I sorted my look out. Men/women (whatever you like - you know I don't mind at all), do not like tonnes of fake tan or heavy eye make-up. You want them to be able to recognise you for the natural beauty you are when all that synthetic stuff is gone. Always use make-up to highlight the real you, rather than mask her completely.

Some girls around you will try and dedicate their lives to making you feel rubbish about yourself. Don't give them the time of day, don't let them get to you, and don't react (unless you have something clever and witty up your sleeve). And please make sure you point these girls out to mummy and daddy, so we can put them in their places - the same goes for those stupid boys! I'll teach them a thing or two if they ever make you cry.

It is okay to cry. It is not a sign of weakness, nor of giving up. Sometimes what you really need is a good cry. Sometimes you'll just feel like going home, crawling up in a ball and crying your guts out. That's okay, because sometimes, you'll feel so much better for it. It's a huge relief. And I'm always here for you to lean on if you need me. I might need you sometimes too. You shouldn't cry for those who don't deserve it though. Those who don't deserve your sorrow and hurt - people who you just don't give another thought to, just walk away. Sometimes, sitting there and crying over them, isn't going to make it any better, and that's when you shouldn't bother.

Worrying about things is utterly pointless. No one ever solved a problem by worrying about it. It's better to take action for something, to try your hardest at it, because in the end, that's all you can do - your utmost best, and no one can ask for more from you. The little silly things you do - the bad joke you made in front of that boy/girl you liked, the wrong conversation you bought up, the wrong dress or shade of eyeshadow you wore at that party - there's no point in worrying about that either, so you may as well just let them go, put them down to experience and forget all about it. No amount of worrying about it is going to change it sweetie.

Algebra sucks, and is utterly pointless most the time, but I'm afraid you'll just have to brave it. At times, there may be things Mum and Dad can do about P.E, but you're stuck with algebra. Sorry.

Ice-cream is amazing. For all situations; celebratory and problematic. End of story.

Cheese-cake is also good.

Booze, however, is not - it's also not that cool. It'll make you do stupid things, feel and smell awful and can really mess your insides up. It's okay in moderation; and also when I know where you are, who you are with and what you're doing. You must be the right age, or there will be trouble. Trust me.

Take good care of your teeth, and your eyes. They are valuable assets, and you only really get one proper set. You can enjoy your favourite treats much longer, if you take care of your teeth. Missing teeth is not a very attractive trait.

Boys/girls will come and go; family, and most friends, will remain. Boys/girls (delete as applicable if you wish), will sometimes try and hurt you on purpose; they will lie, deceive, manipulate, physically and psychologically abuse you to try and get what they want. You do not have to stay with these people. You can do so, so much better - believe me - you do not have to waste a second with them. Just leave, and Daddy and I will make them stay away.

There will be many heartbreaks and faulty relationships before you find someone you really, truly love. It will take a long time, and you have to try and be patient, please. (I definitely didn't listen to that). There will be many times that you'll think you're in love, and you'll be insistent to me that you couldn't see yourself with anyone else (and it'll wind me up no end). But I will keep calm for you, and ride through all your difficulties with you, because I know what it's like to be there. I was young once. When you find the one for you, you will definitely know. Believe me.

White shorts are usually a terrible Idea. As are white shoes.... and most white clothing in fact.

Never be afraid to ask me for something. There will be times where I cant get you something right away, or when something you want really isn't practical - but I will always try to find a way to help you.

Be kind, caring and loving, and you will glow, and people will flock around you because of it. People will be drawn to you if you radiate happiness. Don't let them take advantage of it though - you must know when to draw a line in your generosity and caring, and tell people to leave. Don't let them leach of you and steal your energy - that's when to make distance.

Never measure your success in money; measure it in what you love most, whatever that may be, even if people don't understand.

Your brain and your heart will always disagree, and no-one really knows whats going on in their gut - you will usually end up following one of the latter, and the brain will always be there to say "I informed you thusly!".

For some people, whatever you do will never be enough. Don't give a toss about them. I will be proud of you whatever you do, even if I don't understand or approve - and so long as you are happy, then that's all that matters.

Be creative in whatever way you can. Everyone has a spark of creativity in them, they just have to find it. It took me a very long time to find mine, and I'm still searching. Just look at your dad though - he breathes creativity. Be like that.

Music is an amazing thing; a truly inspiring, brilliant, fantastic, outstanding, magical thing. It is a fabulous combination of imagination and creativity. There is music for every emotion, and a song for every situation. Old music is amazing, despite what you may think. Listening to good music can make you forget all your worries, even if only for a short while.

Dancing is brilliant; never be afraid to dance. No mater how silly you think you look, there is usually someone who looks sillier than you (it will usually be me). And even if you do look silly, those who mind, you need not care about, and those you care about, shouldn't mind.

