Phoenix Fights

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




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.


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


ONE FOR THE ROAD #bpd #sex

dr love

Like most BPD-ers, a lot of the time I hurt.

Usually spiritually, emotionally and psychologically.

But now there is a physical aspect to it.

I did a long and boring job the other day, much of it in extensive proximity with other members of my species, chatting, laughing, some even getting in my face, and at the end of the day, when all decended into chaos, with lots of jostling, pushing and shoving, it reminded me how much I loathe human beings en masse.

The situation was intolerable for someone like me.  The only thing that is plentiful in my life is my own space, and the choice of whom I do and don’t mix with, and when I felt my body stiffen with disgust and outrage, I inevitably sank to their level by fiercely and aggressively barging my way out, shuddering with distaste as I escaped into the rainy night.

Strangely enough, at odds with the days events, I was further tortured that night with weird sexual dreams, and when i woke the next day with a sore back, tight lats and a totally locked, inflexible neck, there was a different kind of nagging twinge between my legs, and I was reminded how unused to touch of any kind, especially that of a loving, sensual variety.

This is undoubtably not doing me any favours.

But by the same token, even considering doing something about it potentially opens up a whole new world of doubt, vulnerability and pain for me, so whilst my body might want sex, I want it about as much as I want my next pap smear test.

prostate test

For men, who obviously haven’t experienced such things, it’s kind of like a prostate test I suppose, but with something sharp that has a good old scratch and scrape around when it comes into contact with resisting flesh.

Plus we have to do them every year.

Every.  Year.

Yes?  You there yet?  God.

I used to physically enjoy intercourse, but since my orgasm lessened into a shadow of it’s former self, I can barely even be bothered to walk anymore.

Plus whilst a quick shag up against the wall might afford some genitalia related relief, I think I’m also missing sensual caresses, skin on skin contact, and, horror of horrors, being held.

And that’s even more scary than a pap smear test with a rusty coat hanger.

I don’t feel sexy anymore but more than that, I do not feel loveable in any way, shape or form, plus the thought of being emotionally vulnerable or needy in front of any man sends me into a panic attack to end all panic attacks, because the need for love lurks surreptitiously behind all of these pretenders, and I cannot hope to be able to fulfil this wholly unrealistic desire any time soon.

dr love

To be honest, if I could afford it, I would seriously consider booking a male prostitute to swing by and pretend to love me once a week, in the same way I would (and will) book a massage to fix my traumatised neck.

That said, the thought of someone turning up on my doorstep with a six pack and gelled hair, smirking like Theophilus T Wildebeest would be enough to make me slam the door, and send me hurtling back to my vibrator tout suite.

I have had men come on to me of late, and the next time someone does, I might just call their bluff and do it.

Not at mine because my home is my sanctuary and I don’t want someone turning up unannounced, intruding on my space.  Not at theirs as they might be a rapist cum serial killer and do a ‘Dexter’ on me.

It will  have to be on neutral territory.  Maybe in the back of my car even.

It will no doubt be tacky, grubby, sexually unsatisfying and embarrassing.

But at least I’ll know whether it’s worth all that to my poor, starved, traumatised carcass.

Even it it’s just one for the road, it you will.

Whether or not I have the guts to carry this out is debatable, but I’ll keep you all posted.  In the meantime, pray for me please!

Namaste x



Ah, this was so long ago…

But I still remember the song that brings it all back to me

CG was my first boyfriend, my first lover, and the first person to ever make me feel loved.

He was a little older than me, but worlds apart in maturity, was tall, dark, handsome and a bass guitarist in a new wave band. I was some geeky ex dweeb, who had only just binned her National Health glasses, discovered her figure, and started attracting male attention and could honestly not understand what he saw in me. Hence I was incredibly insecure and jealous of the inevitable attention he got from wannabee groupies, and was stupidly unsophisticated enough not to hide it, and so started the beginning of what probably is still, to date, the most passionate, fraught, tumultuous relationship I’ve ever had.

