Leave me alone, I'm lonely.

Something snaps inside. I can't take any more. 
His text flashes up:

"I wish you were here."


Well, I'm glad I'm not - thankyouverymuch.


The phone is tossed on the table beside my laptop, and I scan over what I've written. Suddenly I can't find the motivation to carry on this stupid technical script. I was doing fine! I mean, sure, it was a struggle to get out of bed today... and sure, I've missed my lectures... but I was doing okay! I was getting the silly script finally done and out of the way.
So why can I suddenly not write any more?


I'd say some days it's hard... but I'd be lying. It's always hard. It is for most people.
Most days you kick yourself out of bed, get clean, go face the day. 
Why is today different?


I guess it's because of last night.


Last night was depressing because my friends were low... and because I started realising things about myself. Things that have been resurfacing now and then. Memories slowly fitting themselves into a pattern for me.
I figure it'll change one day. The picture will suddenly be different, and I'll be able to accept men as equals rather than the challenge. I'll be able to connect with someone and make love - rather than close off during intimacy. I'll be able to accept it all and smile, and say "Yes, but it made me who I am - and I wouldn't change a thing!"

Maybe that will never happen, but here's to hoping.


I run a hand through my hair and grab the phone back up. This time I take it with me and dive into my silky bed. 


I will not cry. I will not cry.


The tears stay checked and I look at my phone for a moment. Maybe I should just ride this out. Get through it. I'll be fine.
My thumb scans softly sideways through home screens and taps the little icon labelled 'Libor' without thinking. 

I'll just see how he is... Maybe he's finished working for today...


"Hello?" There's voices and general noise in the background. I'm so used to this that I'm pretty sure I can name the building. I'm betting on Queens.


"Hey, how you doing?"


"I'm alright. Are you?" There's the first hint of concern in his voice. I'd not even let mine wobble though! 


"I'm fine." I lie, "What you up to? Are you busy?"

A slight sigh on his end lets me know he wishes he were in bed. "Well... I'm just editing some stuff at the mo. Then I've got a meeting soon with Amy... then marketing... Why? What's up?"


I normally get defensive at being asked 'what's up?' - partly because it makes it sound like I need something ... mostly because I'm normally asked when there's nothing wrong.
"Nothing!" I lie again, though - even to me - my voice sounds overly bright, with dew drop tears clinging to it here and there "Just thought you might be finished by now!"


"Mm, yeah. We finished the shoot, but now we're up in Avid doing some editing." (Yes, I was right - Avid is in Queens) "Seriously - how are you?"

I pause, torn between the lie and breaking down. "Not great..." I opt for truth "I could just do with a kick up the bum is all." The tears are starting to seep into my voice, though my eyes aren't letting them go yet. "I'm fine. I'll see you in Marketing."

"Are you in bed right now?"
God he's good. Knows me far too well.


"Maaaaaybe..?" 


Another sigh - this time more of a 'chuh' outwards huff; distracted. "How long does it take to get to yours from here?"

"Um.. like... 20 mins? Wait - what? No..."


"Okay, see you soon."

"No! Li!! You're busy! Don't you dare! I'll see you in marketing."

"Okay. See you later."


Well. That was fun. What did you do that for?


I look blankly at my phone for a second, before burying my face in the pillows. Where does all this pain keep welling up from?
For a moment I let it overwhelm me. The pain becomes physical, raking through my body like a million razor blades; my chest floods with heat and my breathing becomes tight as I let the tears come, pooling in my pillow as I gasp for breath between sobs. 


Slowly it eases though, as if I'm pulling it back into myself; letting it out in reverse. I claw it all back, along with my control. The crying dies down into sniffles, and I wipe away the remaining tears with the back of my teddy. 


Looking around I see a rack full of dry clothes, a heap of washing to be done, a pile of unsorted paperwork... I don't want to get out of bed; I want to stay here and cry some more - but that's not going to help.


"Get up. Come on, get up and sort yourself out."


I'm by my desk before I can give my self time to weasel out of it. 


Music. I need music. Happy music.


The dance songs come on, and I force myself to bounce around to them. Soon, I'm not trying to enjoy them, I am doing. My washing gets put away as I shake my bum in the more ridiculous form of dancing (that one that mums reserve for dusting and tidying). My laundry basket is carried downstairs to the swaying rhythm of 'Tic Tock'. 


It's only once I'm feeling better that I hear the doorbell go. 


There he is, stood with a bag full of lunch, ready to make everything okay again.
Li - come to save the day. 
My knight in shining armour, and he doesn't believe me that I'm okay now. Irony strikes again.




The thing is that I can't explain what was wrong.
Not properly at least - because I don't really understand what's wrong.


The guy tells me he loves me, and I get mad, then upset, then turn to Li and want to cry.
It doesn't make sense.
Being told "I love you", "I miss you", "I wish I were there", should make you feel good, happy, in-love... 
but it doesn't. It makes me feel nauseous and annoyed.


I'm starting to think it's because it feels like a lie. 
Not just because I don't feel it. Not just because I want to scream "I'm Not In Love With You!!" into their faces and run away forever. But because it feels like, even if I did, they would be like - "Oh.. okay - can we still have sex?" Because it feels as if they don't care at all, they just want what I'll give if they think that we're "in-love". 


I suppose my frustration is because I want to make them see that they don't even know what love IS. Because love isn't about kissing, and sex, and 'pleasing' the other person. Love is about just wanting to spend time with a person; about wanting to hold their hand just so you can be close to them. Sex always seems like an ulterior motive to me. 


I've probably said this before, but I hate sex. It's not just complication - it's pain, and it's selfish.
My friends talk about a connection. About being so close to someone you just are them at the same time...
I've been with enough people enough times to know about sex; and I've never felt that.
Need - yes. Desire - yes. Pleasure - of course. 
But at the end of the day, it's still just me, and it's still just them. No deep, meaningful stuff. No merging of beings. No love.


Sex isn't love to me. The two aren't even overlapped in my mind any more. They're practically mutually exclusive.
I've felt closer, and more connected - more in-love - more part of someone else by just laying with them; snuggling... maybe even kissing.


Odd that while kissing the world melts away, and there's only the two of us left - unending, separated by nothing but our own desire to remain whole on our own...
...yet it gets to penetration and I withdraw. 


Maybe I've just never trusted anyone 100%. 


