Let me tell you a story…
On Saturday 19th November I was walking back from the shops. I’d been to get cigarettes. On the way I’d seen a lot of dogs. Most of them had wanted to say hello, they could smell my dog on me. But I hadn’t stopped. I’d just smiled at them and kept walking. I was afraid. Afraid of annoying the owners, afraid of doing something that I had never done, namely stopping to say hello to the dogs that wanted to say hello to me.
Stood in the queue to pay for my cigarettes I made a decision. I was going to say hello to those dogs that wanted to say hello to me. It was a small decision, a little and seemingly meaningless thing but it was my choice and I’d made it. So cigarettes paid for I toddled off home. Lo and behold there was a husky walking down the street with its owner. It was a gorgeous creature. Thick fur, mismatched eyes, a waggy curly tail. I said hello to it. The woman grabbed hold of its lead and dragged it to the side. You’d thought I’d been trying to steal her dog.
“No!” she said, very forcefully. “He’s on his lead. He’s training.”
Taken aback I nodded, said ok and kept walking.
But it stuck in my mind for the rest of the way home. I felt sick, like I’d been scolded at school. I do not like that feeling. It’s one of the reasons I was a relative good girl at school and never broke the rules.
You see, it wasn’t what she had said but how she’d said it. Snappish, possessive, like I was disgusting and she didn’t want me sullying her dog. She had said ‘no’ like I was a small child, reaching for a flame or something dangerous. Or like I’d actually reached out to snatch the lead from her hand. She might not have meant it, never even intended to be so…. rude I suppose. But that’s the way it came out.
I never did say anything to my mum when I got home. I just had a cigarette and went back up to my room.
End of story.
Or at least that’s what I thought. But maybe not so much. The past week I’ve broken down crying several times. I suffer from depression (which is a whole other story) and this week I’ve been struggling with it. Badly. It’s been like something has flipped in my brain, taking it from ‘fairly content’ to ‘sobbing mess’. I haven’t been this bad in months and right now it feels like it’s never going to end. I’m plagued with thoughts, really bad thoughts that just go around and around in my head, never stopping, never ending.
I don’t really know what triggered it. Maybe the woman’s behaviour had something to do with it, making me feel like I was a teenager again and that nothing had really changed in my life since then. Maybe it’s just the weather being so miserably rainy, leaving me stuck inside with a 1 year old dog who just wants to run around.
Whatever the cause though, I’m afraid. I’m afraid that things are never going to change. I’m afraid that I’m going to be living with my parents until they die. I’m afraid that I’m always going to be stuck looking after the dog five days a week for the rest of my life. I’m afraid that I’m always going to be alone. I’m afraid that this is it, this is the rest of my life. And that fear brings tears.
Why did I tell you that story? To tell you I suppose how much of an affect a few words can have. It doesn’t always matter what is said. Sometimes it can be the tone of what’s said, the way you say it, the look on your face, your body language. A careless word or gesture at someone can really have an impact. For you it could be nothing, something that you forget about within minutes, an event that never crosses your mind again. For them though it can be big. It can have a ripple effect in their lives and spark off issues that they may not even know that they had. So be careful when you’re interacting with strangers. You never know what you could do to them without a single thought.
Fear is an incredibly powerful force. No matter what we do we can never stop fear from coming in to our lives. When people say that they aren’t afraid or don’t feel fear they’re lying. Or they’re completely barking mad. Some people let fear affect every moment, every choice that they make. Others ignore it or use it to help them power through. Others… they kind of do a mixture. Sadly i fall in to the first group. Fear makes me afraid and I never step out of my comfort zone. But I’ve decided to fight my fears and not let them rule me. I’ve been letting that happen for far too long.
I am not the best blogger in the world. I know it. Once upon a time though I used to be. I’d post at least three times a week, regularly, with photos and everything. Then I started focusing more on the art and craft of making posts amazing. I focused too much on what I was saying and how I was saying it, on getting amazing photos or at least photos where you could actually see what I was talking about. And somewhere along the way I lost the love of blogging that had sent me on this path in the first place. It might have had something to do with the onset of depression but I can’t be sure. But that’s a whole ‘nother topic for a whole ‘nother time.
You see, the thing is that I like to write these posts like I’m actually talking to you. With other posts on other blogs I focused more on how I was saying stuff, not what I was saying. The idea that I’d been trying to get across would get lost along the way and whatever I’d written would be stilted, awkward and truth be told, very boring. Also my life was really kind of boring with not much going on. I often found that I was repeating myself. There’s only so often you can make plans for the future and self improvement before you realise that nothing’s actually getting better.
Long story short, I fell out of love with blogging.
But not so much any more. I’ve found that love once more. How? I don’t know but it’s there again. And I don’t want to lose it. So I’m making a change. I’m not going to post on a regular schedule but I am going to try and get one post up a week at least, more if I want to. I’m not going to spend hours and hours crafting that perfect post, I’ll write what I feel like writing, how it is in my head and hopefully keep it interesting. I’ll include pictures if it feels necessary, leave them out if not. Or you know, just put in a cute picture of my dog. Whichever feels better. It’ll probably be the dog….
So yeah, more plans but loose ones that aren’t as constricting or structured. And there’s room for change, to shake things up and do something different. And given that I’ve got some big plans in the works there could be a lot of change.
For now though it’s good bye from me until next time. Take care of yourselves. Love, live, laugh and create. Byesie bye.
Well… I wanted to kick off this blog with a story of fantastic success, an amazing make and some beautiful pictures. Let’s just say that’s not going to happen. But first, some backstory to my massive failure.
Halloween is coming up, we all know it. And I LOVE Halloween. Like a kid loves candy… or like I love candy. For the last few years my family and I have thrown an annual pumpkin carving party a few days before Halloween. We eat food, drink booze (if we’re old enough) and carve some awesome (and not so awesome) pumpkins. It started small, just a few people, but now, two years later we have something like 15 people coming.
My mum, being my mum, who is also known as Mummy June, decided that I must bake something, specifically a cake. And she found me a kit.
It’s looks pretty simple right? I mean, it’s marketed at kids! I thought it was going to be easy, one two three and done. Inside the box there were two packets, one with icing, one with cake mix, a bag of chocolate sticks and a bag of white chocolate buttons to melt down. Even the decorations had stencils you could pipe on to. It should be simple! Right?
The thing is, the packets with the icing and the cake mix were both white plastic. They were roughly the same size, one a little heavier and smaller than the other. They weren’t very well labelled either. Yeah… I think you know where I’m going with this.
I did what I was supposed to do: added the milk, melted butter and egg. Beat the entire thing for so long my arm felt like it was going to drop off. Poured it in to a carefully greased tin. Put it in the oven to bake. And bake. And bake.
About twenty minutes after I’d put it in, ten more than it was supposed to be in for, I decided to check how it was going. I put a skewer in and it came out runny. I waited another ten minutes. Still no change. So I went back to the box. This time I read the grown up instructions on the side, not the brightly coloured ones on the back. Bells started to go off in my brain.
That was when I looked more closely at the label on the bags, even fishing the empty one out of the bin. Low and behold… I’d been trying to bake the icing.
Queue me throwing myself on to the floor and whinging while the dog licked my face and Mummy June laughing her head off. My dad laughed his head off. My sister and her boyfriend laughed their heads off when they came round for a visit.
Needless to say, it was a massive fail. What a way to kick off my blog. A cake baked from icing that’s now all over the kitchen sink, bin and bottom of the oven. Me barred from baking for a while. My mum and dad very amused.
I’m just sad I forgot to take photos.
This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.