You Don't Need Your Heart When You're Dead

When I was younger, the concept of organ donation freaked me out when I thought about it, which was rarely. Having been blessed in never knowing anyone that had had a transplant it was not something I'd addressed really; I'd blame youth, but I think I was just me being self absorbed.

And then recently I had to renew my drivers' licence and one of the questions asked by the online form was to please tick the box if you would like to be added to the NHS Organ Donor list. I ticked it and then I thought about it. A lot.

When my card arrived to say I had been successfully added, its accompanying letter asked me to inform my next of kin that I was a card carrier. And so this is me doing this and also sending out a plea.

I am not really sure why organ donation is not opt out to be honest rather than opt in... I don't care what religion you are, most religions - if not all - preach helping others. However, not associating with any fomal religion myself, that is not my argument. Here it is...

We live our lives giving away parts of ourselves every day, some to people who deserve it and some who do not. We give away our hearts to lovers who leave us and those who become their caretakers till the end. We throw away our thoughts and our speech carelessly every day to companies and corporations we work for, or necessarily use these solely human gifts to go about our day to day life. We burn energy from our muscles in exercise and moving about. We hear everything that passes us, without prejudice. In youth these gifts seem unlimited and we do not always choose to use them wisely, perhaps until middle age moves to old age and they falter and we realise that we would like to carefully select - as much as we can - what we utilise them for.

This leads to time, our most precious, most limited resource which we give away everyday, even though we still need it. We give it with joy to people we love and to pursuits we enjoy, we give it with reluctance to perfunctory tasks, with resignation (sometimes) to the grinds of everyday life and careers. Often we give it to the world, to people we don't know, to charities, to good causes, to those in need, to help others even if if we never see the outcome. We often lose it uncontrollably when we are angry or sad or bad. We numb it with alcohol, food, drugs and television. We wish it away, we wait for the weekend, for the summer, for Christmas. CANNOT WAIT TO SEE YOU. When we examine our lives we muse on how to give our time better, to be of more value.

All of this is human and it's wonderful and it's part of what it is to have a human life. But tell me this, why, if you are happy - for the most part - to give away all these things when you still have need of them, are you reluctant to give away your bodily organs etc when you have not?

I hope as everyone does that I do not die young, but if I do, I would like my body to be a free for all for anyone who needs it. Take anything you want. I believe they are unlikely to want my lungs as I have smoked for ten years and even though I am going to give up this year, I still think they are unlikely to be transplant worthy. Other than this I would like to give everything away with no conditions. Obviously I would prefer if they went to "worthy" people, but if my liver is given to an alcoholic (tbf that might be pretty ropey too ;), or my kidneys to an ex-con then that is the way things go. Maybe they will take it and it might make their life so much better and the rest of me can be burnt and spread around the globe.

To be honest, I would just like to finish on you ALL signing up to the organ donation website.... PLEASE

....

Gone West... Life is Peaceful Here

I'm currently in Cornwall. On my own. I'm still working for clients. And I'm trying to write. Trying really hard. The beauty of being freelance is that I can work from anywhere really, as long as there is a good WiFi connection and power. I can go anywhere.

So I decided to trundle off to Cornwall because I am lucky enough to be able to stay here free.. And it is beautiful. I am situated in a tiny village called Kingsand which is on the Cornwall / Devon border of the South West Coast path. I can walk for miles and miles with beautiful views over the coast and cliffs. I have already seen at least thirty butterflies since I have been here.

It's kind of my safe place. My place of firsts too, I've been coming here for 22 years. I saw my first brawl outside a pub, I also saw a stripper here when I was about ten; it was someones birthday in a pub and I stood on an outside table to see what was going on. I think I first got really drunk here when I was 15 too.

Shamed by Clutter

Even the word clutter makes me shiver with anxiety. Its onomatopoeic potency - at least to me - is such that I imagine myself being buried alive by piles of paperwork, old fancy dress costumes and chargers for unknown phones or laptops that I am just too scared to throw away.