I lay on the bed next to Li as he produces sandwiches from his bag, and drinks. I'm not hungry, but I feel bad for dragging him away from everything and then refusing his gift. I take the drink and chastise him light heartedly for buying me things - for leaving his meetings when I said not to. I open my mouth to ask why he came, to tell him he didn't have to - but stop.


I'd have done the same. I realise. I'd drop everything for him if he needed me.


So I just shake my head and smile. 
It's been a while since the discovery that he cared for me as much as I cared for him rocked my world. I still forget. I'm not used to it - not at all. Not used to having someone even pretend to return the devoted feelings I have without physical payment.
As I look at him sat on my bed, eating his 'reduced price' sandwich, I realise that the reason I care so much for this boy is because he's never wanted anything from me. He's always just given freely everything he had - and never demanded anything in return. 
The concept isn't foreign to me. I've always been the same. What is foreign is someone else being that way - especially a boy.


He looks up at me as if he's been caught doing something wrong, or embarassing. His hands are still cradling the sandwich not far from his mouth.


"What?" he asks, staring into my eyes. 


Damn, you must have been staring again.


"What?" I return, making my eyes go round and innocent. I wasn't thinking about you being too damn amazing for your own good! Honest!


"What were you looking at?"


"You...?" stick to the truth. I manage to make it a question - as if the answer so obvious my question is more 'what else would I be looking at?'


He finally drops the subject after a little tête-a-tête. 
Things are often like that with us. It's like playing verbal keep-away. You dodge the question until they catch you and you give in, or until they drop the subject. I don't just mean me and Li; it's all of us - all our friends. 
Sometimes you can just force the subject to change - well, I can at least, I don't know about the others. You just get a bit stern, and people back away. It's great.
But I don't normally get stern with Li. Mainly because he trumps my sternness with his own brand of 'Man-of-the-house' stern-voice. My 'dad-voice' doesn't quite match up. 


Part of me is glowing with a warm pride anyway. A pride in myself for not wallowing until someone came to pull me from the mire. Pride in pulling myself out of the pit of despair and kicking myself up the bum. 
I think I might actually be forging some kind of independence. 
About bleeding time.


We sit and talk for an hour or so, half dodging phone calls from friends asking where we are and if we're okay. It's hard to say "Just leave us alone" really.
I suppose that's why sometimes I wish we were a couple. That way we'd be able to say "Can we have some alone time" - or, not even that, just go off with each other - and no one would bother us. No one would question it. It would be 'normal' for us to want alone time. 
Ah, if only things were that simple. 


Part of my mind frowns at the situation. 


Why can't it be that simple?


It isn't petulant; it isn't the "It's not fair" voice - it's the voice of reason saying "Well, why can't you go to University if you want to?"
You know, the voice that say's 'your arguments against what you want to do are totally silly and ridiculous - in fact, they don't even exist!'


It's asking "What's stopping you?"
There's a list about a mile long if I'm honest. 
Main reasons?
a) 'intimacy' would be expected... and there's a huge complication with that which I wont go into right now.
b) neither of us are really ready for a 'mutually exclusive' thing with anyone.
c) if we felt that way about each other, we'd already be dating.


Not only that, but getting with someone just so that you can have time alone with them seems a pretty silly reason in the first place.


I don't have to say any of it to Li - he already knows. 


I think of all those people who've commented in the past:
"oh, why aren't you two together?" 
"you make such a cute couple" 
"isn't he your boyfriend?"
"Are you two dating yet?"

I mean, a majority of the girls I know (okay, most of the ones Li and I both know) would happily jump into bed with him - or marry him - in a heart beat (not that he realises this). So I get that they might think that being as close as me and Kaydee are to him one of us should be 'in-there'... well, I think I get it... 
And I get that we sneak off together more often than most actual couples do... 
So I understand where the speculation comes from - I guess...


Doesn't matter how many times I (or he, or we) say "It's our business - stay out" the speculations keep coming. They just kinda move to behind our backs.
Maybe it's because we have a relationship that no-one else seems to have.


I mean, he and Kaydee get the same speculation. They make out a lot, and spend time together a lot... but in the end, that's just not what their relationship is... you know?
The only thing stopping them being a couple is them not wanting to be one. Same as us. 


I loose track of the conversation a couple of times while my mind floats around a few more subjects. 


I think about Will, and how he says he loves me. How he wants to be in a relationship.
I think of how I can't even begin to handle that.
It's not just him being far away - though that's a big part of it really - it's that I've never trusted him. Not properly. And it's not just with my feelings, or with the truth - not just normal things like cheating, or lying - it's things like trusting him to stay alive.
Maybe this is selfish, but I don't think I can stand to loose someone like that again. Death is just too permanent. I don't do permanent.


Then there's DJ... and I just don't know what to think there. How do you believe someone when they say the same things to you as they did your best friend - only to turn round months later and say the opposite?
I mean, I feel something for him... and even if it isn't as strong as what I feel for my friends, or as deeply rooted in desire as my feelings for Will... it's still something; and it's comfortable. Like with an old acquaintance - the slight lack of true feeling gives enough distance for this easy comfort. 
Don't get me wrong, I loved him. 
Not as intensely as I maybe portrayed... but... still... it was there.


So why do I not feel it the same way any more?
And why do I never tell him I feel differently to then?


I shake my head with confusion and start a new subject with Li. 
Anything to keep my mind from love and my lack of kindness in it.


No wonder only the crazy boys are attracted to me. 
Loving me is pain. 
I seem to make sure of that.
Though I'm not sure how - or that I like it.


My shining knight is trying to persuade me to eat the other sandwich, and I'm finally distracted by trying to come up with a better excuse than "I'm not hungry"... since apparently that's not a good enough excuse. 
After a while we just sit and laugh. 
The power of a true friend.


Strange how when all I want is to be alone, I'm still happy being with him.


I guess that's how you can tell a person's closer to you than skin - when being with them is so comfortable it's like being alone, without any pressure to put on the show, or be someone else.




Blessed Be xx

A few quiet drinks...

So, it's Tuesday, and I'm sat here, looking back (as always) on the silly things I've done lately.

For once, I can honestly say - the silly stuff was fun; and the stuff I should regret is the stuff that makes me smile the most.
Sadly, there's still a bunch of stuff that I regret. Then again - isn't that just life?