And somewhere in the midst of this, he took my virginity. Not that he had to persuade me that hard. Stronger than the Catholic guilt, worry about pregnancy, and the fear of ‘what the neighbours might think’ (apparently they trained telescopes on our front door 24/7) was the newly awakened surge of lust and desire to own this man body and soul that drove us both crazy whilst we waited for ‘the big day’.

Given the area where I was raised, and the lack of love in my upbringing, it was a miracle that I wasn’t some irresponsible little slapper who hung around outside the chip shop, smoking fags and going round the back of the offy with some spotty yob for a knee trembler.

I was surprisingly responsible and mature and he was unusually protective and solicitous for a working class new age axe man. We both went to see my aunty to tell her that we were in love and I wanted to go on the pill. Then with her blessing, I went to the doctor’s, got my prescription (I was of legal age), then started to take my pill every night when then two of us met, and as he lovingly watched that ‘little yellow bomb’ disappear down my slender, alabaster neck, we counted down the days until I would be his.

Properly. Wholly and completely.

But sadly our idyllic anticipation and excitement was ruined when my mother searched my room, found my pills and confronted me one morning, crying and calling me every slag, slut and whore under the sun because of what we planned to do. I fled in tears to my would be lover, who pale faced and nervous came back with me that evening to face the music himself.

She said nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. She chatted and flirted as usual, pretending much to our bemusement that all was well, but the moment that he left, she went after me again, insisting that he didn’t love me, only wanted ‘one thing’ and that I would be ruined because he would never marry me if I got pregnant.

‘You don’t have to do it’, she’d plead, ‘if he really loves you, he’ll wait’. And when I was naive enough to tell her that I couldn’t wait, she looked at me with hatred and disgust like I was shit on the sole of her shoe.

This went on for nearly a week, by which time, my mother had completely ruined this precious secret that we had, and turned it into something sordid, dirty and dangerous.

By the sixth day CG could no longer bear the effect this barrage of abuse was having on me, and forced a confrontation, which ended with her weeping piteously claiming only to have our interests at heart and forcing us to say that we’d wait until….until what?

Until we got married? I was just turned 17, my hormones were driving me around the bend and I could barely keep my hands of CG in public, nor he me. Did she honestly think we would abstain indefinitely?

Also, by then I was filled with indecision, worried that she was right that he couldn’t love me because he was too good for me, and I was terrified he would go off with some older, more experienced groupie and kick me to the kerb. I was also petrified that he would think I was a slapper if I did it with him, and not love me anymore.

This is where Marvin came in. Not as a third party you understand, but CG bought me a copy of ‘Let’s Get It On’ and that became the soundtrack of my seduction and introduction to the art of sex in a loving relationship.

Of course we went ahead and did it. How could we not? And when we finally did the deed it was sweet, funny, sexy and partially successful as of course my hymen put up a bit of a fight, but I never once regretted that he was the one who broke me in.

And whilst I loved the title track (our mantra was ‘giving yourself to me could never be wrong, if the love is true’), ‘Come Get To This’ was my favourite, and my favourite line was:

‘Oh, nothin’s changed, you’re still sweet as the mornin’ rain’

And whilst my mum finally figured out that I was no longer a virgin and was coldly disgusted, even she couldn’t take the shine off our love and how sex had only made it stronger.

She was right about one thing though. Our relationship didn’t last. And when we finally parted she said smugly ‘I bet you wished you’d never done it now! Don’t you feel a bit dirty and used? Aren’t you sorry you’re no longer a virgin?’ she could only stare at me uncomprehending when I declared that I was not.

The only thing I regretted was hurting him by falling out of love with him.

And I have never forgotten him.

Of late, as some of you know, my dying libido has had something of a resurgence. I have no idea what’s brought it on but can only put down as it’s desperate urge to hang in there and not be buried under my lethargy, indifference and diminishing hormones and it seems a sad way to end one’s intimate life after such a strong start.

