I think I have a drinking problem.
I woke up today feeling like total shit. Too much wine. Bad. I woke up and thought of her and cried. Eight months. That’s how long till I see her, if I even do then. It’s already been four. I dreamt about her the other night. It was horrible. I went downstairs this morning and stared at the fridge until I remembered that we fucked against it. And in the shower, in my bed, in hers, in the living room…It all feels like a dream; it happened but now everything’s so different and I wonder was it real? Was any of it even real? I don’t know. I don’t look at her facebook anymore. I haven’t done for weeks. I can’t stand it. Not yet. I got a notification saying someone had commented on her photo; She’s changed her name, taken out the middle one. I feel like she’s already married. I feel like she’s a different person. I wonder how long it will take to forget it. I long for that connection but will I ever have it with another person? Everyone I’ve fucked since her, it’s all the same, I don’t feel it. I feel nothing. None of them mattered to me. Maybe the therapy will help. God I’m a fuck up.
Thursday, 8 January 2009
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
4-11-08
Today I got up hideously late because Dad didn’t wake me up. I heard him sneak down the stairs really early but I think he was too scared to wake me up, because I am a bit of a monster in the mornings.
I went in to Wetherspoons to discuss our Ethics project and eat skanky food and then Amy picked me up and brought me back. Before that though I went into the phone shop to see if they could buy out my contract, and talked to the girl that works in there.
I noticed today the mantelpiece still has a toy car I made on top of it and the draining board has the same knife holder. So strange.
Anyway I’m going back to town on Wednesday to see if they can give me a better phone, but I’ll definitely make sure that I look a little bit hot this time. When the girl asked what she could help me with I pointed at the LG viewty and went “I want that” like a complete retard. She said that she might be able to give me a better one, and that she would look into it before Wednesday. Ace right? I’ve made it my aim to get a date out of her while I’m still near to Truro because I really want to go to Qdos this week. Amy laughed at me when I told her and said she loved how she’s watched me grow from a “sort of gay” something or other to an “absolute terror”. I had to remind her that actually I’m quite the opposite of a terror, I’m bloody lovely and I’m trying to protect myself from yet more heartbreak by trying to be less sensitive than I have been.
I went in to Wetherspoons to discuss our Ethics project and eat skanky food and then Amy picked me up and brought me back. Before that though I went into the phone shop to see if they could buy out my contract, and talked to the girl that works in there.
I noticed today the mantelpiece still has a toy car I made on top of it and the draining board has the same knife holder. So strange.
Anyway I’m going back to town on Wednesday to see if they can give me a better phone, but I’ll definitely make sure that I look a little bit hot this time. When the girl asked what she could help me with I pointed at the LG viewty and went “I want that” like a complete retard. She said that she might be able to give me a better one, and that she would look into it before Wednesday. Ace right? I’ve made it my aim to get a date out of her while I’m still near to Truro because I really want to go to Qdos this week. Amy laughed at me when I told her and said she loved how she’s watched me grow from a “sort of gay” something or other to an “absolute terror”. I had to remind her that actually I’m quite the opposite of a terror, I’m bloody lovely and I’m trying to protect myself from yet more heartbreak by trying to be less sensitive than I have been.
Night time ponderings
I’m at home tonight. Not in my Falmouth home, and not in My Constantine one; I’m sitting in bed in the first, the original. My Stithians home.
I’m moving back. Moving back to the house that I spent my first seven years in. My first blissful, simple, and yet tortured seven years.
I left this house for the first time twelve years ago. During those years I have returned for days, weeks, sometimes even months at a time, but this will be the longest have stayed here since.
I’ve always been so sentimental about my first home. I used to beg my parents not to sell it; even though I hated staying here. I used to feel so attached to it I couldn’t bare the thought of someone else living here. I used to cry every time I stayed, from memories and familiarity, and yet I loved the house itself.
Even though it is completely different from what it used to be, I still associate so much with the scruffy, small, smelly little cottage. There is junk in the living room and in the Conservatory. The kitchen has a different layout and the bathroom has no door, and the room that we all slept in when I was a baby is full of things, instead of the simple floor of mattresses it used to contain. The airing cupboard where we used to keep our clothes has just dad’s in now, and the slope to the attic we used to climb on has unnameable boxes covering it.
The eleven narrow, rickety wooden stairs with the metal banister Dad made, that I once fell down and used to dream about flying from top to bottom in one graceful swoop.
