Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….


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ASHES TO PASHES

disney-cinderella

I bought something today.

Not food shopping but clothes.

And it wasn’t second hand, and it wasn’t discounted.  It was full price.  And whilst not a flash, ‘look at me’, attention getter, it was my style but brighter, made of beautiful fabric and not at all ‘background’.

I allowed myself because I worked my butt off for six gruelling 12-16 hour days on a job that left me changed as a person.

Because, even though it was something that is usually low key where I can stay anonymous, I was somehow miraculously made to feel important.  I was actually called ‘important’.  As in ‘No, sort Sista out first, she’s important.’

If this makes me sound pompous, then I’m not telling it right.  Because I’ve never really felt important to anyone, and I know for a fact that no one has ever told me that I am.  And I know it was a throw away comment from a young person who has no doubt forgotten of my existence as we speak.  But somehow, some way, I was dragged out from the shadows and put into a scenario where it was crucial that I attended day after day after day.

You can always tell when this is the case, because instead of receiving computer generated ‘if you can do additional days please tick this box’ emails from the agency, I was getting personal communications saying ‘it would be amazing if you can do Monday’ and ‘I know you must be tired, but you’re doing a fantastic job and we really need you to do just one day.’

I was bumped to the front of queues.  Interacted with the real important folk.  Heard my hero speak to me by name.

And I was totally one hundred percent comfortable with my environment and with what I was being asked to do.

Giddy stuff.  And whilst as a usual rule of thumb I get twitchy after being on a job more than 3 days (because that’s when relationships start to form) with it came a shot in the arm of pure confidence, and with that came a cumulative positive series of side effects.

I became more aware of my behaviour.  I was less spiky.  I made new friends.  I even attracted several members of the opposite sex.

However, on that note, there was one shaky moment when one very pushy guy (who was chatting up all the women) sensed my reticence and instead of backing off, laid siege to me. 

This was a disastrous move on his part because the more people pursue me or try to force me to approve and/or pay attention to them, the harder I try to avoid them, and in the end I was a hair trigger away from punching him in the face and screaming at him to get the fuck out of my aura.

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Why do people do that?  If I get one inkling that someone isn’t into me, I leg it before they do.  But everywhere I turned he was there, feet, inches, centimetres away from me staring anxiously into my eyes, voice at full, deafening volume (for God’s sake someone, pass the remote) and breathing his stinking, full English breakfast miasma into my hair.  At one stage he even laid the full length of his hand creepily onto my hip to make me turn around and face him; I could feel the disgustingly intrusive heat of his palm through the silk of my dress, and how I didn’t break his face right there and then I’ll never know.

But I digress, as typically Sista style, I am giving more attention to that one negative in a veritable ocean of positives.

Because somehow I held my temper, and merely treated him to an icy excoriating glare before being rescued by a fellow female and carted off to play scrabble with less sleazy members of the crowd.

Don’t get me wrong.  I never forgot that this was an enclosed, faux fantasy world, and that the real world was waiting for me outside, with all it’s banal, draining, terrifying challenges, and that within a matter of hours I would be transformed, Cinderella style back to that anonymous, grey drone that everyone ignores, discounts and under estimates again.

And that, dear Reader is what came to pass.  I am back home in rags, grovelling around the ashy fireplace, surrounded by many chores.  No one is pandering to my needs, clawing for my attention, fluttering around me or calling me ‘important’ anymore.