Sneaking out is not cool. You could get hurt or in trouble, and we wouldn't know where you are, and that would terrify your Dad and I. Please always ask, because although there will be times where we might still be worried, we will find a way, that means you can have fun and be safe. I'll usually be okay with you going out, believe me, so long as I'm fully aware of whats happening. Honestly, just try me!

There will be times where you and I argue with each other, of course there will. There will be times where I'll be stressed, tired, worried or upset, and I might need your support. But please understand, that if ever a day goes by, where I don't tell you I love you, you must know that I always will. No matter what.

Oh, and please don't chop off, dye or in any other way, ruin that lovely hair - take it from my personal experience on that.

And before you get all stubborn and smart-arse on me and say "what do you know, you're a grown up, you're old! Of course you don't want me to have fun!".... I wrote this when I was 16, I know what I'm talking about (some of the times). Okay?

P.S. Guys are knob heads. Full stop.

Cause I don’t Bite my lip or bat my eyes....

When you walk by, you walk by.

Following a humorous section of “disruptive” conversation with a fellow blogger of mine, I’ve been thinking about the ways in which males and females attempt to woo one another. It appears there are many weird and wonderful ways that singletons attempt to make people believe that they want to spend the rest of their lives (or at least the rest of the night) with themselves, cavorting in whatever way they seem fit.

This blogger friend of mine has a very individualised way of attempting to woo a lady (or, in more effective ways, a gentleman). It works on the law of infinite probability, meaning that if you continue to use it indefinitely, it is bound to work one day. I suppose this is true for any given technique within context, and I love the thinking behind. It his incredibly comic stunt/pulling technique he would use (if he were brave enough I feel, or possibly excessively inebriated). I won’t tell you what it is, for fear of embarrassing the poor soul, but you’d probably love it if I did, or it would at least raise a humorous chuckle.  

Anyway, this conversation floated back to me later that evening, and raised a smile, and then got me thinking.

I am one of the ilk that are very fond of one liners and cheesy pick up lines used by willing men in pubs and bars across the nation. However, I feel there aren’t many of my kind left anymore; Most of the girls I know say that they would run a mile from any man who dared use this “old school” technique. My sister simply stated that she would ask the gentleman to buy her and her friend a drink, and walk away, which I thought was a hideous concept, one that I would never employ.

See, I adore one-liners, cheesy chat up lines, and downright insane pulling techniques (like my blogging friends). If someone had the courage to use those sorts of things, I’d give them the time of day the rightfully deserve. I have a rule of thumb when it comes to this sort of exercise; If a man can make me laugh (or indeed will dance with me if the situation allows) he’s usually got a good headway. I will stay and talk to him, and he’s definitely got a look in. I love it! I love someone having that courage, and actually doing it.

But there in lies the issue; the type of gentlemen I like (Nerdy boys who love music and also happen to be brave enough to approach me with cheesy one liners) don’t appear to exist, or if they do at all, they are in no way shape or form interested in me at all, which is depressing to say the least. I do so wish that men had the balls (ironically) to do that sort of thing.

I am, however, being a tad hypocritical. I do not possess or put to use, any predominant way of chatting up boys, or seducing them in any such way. It’s incredibly difficult, being me, to stand around in a room full of people, including young men and women, and attempt to find someone to take interest in. The main reason for this, is that compared to some of the other females in the room usually, whom spend much of their time plucking and pruning, straightening and getting their breasts out, with which I cannot really compete. But also, a large proportion of this competition, have some form of flirting ability. I have none; that sort of ability comes with measurable outward confidence (or at least the fake version of it!), and also good looks usually helps. See, the issue is that I’m not one to bite my lip or bat my eyelashes when I see a guy I like. I just sort of, use wishful thinking, to try and will him to notice me. This is probably why I’m so in awe of men who can use they’re humour and fun nature, to try and grab the attention and affections of someone. It sort of amazes me really.

So, just a little hint to all the men out there; even if you’re a bit shy, and a little bit worried about trying to get a girls attention, just go for, use a cheesy one, a really bad one, one that’ll make her laugh – because in the end, she’s a complete stranger usually, so what have you got to loose really? You never have to see her again if you don’t want to, and if she doesn’t find it funny, or uses your bravery to score a drink, she’s not worth it.

I’ll leave you with my favourite chat up line, one that a friend and I found in a book full of them, and we had great fun with. We had to edit it to make sense to me.

“Do you have any Cornish in you? Would you like some?”

Or, even better,

“If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

Or apparently, my new personal favourite, a llama impression is always good :)

Thanks for reading 

You know I've got an awful lot of big dreams....

Trouble with dreams is you never know, 

When to hold on and when to let go, 

Trouble with dreams is you can't pretend, 

Something with no beginning, has an end....

Theres a question a friend of mine keeps asking me. It's a joke, I know it is, and I take it in that context every time. I say the same thing a lot myself.  