The thing is - as you may realise - I actually don't like clutter, but for some reason in the last three years I have let the stuff accumulate. And in the last few months before I quit my job, it was so bad there were just some drawers I wouldn't dare open.

This past week, I have been spending a lot of "freelance time" sorting, throwing away, tidying, cleaning. I have discovered a cacophony of obscure objects that bring back memories, but crowd my space. Three Union Jack flags from the Jubilee, two fancy dress soldiers' hats, three sets of Christmas lights, mail belonging to housemates that lived with me three years ago, health drinks that went off in 2013. Parking tickets and solitary placemats, candles with no wick and calendars well past their dates. Numerous bits of electricals and nails and scraps of paper, crusty nail varnishes, men's scarves, a book on the Karma Sutra that I definitely didn't buy...

The thing is, I'm trying to clear my head - to clear my vision. Working from home and trying to write a novel as well as searching for commercial work, I need an inspiring environment. And all this chattering clutter is not helping. Objects remind you of times gone by, of feelings gone by, they shame me with the person I have been sometimes. I don't need them here... haunting me, taunting me. I'm detoxing my life... and most of it has got to go.

So that's why I haven't written for a while... I've been in the midst of clutter Cold Turkey and it's killed my voice for a bit. But I feel it's back, stronger and more sure of itself now. 12 steps of freedom.

xx

On Going With Your Gut

Have you ever had that feeling in your stomach, an automatic reaction to a person, a situation, a problem, an idea - sometimes before you are even in the moment of making a decision on it? I'm not talking about the brain-led voice of your ego that constantly chatters away to you, I'm not comfortable, I won't succeed, this won't be good for me, I want people to like me therefore I'll avoid this....

Ok, I'm Ready...

I think I'm ready now, finally. I have never really been before, but I think I am now because I know what I want and what I don't want. I've made those distinctions.

I've spend time having loveless flirtation and sensual (and not so sensual encounters). I've dated and dismissed many a man (and boy). I've had a few short "relationships". Mostly I've been afraid of it, to be honest, afraid of what somebody else would do to me. 

Maybe it's because I wasn't really sure about myself, whether I like myself all that much, whether I was who I was meant to be. The thought of blind and internet (sorry app- what is this the 00s) dating just sent me into a spin of fear and insecurity that they might reflect back at me the flaws I had already outlined in myself.

I was never one of those people who dated to fill a hole or to feel more secure and steady in a situation, because for me, putting yourself into that vulnerable position of being half of two rather than half of one was not something that settled me. In fact it sent me careering off into outer space, heart thumping head-spinning, ecstatic then anxious, crying with laughter, then just crying. I didn't want this. I wanted a steady ground.

I am ready now, because I've realised what I want and that steadiness often comes from within. I'm ready now because I am happier with who I am.

So if you know anyone...

Kind but not weak. Compassionate, likes animals and nature. Reads, please. Interested in all ideas even if they don't agree with them. Doesn't talk over people who are quieter than them. Respect's people of all ages, sexes, colours, nationalities, backgrounds, creeds, educated or not. Realises we are all the same, WE ARE ALL THE SAME. Can take (and make) a joke. Does not practice bitterness. Loves to laugh, to make others laugh, the moment of laughter. Wants fun in life. Responsible, but not anal. Understands me, lets me be me, even if that is odd. Intelligent, not necessarily academically or bookish, but bright, sparky, interested. Likes talking and listening. Likes long conversations about the world and what it means... but can tug me in and make me feel safe too if I drift off into the stratosphere. Healthy attitude towards mind, body and soul. Appreciates and indulges in the sensual pleasures of life, but does not gorge on them. Smiles at people even if it makes them look stupid. Tactile. Reassuring. Shares their problems. Lets me look after them sometimes. Not scared of their feelings. Quiet, but also loud. Trustworthy and trusting. Has passions and interests. Would be a good father. I want to find him beautiful, but that doesn't mean anyone else needs to. Makes my friends smile and feel warm inside. Interested in my family. Open-minded. Likes the sea and the mountains and travelling. As flawed as humans are. Never thinks he knows it all.