The room that Laurence and I moved into has a bed and a massage couch in it, as well as some plants. The windows are the same ones Dad made when he moved in here over twenty-five years ago, and the curtains I remember as the ones Mum made when I was a toddler. The same crack in the class and the same fireplace, but no bookshelf, and no light.
I used to be scared of the fireplace, and the draught that came down from the chimney. My fear would be magnified by Dad’s late night readings of the Hobbit, even though it was our favourite. There are stickers on the door that I put on it when I was five, and yet the corner where my bed used to be is taken up by a mini greenhouse, and this bed is by the window.
The whole room still shudders with heavy footsteps, because of the broken beam in the living room’s ceiling, but it doesn’t scare me anymore, not like it used to.
I’ll hear Dad’s snoring in a while, and his gasps as he stops breathing from the sleep apnoea. I’ll hear him grinding his teeth and I’ll ignore it like I used to, and feel strange that I can’t go and snuggle up to him like I did when I was little.
The only radiator in the house, in this room, no longer works and it is cold in here. I made a hot water bottle (the one I have since I was six, when I lived here first) with the copper kettle on the Raeburn; No electric kettle, no toaster, no cooker. Dad makes his breakfast on a tiny barbecue in the conservatory.
The fireplace doesn’t contain the old stove with the backburner and the fireguard. There is a bigger fire, it’s taller, but the granite mantelpiece is the same, as is the marble it sits on.
And yet despite all this; despite the absence of phone and internet, the lack of hot water, the inability to pop the kettle on for a quick cup of tea, I still feel so much more at home than I have done for the last few months. It takes me back so a simpler and more innocent time, a time without the politics of friendship, the annoyance of bills and the confusion of love.
I think I could be happy again here.
I’m moving back. Moving back to the house that I spent my first seven years in. My first blissful, simple, and yet tortured seven years.
I left this house for the first time twelve years ago. During those years I have returned for days, weeks, sometimes even months at a time, but this will be the longest have stayed here since.
I’ve always been so sentimental about my first home. I used to beg my parents not to sell it; even though I hated staying here. I used to feel so attached to it I couldn’t bare the thought of someone else living here. I used to cry every time I stayed, from memories and familiarity, and yet I loved the house itself.
Even though it is completely different from what it used to be, I still associate so much with the scruffy, small, smelly little cottage. There is junk in the living room and in the Conservatory. The kitchen has a different layout and the bathroom has no door, and the room that we all slept in when I was a baby is full of things, instead of the simple floor of mattresses it used to contain. The airing cupboard where we used to keep our clothes has just dad’s in now, and the slope to the attic we used to climb on has unnameable boxes covering it.
The eleven narrow, rickety wooden stairs with the metal banister Dad made, that I once fell down and used to dream about flying from top to bottom in one graceful swoop.
The room that Laurence and I moved into has a bed and a massage couch in it, as well as some plants. The windows are the same ones Dad made when he moved in here over twenty-five years ago, and the curtains I remember as the ones Mum made when I was a toddler. The same crack in the class and the same fireplace, but no bookshelf, and no light.
I used to be scared of the fireplace, and the draught that came down from the chimney. My fear would be magnified by Dad’s late night readings of the Hobbit, even though it was our favourite. There are stickers on the door that I put on it when I was five, and yet the corner where my bed used to be is taken up by a mini greenhouse, and this bed is by the window.
The whole room still shudders with heavy footsteps, because of the broken beam in the living room’s ceiling, but it doesn’t scare me anymore, not like it used to.
I’ll hear Dad’s snoring in a while, and his gasps as he stops breathing from the sleep apnoea. I’ll hear him grinding his teeth and I’ll ignore it like I used to, and feel strange that I can’t go and snuggle up to him like I did when I was little.
The only radiator in the house, in this room, no longer works and it is cold in here. I made a hot water bottle (the one I have since I was six, when I lived here first) with the copper kettle on the Raeburn; No electric kettle, no toaster, no cooker. Dad makes his breakfast on a tiny barbecue in the conservatory.
The fireplace doesn’t contain the old stove with the backburner and the fireguard. There is a bigger fire, it’s taller, but the granite mantelpiece is the same, as is the marble it sits on.
And yet despite all this; despite the absence of phone and internet, the lack of hot water, the inability to pop the kettle on for a quick cup of tea, I still feel so much more at home than I have done for the last few months. It takes me back so a simpler and more innocent time, a time without the politics of friendship, the annoyance of bills and the confusion of love.