What is wrong with you?  

It's such a simple question really. Not said with any malicious intent. And yet I've been thinking about it a lot recently. And then I thought about something else. I thought about the two new recurring dreams I've been having. 

They came out of nowhere; I'd never had them before, and the night before I had them, I was feeling quite happy, rather positive about it all, and then they bought me right back down again. 

The first one has me a little confused; I can't quite suss the meaning of it... 

I am walking up Shaftesbury high street, and I'm arguing with someone. In the weird back story type thing you know in dreams, I know that he's my partner, and that's all. I don't have a name, I don't have any other info. I don't have a face even. I don't remember a face from the dream. I only know he's with me. He's so angry, and I don't even know what about. I'm trying my best to calm him down. My arms are full of paperwork, and I'm carrying a cup of coffee in my free hand, and occasionally spilling some on my hand. I can actually feel the burning of the coffee, and my rising panic, which makes it feel all so real. 

After a minute of me trying to calm him down, he turns and grabs the tops of my arms. He shakes me viciously, and the coffee spills all over my chest, scalding me. Now I can really feel the burn, the great pain, and it all feels so real, which is what has me so frightened. I cry out in pain and panic, and none of the public turn and try to help me. They don't even look at us. The stream of people part around us like a rock in a river, and still he keeps yelling. 

He notices I'm not listening, and that flames the anger. He pulls back his fist. It all happens so slowly, and yet so fast, all in one. He strikes me hard across the side of my face, and I fall, and smash my head to the side of me. He stands there and stares at me, but he shows absolutely no remorse whatsoever.

I realise then, I am looking down at myself and him like a spectator. I am outside of my own body, but I still feel the pain; of the burn, and of the punch. Still no one turns, no one tries to help. They just leave me there. 

I watch for a long time. I watch my body, crumpled ingloriously on the pavement; I watch it rot away, and leave the bones behind.... 

And then I wake up, there are tears over my face, and I can still feel a dull burning sensation. It's disconcerting, to say the least, and I just cant make sense of it whatsoever. 


The other dream is much more frightening. It happens several times a night, and lasts on average between one and two hours. It's the exact same every time. I'll fall asleep, have the dream, and wake up crying, again, only to calm down, fall asleep, and repeat the pattern. 

I am standing on a hill, in gale force wind and thrashing rain. I am cold, very cold, and it's nigh time; pitch black all around, with no stars, and only the occasional lightening strike to see by. Again, through some kind of back story, I am aware that I'm waiting for someone, and I know who they are, but can't bring a name or face to mind. It's all of this knowledge and sensation, that again makes the dream feel so real.

And oh so suddenly, He's there (the person that I'm waiting for.) Theres a pull, a very strong pull, and I've no idea why. I feel his presence before I see him, and then, in a silent flash of lightening (presumably somehow drowned out by the rain), he's there in front of me. I try to say something, but no sound emerges. Another flash; He shakes his head wordlessly. And then he grabs my hand, and begins to pull me with him. 

He starts of walking, but soon speeds up to a run. He drags me all the way, pulling so hard my arm aches. All the time the wind and rain lash out against my face and hair. He picks up pace, faster. I cant keep up, I begin to trip up. I try to call out for him to slow down, but he doesn't hear, because I make no sound at all.  

I fall more often, and he just drags me on my front or knees, through mud and puddles, thistle and weeds. I can't see where we are going, and I don't know where we are anyway. I keep trying to plead and beg, to kick and scream, but still no sound comes forth.

Soon things begin to snag at my heels and calves. The sting and scratch, and I cant place what they are. They increase ferocity, scratching my hips and stomach, and creeping up between my shoulders. He doesn't slow, he simply drags me through them, which makes them cut into my flesh, and coat the new wounds in mud and puddle water. 

They soon begin to slow me down though, reaching up around my neck, and my silent pleas continue to silently spew out, but this time, he turns and stops. 

Elation takes over; pure joy, love and adoration is the place of terror. 

But he just lets go. His face un-illuminated by the persistent lightening. He rips my hand from his and drops me. The things take advantage, holding my down; they cover each limb, and pin me down, crossing over my vision, but not enough to make their forms clear to me. They dig in and drag me down into the earth, and all the time, he stares down at me, silently shaking with laughter, and staring straight into my eyes. 

It's the greatest pain, an empty void pushing at the edges of my chest, making it ache.

I stop struggling. I know there is no point anymore. And everything in my vision, including his mocking figure, is turned to black. There is some relief in that. And that's when I wake up again, tears streaming once more. 

And so, you can see why I find it difficult to sleep at night. When I nap during the day, they don't come to me, only shadows of fears I have drift across my vision then. But at night, alone in the dark, that's when they manifest, revealing everything I hate in my mind, with no way of stopping them.... 