Things I don't regret:

• Making epic amounts of Rum/Vodka/Sambuca punch at Kaydee's 21st
• Making out with everyone attending Kaydee's 21st
• Turning our flat mate a little bit gay at Kaydee's 21st
• Dressing up at midnight to surprise Kaydee on her birthday
• Walking through Leicester in said costumes with Libor on our way to surprise Kaydee
• Making up with a boy who needed help
• Holding said boy while he flinched and cried out trying to get to sleep
• Cutting my hair off
• Leaving early on nights out

I could go on...

Things I do regret:

• Disappearing for 3-4 hours with a boy while a friend was over (no, we didn't do anything)
• Allowing assumptions to be held about me
• Not curbing my own emotions

I'm always surprised out how few regrets I have. I suppose it's because my mum always told me that she didn't regret anything - and that I shouldn't either. You live with your decisions, so you should think about them before you make them - and if you don't think about them first, you should just enjoy having been spontaneous and brave enough to do it in the first place.

There's a distinction here that I should point out. While I don't have regrets in my own actions (exactly), there are things that I do, or that happened and I kinda blame myself for, that make me sad. Like, for instance, that look that someone close to me gives me on occasion... it's a look that's so sad... and I catch them looking at me with that face just after doing something that could possibly evoke a sad(ish) feeling...
Now, that is my main problem right now.
This person means a hell of a lot to me; and though I'm not sure, I think I might be hurting them.
If I am, it'll be the biggest regret on my list. But I can't tell... I just can't...

With them, it's always been easy. We've known each other inside and out - understood each other on a level I didn't think actually existed outside of fairy-tales and romantic novels. But lately there's this wall between us. I can't tell if I'm reading them right any more. I can't just look in their eyes and know any more. Does that mean we're drifting apart?
I'd say it does... but it more feels like being thrust out. I feel 'unwelcome'. As if they don't want to share any more, and have purposefully dropped an iron curtain between us to protect them from my intrusiveness. Shame that they don't seem to understand me any more either. Not like before.

I suppose all things change though.
I'm just not... how to put this?... I'm not used to not understanding.
I hate change at the best of times - it throws me off and I get all unsure. I hate being unsure. But when it's a friend that changes it's even weirder.
Thing is, they haven't changed. They've just changed to me; and I'm left standing trying to work out in what way things have changed, and if it's them or just my perspective...

Stuff is just all complicated at the minute. Has been all year if I'm honest.
Okay, so I know that life is always complicated - but this is like a 9.0 where as it's normally about a 4.7...
Feels like it's just cranked up to a 9.4 too!

So, the few quiet drinks of Kaydee's 21st birthday...
They weren't so quiet.
Could you guess??

My word - things nearly got out of hand if I'm honest.
Somehow, just chilling out turned into just about making out... then spin the bottle started... then pass the ice... then "let's split off into couples"...
In the end we all just laid in one bed kissing, cuddling - probably groping too in places. No clothes removed (thankfully) though.
As fun as it was (we were all surprisingly comfortable with it to be honest) I kinda couldn't handle it after a while.

See... there was someone in the pile of bodies that I have actual feelings for.
There were also two people in the pile who have actual feelings for another person.
The whole thing was a messy pile of unquenched sexual tension and pain.

Maybe I was the only one who was attuned to it (I am an empath after all). Maybe I was the only one sober enough to register it above the primal urges that were running rampant in the house. Or maybe everyone else didn't mind so much; figured the good outweighed the bad - or that the bad they were inflicting on the other people (jealousy was rife) made it worth while. Maybe they like a little bit of bad thrown in with the good. I don't know.
What I do know is that I've had more than enough making out in the past few weeks that was flavoured by my own pain, and/or someone else's, to be overwhelmed by the feeling.

Only my housemates (and Jodie) noticed - and that was only as everyone left (or after everyone left) - because I finally started tearing up. Not much, but enough to let out the excess hurting. Enough to relieve the pressure sort of thing.
I blame it on not feeling well and thinking that ethanol was a good thing to ingest.
I've found that, while I don't get drunk easily, alcohol lowers my ability to reign in my emotions.

So there I was, five past 3, blubbing on the sofa to my housemate who I'd spent a large portion of the night kissing, making out with and generally turning gay. I say blubbing, because it's not really crying when you leak a few tears, pull yourself together, talk for half an hour and then leak some more. Not in my books.
I've cried my heart out before. Many a time.
I know what real crying is.
Anything that lasts more than a minute might be classed as crying still.

Thing is, I can't even explain to myself what made me want to cry.
I sat up talking to Helen about my feelings for hours. But none of that explains why I practically cried.

I have this theory that I've already cracked under the pressure of life.
This is just some kind of residual humour that's been left behind in my place.
Sometimes it's like I'm not really even here - it's just something else that's making the most of what's left.
Stuff goes wrong, and there's a hint of the 'Oh NO!' somewhere in me, something that wants to cry and scream that it isn't fair, and that I'm a failure etc. etc. etc... but this something else just shrugs it off and says 'bring it on'.
Like I've just developed this emptiness; cultivated it somewhere deep inside, and can let it flow over me when things get too tough. As if I just let everything fill the void and be swallowed by it. The pain, the confusion, the anger, the stress - it gets eaten by the emptiness and leaves me able to cope. Only thing is, it seems to swallow a part of me at the same time - and I'm not sure if that's a bad thing...


Our social life has become too complicated. It's just that simple.
The sensible thing to do would be to step back, focus on work, and not let it interfere with my head.
The thing I'm doing is trying to work it all out and follow what's going on.
(Read: procrastinating like hell because my lack of fully formed dissertation is scaring me)

I've also been sucked into a series of books by Laurell K Hamilton lately called Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter... I keep kidding myself that it's research for my dissertation (The Androgynous Undead: The literary Vampire and it's Effect on Gender Boundaries)... but really, it's just a nice distraction. It's easy to fall into and leave the world behind.
I've always loved reading. I do it instead of watching TV. It's my medium for chilling out.
After these past few years of having to read stuff - stuff that just couldn't capture me, stuff that was down right boring, or disgusting, or too hard in content to emotionally deal with (read suicides and rape) cause it hit too close to home - it's so nice to finally start enjoying reading again. I've missed it.