But I feel a change has taken seed and I learned a few lessons which are as follows:

  • You don’t need to be pushy to be noticed.  Really you don’t. Whether it be pure fluke or that my sang froid was mistaken for confidence, and ‘don’t look at me’ attitude to be pure insouciance, I was chosen out of a flock of beautiful, talented, qualified young things to have a key role.
  • If someone really important likes you, others follow suit. Whether this be in a work environment, on social media or in a social situation, people are sheep and will come trotting after you trustingly if the popular folk approve of you and what you do.  This can either be extraordinarily, depressingly predictable news or something that can be used as a tool.  Sure, don’t kid yourself that all of these bleating masses are going to become your forever friends but you can potentially cherry pick along the way.
  • If you pretend to do something for long enough, you can almost make it feel real.  In other words, fake it till you make it. I had to flirt with some guy for six days, and whilst I was initially at an emotional distance, he was a fun person to work with and a real chemistry grew which almost certainly brought ‘the boys to the yard’.  Not only that but my libido woke up howling and demanding to be fed. Oh dear….but maybe it’s about time?  Not with him I hasten to add; he’s attached, hugely popular so categorised as ‘dangerous’ in my book, but maybe just maybe I’m not destined for the relationship/sexual scrap heap just yet?
  • Contact with the human race gets easier the more you do it.  The same principle applies to hiding away so we have a choice.  Don’t get me wrong.  I said ‘easier’ and not ‘easy’.  I did not find 6 consecutive days surrounded by my fellow homo sapiens easy.  There were other people as well as Mr Needy who grated sorely on my nerves, and I find that after about 3 days, people run out of small talk and start asking questions that are difficult for me to answer.  Like:
    • ‘What’s your main job?’ (I don’t have one.  It’s challenge enough for me to do this)
    • ‘Where did you go for your holidays?’ (Holiday?  From what?  I haven’t had one for years because I can barely afford to feed myself)
    • ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ (No idea.  My relationship with my family is tenuous and fraught with danger.  Two friends have invited me and I’m going to end up pissing off one or both of ‘em if I accept either invitation.  Plus I may even end up on my own in a new house in a new town with 2 stressed out cats and an M&S turkey pizza for one.  Ask fucking Santa, as right now, anything might happen)

In other words, you get asked normal questions that apply to normal people.  The kind of questions that could potentially expose me for being the freak that I am.

What do I do in those circumstances?  Lie like I used to?  Make up some kind of creative adaption of the truth.  Avoid answering and turn the question back on them?  I’m not sure. But I can’t let that stop me moving forward.

And I wasn’t spotted!  As the most amusing thing of all was that several people chose to confide in me about others in the group that they suspected to have ‘mental health issues’.  Oh the irony….

So I am trying harder this time.

I’m trying to do all the stuff that I’ve aimed to maintain throughout the life of this blog.  Work out, get out, make myself look attractive, take chances, interact more with people.

Get a life.

I can’t promise you or myself that I won’t stumble and fall again, as the humiliation of failing to successfully climb out of my painful pit of doom during the years that I have been blogging is one of the factors that made me abandon it and stop writing.  The shame.  But I’m trying to scale that slippery scratchy wall once again, and one day I will make it.

As being kinder to myself and others is all part of the plan this time.

As perhaps I don’t have to be a witch to get what I want out of life.

And maybe just maybe I’ll get a snog from my very own Prince (OK, so, maybe some dastardly old uncle is more to my taste) before the year is out.  I can but hope.  I may even don that silk dress again 😉

Namaste x


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STAY WITH ME/IN THE LOVELY HOUR

It’s been a gruelling couple of weeks, but I’m finally starting to see a bit light at the end of the tunnel.

It just had to get worse before it got better, natch.

In the form of cancelled jobs, a parking ticket, some fucker keying my car (AGAIN), and finally the resulting stress causing my neck and back to seize up and go into lock down, to the extent that I could barely move my head.

The group therapy too, has also been challenge and no doubt is all the better for it.  Nothing hammers home your negative coping behaviours more than seeing them reenacted before your very eyes by strangers in exactly the same position as you.

Urgghh.

So for three days I was locked in a cycle of misery, worry and pain.

Then last night, i made myself go to a carol service with a friend.  Mainly because I couldn’t let her down because she’d treated me to a ticket, but nonetheless I got out of the front door.

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It took place in a beautifully decorated park, with kids, lights, hot chocolate and all the things that make Christmas, and I have admit it was all rather enchanting.  It was also fecking freezing, so when it started to rain (curse you iPhone weather forecast – you SUCK), I got very twitchy cos there’s only one thing worse than being cold and that’s being wet AND cold.

