Great Expectations

I’m having a love/hate relationship with television at the moment.

Back in days before TV and the internet how aware could you really be of your life’s possibilities? Every day I’m confronted with people living their dreams. More successful people, richer people, smarter, funnier, shapelier people. Better than me in seemingly every way. I’ve started developing severe insecurities.

I suppose what really kicked all this off was America’s Next Top Model. I’ve watched the past two series, and it just seems like so much fun to me. It makes me want to be a model, but what’s worse is that it makes it seem attainable. I think that the majority of my friends are more attractive than me. Almost all of them are taller, and up until recently they were also almost all skinnier. Yet I don’t think any of them were happy with how they looked. They would debate away compliments. Make jealous remarks about my ample chest.

I was never overweight, in fact I was the “perfect size 10”, but no-one would ever classify me as skinny. I had curves. I didn’t like my thighs or my stomach (still don’t), but overall I was damn happy about how I looked. Mr. Tall worshipped my body, or at least that’s what it felt like. He’d constantly tell me how beautiful and sexy I was, always complimenting me, staring at me in admiration, being all over me even when it was inappropriate. It gave me confidence, which just made me appear even sexier. I’d go so far as to say it empowered me.

I don’t think I ever felt sexier, than after I’d worked up the nerve to give him a striptease. It’s all so bizarre thinking about it because, right now, I’m not even comfortable with him seeing me in my underwear. Never mind dancing around him while slowly removing said underwear. He still feeds me the same compliments he always did. He still desires me. I still have the exact same effect on him, but my own opinion of my appearance has completely changed.

I’ve gone from thinking that I’m sexy, and beautiful, and can have any guy I want, to thinking I’m grotesque, my body is deformed, and being paranoidly panicked about the security of my relationship with Mr. Tall. Getting upset when there’s so much as a woman walking by us wearing a short skirt, or a revealing top. It’s because it makes me feel inferior. Which makes me feel that I have finally failed at absolutely everything.

Nightmare

Thump Thump

My back
to your front
My body
in your arms
I feel
our chests pressed
The rise and fall
of every breath
Your soft skin
its warm touch
Our hearts beating
in time
as one
Thump thump


Mr. Tall almost always falls asleep before I do. I know by his twitches; only little ones, just enough to prevent me from falling asleep too, to jolt me out of my semi-sleeping state. Sometimes when he’s dreaming though he’ll shake enough to wake me up, and he squeezes me too. Altogether a scary position to wake up in, being shaken in a vice-grip, but I ignore these occasional instances because there is no better way to fall asleep than in his arms. I feel so safe, so warm, so loved, so comfortable, so secure, and so close to him.

Last Saturday night we were lying spooned on the couch together, and after a few of those tell-tale twitches I knew he‘d nodded off. In the silence I lay there feeling his heart beat, almost as if it was in my own chest. I’m not sure if our hearts really were beating in time, but the idea came to me that they were, and the poem followed. I slowly and cautiously slid out from under his grip and sat on the floor next to the couch with my laptop, typing out the poem, and Mr. Tall started twitching again, but far more noticeably. I reached out and rubbed my hand on his back. I assumed he’d woken himself up and was talking to him to try and soothe him, since he was clearly having a nightmare. He didn’t respond but he’d stopped moving. I went over to his head and crouched down so my face was in front of his. I called his name and kissed his cheek but his eyes stayed closed. So I went back to the laptop and continued to type, and again he continued to twitch, gradually more violently. He started letting out little shouts. I stopped and was looking at him, his whole body shuddering and him making these noises, when he began to tumble over the edge and crash to the floor. I lunged and caught him just before he hit the ground. His feet still came down and knocked over a glass of apple juice with a loud clatter. I pushed him back up onto the couch and sat next to him, and he clutched onto me, curling up with his head on my chest, tears streaming down his face.