 A bit dark, I know, and for that I apologise. But if anyone has any suggestions or helpful comments, please feel free to let me know. 

Thanks for taking the time to read - sorry it's a little fucked up :/

I wanna dance with somebody...

Dancing. 

It's not something I consider myself very good at. Not ever. But it has surrounded me always, in one way or another. 

I never remember dancing much. Occasionally I would, as I was part of a performance group for the purpose of gymnastics practise,  and maybe dancing around the living room with my dad from time to time. It's not something I was really interested. 

Which I find... odd. Because I adore music, it fills every aspect of me, so I personally would assume I'd love to dance a lot, which I sort of do, maybe; the whole thing is clouded with uncertainty. 

Anyway- I remember my fathers dancing; the usual embarrassing and uncoordinated dad dancing that seems to flow from most fathers across the world, and humiliates numerous children. I considered ultimately ridiculous, but occasionally, I work some into my routines.

When I moved to Dorset, I remember my mother, dancing every Friday to the live music put on at the pub where we lived and worked. She loved it. She still does, and she expressed herself so freely, so easily, without reservation, without seeming to care what others thought. I loved that, and I loved watching her. I loved to watch people dance in general. 

On occasion, to good music, with the right band, and right, correctly intoxified crowd, 12-14 year old me could be pulled up to dance, with much coaxing. I danced with my mother, or older friends. I would dread it most the evening, but i would enjoy it fiercely when I did get up, and then be embarrassed and regret the event afterwards.

In some respects, I suppose it's the idea of people watching and judging me, the idea of people paying attentionn to my actions whatsoever, the deep sated fear, that my dancing isn't  "right" or "appropriate". I still worry about it to this day. I suspect it's these fears that would hold me back. I'm not certain. 

Recently however, I've sort of... stopped caring. 

The revelation was the result of a festival - a beer festival, which I attended this summer. In the presence of some of my friends - old and young - I realised they wanted to dance, but seemed to embarrassed in this new environment. I'd grown up in this pub, so I was comfortable here, so I decided  to make a fool of myself, in order to allow them to feel less silly. 

And I loved it! 

It was strange - I had the best time, the most amazing time. I danced all night, until my muscles ached and I was completely soaked, but it was freaking amazing. I just let go, released my inhibitions, and it worked. 

A few months down the line, my family and I return to the same pub, to see a band that we all loved and listened to regularly. I loved their music, and I have a small confession to make. 

I do dance alone, in my room, in front of my mirror. I have been caught, with my headphones in, oblivious to the person who's been knocking at the door for a while and has decided to peek in in case I'm dead, and it embarrasses me very much. But the music I like to dance to most, is the music of the band we went to see - so I was used to being able to dance around to it, it would have been weird to just sit there and listen. 

So, as unusual as it was, right from the beginning of the night, I was up and dancing with my mum. I was pulling her up to dance, asking her to dance. For years, my mum had been trying to make me dance, telling me not to worry, and here I was dragging her up. I was the last one left dancing as well,  my mother long since sat down to rest. I used to have to hold her hand throughout the dance, at all times, and here I was, doing it all on my own! I was so happy, and so proud of myself. And I turned to look at my mother. 

She was watching me as I danced, twirling, whirling and jumping. And she was grinning, watching intently. For a horrible moment, I thought I was doing something wrong, and then she raised her glass, and toasted me, and I swelled with joy. 

I had out danced my mother, I had danced much longer, and I had gotten her look of pride. This may not seem huge to you, but it was massive to me. 

And now, I love to dance. I really adore dancing where I can. I still have reservations though. I can dance among an audience of predominantly older people, after years of practise. I cant in front of a group of people my own age, there's too much judgement at risk there. People my own age scare the hell out of me. 

But dancing is a cathartic form of expression. A chance to express things you cant otherwise, to physically let out stored energy. 

I recommend it highly; however, there are people who are not naturally dancers, I have two suggestions that may help... 

1) Dance in front of your mirror, for several years, alone, until you're fairly confident that your performance is fit for public consumption.... or

2) just fucking let go! try to stop caring about what those around you think, because those that give a damn, don't matter, and those that matter, don't give a damn! 


P.S. If ever there is any questions that you want me to answer, or any subjects you want me to talk about, please feel free to comment, e-mail or message them to me in whatever way you like. 

Thanks :) 

10 things you might not know about me...

Recently, I was challenged to post 10 things people might not know about me on facebook. However, I felt some of these things needed some longer explanation than was acceptable in a facebook post, so I decided to write a blog about it, and share that instead.

So here goes. 10 things...

1) I grew up in Newlyn, right in the tip of Cornwall. I was born and raised for the first part of my life there, and very strongly consider myself Cornish, where I count both my parents as pretenders (they're not Cornish at all). I miss Cornwall a lot. A LOT! 