But I didn’t want to let Jenny down.  So I pulled out my knackered old umbrella and stayed with her.

If nothing else it gave me something else to think about than my other aches and pains.  I shivered so much it actually made me feel more alive than I have for some time, in a strange way.   And when we ducked into the pub for mulled wine afterwards, I rediscovered that the biggest joy of going out in the cold is coming back into the warm.  When you stay in all the time like me, this is a bit of a revelation.  Sad, I know!

That said i was glad to get home to a warm flat, put my electric blanket on and go to bed as I was exhausted.

Then some time before dawn I woke up, entirely of my own volition.  And for the first time in MONTHS I was virtually pain free and alert.

Suddenly I heard a happy chirrup and something soft and warm bounced onto my bed.

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My Charlie cat.

Anyone who says that cats don’t love their humans, is totally talking out of their arse, or has never given them love and earned their trust.  Because there in the lonely hour my little Chaz, delighted his mummy was awake at such a God forsaken time, purred and butted and rubbed his little chops all over my hand (nothing says “I love you” more than cat spit) then snuggled up close, turned a few circles, and settled purring into the curve of my tummy, making it a the lovely hour for both of us, and this Sam Smith song immediately sprung to mind.  Well a more positive, feline oriented version at any rate:

‘Stay with me

Right now, you’re all I need

‘Cos this is love, it’s clear to me

Charlie, stay with me’

And I was profoundly grateful to him, and Jen, and to God for finally releasing me from my misery, and I have to say, I was totally happy and content.  If only for that hour.

Because then of course Dexter woke up, tried to nudge Charlie out the way, then they ended up chasing each other round the flat at breakneck speed, then both of them bounced and pounced and yowled at me when I had the audacity to try and get back to sleep.

Kids, hey?

I eventually got up, fed the gruesome twosome, had a bath and went to see my physiotherapist who clicked and cracked and manipulated my poor old bones again, and apart from being a bit fragile and bruised, I felt miles better.

Then the day went on like any other.

I found a great Secret Santa present.  Someone dick parked so close to my motor that I had to get in on the passenger side.  A nice looking man beamed at me in the street.  I forgot to buy milk.  I got dropped from another job.  Someone I haven’t seen for ages sent me a really rude, funny Christmas card.

Ups and downs.

There’ll be more as sure as the sun sets and the moon rises.

God give me the strength to stay with this mind set and deal with whatever the upcoming days bring.

Have a good weekend all x


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BUNNY GIRL

 

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It’s official.

The days after lots of social interaction are always the worst.

When I don’t see anyone for a long period of time, I can almost kid myself that living in this little high rise burrow is a normal way of life, but then arriving home after being with the ‘normals’ I start to realise how lonely and isolated I really am.

That’s not to say that my weekend by the sea was idyllic. Nothing is ever perfect.

  • There was the concern that my flat may be burgled whilst I was away.

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  • The worrying about my cat feeder not working and coming back to two kitty skeletons instead of two sulky toms and clumps of fur everywhere.
  • Then there was the rabbit.

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No, I don’t have a long eared lop, a Dutch Dwarf or a cheeky Chinchilla.

Sally brought the bunny.

Lots of it too.

I know I’m being a bitch because there’s nothing wrong with being chatty and having lots to say, and it was great catching up with her, and super kind of her taking a miserable old cow like me away for the weekend, but it got to the stage that there was no silence in my days at all and I got sick of hearing my own voice, let alone hers.

Even when we were watching TV she would pipe up, just as something pertinent was happening and I had to strain to catch what was being said so’s not to lose the plot, without looking like I was ignoring her.

How do people manage this?  I assume I used to have this skill, or (more likely) perhaps I told the offending friend/boyfriend/flatmate to shut the fuck up and watch the programme already.