I was shocked that he was so distressed, and it took a few minutes before he could stop crying long enough to explain what had him so terrified. He’d dreamt that he was in the dark, and he could hear me screaming. I was calling out to him, calling for help, but there were people in the darkness grabbing at him, preventing him from getting to me. I think he thought that I was about to be killed. He kept saying, “I thought I’d lost you”.

There’s an undercurrent of Major Drama and Uncertainty in our relationship at the moment, that occasionally rises up and causes complete chaos. We’d spent a lot of that day trying to talk things out, and we were both feeling stressed, drained, and frustrated. That moment dragged me out of the shadows and reaffirmed my faith in us. I was overwhelmed by that reassurance, “His worst fear is losing you. He really does love you. Of course you’ll work through this. Of course you’ll get over this. Of course this is worth it.” Being there for him that night, lying with my head on his chest and whispering our goodnights and I love yous and sweet dreams, everything making sense again, was the best feeling I’ve had in a long time. I knew who I was and what I was doing, and I was content. I finally fell asleep too, smiling.

Wishful Quizzing

Who am I kidding with this? “Are You Meant for Each Other?” Mr. Tall indulged my quiz-fetish initially, but “Sure!” changed to “Only because I love you..“, which changed to a flat-out refusal, and annoyance at the mere suggestion.

He’s right about them though. I know it’s pointless. I know it’s just my pathetic seeking of approval. I know that the real answers to the questions posed never accurately falls into any of the little categories laid out, and so you just end up manipulating the truth, sandpapering the peg so it’ll fit in the hole you want it to, and in the end what you get seems so opposite from the reality that you should disregard it anyway:

“Just-About-Perfect-Pair
You two make a great match. Your relationship is healthy and strong, mostly because you work hard at making it so. You’re honest with each other, communicate clearly, and seem to respect and appreciate each other. These are all crucial characteristics of a good relationship. In addition, you’re self-confident and you trust your man, which allows you to live your own life (and allows him to do the same), and avoid the petty jealousies and possession problems that plague other couples. Keep it up and you two will be together for a long time to come.”

Valentine's Disaster

This day I spend at home with my lovers, Antibiotics and Expectorant Syrup. I feel so sad and alone - a response to this pseudo-holiday I never really understood. Up until last year I spent every Valentine’s Day alone, but happy. Not caring that I didn’t get cards, or flowers, or chocolates, or that I didn’t have a "special someone" to share it with.

I vividly recall last year, my first Valentine’s Day in a relationship. I still wasn’t paying much heed to all the hype surrounding it, but I did write Mr. Tall a joke-y love poem, and spent the early hours of the day sitting on my couch making him a card and studying for my exams as I waited until we could be together. My school had given us a day off for the occasion, but his hadn’t. He sent me adorable texts all day despite that, and also despite that I refused to reply out of principle. Each of them made me smile though. We both disagreed with going on a night out, so he had invited me over to his house for the evening, and off I excitedly went with my homemade card and packets of those heart-shaped sweets with messages on them. You have to truly know Mr. Tall, his house, and his family, to understand how big a deal this was, but: He’d reserved us the sitting room for the evening, which I wasn’t allowed leave (except under the obvious circumstances of needing the toilet and having to go home); he brought everything I could want to me. He’d cleaned (the last time I was there his dog had pooped in the corner, on carpet), and the room was filled with the warmth of the fire and the smell of incense. He made us dinner, and we spent the rest of our perfect hours together snuggled on the couch ignoring the TV and just being in love. It might not sound like much, but to us it was such a romantic and blissfully-happy night.

Last night I stayed up and made him a card that can also be used as a lovey-dovey heart-shaped photo frame. It’s appallingly bad, so I suppose it’s a good thing that I won’t get to give it to him. He still hasn’t contacted me. He knows I got us tickets for a comedy show tonight, the last time we talked he said he still wanted us to go together. However, since I don’t want to be the one to make the first move, or to miss the show, I shall be going with a friend. With my rate of luck at the moment, I expect to spend the night alone at the bar, waiting for the show I couldn’t watch without ruining it for everyone else with my hacking phlegmy coughing-fits to end, so I can take a smelly rattling bus home and cry myself to sleep.