The main protagonist (main character for those of you who didn't study English lit) is amazing.
She's so kick ass - I think I look up to her. Role model? Naw...
I mean, she's nothing like me if we're talking appearance, career, life... but the personality is so me it's ridiculous. I think that's why I fall into the story so easily. It's written in first person, and her reactions to situations are so similar to what mine would be, it's as if - for a few hours a day - I am Anita: the kick ass Vampire Executioner, necromancer, gun wielding, cute and sexy little woman who has a sharper wit than her knives, and doesn't take crap from anyone.
Like me, she'd rather be fully honest about everything; even when it gets her in trouble (and lots of it). We're both as quick to jump the gun and slug someone if they piss us off, and as willing to do what it takes to survive as each other. We both have a crazy friend who kills people for a living (though mine doesn't give me epic weapons as gifts) and both have a still place inside that, if we go to, everything becomes possible. A place where emotions disappear and all that remains is the cold hard fact that we are capable of anything.

So yeah, if I were to be a story book character, and I were more trigger happy, cuter, shorter, and more athletic... I'd be Anita Blake.
Sadly, my ability to blur the boundaries between reality and fantasy isn't being helped by this.
I keep forgetting that my friends aren't lycanthropes, or vampires, or other preternatural beings...
Actually, I was just wondering about who I'd want to be in a triumvirate with if I could be - and the sad part is, I don't even have to think about it. Mathieu and Libor are the only people I can imagine being tied to in that way. We'd make a great trio. They're the only guys I trust and love implicitly. The two strongest men I know (don't want to be tied to people I feel are weak, it should be a strong triumvirate).
I'd probably be the weak link in the whole thing - but I doubt it some how. My true weakness comes from a desire to be looked after - a desire which is slowly disappearing from my genetic make-up if I'm entirely honest. That desire makes me act weak so that people protect me. It's silly really.
Thinking back though; I felt so much stronger, so much more alive, when I was with Li and Mat - as if we already were a power base.
There's an irony I'd point out... but it's a total spoiler for the novels, and I know someone who reads this blog is trying to get through the series at the minute.

Thinking about Mathieu and Libor has made me miss them again.
Missing Li seems silly as I saw him yesterday. But missing Mathieu is this dull ache that's always there now. It's dulled with time, because all pain does when you live with it day in-day out. You get to a point where you push it so far down inside you that you barely feel it most of the day. Then you think about that person you miss, and it blooms to the surface again.
He's still all the way over in France... and I don't get to talk to him often lately - because I'm hardly ever online. It doesn't seem fair that you can meet people now that are so instantly and so whole connected to you, but sooo far away that you can't be in contact with them. That you can't just see them, and hug them, and sit and chat for hours. That you can't curl up in bed with them and fall asleep talking. That you can't just see them.
It wouldn't be so bad, but when I do see Mat (through the magical technology of webcams) he looks so sad so often. I'm pretty sure my smile's have dimmed a lot too. Watching Li and Mat on webcam to each other used to be like watching a smiling match. Now it's a show of mourning. They don't seem to realise it, but they both look so sad - as if they'll never be in close proximity again. Missing people sucks like that.
It's just so hard to see the two people I love the most hurting like that - especially at the same time, for the same reason. I'd give anything sometimes to just take that problem away - just to see them smile.

And yes - they are the two people I love the most. Sorry everyone else, it's just true. I can't help it.


So, my mood lately has been what I'm now describing as "moop". It's a cross between 'meh' and 'poop'. It's catching on amongst friends. That in itself is a scary thought.

I was always the weird floater person that people put up with. Lately I seem to have become part of a core. Within our social structure there's two separate cores - and I'm pretty much in the centre of one of them. People look to me in that 'shall we?' kind of way. I can't really explain it. It's not a 'you're in charge' thing... not even a 'well if Lauren's doing it...' kind of way. It's just a constant inclusion if that makes sense. I mean, part of it is just being one of Libor's "second in command"s... everyone looks to Li for the go ahead in our little 'core'. He's the trend setter, the leader - what ever you want to call it. Our Ulfric... and somehow I've ended up as part of that leadership... somehow I've ended up as almost a proxy Lupa...
Oh god, I'm using werewolf terms again... see what I mean about being overly influenced by these books?

I'm not used to being this close to being 'popular'. It's the oddest part of my uni experience so far. Okay, no, that's a lie - Kaydee's (okay, and my) parties have been the oddest part of my uni experience - but being liked is definitely high up on the list. Being one of the people almost always invited to the party; the one who's smiled at and greeted in the street; just being accepted really - it's a feeling I never hoped for (never even strove to achieve if I'm honest). I never believed it was attainable, so I didn't bother with it.

I have to say, I never expected to be a part of a drunken party that ended up in  bedrooms.
Even in my crazy years (well, my last year at sixth form college) I didn't imagine it.
I mean, being accepted back then had still left me as an outlier. Someone to be included if I was around, but only invited on odd occasions. Now I do a lot of inviting myself... and my parties are getting quite the reputation for insanity.

I keep wondering what next year will bring.
Whether any of us will still be together, being insane, and having a laugh.
It's hard to imagine life not being this fun, hard, crazy bubble of friends and stress.
I mean - surely we can keep that? Only the work has to change - from study to actual work. Right?

I don't know.
What I do know is that I have to stop worrying about it.
We'll jump off that bridge when we get to it.
Speaking of which - I'm dying to go bungee jumping!! So what if I have severe vertigo? I want to jump out of a plane and parachute down to the ground. I want to jump off a bridge and spring back upwards while screaming my lungs out.
I want to face my fear and laugh at it afterwards.

That's the person I want to be. The person who looks fear in the face and smiles. The person who doesn't panic, and doesn't cry; because fear is the only thing that stops you from doing things. It's the only draw back to life.
Fear will not hold me back. Never. Not ever again.

Be free. Live to the fullest you can. No regrets.


Blessed Be xx

Kiss and Tell

Let's get personal for a while.




I'm the sort of girl who's always had a boy she can go to. I was five when I had my first kiss from a boy. Eight when I had my first boyfriend. But I wouldn't loose my virginity till I was seventeen and a half - six months before the goal I'd set myself for chastity.
Since then I've had intimate relationships, casual relationships, one-time things, long-term relationships, and those 'almost' relationships. I've done almost everything in the karma sutra and more besides. Learnt to flip a persons switch, make them last or make it quick... but for all that experience, and the made up fantasies, do you know what I love the most?