2) I spent a large portion of my childhood living on Gwavas estate, situated atop a rather large hill in Newlyn. Gwavas is possibly one of the worst council estates in the county of Cornwall. During my time living there, I was egged personally four times, my mother was egged once, my auntie who lived across the road had her house egged (all of these occurred on separate Halloweens). In addition, I had a concrete hedgehog thrown through bedroom window, a rock thrown through my living room window (which left a rather nasty cut on my leg), I witnessed one stabbing, saw the bush shelter rearranged around 9 times, and witnessed no less than 26 window smahings. I actually loved the place, strange though it seems. However, Gwavas was situated in a very popular touristy fishing village, and was once described as "Hell in heaven" by a national newspaper.

3) I have a total of six brothers and sisters (all half), only two of whom I've ever met so far. I do however, count the two I've met as full family, because that's what they are. In addition, upon leaving Cornwall 5 years ago, I had a known total of 18 cousins, the number of which has undeniably risen in the time I've been away. My father was one of 12 children, having seven brothers and four sisters. I come from a very big family background, and I love it.

4) My grandmother, as I recall, had close to 10 dogs in her household (possibly more), of which a large proportion were unruly German Shepard's (which I am slightly terrified of to this day).

5) My first word was bugger. The first word I ever said to my brother was dickhead (sorry!), and my first ever complete sentence was "my leg is wet!" You can see where I get my continued eloquence from.

6) I am ever so slightly terrified of spiders, of the house and garden and poisonous variety. But for some inexplicable reason, I really like tarantulas; theres just something so beautiful and elegant about them (except in eight legged freaks). I am also a huge fan of snakes and lizards, especially geckos.

7) When I was younger, I wanted to be a palaeontologist (after watching 'Jurassic Park'). I also wanted to be a vet, a politician (I know, I know!), a scientist, a reporter, a photographer, a musician/singer and a teacher. Since then I have also wanted to be a geologist, a model (*scoff!*), a data entry clerk, a game designer, a games tester, a teacher again, a personal assistant and wanted to run my own business. I struggle to make up my mind, and I'm still not completely sure about it. 

8) I am a teeny weeny bit baby mad... I used to want a lot of children.... I used to want 12 in fact. Over the years, I calmed down a little, to wanting 6 kids. These days, I'd stretch to about 4 children. 

9) Since the age of 10, throughout my romantic life (I know - it's disgraceful!) I've had 17 boyfriends. The longest of these relationships lasting nearly 6 months, the shortest around 24 hours (that's also shameful to admit, and I really loved that guy!) I have also dated one of these guys seven separate times (it's just keeps getting worse). Truth is, I have a habit of trying to fix relationships that are bad for me. 

10) I am scared of public toilets. I try to avoid using them if possible. At work, school, pubs, restaurants, anywhere; the more possible users, the worse it gets. It's the same with the toilets in someone elses house. It's not germs or anything like that. I just hate the idea of people possibly being able to hear me pee! 

So yeah.... 

I am fully aware I'm a weirdo :P

Does Not Compute...

Technology, computers namely, controls everything we do, and I for one, really wish they didn't. I don't like the idea of computers controlling me, but i'm fully aware that they do, and I give in every time, of course. 

I was thinking about my love/hate relationship with computers yesterday, as I watched the one I work at slowly breakdown in front of my eyes, until it had ceased to function. And thats exactly what it is; a love/hate relationship. 

I hate them when they don't work (or more specifically don't work the way they're supposed to), like yesterday. I slap and kick, swear yell and plead with them when they don't work. When they wont upload this or wont send that. It irritates me to the point of violence and tears. Much like with my most recent laptop, whoms screen has given up the ghost after one too many tumbles off the bed at nightime. I've sat there and actually begged with this inanimate object to work, cried at it and stroked it. 

Why?

Because there is love there too...

When my computer does work, it's my life. I am ashamed to admit this, but 'tis true. It contains nearly everything I hold dear; pictures and music namely. But also it fuels the interweb, which is my biggest downfall. 

I have a small confession to make; my favourite part of the day is when I log into my facebookaccount in the evening. 

Do you know why? 

Because a lot of the time, theres a message waiting from someone I love, someone I hold dear. and if there isn't, it's not long before I'm talking to some of my regular facebook friends. I don't care about te games, or the like, or any selfies or anything, I care about my line of communication.

If I pop up, and someone doesn't message back though I'm ashamed to admit that I am usually despondant and waiting for the remainder of the evening.
 
But I really love facebook, because it is important to me. I love facebook because it allows me to communicate with the people I love where I couldn't really any other way. I cant do telephone calls, because theres something awkward about them that doesn't agree with me. I cant do texts, because usually my Mobile-telecomunications-device is usally lost, flat or out opf credit. And I cant send letters because I don't have most of my friends e-mail's, and it would be slightly awkward to ask in some cases. So i'm left with facebook. 

