promises to myself

All overhead lights will be off by 8.30pm. Candles and table lamps only after this. Your sense of calm will thank you.

Laptop and/or pc should be switched off by 7, barring a suitable reason (writing is one, tvtropes is not)

- further, no more gossip sites - the dirt on celebs stains you too.

You will write, and keep to, a suitable housekeeping schedule. You will sit and prepare the next day before you sleep.

No more snooze button mornings. You always end up rushing and forgetting things.

Work out. You miss it. Start off by getting back on the wii.

Stick to no wheat. You're getting good at it, and your body will thank you. Eventually.

Accept responsibility for your actions.

Admit you are just lazy, but you're capable of being better than that.

Never forget, especially during the low points, how very lucky you really are.

Stick to your goals.

Do it.

To meet and marry (and divorce?)

Some people are just crazy.

Scratch that.

CARRRRRAAAAZZZEEEEEEE!!!!.

That's better.

I'm watching the Wedding House on Channel 4, and a couple have just got married after knowing each other for 3 months!

Seriously, I've got tins of food in my cupboard older than that.

I've only recently came around to the idea of marriage - and I count recently as January, still longer than 3 months away! I came around to it as a natural progression of my relationship with Gof, and in truth, I feel we have a marriage already. I mean, we have house insurance for goodness sake! The wedding day is, and always has been, simply a day we celebrate our relationship with our loved ones. It is a relationship borne of experience, shared memories and a bond only time could forge. We have been together for 3 years, and our wedding day will fall on our 6th year as a couple. We both agree that this is perfect for us. Our day will be enriched by experiences we have yet to share, and more importantly, we'll have paid off existing debt AND the wedding fees!

Even when I didn't understand or even necessarily agree with the concept of marriage, I still judged those who used it for the reasons that were absolutely against the spirit of the thing. We've all heard the horror stories. Shotgun weddings, weddings for gifts, wedding just to show off. Weddings just to win a honeymoon (I'm looking at you, guilty pleasure Four Weddings!). I always respected the choice to get married, if those choices were based on a mutual love and hope and determination to stay together and grow old together. I even understand that some shotgun weddings have the couples celebrate their 50th anniversary.

But, eurgh. The couple looked distinctly uncomfortable walking down the aisle, one groom just meeting his soon-to-be-husband's parents for the first time 10 minutes previously. I wouldn't be in the least surprised if they had already broken up. It just looked so forced.

Marriage isn't a fashion accessory. I can't relate to the idea that you marry knowing there's an option to divorce. I certainly can't understand the idea that people marry just because they can. I am over joyed that in this country, any people in love can marry regardless of gender, but rushing in just because you can cheapens it for the couples who marry out of genuine and carefully nurtured love.

Is it too much to ask?

Love and marriage apparently go hand in hand.

Or am I just kidding myself?

Find a clue

I'm having a bit of a crisis. I'm constantly knackered and generally feeling lousy, I feel fat, uninspired, frumpy and bored of out my mind. My house keeping is important to me, and it gives my a sense of comfort, but I've let it far by the wayside.

I just feel lost.

I was in Wales over the weekend. My mum was in hospital for a spinal operation, and I wasn't missing that for the world. It wasn't a risk I was willing to take, that something could go wrong and I was 400 miles away. It was a busy and emotional weekend but I'm glad I managed it. I'm actually on the phone to mum right now, and I love how normal she is sounding, just talking about my niece and nephew. I'm hoping to get back down in a fortnight, but it's very much based on if I can get overtime.

While I was there, I was astounded by the sheer will power my sister has. Not only has she two kids under 5 to care for, she has a full time job, she's caring for my mum, AND scrubbing out a new flat my mum was offered a day before the op, so that mum can move in seamlessly after she's able to be independent again. All this, after she has completed a surrogacy two months ago. I need her stamina. Her iron will.

In the meantime, I'm just coasting along. I need some energy. I need inspiration. I need routine.

I want to clean out my home again. It's not a tarfside tragedy, but it's not as perfect as it could be - should be.

I want to get excited about my job again.

I want to take pride in myself again, not just the barest maintenance. Ego aside, I know that when I take care of my physical self, my mental state is default: happy.

I just want to have a life again.

Right now, excluding the weekend, my life consists of crawling out of bed at the last possible minute, climbing into the shower then my uniform and sloping off to work, feeling miserable there, then going home, sitting on the couch and staring at my laptop until I go to bed.

What a crock of shit. Lovely kind of life there. Not what I've dreamed of while I was sitting in a hostel.Where is Gof in this, I hear you ask? Being ignored, mostly. Not what he dreamed of either, I'd wager. (ed. note - he's not here right now, it's game night with the boys) 


I don't know how I got into this funk. Autumn is my favourite season, I finally have a home I love. I have, as always, my gorgeous Gof trying to support me. Our bills are paid. My job is secure, with a promotion in sight.

So why this funk?

Seriously.

Why.

Answers on a postcard please.

Until then, I'm going to attempt.... something.

Feelin' blue...

But it's a good thing!