Kisses.


Now, maybe it's because I have a slight oral fixation, but kissing is the most wonderful (and sometimes most intimate) thing I think you can experience.
They say that a woman judges by a kiss how good a person is in bed. I guess on some level it's true - but it's more "Could I keep kissing this person while we were doing it, or would I rather forgo the procedure to avoid his lips?" if you ask me. My experience has taught me the only correlation between kissing and 'it' is responsiveness. If a guy kisses you by mimicking you, he'll do the same in bed. If he doesn't pay attention to what you want and just does whatever, he'll also do the same in bed. 


But what makes a good kiss?


There are so many types of kisses that it's hard to define what a 'good kiss' is.


There are some people who have hard lips. They don't mould to yours, they just press - like teeth almost. They aren't my favourite lips to caress, but there's a technique that (if they've mastered) makes it feel just as nice.
This technique is made up of being gentle, and using the tongue. You can't closed-mouth kiss someone with hard lips. It's just not right.


Then you have those people with amazingly soft lips, that you can brush lightly, or press firmly against, and it still feels good. They're full, and touchable, very kissable.


Once you get past that main difference though, the range of kissing is still immense! 


Taking from my own experiences, I've been kissed in a churning, half slobbering (unpleasant) way by a boy, who purposefully thinned his lips while kissing to make them hard. That tongue attempted to molest my lips - and failed.


Then there was the boy who never opened his mouth more than a centimetre, but managed to move just enough to make it feel nice. I'm not a fan of closed-mouth kissing unless it's short and sweet. But he managed it.


Of course, you then have the no-holding-back kissing; where your eyes are both closed and your world shrinks to the microcosm of where your mouths meet. If done right, this can be the best kiss in the world. It should start off slow, lips only open enough to cup the others upper or lower lip. Then the tongue starts to make a gentle appearance, just caressing lips, maybe touching in the middle; until finally both mouths press against each other like tectonic plates, moving each other apart to allow full access to one another. The only thing that ruins a kiss like this is lack of rhythm. Some people seem to think that once your mouth is open in a kiss it should stay that way so that you can explore inside with your tongue. They're wrong. Kissing is almost like eating the other person, in that you continue to open and close your mouth constantly. If you're going to pause in one position, it should be closed - preferably sucking gently on the other persons lip.


Then you get kisses that are just forceful. Sometimes these can convey the heat and passion of a moment, or a person - but most often they just convey the personality behind them. Forceful kissing is about getting what you want, and not taking no for an answer. If it's too hard, a yes will turn into a no; but just enough pressure will persuade many an uncertain heart. The forceful kiss is best used as a starter kiss rather than a continued one. A good forceful kiss should melt into something warm and wet if you ask me.


Of course, there's two types of forceful. There's the strong pressing of lips, which is what I meant above; but there's also the forceful kiss where two hands lightly grip your face, cupping your cheeks, drawing you in towards a soft, insistent pair of lips. 


Then you get the kisses that surprise you.
I said early that kissing conveys your personality. It's half true. Kissing conveys how you feel, how you feel about a person, and who you are - as well as what the situation is. It's very personal and very intimate - very telling. So when someone who's character you think you know kisses you differently to how you expect, it can be a surprise.
One time, during a kissing (read drinking) game, a boy had to kiss me while my back was pressed against the wall. This boy was fun, a bit 'laddish', kinda cocky; but his kiss was the most gentle brush of lips I'd ever really felt. If it had been shorter, I would have just assumed he hadn't wanted to kiss me. But it lasted long enough to make my heart do one of those loud 'thumps' that it makes when someone has shocked you in a good way. 


You can surprise people like that a lot. In social situations kisses are supposed to be over the top (among friends) or quick and business like... unless you're into PDA's (public display's of affection) - which I'm not particularly...
So when it's social, if you flip the charts you can really take someone by surprise. Lingering on a business-like kiss makes a person notice more. Making an OTT freindly kiss softer, gentler, but no shorter, makes a person pay attention too. 




Sometimes I crave a pair of lips to just touch with my own. To feel the heat with.
I think about the people I could kiss. Some of them good, some of them bad, some of them way off limits. There's a pair out there that can take my breath away with a soft kiss, or set my whole body on fire with a deeper one. Sometimes I think that kind of effect is linked to the person more than their lips - but others I wonder.


I've been told I'm a good kisser - but it's not true. I'm a great kisser. 
Confident? Yes. Over confident? Maybe.
But being able to pay attention to what makes a good kiss means that you're able to replicate it. And I'm lucky enough to have soft, full lips too.




You may be wondering why I chose to blog about kissing and lips.


You know those days when you just crave a chocolate bar, or steak and chips, or ice cream... crave it like an ache? Well, today I woke with the craving for lips. 
Since I'm alone in the house, and my friends are away for the weekend, you'd think I'd be safe. But since I'm going out this evening, if the craving hasn't died by then, I may end up putting myself into compromising positions to fulfil it. 
I hoped that writing about it would make me less hungry. 


Instead, I'm now thinking about the perfect pair of lips that I'm not sure if I've found yet. The ones that fit mine just right, and know exactly what to do when they're there. The pair that look beautiful smiling, and have a cheeky edge to them when they think of my lips. 


oh well!




Hey - at least I didn't list every single type of kiss there is, or explain them in detail! Then we both would have been here forever. 




For now, I'm going to leave you with the image of supple lips, pursed and poised for action. May all your kisses be sweet ones.




Blessed Be xx

Experimentations (from Assignment)

Experimentation in the form of

Jack Common, Kiddar’s Luck

            Now, before Mother’s self inflicted incarceration and ‘recovery’ – if you could call it such – we would often journey into town together. This was long before she had passed her driving test, and while she was still dependent on her electric wheelchair for mobility. The council had been called in to make the doors wider and install a ramp down our pathway in place of the front steps; placing square, wooden railings down the sides, to keep naughty children from jumping off the concrete side without having the ability to first swing under a so-called sturdy beam, which bowed under the weight of my ten-year-old bottom.

            These journeys started with me walking by her side, keeping up with the steady thrum of the motors; or walking behind her as if pushing it – a favourite pass time of mine, as it made me appear strong and skilful. The trips, however, tired me out, and often times I would be found standing on the back of the poor, overworked beast as we trundled back up the steep hill that lead to our little rented accommodation.