I feel as though as though I’ve been visited upon by the Harbinger of Misery and Misfortune. I know I’m just being overdramatic and taking far too much pity on myself, but I don’t know that this will go away.

Personal Truths

Well isn’t this a conflict of interests.

On the one hand, I have been meaning to update this for quite some time, but on the other, this is really bad timing. I should be in bed, asleep. I know I should be. I’m procrastinating.

“These aren’t really secrets; I have no secrets from you. So these are just some Personal Truths I’m putting out there. Some of them it’s important that I confront: Personal Issues. Others it’s just important that I constantly remind myself of: Personal Goals. And like everything else personal to me, I want to share them with you:

I’m SCARED of being all I could be. I know you over-estimate me, and you know that I love that, but the door of Trying leads to Failure. And I like this belief of my “unlimited potential”.

I don’t even know what it is that I want. I HATE the career-for-life concept. And desk jobs terrify me. I just want to LIVE, and I know that in Reality-land you have to work to live, but I think I’m far too laidback in spirit to conform to that lifestyle.

I may be stuck in this backpacking, aid-working, “carefree” budget-living mindset for life, or maybe it is just my naïve idealistic youth phase. All I know for sure right now is that it EXCITES me! There’s just so much out there I’ve yet to EXPERIENCE, so much I’d love to EXPLORE.

I know I have dangerously low self-confidence. I know I have extreme, crippling fears of abandonment and inadequacy. I don’t know if I will ever be free from this need for approval – if I’ll ever be able to approve of myself REGARDLESS of any opinion other than my own. I don’t even know where to start.

My original PostSecret was, “I’m beautiful”, but I don’t think that’s the way to go. It should probably be, “It doesn’t matter if I’m beautiful or not”. ACCEPTANCE is a tricky subject. If I truly love myself for who I am, will I stop trying to improve myself and stagnate?

I once decided that my supreme goal and purpose in life is to be the best I can be, to live the best life I can live. That’s very open to variation though. My standard of BEST can change enormously. I think my overall goal should probably just be “To Be Happy”. I guess if I’m truly happy, then I can’t be going too far wrong.

And on that topic: I love you. I am clueless as to who, what, or where I’ll be in ten years time, but it seems perfectly acceptable to think I’ll still be as ridiculously in love with you, as ecstatically happy to be with you. You electrify my life. And I am delighted that, for right now at least, I get to share this little adventure with you, my darling =) <3 Xxx”

Best! Present! EVER!

My boyfriend, my amazing, wonderful boyfriend, is taking me to PARIS for my birthday! =D And it’s not even a joint Christmas/birthday present, he has something else for me for Christmas! I’ve always prided myself on my gift giving, but now I feel my present for him is terribly inadequate.

“… Which still hasn't delivered, sigh, neither has the rest of your present, grrsies, nor my Moleskine guidebook to Paris! =) Yeh, I've been browsing the interwebs.. and, and, and, well you know me and organising things? Like alphabetising things. And colour-coding things. Like the way my bookcase used to go in alphabetical order of author's last name, then first name, then all the books by that author in chronological order, or in some cases the chronological order of the series, rather than when published. I think I'm destined to be a librarian. Either that or I may have a Problem (the type with the capital 'P').

Anyways, yeh.. there's the other reason the Paris thing should've been kept a surprise from me, 'cause I totally went into Research & Organise Mode. I’m sorry sweetie.. =( It's just all part of the excitement for me, I do love to organise... But hey, I haven't meticulously planned it or anything, just the best times to fly and where to stay. You have two choices for each, so I'll still be surprised! =P Hehe.. just wait till we actually get there though, boy howdy. Coming up with a list of attractions, narrowing the results down based on cost, interest, and distance, and scheduling it all out.. Memorising a map of the Metro within the first hour. Here are some early warnings:

1. I will squirrel away every free leaflet, pamphlet, booklet, map, brochure, or postcard that I can lay my hands on. You should probably just put up with it at the time, but sweet Jeebus don't let me bring it all home.