I'm halfway through my weekly scrub, with dust itching my nose and my hands feeling worse for wear. So I've took alittle break and played a game. While I've been tiding, I've been making a note of things I still need/want to change/should buy in/want for the sake of the pretty. By tonight, I should have complied quite the list! But it's nice when I score it off, buying what we need for the flat or just because it's irresistible takes us one step closer to the home Gof and I want to have.

But to the game. I need constant inspiration and as I sat down to my laptop and diluting juice (keeping hydrated!) I wondered what I would do if I wanted my house to have blue in every room. Of course, I'm not doing that, but I wanted to see what other people have done. Out of the gazillion photos I saved for further viewing, these are my favourite five.

In this picture, I love how busy everything is and yet it looks like a place to be comfortable in, to enjoy and relax. Imagine, the sun gazing through as you smell the floras and feel the well worn comfort of all the cushions and quilts around you, your eyes heavy and dozing in little nap time.

Simply, how cool is the organiser! I mean, the colours and styling are right up my street, but it's the fact it looks like it belongs in a 60's spaceship or something that bring out the wow factor! Do want! An afternoon of whipping up the cupcakes and muffins your loved ones enjoy so much, flour on your nose and singing along to your guilty secret songs!

I actually have a very similar chandelier in pewter grey in our bedroom, but the unexpected shade of blue lifts it into the extraordinary. I'm a ditz, can anyone tell me what this shade is called? I may want it's babies! I can imagine a soft glow from those bulbs, setting off your calm room, a crown to any beauty you create.

 Ooh you wouldn't leave this bathroom would you? No, I would lay there all day, my champagne glass always magically full as I lazily reach for it sitting on the chair beside me. Gof would come in every so often to feed me grapes and strawberries as Nat King Cole songs whispered through the window... bliss!

Finally, a little study, with beautifully planned out frames encasing your favourite moments in life looking over you as you read, write, or daydream the afternoon away. Imagine writing a letter to loved one, with crumbs on your lips from the cinnamon cookie to the side and your nose full of the aroma of a ginger tea. 

Ok, your turn! Pick a word - a colour, fabric, emotion, anything, and look it up on google images. Then lets see your favourite 5 pictures!

In which I discuss (somewhat) Christianity.

As you may know, I live in Glasgow. A city I love so much, I'm working on a blog about it. But for now, I'm here to talk about something I've been thinking about since Thursday. Yes, it's one of those posts.


The Papal Visit has got me thinking.


Now, let me begin by saying that although I think Christianity is a beautiful religion, for too long the simple idea that Jesus had has been bogged down by politics and oppression in many forms. It's my personal belief, and one I am happy to discuss and deliberate. I am not egotistical enough to believe I am right, and I fully respect and support anyone and everyone's own belief structure. As the saying goes,

"I may not agree with what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it"

So here's where I'm at. I believe Jesus existed. I believed he thought he was the Son of God, and wanted to make the world he lived in a better place. I believe that he lived and died as a holy man, holding to his morals and principals. I believe, when the first stories about him where written, some 30 years after his death, by people who may have not even known him, on behalf of the people that did - certain stories were embellished and exaggerated and even out right made up. Some of these writers did it out of a love of the message, and again, a desire to see the world be a better place. Some didn't. Some wrote for their own selfish reasons and started twisting the stories to fit with their own views on the world and on how life should be. It's human nature. No one is perfect. There is proof, then, when the stories came together, that a certain amount of editing happened, to make it "fit" with the beliefs of the people who collated them. Again, maybe not out of any ill thought, but it happened.


Then, many many years after the fact, the works were translated, and badly. There is also continuing work happening today to see what could have been if the translation was done with more than a basic knowledge of the language being translated. I'm curious to see the results. But back to the first translation. They attempted it several times, and each time they translated from the previous attempt, not going back to the original text. I can imagine how muddled those words got.


And then there were a few different versions floating around. People who followed one book denounced the others. There was no way to reconcile them all. Religious fervour had taken hold. In the end, the group with the most political clout, with the biggest sticks, won. The Church became a powerful entity.


Fast forward to today, and the idea of religion is almost distasteful. Too many wars, killings, conspiracies; and these days most people consider themselves atheist without fully exploring what that choice means. They assume it is the lack of a belief in a god. It isn't. That isn't the full story, the same way most believe Satanists are blood thirsty goat killing goths. Those people aren't truly Satanists either. I think J Michael Straczynski said it best.

As an atheist, I believe that all life is unspeakably precious, because it’s only here for a brief moment, a flare against the dark, and then it’s gone forever. No afterlives, no second chances, no backsies. So there can be nothing crueler than the abuse, destruction or wanton taking of a life. It is a crime no less than burning the Mona Lisa, for there is always just one of each. So I cannot forgive. 