            One of these excursions marked a change in transport, as I decided that if I had wheels of my own, I would keep up much easier with my mothers contraption. The logic seemed sound, so I adorned my rollerblades and began the race to town. Later I could be found with my knees locked in place as I hitched a ride behind her chair, giggling at the odd and constant vibrations that shot up my legs from the uneven pavement.

(words, 262)

Experimentation in the style of:

Marguerite Duras, The Lover

            The trips into town stopped after mother’s recovery, as far as I remember. Stopped, of course, until she learnt to drive; then nothing kept her indoors. This was due to her giving up far more than just the morphine all in one go. I read her diary entry, or she read it to me. It told of how she had been cruel to my father in the evenings because he had ‘given me a hard time’, which meant that I, in turn, had made things harder for her. How she had undermined his attempts at authority. How she refused to ever use a wheelchair again – which, naturally, failed after several years, after her health deteriorated further.

            There was another diary entry I read of hers once. This one I remember all the more clearly because of the sure sense of guilt I felt for reading it. Secluded away in the bedroom, that, even then, my brother had departed from and left as ‘spare’, she had written it. The blue ink was spread seamlessly across loose pieces of paper, and, being loose, I happened to glance across them. I’m there, twelve years old, still in my uniform because changing out of it doesn’t yet feel obligatory as soon as I am free of the hell hole, leaning over the paper, darting glances at the door, sure that I’m about to be caught in this awful act of intrusion. I remember the vague content of that entry, they’ve haunted me for years. It detailed her dreams, or, at least, her waking from dreams. She would often fall asleep in her chair, only to either be wakened, or wake from a nightmare. The way she looked at us, with fear, even when I tried to coax her into full consciousness; perhaps I only noticed after the diary. She wrote that, when she woke, we weren’t us: we were demons. We looked just like us, but she knew better. That it wasn’t until father spoke to her, woke her fully, that we became human again. Only Dad’s voice could do it. I remember thinking: that’s what true love is. I stopped trying to comfort her when she woke, looking at us with fear and disgust. 

(words: 274)

Experimentation in the style of:

Edmund Gosse, Father and Son

            My mothers’ deterioration into the haze of extended morphine exposure had been so slow that, in my childhood, I had failed to recognise it. Her continual lapses in consciousness were made into a form of family joke – later in life I would realise this was probably as much for her benefit as it was for mine. However, during my eleventh year – the first of many spent in the uncomfortable embrace of the local Girls Grammar School – my Mother decided to exercise her strength of will, and escape the dreaded clutches of dependence.

            The gentle, sleepy, doting woman, who had, for many years, been my closest friend and defender against the strictures of my Father, began a week long struggle against her own body. She lay on the sofa in the living room and writhed, gasped, and cried. Much of her worse symptoms, I am told, she managed to hold at bay while her youngest child was present; much of the paranoia growing unbearable whilst the young girl was out of sight, especially whilst she was at the Girls School for the grammatically unchallenged. She would have terrible visions of the girl being stolen from her, or hurt in some unforgivable way; of her little girl in pain, lost forever.

            The week’s end saw the emergence of a new woman: The Mother.

This woman looked like my mother had, spoke with her voice, but moved with a purpose. The Mother was strict, unforgiving, and had the disadvantage of a strong memory, and the propensity to remember my crimes.

(words: 257)

Continuously discontinuous

There's so much I want to say... but none of it makes sense. None of it will come out.


Sometimes I lay next to you and the words run through my head. Words like 'good enough', 'eternally', and, of course, the dreaded 'love'. 
My jaw clamps tight on them, because my mind shows me your reaction - and it's never good.
Stiff disinterest. Awkward silences. Sadness.
All of the things to be expected from being given a sight into the true thoughts, the true life of what I am. Opening my heart isn't easy, and sometimes I think it might be impossible. 


Biting my tongue is an old habit. It comes from being told too much.
You let people open their pain to you, and it just keeps coming, and coming, and coming till you think you might break from being so filled with it.
The hardest part of bearing another's pain is knowing your own place in it. Often you hold their pain after you've not been there to prevent it from happening.


I'm nineteen, comforting my sister when her already over stretched jumper feels too tight around her throat; hearing her explain to someone else, in more detail this time, having the questions I didn't want answered explained in detail.


I'm just turned 20, and the boy I love pours out his need to die out into my own bleeding heart.


I'm 21 and I stop telling anyone but my closest friends what's wrong with me, or that it hurts. I'm scared of hurting anyone any more, just by sharing my problems.


I'm 22 and the only person I tell my weaknesses to lays next to me, and I see that he's already hurting so much from everyone else's hurts. He never lets it show, but it's there - hiding deep inside, where only a few of us get to see. I'd say only I see it, but I know it's not true. 
He thinks it's not even there, that because he's still okay the pain isn't there - but it doesn't work like that. Just because you bear something doesn't mean it goes away.


So I bite my tongue, and I don't even mean to.


Our friend in France lets his pain over the loss he suffered show, and it shocks me - not because I don't realise it's there, or because I don't expect him to show it - but because I dreamt of my lost brother last night and woke in tears. Even in my dreams now, I know when I see him it isn't real. That kinda hurts.
But I couldn't say anything at the time. Couldn't acknowledge that I understood to some extent the pain he was going through. Partly because I feel like if I do, it's trying to claim his pain as my own - if that makes sense? - and I don't want to.
You have to own your own pain. There's sympathy, which you need... but you also have to feel the personal-ness of your own pain. When it blends into someone else's hurt it gets all tinted, tainted, and you half miss the original. 
Maybe that's just me?


Maybe it's because of the feeling that your own experience is being brushed away when someone say's "Like this one time..." (do not finish that sentence in your head with 'at band camp' - PLEASE! I own a flute!! It's not RIGHT!!!). Sometimes it feels like instead of trying to relate to you, they just want an opening to talk about their own problem.


I never want people to think that about me. I never want to make someone feel that way - like they aren't important. Especially someone I love that much. 
The poem he wrote really was beautiful.
I wish he didn't hurt so much, of feel so alone. I hope he knows that we're here for him - no matter what. I hope it's enough.


My other friend blogged today about people complaining unnecessarily.
Now, anyone who reads my blogs knows: I'm a complainer.
Nothing is too big, or too small, to complain about. 


