The Notebook (or New Year’s Revolution)

Including Boobday #53


Seems that most bloggers are doing a year in review post at this time. I decided not to. This year has been shite. If you’re really interested you can read back. I decided to write a looking forward post instead. There’s no guarantee that 2017 is going to be any better, but I can be better. At least my attitude can be. 2016 was crap for so many reasons, both personally and for the rest of the world, not least so many of my teenage icons passing.

Before Christmas I’d had a couple of OK weeks, I’d had a couple of days when I felt happy, actually felt it, and then along came Friday. It’s like a switch, and I feel like shit again. And I’m tired of it. How many more times am I going to have this happen? Or more accurately, how many more times am I going to let it happen? I spend a couple of days alternating between ‘Woe is me’ and ‘Fucking bastard’ and I’m tired of it. Long story short, I’d decided (again) I needed to change, something, anything, to stop the cycle.

And then Carrie Fisher died. I wasn’t even that much of a fan, I knew who she was, and I vaguely remember her in The Blues Brothers, but the whole Star Wars thing just passed me by. I’ve seen bits and pieces of the films but I don’t have much interest in any of it – Star Wars, Star Trek, Dr. Who, etc. I started reading bits and pieces about her, and let’s just say it gave me an extra kick in the pants.

I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas Day. I’ve barely been to my mum’s. It’s just not the same without my dad there, plus my sister is over from England, she can be a snipey bitch at times. But it was OK, so was Boxing Day.

The problems started on the 28th. I got the gift he’d sent me for Solstice. Bastard. I know he meant well. Bastard. It’s a beautiful embossed leather notebook. Bastard. Even after convincing myself I wasn’t going to let myself get upset about things again there I was sitting thinking ‘Fucker, what the fuck?’ etc. etc. I spent the day angry, upset, confused, teary and I had to go back to my mum’s that evening for more family shit. In the end I’m glad I went, it was good fun. At the end of the evening we were going to put the furniture straight and my sister started, she wanted to wait for my eldest to come back. ‘He knows how they go.’ Two couches, we all know where they go FFS. Then she started about my swearing, despite the fact we’d all been swearing all evening. I kept my mouth shut and went home. I really am done with her. I think 49 years is enough time spent biting my tongue to keep the peace. Good job the notebook didn’t arrive before Christmas I suppose.

So, what to do with the notebook? I thought about returning it, I thought about burning it, I thought about using it, thinking and feeling shit every time I did. In the end I put it away so I couldn’t see it.

I spent yesterday at home, trying to figure out my PLAN for 2017. Small things, simple steps to work out and change the things I don’t like about my life – I can’t spend another year like this. I feel more positive about things than I have for months, I don’t have to spend time feeling shit over him, I won’t spend time feeling shit over him. I need to take control, stand up for myself, get my fire back and start living again.

The first step was my sister, the second step was having to set up a profile on OKC. Because I had deleted all contact details for him it was the only place I could think of looking, I sent him a message asking him to stop. I’m going to leave the profile up till Monday, might get a message from someone worthwhile (doubt it). And the third step was writing this post. It’s a bit all over the place I know but I had to write something. I want to get back to it, writing and taking photos – my photography blog has died. And while writing I found the fourth step – deciding what to do with the notebook. I am going to keep it, and each time I have a thought about him, good, bad, whatever, I’m going to write it down. When I’m ready, or it’s full I’ll either burn it or send it to him. And guess what? It’s Friday and I’m happy!

And of course I had to post for the last Boobday of the year  😀


More Boobday here.


Christmas Wishes

I know there’s still a week to go but if I think about writing too much I end up not writing anything. The words just don’t make sense any more.

You all know I don’t believe in dreams come true, romance or happy ever after, but if I could have one thing this year it would be someone to lean on, just now and again.

Hope you all have a good Christmas etc. I’m sure I’ll be back at some point (and I’m always on Twitter).



Yeah, so, I had my first appointment this week with the psychotherapist.

She was nice, we got on OK, I’m supposed to see her again in two weeks but I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again. I don’t think I can.

I feel like shit. Have done since I saw her. All the progress I’ve made on how I feel about myself is gone. I now feel even worse than I did.

The voice in my head is back, worse than it was before. Now it’s on loop, constantly –

Stupid, ugly, fat, lump, blob, and on and on.

And I was feeling pretty good, I’d got my sister to cut my hair, she’d dyed it and I was starting to get back a bit of spark. All gone now because of how I feel about her and how she looks, which is ridiculous really. I’ve never felt this knocked back by how someone looks like this before. And I think it’s because, if I could choose how I looked, I’d look like her. I can’t talk to her about how much I don’t like myself, I can’t sit across from her and tell her I’ve never liked me.

