Bloody Nora.

First of all I would like to say that I hope you all had a very lovely Christmas and that Santa brought you everything you wanted. I was hoping to post a blog before Christmas but lack of imagination and time (I am the most awful planner at Christmas) prevented me from doing that.


Right now I am taking a break from my coursework for Textiles and English, mainly because after sitting at a computer for 3 hours and then realising everything you have written sounds like your single handedly destroying the English language is a bit demoralising. Plus I am a little bit sick of Nora from ‘A Doll’s House’. Everyone else in my class thinks the play has a really good ending (if you haven’t read it, she basically leaves her whole life behind to start a new one, and will never, ever get in touch with anyone from her old life again) but it makes me really angry, mainly because I think that would be completely impossible.


So there I was staring a blank page with my hands poised over the keyboard and all I wanted to do was ring up Henrik Ibsen and tell him to write another ending. A bit hard really because of the fact that I don’t speak any Norwegian and that he is dead.


Staring at a blank page feels a little bit like staring at my life right now. It’s plain, it has no lines I have to abide by and I can do whatever I want with it. But something’s stopping me, and that something is me. Now the reason I stare blankly at the page when I want to write a blog is not necessarily because the lack of things I have to write about but because I have set myself a standard and a goal that I won’t let myself slip from. But with my life I don’t really have anything I have to live up to, I have achieved a lot of things in my short life, but there is nothing I really have compare too. It makes me really mad at myself that I find it possible to throw away everything I am aiming for, just because there are so many other things out there I could do. I think it’s because I'm a little scared. I constantly wish that I could go maybe 10 or 20 years into the future just so I could see how everything is going to work out, just so I could know that I'm heading in the right direction and so I maybe could change a few things.


I was talking to my dance teacher the other day and I was saying how I would like to go to the future and see how everything is going turn out and she said that it's that feeling of unknown that is the excitement of it all. She has only recently become the Principle of the Dance school, something she has wanted since she was even younger than me. She told me how she had no idea that her dreams would come true and if you would have told her only a year ago that this was how it was going to turn out she would have laughed. Okay, so that made me feel a little bit better.


However thanks to bloody Nora (no pun intended), I am now doubting my whole existence. Nora thinks that she is able to leave her past behind, and you get the feeling that she thinks it will never creep up on her. Something all us know is impossible. No matter how much you try to put things behind you, they always pop up again exactly at the wrong time and I'm sure if the play didn’t end there, a few years down the line Nora and Torvald would bump into each other in Starbucks when Nora had just been to the gym and had forgotten her make-up and Torvald was with his new prettier girlfriend.


Maybe not, but that’s what happened to me the other day.


What I'm trying to say is that the great thing about life is that it is a never ending pile of blank paper. You are going to come across people who will write in different colours, some just in black, some will write scruffy and some not much at all. Some people may draw themselves lines to stick to and some may have lines drawn for them they don’t want to abide by. But more than anything, everyone’s paper is going to be different. Near enough at any time we are able to take that written on, crumpled, tipex blotched and doodled on piece of paper and throw it in the bin and take another piece. It may not always be as easy as that, but it is always an option. However, I'm afraid; it is not possible to empty the bin. There are mistakes, stories and doodles on those pages you will never truly let go of and there will be a part of you that won’t want to throw them away. That’s why you have to make sure that on the new piece of paper the story is even better than before, the doodles funnier and most importantly, if a boy, a mistake or something crappy happens to tear that paper, make sure you have the best cello tape ever the stick it back together, your friends.


 
Disclaimer
I am in no way condoning wasting or using huge amounts of paper. SAVE THE RAINFOREST :)
 
 
Live. Laugh. Love.

Cherubim

I hate my blackberry.

In response to my first sentence, I would like just say that usually I am all love for my Blackberry. It has helped me when I’m lost, found phone numbers when I have an intense need for Chinese food and has been a saviour when I am without a pen and paper and I have a rush of blog ideas. However I am afraid, I fell out of love with my blackberry when a month ago it lost all calendar events, pictures and worst of all, my phone numbers.
Yes. I did cry. Which I think is justified, as I was feeling very emotional at the time and I had forgot to reply to someone, who was nearly impossible to get the number for. Needless to say I was gutted.
Of course I received the standard replies when I told people my Blackberry had wiped my memory, mostly that I should have got an iPhone. Even the man at the orange shop said it! His face must have been a picture when I shouted ‘I have fat fingers’ at him and stormed out of the shop. (Fat fingers being the reason I don’t have an iPhone, I wasn’t just shouting about my unfortunately obese hands)
I got most of the numbers I needed off my friends, but there are still contacts I don’t have and are now impossible to get hold of, but everyone has a text style and unknown numbers I get texts from every so often, are usually pretty easy to work out.