If only I had another CG to send it on it’s way with a bang if you will. 😉

We are actually still in touch and it’s tempting to see if we can rekindle something, but experience tells me it’s never a good idea to look back.

Oh well, I had a good innings…now for the focus on love of a different kind.



I have a confession to make.

I appear to be having the female/middle aged version of wet dreams on a disturbingly frequent basis, and wake up feeling as if I’ve just orgasmed or am about to.

Sometimes I can feel myself actually rearing and thrusting like a frustrated filly in my sleep.

Talk about ‘Giddy up Cowboy’….


How disturbing/cringy/embarrassing.

Whilst it is no doubt a clear sign that my body is in good health, I treat it like a malady as opposed to a ‘happy ending’ per se.  That is to say in the way one treats a headache.

Your head starts throbbing, take a couple of panadol so that it doesn’t interfere with your day.

Your crotch starts throbbing, have a quick wank for the same reason.  To shut it up so you can get on with more important things.

Somehow, despite the menopause, despite the fact that I’m still taking meds, and over a year of my studiously ignoring it, my libido is once again stomping its foot, demanding to be heard.

I know, I know, sex is a wonderful part of life and doesn’t have to end after the menopause, and you can always get an understanding partner and buy shares in ‘slide and glide’, blah, blah, bleugh.


It’s just that it’s just soooo….bloody inconvenient.

It’s hard enough to get a date in London when you’re in a job and the right side of 30, but an over 50 year old, jobless, post menopausal BPD depressive?

Seriously where do you start?

Get a fuck buddy, some might say?


Not a bad suggestion, but I’m scared.  I haven’t been penetrated for at least four years, and (a) my mimsy might not allow a willie in, (b) it might (will) hurt, and (c) it might get stuck, and I don’t fancy being hauled off to my local Casualty clinging to the body of Mr A Nother as they are currently filming the TV series ’24 Hours in A&E’ there.

Plus it’s never quite as uncomplicated as it is on paper, I’m horribly territorial about my home as well as my body, and to be quite honest?

For probably the first time in my life, I don’t want anyone inside me that I don’t trust and feel something for.  Which is pretty unfortunate because I don’t actually trust anyone.

And in the meantime, this song is blaring in my ear mockingly, reminding me of my youth club days when myself and my other geeky friend danced and sang along to it, blissfully unaware of the sexual implications.

Ah, those were the days…

In the meantime my body keeps reminding me that whilst I may be done with sex, sex ain’t exactly done with me yet.

Whatcha say?

30/5 UPDATE – It happened AGAIN last night!

WTF IS HAPPENING WITH MY BODY?!!!  Is this some menopausal ‘last chance saloon’ thing?!



RIGHT NOW! (Thrust, thrust)


Had a particularly heavy session with Aunty C today about the Fear, plus heard about something terribly tragic that happened to a friend of mine, so in order to cheer myself up, I decided to clean my kitchen from top to toe, in lieu of the imminent ‘Baking Police’ inspection.

Yes folks, I certainly know how to live….

When it comes to chores like this, you need something to help you through. I mean, you spend hours cleaning grease and filth from the ceiling, the top of cupboards, inside cupboards (WTF? How?!!), the contents of said cupboards, under the fridge, and not to mention, the dreaded inside of the oven, and when you’re done, and you stand back and look at your handiwork, you can barely notice the difference?

Not fun. So I had my iTunes on shuffle to keep my spirits up.

When my music library decided, in it’s infinite wisdom, to play some really morose stuff, I had to get down off the step ladder, take off my rubber gloves and go and change it to something more upbeat before I decided to Hara Kiri myself with the hand blender, so I decided to listen to some Salsa.

In no time at all, I’m having a little shimmy whilst shining the windows, giving it ‘back basic’ whilst bleaching the sink, and doing a little rueda for one whilst raking out the revolting contents of the vegetable basket.