Nor is it ever too serious or trivial to joke about.


However, the kind of complaining he was describing is the sort that is ungrounded/ unsubstantial. 
I look back on the things I've complained about this week:

• Sexual abuse
• Emotional abuse
• Flatmates leaving a literal mountain of washing up in the sink
• Mental abuse
• Stupid mistakes
• Loosing people
• Unrequited love
• Missing people
• Being unhealthy/unhealthily overweight

I guess the washing up was trivial, and the stupid mistakes were my own fault... as is the overweight/unhealthy thing. 3 out of 9 isn't too bad I guess.
It kinda hits home sometimes that my issues actually are kinda real/serious.
I always figure they're just silly, and that I should be over them all... but then I consider what category they fall under, and it's like "Damn, that's actually messed up."


This blog has been one of the things that helped me realise (and work through) the deeper problems I've had this past... decade... along with my best friend (who is great at kicking me up the ass, or making me think, or being there for me when stuff is just poop). I've gone from thinking that I just fail at life, to thinking that maybe things just haven't been that great, to thinking that I can actually get past all of the stuff that's happened in my life.


Finally being able to say no has been the biggest confirmation of that. Breaking the habits, the circle, the thought patterns. It's given me the boost I needed to be ME again. Me without needing someone else.
This past year I've been able to be me as long as I had someone to hold my hand, to back me up. The year before I only felt like me if I had my best mate with me. Now, finally, I'm starting to be able to stand on my own two feet and say "no, it's okay - I can do it!" rather than "I might be able to do it... but... can you stick around... just in case?" or "I can do it if you stand behind me..."


The worst part is, I never even noticed it. I never noticed that I needed a safety net. Not until it was taken away.
I didn't realise I could do it, work it out, make it on my own; until the person who normally helped me turned their back and made me do it on my own. The shock itself was probably enough to change my life.
I've probably given him a hard time for doing it - because it hurt at the time - but, in all honesty, I should thank him. Falling without a safety net made me grab hold of the tight rope and pull myself back up, rather than crying into the net and then climbing all the way back up to walk it again. I'm not fully stood on it yet, I'm still kinda clinging on upside down. But hell! If I can make it to the other side like this - or even just to the next platform - I'll take living upside down for a while. It's worth it to know that I can do it myself.
Check back in a few years and I might be doing this entire trick upside down on a uni-cycle. Or I might have moved onto the trapeze... you never know. Anything is possible. The sky's the limit - and by the sky, I mean the atmosphere of the outer regions of space somewhere - way beyond the milky way.


Now, if I can just get my assignments done and in on time (ha, that'll be the day), I might actually be able to say that this life is back on track.




The only problem with not being stuck in my head any more is that I can finally see the world; and I'm worried about my friends again. Mostly my boys. They both seem so sad. I know I shouldn't want to fix things, but I really would give anything to make them happy. They're the first guys my age to be intimately close to me while still making me feel respected and (odd as this may sound) safe. I haven't felt that way since I was 14.
So when they feel sad, I want to just make the world a beautiful place for them again - rub the universe clean till it sparkles with happiness. 
(Excuse the odd imagery, I'm getting rather tired - I think it shows)


The hardest part is not being able to see them all the time. 
Well, I get to see Li a lot... but Mat is so far away. I just know that if we were all together neither of them would be so sad. It's so frustrating.
Why can we not always meet nice people who live really really close so that we can see them whenever? Why do the most amazing people have to live a million miles away (exaggeration ftw)? 
I felt this way over summer when my best friend was 4 hours and £96 away. The injustice of being wrenched away from the closest people you have because of funds, or study, or family obligations.... it's just the worst. It feels like if we were more 'grown-up' (read - not students) we'd be able to stay with the people we wanted to be with - rather than leave them to go back to our parents at the end of term. Rather than having to go to work in a different city. Rather than having to study in a different country.
We want to be together... so why can't we just stay together?


It feels like the biggest FAIL of this life. That the only people I make a true connection with - like, a lasting bond you never want to break - has to be stretched constantly thin.


I mean, my other, older best friend back from my home town - is ALWAYS too far away. We can't seem to get to spend time together any more than I can spend time with Mat. Yet, when we get back together, it's like the only thing that's changed is our individual stuff - our us is still there - still intact - just with less information about what's going on. 
I mean, we're not going to be able to say - hey, your eyebrow is weird still from where you burnt it yesterday on that stick that we set fire to - when you haven't seen them. You're not going to be able to discern those day to day changes in them - like a scratch that wasn't there last night... but the ease, the comfort, the wanting to share is still there. It's nice. 


I guess that's how things will be next year with Libor... 
I mean, it's not so bad I guess. We'll always be best friends in that sense. It'll just be hard not seeing him every day, and knowing everything that's going on. Not being the first person he rings when something is either on his mind, or happening. Not the person I invite to every little social outing (from going to the shops to massive organised nights out). Not the person who I make tea for... at his own house. Not the person who dances in my kitchen with me. Not the one who's always there, and always knows everything about me.


But hey ho. Got months left before that happens.
He seems to want to wean us off each other by decreasing our time together, our 'dependence' on each other... but I just want to spend every possible minute with him. Make these last months really count. Take advantage of every second that we're not miles and miles apart. 
I guess it's because I deal better with being thrown in the deep end - especially if I have good memories to hold onto during the splash and subsequent spluttering/dog paddling/ cursing at my bad diving. 
We shall see though.




There's words that I let slip from my mouth often and freely. Words like 'love'. People think it's because I don't value what that means - but it's not that. It's just that I love so freely and quickly and openly. 
But then you get how I feel about the closest friends I have... and words like 'love' just... they aren't enough. It's more than love. It's meta-love... it's macro-love... it's amour... it's adoration... 
There's probably a word for it, a perfect word. A word that encapsulates the overwhelming feeling of nearness and comfort, the willingness to do anything for them... the knowledge that they are the most important people in the world and you'd happily lop off an arm or leg just to make them smile when they're feeling down. The people who you can't say no to. The people who suggest something stupid, and you do it - because you know that, with them, it'll be amazing, and fun, and worth it. They're your comrades in arms, your chuckle buddies, your family, your heart and soul... 
The word love doesn't really mean that enough. Maybe I'm not explaining it right. I don't know. I just know that it feels bigger than the universe - so it must be bigger than love.