Even when, at her suggestion, we went and laid on loungers on the beach ‘to read’, I’d never get beyond one paragraph without her piping up with something or other and totally breaking my concentration again.

Doesn’t everyone appreciate a comfortable silence every now and then?!

Even before my ‘crash’, when I was out working amongst the normal, the whole point of seeing a movie or reading a book was to lose myself in someone else’s story and forget where/who I was.

If you watch a comedy you want to hear every punchline or witty aside;  If you’re reading a novel you want to get engrossed by the end of the first chapter; If you’re watching a thrilling drama, you want to be able to work out who the killer is, not listen to someone else’s annoying, speculating yap, yes?

I have to admit that I tend to show very short shrift indeed to anyone inadvertently breaking into my private world in these circumstances.  In my 20’s I once hurled someone’s copy of The Sun across the Tube carriage because he kept wafting it in my face and brushing my arm with it when I was trying to read.  I did fire two warning shots by (a) giving him a dirty look, then (b) saying a very icy ‘Excuse me’ which he chose to ignore, so it was his own fault really that I had to resort to (c)…

Ahem…

I am, of course, a lot more chilled and tolerant nowadays (hurray for medication), but I live alone apart from two mainly silent animals and so am used to a lot of quiet in my day, and endless superfluous chatter can be, if anything, even more intolerable to me nowadays.

But, apart from cracking once and raising a hand to silence Sal after the umpteenth interruption to my current fave programme (which earned me about 20 mins of, albeit, stony silence – bliss!), I think I coped very well.

Because we also cooked for one another.

Went out to lunch.

Sunned ourselves by the sea.

Went for long walks on the beach.

Went shopping.

And yes, for the most part, I very much enjoyed having someone to have some girl time with.

And ironically, when i got home, I immediately missed the chatter and felt the solitude hit hard and brought with it all the troubles and pending decisions, which, surprise surprise, did not leave the building when I did.

My lack of funds.

My need to find a job.

My medication situation.

My fear of all of the above and so much more.

And it became apparent that there are worse things to live with than a bit too much rabbit.

And these problems are only enhanced by the sound of silence.

Ooops where did that bit of tumbleweed flitting across the carpet come from?

Missing your company Sal, even though you do prattle on a bit….

Namaste x

PS Any non Brits wondering where the term ‘rabbit’ comes from, please find the below cockney ditty by the one and only Chas & Dave!

 

OPTIMISTIC MIX TRACK 15 – Dog (Shit) Days Are Over – Florence + The Machine

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Let’s get one thing straight here before we go any further.

I do NOT feel optimistic today.  Quite the contrary.  I feel like an old, desiccated, pallid piece of dog shit, but time is running out, as is money, and these cats ain’t gonna feed themselves, and this roof ain’t gonna stay over my head unless I pay ‘the man’ so I must get back on this ole Gratitude horse, and hope it moves me forward out of the fetid, stinking hell hole I find myself in at this moment in time.

Today I am (or should be/trying to be) thankful for the following things that occurred in June 2014:

  • My one day of work (albeit unpaid) as a TV audience member with a new friend Bonnie
  • My day out at a (free) museum with Goatee Man
  • My lovely afternoon tea with my traveller friend from NZ
  • My evening touching base with two girls I met on holiday years ago
  • Someone I hugely admire favouriting my tweet to them on Twitter
  • My now pending long weekend by the sea with my sister (hurray!)
  • My cats, especially as my friends cat is about to be put down and he is heartbroken
  • Aunty C and her not losing patience or giving up on my shit after all these years
  • You lot, and your support, comments and hugely talented writing.  Love you all x
  • These remarkable images I’ve just found, courtesy of Toby Allen on cargo collective.com, whose depiction of BPD you can see at the head of this blog, which is deceptively pretty, but that’s only because the little fucker has sheathed it’s claws, hidden it’s teeth and then posed for it’s ‘selfie’. The bastard.

There!  I’m trying, hey?

So fuck off sweaty, heady, humid dog days and bring on the horses!