I think I could be happy again here.
Saturday, 18 October 2008
23
It’s not the sex I miss, although I think about it all the time
I can do six months without that; I can wank so I’m sure I’ll be fine
I realise just how much you make me laugh now I’m alone
But it’s not as if we never talk, we’ve got the net, the post, the phone
What I miss most is skin on skin, me pressed up close to you
The way you kiss me like no one else could ever ever do
I love the way our bodies fit, so different thought they are
Your smooth skin beneath my touch (as I reach around to snap your bra)
I can do six months without that; I can wank so I’m sure I’ll be fine
I realise just how much you make me laugh now I’m alone
But it’s not as if we never talk, we’ve got the net, the post, the phone
What I miss most is skin on skin, me pressed up close to you
The way you kiss me like no one else could ever ever do
I love the way our bodies fit, so different thought they are
Your smooth skin beneath my touch (as I reach around to snap your bra)
22
Batty blind and crazy mind
Make me wonder make me ponder
Sweet dreams and movie scenes
Of soft kisses and near misses
Nightmares and slight tears
Of heart strings and something’s
Fantasies of you and me
Of one day that’s far away
In slumber my number
And nineteen what they mean
I’ll see you soon one day in June
And you’ll be mine true love divine
Make me wonder make me ponder
Sweet dreams and movie scenes
Of soft kisses and near misses
Nightmares and slight tears
Of heart strings and something’s
Fantasies of you and me
Of one day that’s far away
In slumber my number
And nineteen what they mean
I’ll see you soon one day in June
And you’ll be mine true love divine
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
21
Once apon a time I would walk past your room
And I would sob thinking that you would realise soon
That I was sad and I needed the company but
You had your boy and you had your love
And now I walk past that room and I cry just the same
Imagining your there but no one answers my tame
Cry for help though I wish they would call out my name
That they would just because
Then I could cry and not care and
They’d come to my side and they’d comfort and coo
But no one not one of them is anything like you
Not one bit not one ounce do they weigh up the same
To the way that you held me and whispered my name
And made me feel safe and so very alive
And no way not a bit like I wanted to die
How I feel right now I have never felt before
I have felt that I wanted so very much more
But to feel this way is to feel nondescript
I feel like you’ve taken my heart and you’ve ripped
My most needed organ out of my chest
And you’ve maimed it and laid it down somewhere to rest
And you’ve left it somewhere that I cannot find
Somewhere in your self that I have been declined
And I want to reach it though really I don’t
I want you to keep it
And make it your own
I want you to never let go of my heart
As I will never let go of that part
Of you that I know I will always keep
Wherever you go and whoever you seek
Because whether you’re alone
Or your heart has been stole
If you’re married or someone has taken control
I will wait for you darling
Till the end of my days
Because one day I know you will want me again
And I would sob thinking that you would realise soon
That I was sad and I needed the company but
You had your boy and you had your love
And now I walk past that room and I cry just the same
Imagining your there but no one answers my tame
Cry for help though I wish they would call out my name
That they would just because
Then I could cry and not care and
They’d come to my side and they’d comfort and coo
But no one not one of them is anything like you
Not one bit not one ounce do they weigh up the same
To the way that you held me and whispered my name
And made me feel safe and so very alive
And no way not a bit like I wanted to die
How I feel right now I have never felt before
I have felt that I wanted so very much more
But to feel this way is to feel nondescript
I feel like you’ve taken my heart and you’ve ripped
My most needed organ out of my chest
And you’ve maimed it and laid it down somewhere to rest
And you’ve left it somewhere that I cannot find
Somewhere in your self that I have been declined
And I want to reach it though really I don’t
I want you to keep it
And make it your own
I want you to never let go of my heart
As I will never let go of that part
Of you that I know I will always keep
Wherever you go and whoever you seek
Because whether you’re alone
Or your heart has been stole
If you’re married or someone has taken control
I will wait for you darling
Till the end of my days
Because one day I know you will want me again
Monday, 22 September 2008
21
An English dusk a Kiwi morning
A brand new day for her is dawning
While here I’m cold and tired and yawning
Waiting for my dreams to come
And take me far away
A brand new day for her is dawning
While here I’m cold and tired and yawning
Waiting for my dreams to come
And take me far away
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