But recently, due to the loss of my laptop, I have been unable to use face-ache. And I realise now just how much I missed it. How lost, lonely and isolated I feel sat in my room without it. And I feel even more pathetic admitting that as well. But I missed it A LOT! More than I should have. But thats me; thats me all over. I feel like i've nothing to do without it - it's a very strange sensation. 

And theres another problem. These last few nights, i've lain awake staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to take me, in silence. I cant listen to my bedtime song, I cant listen to anything. Because youtube isn't there. I miss youtube terribly. The comfort it bought, with my premade playlists for any mood, emotion or occasion. A part of me, a part of my routine is missing, and it prevents me from functioning completely. 

I do wish I wasn't so dependent on computers, but of course I am; I'm one of my generation after all... 

Music was my first love, it'll always be my last....

That (the title) was one of my all time favourite lines from a song when I was little. It was a techno song, one I wish I could remember the title of, and I have decided now is the time to make a confession...

I like techno music. I like Trance. I like 90's and 80's dance. I like house music. I like things like Cascada and Basshunter. I also like electronic music, rap, rock, heavy metal, classic rock, punk rock, and all that stuff. I hate music snobbery, and I hate feeling like I have to hide this from my friends just because they like certain genres. So there it is, it's out there now.

I realise that people may accuse me of many things, the same way they might accuse me of being a fake gamer girl, or a fake comic nerd, or a fake whovian. People do call me these things, and I just want to get something straight. (mini internal rant if you like).

Just because I like conflicting aspects of something, doesn't make me "fake" it means  enjoy variety, like many other people. It's like, Nirvana, who I adore, were really trying hard to fight against the classic rock vibe that came before them. But I really love all that classic rock as well. Just because it contradicts with Nirvana's goal, doesn't mean I don't love them. It means I enjoy the many faucets of music. Done.

So anyway, I love music. Music to me, is the life force. It's the thing that keeps me going through anything. Even when there's no one to talk to, even when theres nothing to cling onto, theres always music for me. It can cheer me up, it can make me get up and wipe the dust from my eyes. It can make me understand situations, and, quite importantly, it can help me understand people.

From what people listen to, what they share, what they quote, what they play and enjoy, I can attempt to understand what they are going through. I can understand their viewpoint. I can understand why they're my friend. I can tell if i want them as a friend. It's like a language to me, a secret code, that I am almost fluent in.

Music has always been my first love I suppose.

My daddy, he adored music. He absolutely loved it, and I don't believe he ever had any technical ability in it at all. He told me a story a lot when I was little. He used to say, that when they bought me home from the hospital, he put on a brand new record he had just bought, and as it filled room, I opened my eyes, and I looked at him. I guess, that must have been the moment I fell for music, because, from that point onwards, the only thing that could make me sleep as a kid, was music. Thus, it was played near constantly in my house.
The genres I remember most were soul, blues, techno, trance and 50's rock 'n' roll. I remember dancing around the front room with my dad. I remember him cranking up the volume full blast to irritate the upstairs neighbours. I remember loving everything he played to me, and everyone else thinking I was weird because I didn't know any modern songs. I remember taking long drives in the car with my uncle, and him blaring Cascada and classic club anthems. I remember the feel of the bass shaking through my bones, right through all my insides. That's still my favourite sensation - that deep reaching bass.

When I moved away from him, I used the music he loved, to breach the gap that had been left in me by his absence. It helped to listen to it whenever I found myself crying because I missed him. And it still does.

I wish I could remember the song that I opened my eyes to, or any of the trance and techno songs he used to listen to. I've searched my memory time and time again, and come up empty handed. That's why you'll always see me buying any trance/techno/club anthems that I can find, in hope of finding something that triggers a memory.

But also, when  moved away, I was exposed to whole new factions of music, that my dad had never liked, and so I didn't listen to. I found pop (which I didn't really care for). I found classic rock, punk rock, rap, blues, 80's electronica, folk and all sorts of other things, and I really loved. I found Nirvana and Foo's, which are some of my favourite discoveries. And the older grow, the more amazing, inspiring bands I found, like BVB or MsMr or Mumford and Sons. I listen to so many things that my dad would hate, but I don't mind that, because I have developed and grown, and I love variety.