Namaste x

http://cargocollective.com/zestydoesthings/Real-Monsters-Volume-1


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THESE ARE THE DAYS OF THE ENDLESS SUMMER 3 #mylastsummer

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The last few days haven’t been great for me.

I’ve bailed on social stuff again, when I should be at least trying to socialise and enjoy these hot days and balmy night, having whined on about how much I hate being isolated during the summer months every single year.

I’ve passed stuff I was invited to, not shown up when people were relying on me, and inexplicably, cancelled on stuff where I asked to be invited, only to let them down last minute.  I’m pretty sure I’m one of the few people who’d walk out on something she’d gatecrashed only five minutes earlier.

I’ve avoided yoga as if it were a pap smear with a hot poker instead to something which soothes and nourishes me on every level.

I also used binge eating to comfort and distract myself from the tide of self loathing and recrimination that nails me to the wall every morning, undoing all of the healthy stuff I’ve been doing of late and I’ve watched hour after hour of TV to block out my mind monkeys which are gibbering wildly as we speak.

Bad Sista.

One of my fellow bloggers asked today what his readers had to be grateful for, and I’m sorry to say that I struggled to reply with anything.

Until I watched ‘My Last Summer’ on 4od.

http://www.channel4.com/programmes/my-last-summer/4od

This is the story of five random people who have one thing in common. They’re all terminally ill, and they get together periodically at a manor house in Gloucestershire to talk about their condition, share their life stories and support one another.  This is also the story of their partners, families and carers whose lives have been turned upside down as they fight to support their loved ones, keep on top of all the mundane things in life that need doing whilst trying to make sense of what they are going through and face the inevitable loss that lies ahead of them.

it is, all at once, funny, dark, distressing, heart warming, heart rending and hugely moving.

Three episodes in, having watched all of them suffer and deteriorate, and one of them, a DJ by the name of Junior Mac, die in the most horrendous way, 3 hours after marrying his devastated bride, and I’m in shreds.

I can’t cry though.  That said, the amount of medication in my system might be able to tamp down my reactions, it cannot contain the vortex of pain, grief and sheer fury that’s lodged like a hot brick in my solar plexus, and I can’t stop thinking about them.

Sweet Jesus Christ, what is the point of all this?  It’s so fucking cruel and twisted, I’m starting to feel like we mean nothing to the God/s whom made us, that we’re merely like the occupants of a bug farm, bee hive, or some celestial game of chess or Big Brother where He/She/It can randomly throw in a fireball, pit us against one another or release the kraken, then watch dispassionately, just to see what happens.

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I can only marvel at their courage, honesty and generosity in telling their story and sharing such devastating experiences.

When one of the other guys, Ben, said that on hearing his diagnosis, he just went home and stayed in, waiting to die, I felt thoroughly ashamed for pretty much doing the same myself for the last 2 years or so.

Except I don’t have a terminal illness.

ARRGHH.  There is so much I want to say that I don’t even have the words for.

But I’m going to end with something positive.

The gratitude that there is evidently such love in the world, some of which might come my way, if only I would let some of it in.

And the knowledge that I at least have a life to fuck up.

Off to bed now.  Big day tomorrow.

Gotta sort my shit out.

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RIP Junior, and bless your heart, I hope that your pain and terror is behind you now and that you are rocking’ out the heavens with some rare old skool mixes.

Please gird yourself and watch this series (last episode airs next week) as it will give you a whole new perspective on life, and honour Junior, Ben, Lou, Andy and Jayne for putting themselves out there so courageously.

Namaste x

https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2013/03/04/these-are-the-days-of-the-endless-summer/

https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2013/06/08/these-are-the-days-of-the-endless-summer-part-2/

DEATHWISH 2001

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It was a bit of a sad day yesterday.

I’d been experiencing the inevitable guilt fest people like me go through when someone young, vital, and full of love dies.
God alone knows why he takes the ones that want to stay, and keeps those of us that would be thrilled to be beamed up Star Trek style to the great beyond down here.