2. I will parle le Francais as much as possible, perhaps pronouncing the words I don't know in a Frenchy way, but never to an actual Parisian. That embarrassment I shall leave to you, mon amour.. =P

3. I will take lots and lots of photos, and expect you to be in them when I want you to be, and expect you to pose a certain way when I ask you to. Enthusiastically, or else I'll feel guilty and take hardly any photos =(

4. I don't know how hyper I'll be. I'll probably be very very hyper.

5. Or, I may be very very irritable, depending on the circumstances. I'll probably alternate dramatically throughout the day, so try and keep me on the hyper side. Controlled hyper.

6. For reference, I've reached out-of-control hyper when I put a beret on your head and draw you a swirly black moustache (i.e. "French-ify" you). Though that'll sure teach you not to fall asleep on the Metro =P (which you'll so do!)

7. It will be my birthday, and I will be in Paris: let me eat cake! =D Though of course, I'll be with you, and you don't eat cake, and I don't eat when you don't eat. So I propose a compromise. We go to a fabulous little café like Angelina's, and you can have a luxurious hot chocolate while I have a big fat satisfying slice of cake =) Deal?

8. Please, endure all this and possibly more from me with a gracious loving smile, because this is one of my Dreams. A main one. Paris, with the love of my life, on my birthday. I don't know if I want it to snow or not. I don't like cold, but how much more romantic do you get than Paris in the snow..? ... Thank you so much for this darling. So so much."

Introductions!

It's seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. In the typical Irish stereotype, I should be getting up for mass =P

The truth of the matter is though, I'm an atheist, and I just never went to sleep. I've been sitting at the computer for a few hours now, in my schnuggly panda-themed pyjamas... I realised tonight why I detest the thought of going to sleep so much.

See, tonight I made myself one of these blog doohickeys, but most nights I have nothing to show for myself when I head to bed. A couple of hours of TV, talking to some friends maybe. It's so hard to allow oneself to fall asleep, in the full knowledge that there goes a perfectly good day wasted. I've started counting the days.. I've been alive for 6900 of them so far. I'd guess I've "seized the day" for 1/100th of those. Mainly because I am chronically immature when it comes to the number 69 =P

I don’t know why exactly I chose now to finally start a blog. I can’t imagine it becoming a’tall popular, even if I did put the effort in promoting and maintaining it and all that jazz. I read blogs daily though, so it’s always been a consideration... It’s hard to find the right fit when it comes to privacy. There are some blogs that are totally public, some which are totally anonymous. Some which used to be totally anonymous, until the authors were “outed”. I would hate to confide my deepest darkest thoughts for the world to see, only to have my identity exposed along with them. The problem here is, if by chance anyone who knew me, or even lived in the same town as me found this, I probably would be instantly compromised.

Oh well. I’ll risk it I suppose. I can’t afford to keep myself in notebooks anymore; I go through one a month. I’ve amassed quite a large amount of journals at this point. My boyfriend has read all of them spanning the last just-over-a-year; from the day he told me he liked me to now. Hmm, the boyfriend – to be known as “Mr. Tall”. I hope that name isn’t copyrighted =P He once told me that I should have them published, like “The Diary of Anne Frank”... If you haven’t guessed, his main selling-point as boyfriend is that he is over-the-top complimentary towards me, and I am a huge compliment whore.

I can admit that to you because you don’t know me! =) Heh, everyone who does know me doesn’t need me to say it anyways.. =P Well that seems like a long enough first post. To bed with me!

Zzzz… -_-