Music is still very powerful to me. Theres something I get occasionally, when I hear a new song. It's the oddest sensation. For instance, I was introduced, by a friend, to a band called Bellowhead. They're a folk band, and I never really liked much folk, but I gave them a go. I listened to a few of their songs, and I like it, to my surprise, but it didn't have the wow factor. And then, my friend sent me a link to "Roll the woodpile down"...
I was sort of wondering around my room at the time, with my headphones on, and I reached down, clicked the link, and went back to what I was doing. It took a few moments to load, and then the intro started. I stopped dead, and I listened to it. I turned around and looked at the screen, and then the singing started. I sunk to my knees in front of the laptop. And then, the next second, I had the biggest grin on my face. I loved it, I loved it so much I began to giggle. I listened to it over and over, possibly 13 times in that one night. And then again the next day. The song just filled me with pure joy whenever I heard it. When I couldn't listen to it, I sang it to myself. It's a sensation I get every now and again. I got it with "When the world stops spinning" by Throw The Fight. I got it with "In the end" by BVB. I felt it again very recently, when listening to a song by a friend of mine. That time it reduced me heaving sobs of joy. It's just, the most amazing, liberating sensation, even if only for a short while. It's like falling in love every time, but fresh. I've only ever had 2 people replicate the sensation with emotion. It just goes to show how important music is.

Musical lyrics mean so much to me. I quote them a lot, because they seem to explain things best for me. I can find a song for anything I need to say usually, for any situation, for any person. I live by some lyrics. I make judgements on some lyrics.

And so, get me in a room, with one of those sensational songs, with the bass thumping through me, and you could ask me any question, I'd answer truthfully. You could ask me to do anything, and I probably would. I only have two main weaknesses - One is Music.

And music really is my weakness. Because I cant do anything technical. Everyone in my family and most of my friends, can do something musical, and on a basic technical level, I don't really think I can. I can sing, I'm working on that, and it'll probably help.

It's also a part of my perception of love. I am drawn to men who are incredibly talented, especially musically. I am drawn to men who are passionate about what they do. And I don't understand it really, but I guess it's one of the main things I look for in a guy. It's just ingrained into me that deep.

Sing with me... sing for the year...

Singing is a rather important part of me. I don't think anyone really knows how much I love it, even if I've never been that amazing at it. But I'm trying to rectify that, I promise.

Singing is my go to reaction. Lyrics are my go to reaction.

Singing holds such a cathartic release from everything I feel. I sing in the shower, I sing whilst doing my makeup and getting dressed. I even sing when I walk along the streets or when I'm waiting in a queue in a shop.Sometimes I even sing quietly to myself when someone really boring is talking (honestly).

I sing when someone offends me, and I sing when someone makes me happy. I sing when someone says they love me, and I sing when someone says they hate me. I sing when I'm going to sleep at night, and Sing when I cry.

The only issue I've ever had, is that, I was never really sure if I was good at it.

When I was little, my dad used to play music in the house near constantly, and a mixed collection as well. I guess that's where I started to sing so much - I opened my eyes to music as a baby, and it was the only thing that could make me sleep soundly. I suppose it's a big part of me. and I guess my obsession with music comes from there. Anyway, when I was a kid, my favourite thing to do was join in with the choir, or singing based lessons in class. And if I couldn't do that, you'd find me wandering around the playground or playing field alone, singing to myself (I was an ickle bit of a loner).

Eventually though, I was removed from the choir, because the teacher discovered I had a small hearing impairment,and said that I couldn't hear the students around me well enough to harmonise.

That really hurt me, and knocked my confidence in my singing, way down.

When I moved to Dorset, my mum worked in a pub, and we lived in a caravan nearby. So of course, I spent a lot of time in the pub. There were two things I really loved in the pub - the first, was folk night.

Now, I'm not the folky kind, or never really have been, but I loved folk night, because I usually got up and sang one song, and if I didn't sing, I joined in singing with my step dad. Eventually though, I became worried that the only reason people applauded me was out of courtesy, or politeness, or at best, admiration of my bravery. Soon, someone in my family gently mentioned that I had some issues when singing, being that my pitch changed radically in the middle of a line. So that was another hit to my confidence, and I stopped after that.

The other thing I really loved in the pub was music night on Fridays. I always loved singing along with my favourite bands, and was credited and observed many times doing so, (usually because people didn't expect someone my age to be able to memorise all the lyrics to brown eyed girl). It was a way for me to express my singing, without getting up and embarrassing myself.

After a few years though, we left the pub behind, and I was left only with me singing to myself, and no confidence in it to find an outlet.

Recently however, I have decided to try and resolve my performance issues. My step dad has been teaching me to overcome the pitch issues, and after lots of going over stuff and practising, I think I have managed it. It's starting to sound good. All that needs to follow is confidence. That will be the key.

The only other issue of course, is figuring out what my voice suits.

Now I love all random kinds of music (that's whats up-and-coming in my next post) but, I cant do all of them. I was recently asked to audition for a rock band, and I'm struggling to find the right sound to fit into that category. Someone I know suggested that I had a very bluesy/jazzy type voice (I wanted to kill them.... I HATE JAZZ) - someone else suggested I do scat jazz, another person said old pop, and someone else suggested acoustic metal songs - I just don't know where to go, or how to go about finding where I fit. I love rock, it's one of my favourite genres, but either it doesn't fit, or I don't have the right environment/enough confidence to really put power in my singing. But hopefully, I can resolve all that eventually, because what I'd love right now, is the ability to go out into the public domain, and come back swinging (performance wise) and just be able to do what I love in an appropriate way...