Yesterday young Stephen Sutton finally died at the heartbreaking age of 19, after a four year battle with cancer, who, before thumbing a lift to the afterlife, raised a staggering £3.2m (and rising as we speak) for the Teenage Cancer Trust by working his way through a 46 item bucket list and being sponsored along the way, after having been told that his cancer had spread and that he didn’t have long to live.

Whilst most people (i.e. me) would have, on diagnosis, sighed pitifully, settled back under the duvet (assuming I ever emerged from it in the first place) and intermittently slept and stared wistfully into space whilst everyone (I don’t know ‘Who?’ OK? Just go with this willya?!) ran around doing shit for me.

I might have stretched myself a little by planning an Ealing Comedy style will/inheritance challenge scenario to torment my family after my demise, pitting them against one another whilst alive by way of pre match training. 🙂

But that would be it.

Not this kid. He was a fucking whirlwind and did not waste one second of his life.  He grabbed it by the throat and made it work for him and for those in his position, and had a blast doing it.  Did being in pain, sick, nauseous or weak get in his way?

Not for one single moment.

He even completed his exams and got A*s aplenty in the process.

And whilst he’s been doing this?

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I’ve been vegetating away at home doing squat for pretty much two years.

Oh the shame…

I and others with mental health issues have no doubt wished for death at least a couple of thousand times in our lifetimes; and it still happens.  I do try not to because (a) it doesn’t work, (b) it’s an affront to people who are dying and very much want to live, and (c) unless I am woman enough to crash the party and boogie along to the mortal coil shuffle, it ain’t happening.

I did it again yesterday though.  One more time.

As I’d have given anything to take this kid’s place.

Not for me. But for him.  Because for less than 2o years, the world was a better place with him in it.

And my heart aches for his mother and loved ones.

If you are trying to guilt me into taking an active part in life God, it’s starting to get to me, y’hear!

I had to go to the dentists today and be fitted with some god awful medieval oral contraption in order to stop me gnashing my remaining teeth to chalk.  Mincy (https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2014/04/24/rubberneckers-of-the-world-unite/) went to great pains to be nice to me again, bless him, and I feel vile for judging him before.  Anyway it was hardly a barrel of laughs but at least it got me out of the house.

Afterwards I must have walked for miles and miles. Rain was forecast and I didn’t have a brolly, but whilst the dark clouds were never far away, I didn’t get wet.  And as I walked I tried for once to see the good stuff and be thankful and mindful.

The sun on my pallid little phis.  The breeze in my hair.  The soundness and solidity of my body.

My back didn’t ache.  My head didn’t hurt.

I wasn’t the person over the road being screamed at by his scary, chavvy partner.

A toothless, snot nosed little cherub beamed at me as I walked past.

I got a cheeky wink from a huge roofer as I passed under some scaffolding (what is it with me and big, dirty geezers?!).

My freshly washed cotton trainer socks were not rolling up and chafing my heels like they usually do.

The way my stomach relaxed as a long, luxurious, silent-but-deadly fart exited my body as I passed a gang of surly looking school kids <Man!  You is rank!>.

And my fully functioning, almost full , hot water bottle of a bladder, insistently reminding me to stop for a loo break already.

Nothing is perfect.

At least I didn’t wet myself.

And I am here.

An animated, corporeal lump of meat, bones and blood perambulating along the street.

Alive.

And for once? Bordering on grateful.  Or at least trying to be.

I catch a late lunch and sit in the late Spring sun, nursing a latte, pondering my next move, and when I think about the last year, some things have changed, and I am better than I was.  Aunty  C would be thrilled to hear me say that as she is very pro my recognising what she sees as my triumphs.

I am less angry and aggressive.

I get out and about a bit more.

I earned some money.

I am learning to live with loneliness.

I am learning to forgive.  Properly.

But I can’t carry waiting for something to happen all the time as the days of my life whizz past.

In health, I give others good advice. Everyone says so.

In fact I’d go so far to say that I give really good advice. Everyone use to come to me for it.