From previous blogs you may know that I don’t have the best of luck when it comes phones and texting, and this bad luck continued when I received a one-word text at 2 a.m, from an unknown number. All it said was: ‘Cherubim’. Just one word, no kisses or anything fancy, just ‘Cherubim’. First of all I was very pissed off to be woken up to my phone buzzing on my forehead at 2 in the morning (I usually fall asleep whilst texting, and drop the phone on my face) and secondly what the hell is a ‘Cherubim’?

So I did what any smart person would do… I googled it. This is the gist of what I got:

1. A celestial being.
2. Theology. A member of the second order of angels often represented as a beautiful rosy-cheeked child with wings.
3. A beautiful or innocent person, esp. a child.
4. A person, esp. a child, with a sweet, chubby, innocent face.
5. Plural of Cherub

Okay, so basically I am being called the plural version of a Cherub, a beautiful child, or fat. Great.

I also thought about predictive text, a rubbish invention that I have suffered at the hands of for many years. But when I typed it into my friends phone, the only option I got was ‘Chest2ho’ so unless it’s a really bad new name for a brothel, I doubt it’s a predictive text error!

I have come to the conclusion that this text must of come from someone who knew what the word meant, but this makes me freak out even more. Now I’m not going to mention a name, but I have an ex-boyfriend - a very clever boy– who used to send things like this to me as a way of getting me to talk to him again. In my naivety, it always used to work. He always had a way of getting into my head, and messing me up again. He was one of those people who used to say something that you thought was a compliment, but after some thought you realized it was either utterly patronising or down right rude, ‘You look well’ being one of them. Also this ex-boyfriend always used to get really pissed off when I had deleted his number and I had to ask who the text was from. The more I thought about it the happier I got that my phone had deleted all my numbers. If by some slight chance that this text was from him, by my phone having an epileptic fit, it meant he didn’t get back inside my head, like so many times before.

I have tried on several occasions to try and find out who it was, I have text them asking them who they are, asked other people to type the number into there phone, but I have had no luck. It has played on my mind so much I have considered putting the number on here!

But you know what, what is life without mystery?

Of course if the person who sent me that text on the 10th November 2010 at 1.59am, I would love to know who you are, and you will be able to say you have had a blog written about you.

I am such a hypocrite.


Update

I thought I would update you on how I am doing with my list. I am starting Tango next week, I am so excited, and thank you very much to the person who has helped me loads my informing me on lessons in my area.
I am pooing myself…. I am going to Karaoke tonight! I am really, really terrified, but something terrible will probably happen and I will inform you next week on how it went.

Ta Ta for now
Live. Laugh. Love.

I have started writing poems...

Publishing this is more scary than telling everyone about my blog. Please be nice, and sorry for it being so depressing...


Don't Call Me Your Baby

I'm a dreamer. It's understandable too,
When we live like this. Only a privaleged few
Get out this place. "See the light,
Face the people. Prove you're right.
To say what you say and do what you do"
Unless of course you're wrong. That wouldn't be anything new.
I've been challanged before, my beliefs ripped apart,
I pieced it back together, called it art.
Call your people, I'll shout mine.
Dig them up. Lose my mind
But I won't shed a tear. Thats not me
Down there, looking up. Wouldn't you agree?
Patience running out. I slam my fist to the wall,
Lean back, hit the floor. Wonder, if all
My problems are solved. Elastic band round my heart
Lose concept of time, oh, thats only the start.
Knock them back. Then pass out.
A better place, without a doubt.
Sweetheart I wouldn't worry, I'm not as clever as I look.
Learning how to be happy doesn't come from a book.
Lies to be remembered, promises to be forgot.
Good will come out of it, you'll be damned if not.
Hold my breath for a while, slump against the door.
Tell my body I was joking but it doesn't laugh anymore.
Beauty pulls out a cigerette and asks for a light,
Of course I oblige as anyone might.
Call me a sinner, it won't make you a saint.
Life is waiting, I don't want to be late.
Wrap a rope round my neck then kiss me goodnight
And for a moment...
I will take flight.


By Me


I will be back with a proper blog very soon. Thankyou for reading.