After a while the gunk started to get to me, so I made myself a cuppa and went to check my emails, but even seated, I couldn’t stop wiggling, much to the disgust of Dexter cat who quickly dismounted from my lap, digging his nails into my bare legs for good measure.

Then when this track, ‘Hoy Tenemos’ by Sidestepper came on, I thought ‘Sod it’ and got up for a proper boogie.

There is a full length mirror in my spare room, so I checked out my style whilst giving it some, just checking out whether I still knew all the moves.

And you know what, it’s like riding a bike, it all comes back once you get going. I even had a go at that shoulder shake/shiver thing Latinos do so well. You know, the one that looks like the kind of thing a cold dog would do if it felt someone walk over it’s grave, but mine always was, and still is a bit slow. Then again, the twins kind of make it a bit difficult 😉


So there I am, wiggling away like a proper Chica, when I happen to glance out of the window and see some bloke at the bus stop grinning straight up at me.

My immediate instinct is to drop to the floor and hide, I feel so stupid and exposed, not to mention disgusting with my greasy face and hair all piled up on my head, but I manage to resist the urge, grin back, shrug my shoulders and he laughs. I nod, laugh too and go to move away from the window, but he waves his hands around like he is signaling a plane to land.

I frown and tilt my head to indicate confusion.

He points at the pavement.


I shrug again theatrically. Has he dropped something?

He mouths something and does it again.

This is getting awkward; he’s kind of killed my groove, my hands are feeling dry and that floor won’t clean itself, so I shake my head sadly shrug again, and make to move away.

He flaps his arms again wildly.


Then I get it.

Come down. Come here.

Then I manage to lip read.

He’s wants to talk to me before his bus comes.

‘Right now!’ he’s saying.

Which is a huge coincidence as that is a line from the song, not to mention a fucking miracle, as I look like shit.

This is ridiculous; I want to move away and get on, but I’m trying to refuse politely so not getting very far. Then, finally when he mimes some kind of jiggy jiggy hip thrust actions, leaving no doubt to his dishonorable intentions, I do finally hit the floor and Get Down (as James would say) and crawl carefully on my hands and knees back to the kitchen.

Dirty Bastard. I am now a bit freaked out and worried that I have a salsa lovin’ stalker.

But also ludicrously flattered that I can pull looking like this. Yes I know, there’s about a hundred yards and two floors between me and him, but clearly my Latin moves haven’t lost their charm.

Maybe it’s time to go back to salsa, and maybe even one day consider doing the ‘horizontal tango’ again.

It won’t be Right Now though.

But not altogether out of the question. Like the song says, all we have is today, tomorrow? Who knows?




So we’re at mid-point for the year.  How did that happen?!

Anyway, it’s time to put my charred, feathery little ass under the microscope again, yes it’s the ‘Phoenix Flights’ monthly resolutions update!

The theme this month?


This is actually a good writing exercise because I think I probably rely far too much on some of these bad boys than is healthy, so, brace yourself, get ready to get your cringe on….



Mustn’t Grumble!

I still have days when I want to stay in, but all in all, a great improvement.  I’m going to take this out next month, but will bring it back if the urge to hibernate returns, and/or if I start stuffing my cheeks with muesli, and try to crowbar my arse into the cat’s favourite cardboard box….

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘Hurray!’



Better Late Than Never….

Again, I’m so much better at this than I used to be, but I have to confess, I still have the odd day when the Postman catches me with a greasy face, tousled hair and eye snot stuck to my peepers….

Ah, what’s a girl to do….

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘Keep pushing forward, that’s what, go on, set that alarm clock for 8am permanently!’




If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

OK, so I still have a ‘Real Housewives’ addiction, there is always going to be some top-notch drama or other I want to watch, and I’ll NEVER give up the Great British Bake Off (even if dirty, disappointing old Paul Hollywood is still on it), so I’ll never go completely cold turkey, BUT I don’t watch as much as I used to.