But it’s that age old thing, innit.  Physician heel thyself and all that. But maybe it’s time I tried.

Time to book an appointment with…me.

Yes, I’ve finally lost it.

I hope that God has put meat on your bones and colour in your cheeks, young Stephen, and that you get to keep on partying hard in the afterlife, along with some well earned rest.

Do me a favour though, and give the Man Upstairs my best won’t you?

I just want to make sure He hasn’t forgotten to put my name on the guest list.

Lots of love

xxx

 

 

OPTIMISTIC MIX TRACK 13 – Roll With It – OASIS

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I think I’m being tested.

This morning, I received a very exciting email asking me to come into town this afternoon to discuss some paid work, and was asked to dress to impress.

It was all a bit last minute but it sounded very promising and I was most excited, and ran around like a mad woman (yes I know 😉 ), trawled through my wardrobe for the perfect outfit, washed my hair and put it up, trowelled on the make up, got done up to the nines, paid London congestion charge to take my car into the zone, so I wouldn’t get rained on, accidentally drove into a bus lane (SHIT!) because I was so nervous, paid a small fortune to a sweet genial man to park near the venue, refreshed my lipstick, took a deep breath and teetered over to the cobbles in my most elegant heels, trying not to perspire in the sunny, humid atmosphere and, for once, 20 minutes early, reported to reception.

Phew!

And as I scaled the stairs to the interview room, I imagined that this was going to be the start of a new phase for me, a successful happy trouble free period where I would get a working life back on track, earn something akin to a living, and maybe even excel at something that I found fun and exhilarating.

Then as I approached the lady in charge, and before I even took my coat off, greeted me with this immortal line.

‘Oh dear.  You’re younger than we thought. I don’t think this is the right job for you.’

And that was it. Blown out of the water in less than a minute, with a bright smile and barely an apology for wasting my time, money and energy, when they knew my age and what I looked like from the onset and still asked me to attend, plus they almost seemed to take some kind of perverse joy in seeing my face fall at being dismissed so rudely.

I did myself proud though.

I did not let those arrogant, power crazy bitches see my disappointment. Not one flicker. And if they were waiting for me to grovel or plead my case, they were wasting their time.

I gave them a dazzling smile, thanked them for their time and exited with my head held high.

And as I drove home I realised that there would potentially be many more days like this, where I would have to interact with the ignorant, and I would have to roll with the punches and gird myself against letting the disappointments in my future overwhelm me into fully blown ‘dark days’.

Sure I would learn something from today and guard against any further invitations from this company and companies like them, but to be able to do something you like (well, don’t mind too much) for a living comes at a cost and such roles are hard fought for hence competition is fierce. I have however vowed that I will never let anyone see my vulnerability again, and I plan to stick to that, no matter how people treat me.

As for those who really overstep the mark…

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Going back to today, all I can do is try and focus on the positives:

1. I look younger than my age. Apparently this isn’t perceptible from my photos, even those that have been photoshopped, but, hey, whatvs… 😉

2. I had the guts to grab an opportunity and run with it.

3. I didn’t get hit/killed when I drove into the bus lane (and hopefully won’t get fined, please God…)

4. A very handsome guy flirted with me en route.

5. My lovely friend was there to cheer me on when I told her the news, and commiserate with me when I was dumped, bless her heart.

6.  The lovely car park guy on hearing my hard luck tale, fully refunded my parking costs, how sweet was that?

7. After my Lenten deprival I can now fit into my slinky 1950’s Betty Page dress again!

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8. I have about 2 kilos of high quality chocolate squirrelled away in my kitchen!  But will only have one.  Chocolate, not kilo that is. 😉

Those Oasis boys know a bit about rolling with it, and whilst they’ve had their ups and downs, they’re still out there doing their thing.  We’re a tenacious lot us Mancs, and as Liam has frequently demonstrated, not a race to be messed with!

Play this song when you feel down and beaten, and I hope it gives you inspiration.

Namaste x