The words that spring to mind are Amazonian, Valkyrie, a warrior princess, she reminds me of Lucy Lawless as Xena, (except she was dressed obviously). She totally fits the definition of statuesque – attractively tall, graceful, and dignified. She’s a couple of inches taller than me, (I’m too tall to be short and too short to be tall), long, caramel coloured hair, with blonde streaks, perfectly co-ordinated outfit, effortlessly stylish, not beautiful, but striking. And an accent, not sure what, but European, I’d need to talk to her more to be sure.

And now I’m left feeling like a ridiculous lump, trying to be something I’m not and I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to try anymore. I feel like I should hide away back in my corner and stop pretending I’ll ever be more than nothing.


The guilt and anger at myself builds over the space of a few days, after a week of feeling good, slowly the bad thoughts and feelings creep back in.

I’ve only myself to blame, I let you in, I was the one who couldn’t refuse you when you found a gap in the wall.

And slowly, stone by stone, I let you further inside, into my mind, into my heart.

Now I don’t know if there’s enough left to rebuild the wall.

Friends say ‘You’ll meet someone else’, and I look around me and ask them ‘Where?’ They have no answer.

I really wasn’t going to write about you again, I thought maybe this time…but no, here you come again creeping into my thoughts.

I just wonder how long?

How long until thoughts of you are a rare, fleeting occurrence?

How long until I can forgive myself for being so stupid again?

How long until the need goes away?

How long until the wall is fully rebuilt?





Boobday #52

Shitty year, shitty week, shitty day.

Friday has rolled around again, as it will, and I’m glad this year is flying. 2016 has been mostly crap and I really, really hope 2017 is better.

After the election earlier this week today I heard Leonard Cohen had died. I’d say there’ll be some party going on.

Anyhoo, here’s my contribution towards trying to make the world a small bit happier. And at least it is Friday.


You can find more Boobday over at Hy’s blog




…but I’m a cynical, old bitch

Wicked Wednesday #42



How do you define romance? What to you is a romantic act or an example of a romantic personality?


I’m pretty sure I’ve said more than once here that I don’t believe in romance. Perhaps I should clarify that statement.

I don’t believe in romance for me. If it works for you then I’m delighted. I think it’s a glitch in my personality, I just don’t like sharing some parts of me with others.

I would define romance as the crap you see in films, on TV or read about in novels. Mostly the characters are young, pretty, have money, freedom – those things which make romance a possibility – being whisked away for a romantic weekend in Paris, an intimate dinner in a favourite restaurant, a tasteful, but expensive gift. Hearts and flowers, and even if things aren’t quite perfect, they soon will be. I rarely watch romantic films, I can’t connect to the majority of characters or storylines and I can’t let go enough to just enjoy the story. The same applies to romantic fiction and erotica, there’s no connection. I might read the occasional chick lit if I find it in the charity shop and I’m in the mood for fluff I don’t need to think about, and I do like to read short erotic pieces on blogs, but I don’t have the patience to read much of it. I do read a lot of fiction but I tend to stick to horror, fantasy or books about serial killers. No connection with the characters but I find I can let go more easily.

I know you can have romance without all the bells and whistles, sometimes it only takes a small gesture – doing something nice for someone you love – even if it’s taking over making the dinner or giving them a silly card just because.

One of the problems I have with romance is that romantic gestures have been few and far between in my life, for most of it the closest I got was a bunch of roses (which I hate) and a box of Milk Tray (which I also hate). And this was more of an obligation than a romantic gesture – last minute at a petrol station job because his sister had reminded him it was Valentine’s or Mother’s Day. There were never any other signs of romance. In twenty odd years we went for dinner once, to the pub maybe three or four times, and to the cinema once. We had two family holidays to visit relatives here in Ireland. Never any spontaneity or just because…and blah, blah, blah.

Another problem is Disney. Ever since I saw Bambi, stupid I suppose, but I don’t believe in happy endings. I always preferred the bad guys, still do. They always get the best lines. And Hollywood romance is always bullshit. I do like the girl in Brave though, I would have loved to have been able to watch her when I was a kid. And I love her hair!

Now I find I’m too cranky and cynical for it. I don’t have the patience for games. I find I don’t know how to respond if someone does something nice, I always wonder what they’re after. I don’t like surprises, or having money spent on me, it makes me uncomfortable. For a little while things were OK, like I say, silly little gestures, but I started to feel uncomfortable about things again.

I don’t do well with people getting too close to me, unless they want to fuck me. Too many times ending up in situations I didn’t want.

If you’re interested in me you don’t have to be romantic or pretend to love me, because now I’ll probably just laugh in your face.

More Wicked Wednesday here.