Do you know anyone like that? I don't yet and this list may seem unrealisitc. But I have no stipulations for money or looks or background or anything else. None of that, just these things.

I'm just putting that out there.

#The100DayProject, #100DaysofWriting, #Day12.

Confirmation Bias Against Yourself?

I was reading the other day about a tendency in law, politics and science to "search for, interpret, or recall information in a way that confirms one's beliefs or hypotheses." It is called "Confirmation Bias, or Myside Bias" and it can be very damaging in legal cases and international decisions. Science Daily outlines how "decision makers have been shown to actively seek out and assign more weight to evidence that confirms their hypothesis, and ignore or underweigh evidence that could disconfirm their hypothesis."2

But what if we also do this to ourselves, how damaging can that be? 

I am talking about this in reference to people who are apt to self-criticism, depression, jealousy and insecurity, not to those - who in the opposite way- may seem to have overinflated egos. 

For, if we already walk about this earth with a certain set of beliefs, surely there is a propensity to reconfirm these to ourselves daily, every time something happens or someone speaks to us. And might this mean we become our own jailers.

Kindness, Growth and a Grateful Heart

The 100 Day Project, Day 3 of 100 Days of Writing... Today, I am writing in response to Laura Jane Williams’ Ask the Question project, which I subscribe to. Laura is the brilliant blogger of Superlatively Rude and all-round fabulous human being and today after regaling a personal anecdote she asked the question: Who do you need to look at with different eyes, just for a moment? What would it do for you to admit that maybe it’s YOU who has been unkind? 

Kindness, Growth and a Grateful Heart

I used to be a different type of person you see, a very different type of person and the journey from who I was to who I am now has taken several years, a lot of self assessment and reading hundreds of books. As a teenager and young adult, I was quite an angry, little (secretly introverted, but outwardly brash) hot mess. I was not very confident at all from adolescence, but I defended and concealed this with cynicism, sarcasm and often a hate of, or superiority towards those who may have (unintentionally) inflamed my numerous insecurities.

Basically, I liked to blame other people for stuff. Either they were a bitch or a dick or too stupid to understand or they made me feel like this or like that. It wasn’t that I didn’t blame myself for my shortcomings, oh I certainly did that in crippling detail... but I found that criticism of others came easily too. I never felt comfortable with it, not really, but somehow if others were also at fault, it felt easier to deal with my own self-assassination.

Now because this post is not meant to be a whining tale of my angsty years... I will move straight on to what I have learnt that has changed both how I look at others and myself. First though, it is pertinent to say that it did not make me happy AT ALL. The more that I criticised or looked down at others, the more imperfection I found in myself... far from ignoring the plank in my own eye, I built it with the sawdust that I saw in everybody else’s until it was disproportionately huge. And I came to the point where I wondered why I spent so much time comparing myself to others or reacting to them so strongly. 

The two words that changed everything, Kindness and Growth (some may use lesson or education but I feel growth is more positive). Simply put, to move forward and to get somewhere with our lives, hopes, dreams, relationships etc etc, we need to treat ourselves with kindness and grace. We need to accept our weaknesses, nurture them into positives and not berate ourselves constantly. In turn, once we accept our own faults, we are also more able to look kindly upon others; we can see their whole selves and not just the parts of them that seem to provoke vehement, emotional reactions in us.

