So time IS a healer

Can you tell I’ve started on the life coaching books?

So it turns out I hadn’t deleted all trace of that Kiwi, probably a sneaky subconscious move on my part.  Subconscious? Unconscious? Anyway, MY SKYPE! Of course I couldn’t help but take a look, as I love to dwell and mourn nice things.  And guess what? The entire thing made me laugh, our conversations had the great workings of a tragic romantic novel, tragic being the operative word here.  He WAS all “I want you, I need you, I’m moving” from the onset.  Having had a little snoop on his blog about his choons it seems he’s fallen just as madly, deeply for this new bird, all over the course of days again.  Probably down to his artistic nature intrinsically making him feel so much more intensely than us regular folk.  I conclude, he’s 1. fickle 2. far more lost than he claims 3. I’m so glad to be back in the real world, with real people and not spending every waking minute on him.

I still standby my no regrets mantra, because I have none.

Now a gif for you all that epitomises that time in my life.  I bid you and it, adieu! Ah 🙂



Feeling better 23.02.14

5 rules for me and me alone

1. Listen to music again, REALLY listen to it.

2. Take off the rose tinted glasses when looking back. Remind self that every single encounter builds on who I am. This should avert any attempts to leap into my ever enchanting well of gloom.

3. Find at least one thing I’m thankful for, everyday. Today I’m going for my Dads encyclopaedic memory, it’s very helpful in deciphering current affairs. Today we discussed the Ukraine. I am also very happy about that delicious peanut butter cup milkshake I devoured earlier.

4. I will stop adding a negative to counteract every positive, it’s as if I’m incapable of using one without the other. It’s stupid and demoralising without reason. So I’m cutting back as of now.

5. Smile at one stranger a day, smug face and vicious smiley scowls may not be included however will not be omitted from my life. As my scowly and cocky nature shapes my very being.

Freshly Pressed

The satisfaction of seeing that Freshly Pressed message above my blog posts gives me somewhat of a little glimmer.  The writing of it however scares me shitless.  I’m not sure of what exactly as the likes on these posts suggest these posts are hardly going far and wide.

Stop the press!  She’s going to tell all on her fabulous trip to Prague (I kid you not, expect a Euro gush on my next post).

It’s down to that moment when you re-read your prose, and there it is, that line that makes you flinch and then lures you into clicking that delete button.  I’ve always been the same, all the poems scrawled when I was younger are scrapped, my beautiful travel book is only a few pages inked and it’s taken me over 2 years post uni to even consider picking up a pen.

So what’s changed?  As you may have noticed I’ve a tendency to post when I’m relatively happy, I’d only come across as tragic when talking of my dreary misgivings through the perspective of a perfectly ordinary product of the cushty material sphere I’ve lodged myself in, so, instead I talk only of my escape through books and getaways.

My point is, I’m adding writing back to this list, starting now, this very post, bland as I’m sure I’ll find it tomorrow is marking the day I started writing again, for me.