Most people who consider themselves Christian, in my personal experience, are lovely normal sweet people who just want a better world, and in the way that makes most sense to them. It means there are certain ideas I cannot agree with, but I know it comes from a place of love and an innate goodness that I can't help but love anyway. Then there are those who use Christianity as a tool for hate, an excuse to do and spread vile ideas and actions - but I do not identify them as Christians the same way I don't see the no god brigade as atheists or the aforementioned blood thirsty goat killing goths as true Satanists. *side note, I enjoy letting those people know they are the same Christians they claim to hate because they believe in the same god and devil - they just worship the other side. Scary, isn't it? And emphatically NOT what true Satanists are about* 

In my eyes, the Pope is dangerously close to becoming one of the dangerous kinds of Christian. The kind I see as using religion, instead of practising it. I liked Pope John Paul II. He had ideas and a belief system I didn't always agree with, but I felt, in his heart, he loved his God and was intent on doing as much as he could, as a good man. Pope Benedict XVI however, is a god-fearing man, and seems to have an angle. It's strange, some of his beliefs about how the world should be are, on the surface, exactly the same as Pope John Paul II had, but it comes from a darker place. This isn't because of the whole Nazi Pope thing - to be honest, I empathise with how difficult it would have been to be forced into that in his youth. 

Maybe it's as simple as something about him gets my back up. My hackles are on full alert. Maybe it's entirely down to personality. I've definitely considered that option. I guess I just don't understand how anyone can worship something they fear. 


I will continue to write the implications of The Papal Visit - the finance and everything else that got people's panties in a twist. But for now, I wanted to make my position clear. Like I said before, I have huge respect for those who appreciate religion as a way to live a better life. I love the idea that faith enriches peoples lives. But organised religion causes me pause. And I would like to explore why.

And now for something completely different....

You do not know me. I am invisible to those who don’t know my name. It’s a conscious thing; I don’t give my name out freely. I prefer being hidden. It makes it easier to watch and learn.

I noticed one day, that somewhere in the great vastness of the cyber world, that a great deal of people were drawn to a mysterious man named The Tutor.

Heh, I said drawn.

I noticed, as is my wont, that he was teaching these people, these willing students, a new philosophy. A way to paint. To become oneself through creativity. I watched, and my fingers itched to join in.

But, you see I have to confess, I have no fingers. I am simply me. I can’t paint, I have no canvas. I have no brush, no paint, no extension of myself. I am barely here, never mind there, in that sweet classroom built for two bodies, a cockroach, and a world of souls, each enlarged and enriched by The Tutor’s gift of himself. I simply watch.

But in my mind – I have recently discovered I have a mind, therein lies the tools at my disposal! I envision what I must look like, all hair and toenails, a sizable expanse of flesh and the bones to support it. I imagine my eyes are green. I see me, myself, picking up a pencil, and slowly twirling it around fingers – I have fingers now. I see me, myself, becoming accustomed to the shape, the weight, the form, and decide to have another. And another. I lay out these new tools and look up with my green eyes. An easel and canvas are to my right. I blink and see The Tutor’s grin in the split second’s darkness. There is a scalpel beside those pencils. I do I watched others learn. I prepare my tools.

First, there is nothing. A white square, like the last piece of unspoiled snow. I have watched in other times as those who come across the virgin territory quickly defile the snow. There is always regret after. But I will not regret this now. I lift my arms, and splay my fingers – remember I have fingers now. I prepare me, myself.

I see it now. Within the confines of my canvas, there is a chandelier, broken and on one side. It was once a majestic icon, gold and crystals glimmering like tiny rainbows. You can see the last piece of honour and pride this once great chandelier held, keeping all but a few of her crystals. The few are strewn on the floor. There is a mutinous crack looming overhead, an evil dark grin that could only mean the ceiling spat out its regal charge out of spite, a burden it no longer wanted to support. There is dust snowing down, so light you wouldn’t notice until it settles in the grand arms of the chandelier. Her beauty is fast fading under the dirty snow. In her wisdom, the chandelier accepts the dust in without fear and waits. There is very little that dazzles now. One crystal remains untouched, and it tries desperately to shine. But there is no more light in this room.   

There is only a broken thing, and in the corner, almost hidden by her chandelier, there is a girl, whose name you don’t know, forever kept in the safety of canvas. Waiting for the next lesson. 

a lil lesson

I understood something today. I understood, that done right, a day can be more important, more life changing, than a year.

I now know that the most amazing things are sometimes hidden in the mundane. A little diamond that shines through the darkest of places.

I know that honouring a past is not the same as being a slave to it - rather, to take with you the lessons in your history as you face the path unknown is true respect.

One day, you will wake up, and when you lay you head back on that pillow your whole world has changed completely. Maybe it is because of something different you did. Maybe it is because you didn't change a single part of your routine. Who ever knows?

A life well lived isn't down to the accomplishments you can put down on paper. No one will ever remember that time you got three "À's" in a row. No one will care that you got a first aid award.

They will remember YOU. Your smile. The way you rolled your eyes. Your fear of clowns. The joy you took in the silliest of things, precisely because they *were* silly. Your favourite colour. They will remember rocking out, in true heavy metal style, to a Britney Spears song.

Take a chance.

Breathe.

Smile.

Live.

And let me know how it goes.