The second point is growth, because once we are kind enough to our self and to others, we are able to look objectively our flaws and theirs, we can accept that perhaps they are there to teach us something and can try and work out what that is. For example, I have always loved a glass of wine, but in more emotional times of my life, I have often drunk too much to drown out thoughts or to try and enjoy myself in a situation I am uncomfortable in. I used to berate my excess and lack of control, now I have learnt that if I feel uncomfortable, I need to face that situation if it is important, or remove myself from it if it is only damaging.  It is the same with other people’s flaws; I have felt irritated at colleagues by the way that they have done things, which in turn made me frustrated. Only after careful thought did I realise that perhaps I was just uncomfortable in the work I was doing, my irritation at their personality was simply an extension of how I was feeling trapped in a situation.

I don’t know if I have explained this concisely at all, in fact it is probably far too verbose and I don’t claim to not find other people irksome at all, ever, far from it. It’s not a cure this way of thinking, but a practice for living that enables you to take a step back and regroup when you need to. When I find myself reacting to anyone or criticising myself now, I stop and think be kind, learn and grow and always have a grateful heart. I also try to think about where that other person is coming from in order to respond if necessary in the calmest, truest way. If you do these things you are never far from the soul of your true self and generally - I have found - the happier you will be.

*Thanks to Laura for provoking this piece... you’re aces...

Lost

I have decided after a dreamy ten day holiday to take part in the #100DayProject. There are various versions of this across the web and Facebook, but the general premise is a promise to do one thing everyday for one hundred days. I have decided to write. As a "writer" this may seem an odd thing to choose but I am in dire need of a writing habit that is not at the mercy of my creative spirit. I think comitting to this project will FORCE me to write something every day, however rubbish it is. For added help I will be using The Writer's Block by Jason Reuklak for those times when my head is empty.

I will be posting everything that is written here, so prepare to see A LOT more of me... and apologies if sometimes it isn't the most insightful prose.

Today my challenge was "Describe Your First Brush With Danger". This turned into a much deeper piece than I was expecting, but ain't that the way it goes. Anyway here it is. Day 1.

Lost

Being physically lost as a child is perhaps the most frightening thing in the world. Your heart beats quickly, the world seems huge, familiar paths and areas that you walk with your loved ones everyday suddenly transform into sprawling jungles filled with monsters around every corner. You jump, you jump as anyone approaches you as you have been told not to talk to strangers... you don’t know who to trust as your mother usually vets people for you. You tend to think more attractive people might be nicer to you, or kindly old ladies, but still, you are good and heed your mother’s words. Don’t move, don’t talk to strangers.

After walking around the small vicinity of the area in which you first found yourself lost, eyes desperately trying to make out a familiar figure, a red coat, the pitch of voice that calls you home, you sit down and you cry and this seems like the end of the world. This, the first danger you have ever felt, real true danger. Even as you remember the nightmares you have had in your bed, when your mother or father has come running, you scoff and become more tearful. When you had monsters in your head at night, you knew that they were always there to reassure you that these were just dreams and after hours of softly stroking your back and whispering calming words in your ears you believe them, safe in your home. Safe with your people.

But now they are nowhere to be seen. Everyone around you is a strange blank face and they all seem so large. Your mind flits between panic about how badly you will be reprimanded when they finally do find you and even more hysterical panic that they never will. You cry all the tears you have, until you know it is useless and then you sit forlornly on the ground waiting. You wonder what will happen to you now. Will you die soon or will one of those strange people kidnap you and take you away forever. You know not where, but you have heard such things.

Then she appears, an angel on the horizon that you almost don’t believe is walking, no running towards you. And she is crying. And you find yourself being enveloped in the familiar smell of cigarettes and perfume. The fear tension pours out of your body and the relief brings more tears. You are found.

**

Being mentally or emotionally lost as an adult is perhaps the most frightening thing in the world. Your heart in turn beats quickly and irrationally and then slowly and dully. The world seems huge and tiny at the same time, familiar streets and trains of thought seem both terrifying and full of monsters and that mind-numbing type of monotonous that is so alarming that it often makes you feel physically sick. You fear approach in this loss too, physical approach as this feeling of loss has turned you into a shell-less tortoise, a mole in the sunlight, shirking, blinking... diving for solitude. And also mental and emotional approach, because as fearsome as this loss is you are comfortable in it for now and anything or anyone that might try to tug you from it is highly suspicious and intrusive. Don’t move, don’t talk to strangers.