Phototgraph...

This week has been all about photographs, from one thing to the other. I adore photos - capturing a moment in time and cherishing/regretting it forever. They can capture the beauty of anything, if taken correctly. They can hold dear those precious moments, even after you had long forgotten about them. They mean a lot to me, and right behind the hard-drive my music is on, they'd be what I'd save from a burning building.
The week started with my new film camera. The idea makes people laugh a little, the idea of a "new" film camera. But the nostalgia, for me, outweighs the hindrance of the cameras under advanced technology.

My daddy used to have a film camera, although it never had any film in it. It made that old style, satisfactory click whenever you pressed the shutter or wound the film on, and i used to go around with it, taking imaginary pictures, pretending to be a journalist or high end photographer. It was one of my favourite toys.

So, of course, when a customer bought 2 film cameras into work for us to dispose of in some way, i was going to ask to have one. I was ecstatic. I rushed out and bought a new film reel, and my step dad loaded it for me, and promised to teach me how to take decent pictures with it. I was so excited. The other night, following the arrival of my sister, who has come to visit, and whilst the family were sat in the front room chatting away, I took candid shots of everyone in the low light, yellow from aged bulbs. I even took some shots of the dog, and a few of myself using the timer. It was pointed out to me afterwards that my "messing around" shots would probably mostly consist of black pictures, as the lighting was far too low to pick anything up. But I don't care. It's the fun of it I'm  after. I finished the reel, placed it back in it's old film case, (which i remember my primary school using to store each students lunch money in) and marked it, leaving it on the mantelpiece. I haven't taken it to the developers yet. I don't have enough money to, but I'm itching to get them developed. The first ever proper film photographs I've taken.

As my sister has a touch of OCD, we had to make sure the house was relatively neat and tidy for her arrival. This meant throwing out many books, which even as someone who doesn't read an awful lot, that hurt. But none the less, it also meant that my mother found lots and lots of old photographs, so whilst i spent the night slaving away tidying my room (which my sister wasn't going to see anyway), my mother spent her evening, unbeknownst to me, organising photo's of the family. I found these afterwards, and started flicking through.I've said I love photo's because they hold memories, and this was particularly true for these. I found baby photos, pictures from when i used to visit my mother in Dorset, and then, someone stumbled upon one I hadn't seen when I was looking through. A photo I remembered from years ago.

The picture is of baby me, sat on my fathers lap, and he's smiling down at me. My father looks so young and happy. I look so fat and happy. It nearly reduced me to tears, but I didn't want to cry in front of my mum. And so, I look at this picture, which holds the happiest memories I have of a man who's caused me so much pain. And that's why I adore photos; because for just one moment, every time I look at that picture, I can imagine that nothing bad ever happened, and I'm right back there.... and then it's gone again, replaced by harsh reality. That's one of the downsides to photos.The sensation doesn't last long.

The other reason I love photo's of me as a kid, is because I can look at 11/12 year old me, and see the prettiness that was there... the lovely smooth pale skin, and the gorgeous long hair - I've ruined quite a lot about how I look, and in the end, I can never really justify why, because I don't really know. Sometimes, it was just because I had the freedom to, other times, I was trying to be something I wasn't for someone else - there's all sorts of reasons, none of them really good. But I'd kill to be that kid again, the one who has no issue standing up in front of a room full of people and singing, the one who can roll out of bed, throw any old thing, tug a brush through their hair and go out. I'd adore to have that sense of self-worth and confidence again, but with every unfortunate/bad experience I've had, every bullying remark and every snide snipe at my image I've had, that's just evaporated bit by bit. And there comes my next problem with photo's. 


People, in the past and present, have remarked that I'm pretty. And although i don't see it in myself, I'm happy that they do. But I struggle with photo's of myself now. I find I love people taking pictures of me, but I hate looking at them; Pictures have to be posed and well made, otherwise I cringe. I usually cringe inwardly when I see any modern picture of myself, but I deal with it, in my own special way. I don't know why I struggle so much, I just wish I could look at myself and think "you know what, you look okay" but it never comes. People have suggested I do modelling, and the only time I ever took it seriously, someone laughed in my face, so that went straight out the window. Photo's of me, throw everything I hate about me, right back at me. I hate that fact about photo's. 

But then, I love photographing other people, holding their individual beauty in time forever. Holding the great times I've had with them in time forever. It's something I really enjoy. I just wish I was better at it, and that's what I'm hoping to learn. And the desire to learn, and this whole monologue, started with the nostalgic memory, of that little Pentax film camera. 
So fingers crossed.....