I talk about love a lot really.
It's the one thing in my life that guides every action (especially when I'm not lost in the darkness). It's the thing that makes my world turn - gravity wouldn't exist without love. Gravity is just the world wanting to give everything a big hug, and keep it near. We rotate round the sun because it's caught in a continual spin - holding our hands just tight enough to stop us flying away - because it's so happy to see us. 
Love is what makes babies. It's what makes people hold doors open. What makes people become doctors, nurses, policemen, firemen, mothers, fathers, lawyers, businessmen... even if it's only love of money, love of self... it's still love. 
Loving other people is the best kind of love. It's the sort that makes the world a better place. It's what makes a smile worth a million picture (which are each worth a thousand words). 
Love just IS amazing. 
It makes life what it is.


When I say the words "I love you." I often mean it in this universal way - the way that makes you part of my world, part of the great dance of life that means I want to hold your hand and dance with you. 
Sometimes, when I say "I love you" I actually mean "I'm in-love with you" - as in, yours is the hand I want to hold forever in this dance we call life.
But it's up to you to work out which times are which!!


I'm going to go and finish my assignment now. It's the one where I write autobiographies in different styles - so I'll probably copy and paste them into the next blog. I was going to do it for this one, but my fingers kinda rattled out a lot of thoughts before I got round to it.


For now, I miss Veesham lots. I miss Mathieu too. I love that Libor has started doing long goodbyes again (feels like first year again!!). I can't wait to celebrate in green. Life is good - even though it hurts sometimes. 


I hope your life isn't hurting too much right now.
Know that I'm always here if you need me.
I love you.




Blessed Be xx

The tightest embrace

First Year:

Back in the days when we didn't realise that it was okay to leave your washing alone in the laundry room while it was washing or drying, we used to sit on the driers (ahem, I mean, on the plastic chairs provided) and wait for a load of washing to finish first cleaning itself and then drying itself in the gigantic barrels of heat we transferred them into.

You could sit in there alone, with your headphones on, and a book in your hands. Or you could end up sat with another person you'd never met, chatting away about nothing in particular.

First year is amazing like that.

Look. There I am; being a good girl and washing my clothes, reading my book, not listening to music because I don't have an MP3 player yet. My big jumper swamps me, keeping me warm. It's the first few weeks of term, and I'm bored but overcoming that by devouring the novels we're studying. I turn a page and glance across at the timer on my washing. 11 mins.

Enter cute boy: carrying a bag full of laundry.
His hair is dark and curly, his eyes are blue behind rectangular glasses, the hoody he wears looks well loved (read worn in going on worn out) and there's something about him that makes me want to smile. I try not to look at him - people like privacy if they're washing their underwear or 'delicates' - and feel a slight colour creep up my neck and spread across my cheeks.

He sets the washer going and hops up onto the tumble driers. Ready for the long long wait of washing, rinsing, spinning, drying. His height and slim build make me think he'll be clumsy - like all the boys I know back home - but he's not. There's nearly a touch of grace in the way he jumps playfully onto the driers and gets comfy.
I glance up from my book. I'm still being a good girl, sitting in the plastic chair. I smile...


I bump into him a few times - often in the lift or in the laundry room. I'm too shy to ask his name; but we chit-chat, small talk. I go to my room thinking hard about my boyfriend.


After the devastation of November 2009, my boyfriend returns with me to University. I'm not good at being on my own. Still a bit shakey on the inside. He's proposed. I've said yes. My fiance helps me carry the washing down and sits with me for the long hall. Wash, rinse, spin, dry.

The boy with the curly hair is there again. It's getting to be a little joke of ours that we always do our washing together. If it were true, we'd hardly ever wash our clothes in fairness.
My fiance talks with him. We all laugh. We comment on the size of the driers. He sits in and I take a photo - his hood hiding his face out of embarrassment.


I agree to go to the Chinese new year festival with a friend. We're the only English people approaching it. We subtly change course and end up at an open party in the Student Union. I call the fiance and tell him to come.
The cute boy with the curly hair turns up. We finally learn his name, and that he's as bad as me on the Wii. He and I both offer to stay and tidy up - our friends either want to help too or feel obliged to stay. We all go for drinks with one of the organisers. The first night out I've had since my one trip to the pub in freshers week.


I start bumping into him more often. He comes over to mine for the first time and we play with a glow in the dark Frisbee. We start talking lots. We meet up more and more often. We play games. We stay up late all the time just talking. We chase each other up (or down) stairs tickling each other until neither of us can breath from the laughter. I try to help him with his girl problems. I sit behind him in the big chair by his desk and tickle him gently, or play with his hair, or just wrap my arms around him while he types and we talk. He agrees to help with Oxjam. He helps me with my boy problems. I meet his best friend from his course, she's awesome.

In essence, we become best friends, and I love him.

I'm there for him when things go wrong in his love life. I stand shocked in the door way when he turns up with his hair cut off. I argue with him when he upsets his best friend. I stick up for him when people say rude things about him.
He helps me through the hard times with my fiance. He treats me with respect even when I've forgotten what that means. He looks out for me. He makes me laugh when I'm sad. He goes shopping with me. He talks to me all the time.

Second year:

He meets me at my new halls of residence with roses and chocolates. I nearly squish them while hugging him as hard as I can. He helps me unpack, and meets the vast majority of my family. He stands in line with me and the ex-fiance while said ex tries to get housing sorted.
The list of things he does for me, with me, is extensive and insane.
We go to salsa. We get pretty good.

We go for a walk and get drenched. We curl up in towels and play video games. We perform seances and protection spells together. We watch so many films it's crazy. I sit in his room and we do work together. I end up learning his essay off by heart with him.

He's my best friend, he helps me through everything, he's always there: I love him.

Third year:

Life explodes in a ball of friends falling out with each other, and mistakes upon mistakes upon misunderstandings make everything so tense.
We argue. We make up. We nearly fall apart.
He gets frustrated with me. I get upset with him. We argue... then cuddle. We go to everything Demon TV under the sun. We slowly stop going because of the social issues.
We start blogging.
We start being more of a 'we' than a 'him and me' - especially to other people.

This year something's not been right, and it's hard, and I don't like it - but I still love him.


Never let things get in the way of your friendships.
They're some of the most important things in the world.
Love openly and often - try not to get hurt.


Blessed Be xx