After walking around this small vicinity of your brain that your loss is comfortable with, you recognise all the familiar figures. They are all you or versions of you that you have allowed or other people that you have allowed, who echo back at you this version of yourself that you have approved. But these familiar figures don’t comfort you, they make you angry because they are why you are lost. This is the first danger, you have felt, the first real true danger, but this time you do not scoff at your nightmares, because they are part of your daytime. And your mind has given so much power to them that they have wrapped around your thoughts. And it is much harder to reassure yourself.

Your real people, your good people are everywhere to be seen. They are in photographs and in phone conversations, they are beside you every day, they are reassuring you, they are laughing with you, they are there. Yet, you are still lost. Even in the sea of familiar faces. You do worry about reprimand, because you are now an adult and adults are not meant to be lost, but it is ok because no one will know. You sometimes cry and sit on the ground forlornly. You do not worry about people kidnapping you... you think that might be a welcome break. You do worry that you have already kidnapped yourself. You know not where, but you have heard such things.

Then she appears, no angel at all, flawed in many ways, but she is familiar. Get up, she says, get up... we do know the way. We are not really lost are we? We have taken ourselves here and so we can get back. She is not crying, she is smiling and she is strong. I’m sorry, she says, I went away for a while, but you always knew I was here. Why are you not moving? Why have you not talked to some strangers? You are not a child. There is that familiar bossy yet placating tone and your fear is beginning to ease. It might take a while you realise, but you do know the way. You knew the way all the time really. Didn’t you. She did, she’s you. You are found.

Leading Our Own Life

Soooo... I've been a little quiet lately because I've been figuring my shit out, to put it bluntly. You might remember in a post I wrote about reading the signs that life was battering me a bit - or really I was battering myself. The thing is that I was working in a job for some great people, had been there for four years and I just wasn't feeling any joy from it any more, you know. It was becoming something that I had to get through every day and instead of waking up and thinking what can I achieve today I was letting the fear of change and failure crush me, standing still and curled up, feeling lower and lower.

I was preaching all this stuff on Instagram and in my blog posts about how to live your life but I wasn't doing it. I half-heartedly looked at other positions, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to work for someone else doing the same thing. That wasn't why I was unhappy, it was because I wasn't using my best qualities. I was living a life governed by what I thought I should and it was destroying me.

On Still Being An Inbetweener

Firstly I'd like to point out that the original series of The Inbetweeners started in 2008 when I was neither a teenager, nor male, however certainly identified with that late-teenage claw through life. Time was when everything was a potential embarassment or fuck-up and you really didn't know whether you were coming or going. Whether it was cringe-worthy encounters with the opposite sex, the endless quest for "cool" or the feeling of being slightly out of place in every possible situation.

I also identified greatly with the sentiment of the "Inbetweener", halfway between childhood and adulthood and not really sure if you want to be either. The thing is now in my *cough late twenties, I would have assumed that my "Inbetweener" stage was over and I'd be well into my adjusted adult phase where everyday life was a breeze and my problems were only important, real things like death and taxes.

I have since discovered that is not the case.

Can we Contract our Sex Lives: Dicks and Love in The Mistress Contract

First, I would like to say that I am a total fangirl for Abi Morgan, she is basically who I would like to be. Secondly, I am a feminist of the "everyone should do the fuck they want and not judge each other sort". Yet thirdly, I still find myself rather awkward in the whole discussing sex as a commodity and a currency sort of thing. When I heard about this play I was dying to see it, but I didn't comprehend the idea of a woman contracting her sexual favours to be more in control of her life.

The play is based on a book by a real life man and mistress couple, He and She who made said contract back in the 80s and then taped many of their conversations together over the years. They are still together and are now in their 80s and 90s.