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘Limit yourself to two shows a day.  Then you won’t get DT’s.’



Be careful what you wish for.

Loads of progress in this area, but on some occasions, I do very much wish I’d stayed at home actually….

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘Don’t use this as an excuse to cancel on stuff.  This is a one-off for the most part, keep taking risks!’



Sweet as a nut


This is going really well.  I’m making and keeping new friends, keeping the old ones and I recently swallowed my pride, proffered that sad, well-worn old olive branch to someone I fell out with months ago, and we gradually started communicating again, emailing, texting, etc. and yesterday we met up and had a really nice day.

One minor hump in the road is that one very close friend seems to have the slight hump with me, but I suspect that she’s just a bit miffed that I’m more independent now, and that she can’t go from ignoring me for weeks and weeks to clicking her fingers when it suits her and expect me to race round the M25 to hers in my car, grateful that she’s found time for me in her hectic social diary.

And I get it.

The changes I have made in myself and my life have affected all of my relationships in one way or another.

  • I don’t offer myself be used as an unpaid counsellor in order to make friends anymore.
  • I don’t play pseudo mummy to grown women.
  • I don’t feel the need to justify my every action anymore.
  • I won’t play that passive aggressive, tit for tat game with anyone.
  • I don’t take things too personally anymore.
  • If someone distances themselves from me, I don’t fret too much about it.  They have their reasons.
  • I’m not as judgemental as I was, and don’t get angry or confront as much as I did.
  • I finally, finally understand that if someone does something mean to me, it does not mean that they are all bad and that I should throw them out of my life.  We are all light and shade, yin and yang, and all do stupid shit every now and then.
  • I do not pinball from peeled prawn to armoured tank anymore, i.e. give away too much then slam closed the six-inch steel door when I inevitably get hurt or let down.  Because….
  • ….and most importantly, I do not give people THAT much power over me anymore.

So, as much as I love B dearly, my playing geeky, angry, grateful outsider to her Miss Popularity has kind of drawn to a halt now.

She’ll get over it 🙂

I might even have made a buddy out of Goatee Man (my last internet date) once he’s gotten over his hurt pride that is.

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘Well done!  Keep it up!’



Use it, don’t lose it

I could do with doing a bit more cardio exercise, but my diet is better, I’m dancing, doing yoga, and since coming out of the last few days of hell, I feel very serene, calm and grateful.

Oh, and I’m off to a free running club tomorrow!  God, help me….

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘About time!  Keep it up’



Dance like nobody’s watching

<sorry, I know, that’s pretty much a cringe-tastic 10 on the cliche Richter Scale….>

I am so loving my Ceilidh!   Trouble is these nights only happen once a month, so need to get my groove on more often than that….

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘Try and find another ballroom class, and consider going back to salsa’



Everything in moderation

Fuck that’s boring, just typing that makes me want to go and get shitfaced….

But yes it’s true, I’m very moderate nowadays, even outside of home, and since my last migraine, I’ve lost a bit of my taste for booze anyway….


Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘Good stuff, leave the booze for socialising from now on!’



The only thing we have to fear is fear itself

OK, so I’ve really put some effort into this one this month.

I’ve applied to be an ‘ugly’ model, I’ve volunteered to be a sexual abuse line operator, offered to do voluntary work for a hospice, applied for a couple of charity jobs, but….

….no traction to date. 😦

Fuck, I can’t even give this good thang away!

On the plus side, I think I’m going to set up my own little baking business and see what happens; there are a couple of hurdles to get over in order to have it up and running, but I have to at least give it a try.

I won’t lie, irrational as it is, I’m still shit scared, but I’m going to push through this time.


Aunty C will duff me up if I don’t.

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘I believe you and have faith in you.  Go for it!’