The contract outlines that the man must give the woman an income and a place to live in exchange for company when he wishes and

All sexual acts as requested, with suspension of historical, emotional, psychological disclaimers.

She claims to make the contract to protect herself so that she feels in a stronger and safer position. She is a feminist and makes this clear when she draws up the contract, but her feminist group buddies would not approve.

The thing is that this play promises to be rampant, the word mistress and contract and sex, I was at least expecting some investigation of how it feels to "suspend" that emotion. Or some chats about the sex. Yet, the sexiest moment is the discussion of giving head in the car in the first five minutes. She resents it apparently, she doesn't always want to put his dick in her mouth.. Hence the contract After that there's rarely any dirty chat.

This play is a love story plain and simple, reflecting the real love story that exist between the real life couple. This contract seems no different to a marriage contract for some. Calling it "mistress" does not make it feminist. They are just in love. 

Throughout the play, the couple bicker and relate to each other like a married couple and the only hint of feminism is when She berates He for getting sprinklers fitted in her garden without asking her. The story may begin with a contract, but essentially it is an analysis of a relationship that doesn't fall under the "normal" label. There's much discussion of the couples children, the woman's daughter in particular, what she hoped for her, what she isn't doing and how her choices are so different. Again, like any normal set of parents. 

I haven't read the book, so perhaps the narrative in prose piques different thoughts.

As usual, Abi Morgan writes raw and Danny Webb and Saskia Reeves are all realism and considered acting. Yet you just can't help but wish they'd say more. But maybe there isn't more to say, maybe they are just happy in their situation. Perhaps we just consider that they should say more and feel more because they are not in a conventional pairing. Surely She should want more.. Surely there is some climax that they should reach because She can't handle the terms of the contract anymore? In fact it is only He who seems to display a little discomfort toward the latter half of the play, She seems fine - thank-you very much - with what she has.

Far more questioning about what or what was not appropriate/feminist/legal, was the talk I attended a week after I saw the play. In homage to the Mistress Contract, the Royal Court hosted a fine crew of feminists, academics and opinion leaders in "Should we Contract our Sex Lives". 

The panel was chaired by the fabulous Times columnist and radio presenter, Libby Purves. The other panelists were playwright, Alecky Blythe (dying to see her work now) who pens verbatim dramas about prostitutes and such; Anthropologist, Professor Sophie Day who wrote an acclaimed monograph 'On the Game: Women and Sex Work’; feminist theorist Lynn Segal who has written much on the shifting understandings of feminist, masculinity and sexuality (and who is fucking awesome); and prominent LGBT campaigner and human rights activist, Peter Tatchell.

The talk, though pulling out of points just as they became interesting, (the timing as always) was much more fiery. Much dirtier and darker, it  covered everything from forty-year-old prostitutes to emotional distance and what kids should learn about prostitutes and prostitution at school. 

Sophie Day outlined at the beginning that our sex lives are already contracted in marriage. Then we moved on to prostitution and whether the law should change to protect women better. Can prostitution ever be liberating? Lynn Segal argued that the current acceptance that "everything (including sex) is modifiable and commercially viable" is dangerous.

Peter Tatchell maintained that male prostitutes, on the whole, are less victimised. In gay porn according to him, the men seem to enjoy it. We stopped just short of discussing biology in relation to porn and prostitution, but the sentiment was there. Dick chat was there. I was prude and uncomfortable in my seat at this point, twisting and hoping for the subject to change, wanting to scream.. what you meant is he's got a fucking hard on. Cheers for that.

I still love Abi Morgan and I enjoyed the observation of the conventional relationship in the Mistress Contract, but it wasn't feminist. I don't think She wanted a conventional marriage, she liked the boundaries of the contract, but not for feminist reasons. 

Money for sex is never going to be feminist, either what way. It puts one person in a position of power and renders one as a tool for pleasure..what does that say?

Next time, I'd like more of the reality of contracted fucking and less discussion of  the day-to-day frivolities please. But perhaps then, it is true, life is the little moments.

The Mistress Contract by Abi Morgan
was at
The Royal Court, Sloane Square, London SW1W 8AS 
www.royalcourttheatre.com

The Mistress Contract by She and He is available on AmazonCE: 020 7565 5000

Febresolutions 2014

So yes it is February and eleven days in... However, I do not agree with making resolutions in January. It is the worst month of the year when one is already thoroughly depressed. To be honest, I have never liked resolutions as a rule, they are always so negative and dull. Focusing on forsaking the things we love and berating ourselves for not being good enough people. From last year I really decided that I would never start the new year with such predictability. But it seems almost impossible not to get excited by the prospect of the proverbial clean page.. or an excuse to alter our Christmas-clogged psyches that last had a re-jig in the post-summer haze of back-to-school September. I also advocate starting in Feb, this may be because my birthday and about ten of my friends are in January and so our Christmas excess and lack of concentration on anything but celebration seems to last extra-long.

My 2013 - let's call it aspiration - was to "dwell in possibility" (a little vague??) as well as to start blogging and writing again and to go to bed earlier. It was only really in the last part of the year that I began to heed these resolutions and actually begun writing again. I tried to go to bed earlier for about a week.. This did not last.

This year, I feel in the perfect place to do much more... And so here they are, my aims for 2014 written down as much for myself as for anyone else reading: I'll warn you there's 15 - should be able to accomplish one surely...  Do not expect any promises to give up smoking or drink less as really... if that's what you want... look away now.

1) Learn to Code Properly

Apparently everyone should have the skill. It makes you, you know a "desirable" employee. For me it's really about being able to make stuff look good; to be able tinker about with websites for clients and myself without you know calling the tech guy.. Because really it's so much easier if you can do things yourself. At the moment I can do basics through google. Also, I'd like to make this site look better. 

2) Embrace Awkward

Whether it's innate shyness, extreme Britishness or something else. I have a severe fear of the awkward situation. Not just a normal #cringe moment, I go in to full blown fear. At the moment, I have a policy of avoid or run- away. I can't even watch awkward situations on films or tv shows, I turn away and cover my ears. In real life situations, I walk away or change the subject if anything awkward comes up. I never go on dates for fear of awkward, or if I do, I get tipsy enough that I don't feel the awkward. However I believe in facing your fears so for me, it's time to face the awkward. Quite how to do this and how exactly I will fight my natural instincts.. Is yet to be seen.

2) Write My Play

I have had the idea for a good six months and I think it's a good one. I've been scared of the form and the genre, I'm used to writing prose and haven't written a play script for ten years. However, I think the idea is so good that someone else will write it soon if I don't, and that will annoy me soooo much.

3)  Have a Night of Passion with Harry Styles or Marry Benedict Cumberbatch

Yeah ok, this one's obv a silly one. Have a curly-crush on the 1D Lothario, even though he most likely bats for the other team and is substantially younger. #perv. As for Benedict, totally in love with that man. He's just so clever and slightly odd-looking which I enjoy. There's no harm putting it down on paper... You never know...

4) Cook

Have started cooking more recently and vow to do more, for health and hosting reasons. Maybe will also add to my potential wife-skills #stillafeminist

5) Continue to Write and Not Just on Here

Writing might be the activity that makes me feel the most content and grounded in life (as well as angry and exasperated at times). Yet for three years I did not write one word that wasn't work related.

Chewed up by the 7-7 London life that we trip along through from desk to treadmill, from transport to social occasion, meal to life admin. I forgot - or more like avoided - doing what I loved because I was scared to. Late 2013, I began writing this blog and now I feel like I'm ready to write more and more and hopefully even for publication. Prose and poetry and screenplays and articles - I want to try it all.