‘The One’

God, there are so many clichés to play with in this category, I’m in a spin….

I nearly went for that hideous adage ‘Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus’, only problem being, I thought that book was a pile of shite.

Men want to go off to their cave, women want to talk, men want to solve stuff but women just want to be listened to, yada, yada, yada, what a load of generalising, self-serving, patronising crap.

Either that, or I’m a bloke whose junk is still tucked away in my perineum somewhere…. 😉

I also considered ‘A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle’, but that would sound like (a) I don’t like men, and (b) I don’t want to find a life partner, when I do.  And whilst I’ve written off Goatee Man (for both of our sakes) and there is nothing else promising on the horizon, I did find myself fantasising about having an ”im indoors’ at home whilst I was going to meet a friend the other night.

Does this war torn, cynical old bat really believe in ‘The One’?

I’m not so silly as to believe that there  is only one and you have to find them because those odds would be really shit, but I believe and maintain that certain elements need to be in place before you should bother with trying to have a relationship with someone, i.e. they have to add value to your life, and you theirs.  Shit, at the very least, the pros should outweigh the cons.

Whilst from a long term perspective I haven’t been that lucky in love, but I have been cherished and have known obsession, lust, tenderness and love bordering on the supernatural, so I’m not willing to just settle for someone with ‘their own hair and teeth’ who’ll be my ‘plus one’, sit on the other end of the couch to me, and pay half the council tax, just for the sake of not being alone.

As for sex, whilst my efforts to meet someone were seriously derailed by something I remembered from my past this month (see ‘Rolling in the Deep’ posts under ‘Sexual Abuse’), I’ve worked and am working through that and am still open to meeting someone.  I’m just not that keen on getting ‘jiggy’ with anyone just yet, thats all.   Even myself.

In sum, I want my best friend, my soul mate, my love, and it seems like the hardest thing in the world to find. 😦

But me and internet dating are done.  It.  Doesn’t.  Work.

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘That sounds like giving up to me, what are you going to do from a proactive point of view to find this man?’

Me – Dunno.  You’re just going to have to leave it with me.



A face only a mother could love

I’m trying to get comfortable with looking the way that I look, and whilst it isn’t quite as disgusting to me as it was before, I’m not anywhere near close to liking it.

Good Parent/Higher Self – ‘One day at a time….’



Don’t let the sun go down on your anger

I’m actually getting better at this and am learning not to stew or bear grudges.  I still have a temper when pushed and take no prisoners, but I get over things a whole lot more quickly than I used to.

Good Parent – ‘Namaste’



A memory like an elephant

I still keep forgetting about this!


Good Parent – Bail.’



No time like the present

Well, I’ve been making my own toiletries, preserves and, of course I’m still baking, but I do need to come out of my comfort zone a bit more though.

Good Parent – Sharing your writing as you, not Sista, and to a wider audience.  Look into a cake decorating workshop and start sewing and knitting again’ 



More than one way to skin a cat

Things have shifted on this and I’ve decided a way forward.

Whilst I think that the organisation and people who I’ve been training with have amazing knowledge and experience, what I’m learning is immensely valuable but not altogether marketable as it is very deep and intense, and most people who seek out yoga are more ass conscious than navel gazing, so I have to make sure I can satisfy both markets.

I’m also not keen on the cliquey/cultish aspect of it that seems to exclude or deride some other organisations/styles, so on Aunty C’s advise, I’ve parked the second part of my training with them and in the meantime I might do something more mainstream and practice all different styles along with my home practice to help me keep an open mind.

Good Parent – ‘Good plan!’


So the main elements that need more work are job/business, dating, bigger writing projects, and loving myself, the most challenging ones in other words!

But you know something, I’m not going to beat myself up about this because maybe I need to deal with what I’ve dealt with first in order to find myself, strengthen my resolve and trust my instinct to do what’s right for me.

Onwards and upwards.

Thanks for reading!

Namaste x