6) Get Body the Best it Can Be Whilst Still Under 30 as Not Much Time Left (and Climb the Three Peaks)

I'm an all or nothing girl when it comes to exercise. Either a total gym-bunny; obsessed and depressed if I miss a workout or not doing anything at all and living the life of the London work-hard, play-hard and nothing in between kind of girl. At 28 though, it's time to get myself into the best shape I can before my body won't do what I tell it to so easily...

I've wanted to do the three peaks for five years at least and as part of my fitness goal and because my angel little sister is constantly doing impressive fitness feats, this is the year.

7) Be Early or at Least On Time

Perpetually 15 minutes late to EVERYTHING. I've always hated feeling constrained when I don't have to. I don't feel like it's a rude thing, more like a daydreamer thing. Though I don't like the thought that it comes across rude to others...So I'm giving it a go from now on....

8) Walk and Read

When I walk I find my brain settles on it's best ideas and so walking to and / or from work every day seems like a smart idea. Plus it helps with the above.

As a child I was a bookworm, literally nose always in a book and I still am... But these days so many other things seem to distract me. I want to try and make sure I get through at least a book a month. Not only do I enjoy it, but it powers my brain and how can I hope to be a good writer if I don't read.

9) Try to Eat Minimal Sugar as You Drink Enough of it at Weekends

Sugar is the devil and addictive and makes you fat. But I love white wine. And that's really it. 

10) Date

I hate dating (see embrace awkward above). I've always found it terribly American and fake, but really I'm not likely to find the love of my life bar hopping or at work, so I think I need to do more of it. I also relish the opportunity for amusing material for this blog.

11) Paperwork, Cash & Adult Shit

I hate paperwork, leave it in piles until I give myself a panic attack from the stress and I'm pretty bad with money. Again a growing-up point but more because I know it will make me happier if I am organised.

12) Tattoo

I used to think they were dreadful and dirty, or at least something people did to follow the crowd. I've scoffed at friends who have them. Now I want one, probably because I finally know and trust myself enough to not regret it. Watch this space...

13) Give Something

Life is better when you do things for other people. I think I'm pretty thoughtful to my friends and family- most of the time. However, I want to do something for a bigger cause for someone who really needs it. 

14) Tech-NO

So I'm a little too addicted to the internet, to social media: instagram, Facebook, twitter, linkedin, pinterest, vine - you name it, I've dabbled. I'm subscribed to hundreds of blogs, viral sites and everything in between. I know though that I should switch off at least one night a week. Nothing after 7pm. One can only try..

15) De-clutter and DIY

I'm not a horder per se, I just collect a lot of things that I do not regularly sort out. I've endless bags of clothes I no longer wear, boxes full of ticket stubs, postcards and souvenirs from long forgotten holidays. Files from courses I did years ago reside in "bags for life" with loose photos, broken phones and fliers for plays that are long since over. I'm the sort that thinks - I'll deal with that later, I might need it someday.. I want to cherish that memory. More often than not it takes up useful space. Hence the de-cluttering and quite frankly, like the paperwork above, it stresses me out. 

Once the clutter is cleared, there's so many things that I want to do to my lovely house, paint walls, rescue some furniture from junk shops and make my little haven even more mine...

Let's see how many of the above fifteen I stick to....


*None of these images are (c) mine except the top one....

Others' thoughts...

I've been awful at writing recently. January is one of those months for me, full of friends birthdays and social occasions as well as the ubiquitous feeling that winter has been going on far too long... So, here's a tide-me-over post of a few rousing sentiments.. #iloveaquote.

Hope you enjoy.

Art conquers all..

Sometimes you've just got to own it..

And in anticipation of 2014...

Here's to the pleasure of writing...

A proper post coming soon....

Dwell in Possibility...

"Dwell in Possibility" was my umbrella new year's resolution for 2013. I like to think I did towards the end. I do love the so-titled Emily Dickinson poem, thought it is a little sad.

Watch out for my 2014 New Year's post coming in the next few days. Also, a slight breakdown post over turning 28 on Saturday. G~A~H.....