February 15th, 2012
An effort to ward off the plethora of salesmen that bother me whilst I work at home…
An effort to ward off the plethora of salesmen that bother me whilst I work at home…
I am most distressed.
‘My Bloggy Wog’ is my primary blog and I don’t want it to be.
This blog is fairly old and not at all well written - in my opinion. It is also incredibly filthy; which is fine, but I have always kept this blog a secret from anyone I know in my non-internet life, with only tumblr users following me.
In January I decided to create to new blog called publicemilie and have posted 23 times - mostly short stories - and have a large amount of followers which confuses me, as due to tumblr’s directory limitations, I have no idea how people are finding my new blog, aside from the possibility that some of the many tags I use actually work.
I didn’t realise that I couldn’t change my primary blog and now, whenever I comment or follow a blog I like, I follow as “mybloggywog” and not “publicemilie”. This is a damn shame, as any potential readers who ‘check me out’ will undoubtedly think, “wow, what a complete minx. And a terrible grammatician”.
I can’t unfortunately delete this blog without losing my entire tumblr and I don’t want to delete my posts because as much as I dislike them, they are a part of my history, experiences and learning curve.
I have emailed tumblr on many occasions about this primary-blog-change issue and they respond with a “we value your suggestions and will pass them on to our team” reply. When I questioned their sincerity - after finding a large amount of online complaints about this issue, dating back as far as 2006 - they said that tumblr has limitations in this department and ”a primary blog change isn’t possible at this time”.
I have tried to find ways around this but I don’t want to start again with a new blog.
So I beg of you, if you are visiting this page, please check out my proper blog. The blog I am proud of and put a lot of time into.
This blog is at: http://publicemilie.tumblr.com
It is still filthy - being filthy is simply a part of who I am - but it is also a blog that discusses the banal issues in life that bug us all, with a humorous slant. And everyone I know, knows about it.
Hi there people who follow me :)
I don’t mean to barrage you but I’m just doing a bit of a plug for my new tumblr blog. I will continue to write in this from time to time but I don’t openly advertise this blog for various reasons so I have a public blog now as well.
If you’d like to see some creative writing / memories / silly stuff then my new blog is linked at the top of my tumblr page and it’s called publicemilie.
I don’t possess the gift of self love.
And I mean ‘love of self’ par se, not the desire to masturbate. For this, I clearly possess the gift.
I care about my running and what I put into my body which does suggest I have a little self respect…. Self love?
I wake in the morning with the deep hunger. A sense of longing for lost times. Constant, it sits heavily on my lower abdomen.
When I was 8 and sat in Primary School Assembly, the Head Teacher told us that our conscience was a prickly ball within our chest. If we told a lie, our conscience would prick and we would feel guilt.
I feel guilt, on a day to day basis and I am reminded of that ball of conscience. I feel the sadness of not having achieved enough. I feel hurt from being mistreated and I feel discarded and unloved from my difficult childhood.
I feel a huge sense of “SHOULD”.
Today, I realised that ‘self love’ had still not presented itself to me when in a moment of clarity, I discovered that the deep hunger had been masked by a person.
This person is my Messiah.
And he is so, because I enabled him.
Despite my unbridled optimism and lust for life, at times I lean towards anxiety and procrastination which journeys down the path of mild depression and unresponsiveness to life’s opportunities.
I recently, unexpectedly and surprisingly found myself in a profound relationship with a friend. We met at The Caxton Theatre 16 years ago.
I remember him staring at me across the room and thought nothing of it at the time.
Later, we set up our first band. I Drummed and he played Keyboards. We named ourselves after a Microsoft Word Font: Turkish Impact. We had an affinity for the inane and found blenders and beetroot funny. In those first 5 years, I didn’t see him as any more than a great friend who I could talk to about the abuse and bad memories.
Sadly, he lives in our home town, 230 miles and a 4 hour drive North of where I live.
APPRECIATE WHAT YOU HAVE: YOU ARE PRIVILEGED
I have a lovely house - which my Grandma and Mother are currently staying at, renovating my garden and loft room which hasn’t been decorated since it was converted almost a year ago. They are like the Ground Force Team except my Nan wears a Bra(1).
I have two lovely dogs, a cat, great friends and a promising career - which although flailing, is completely capable of renewal should I put a little effort into it.
Why then am I depressed and obsessing over my new relationship?
Why do I always let everything else slide when a man comes into my life?
I haven’t had a successful relationship because I don’t do them properly. I am too eager to please, too keen to dedicate all my time, too willing to let my personal and professional life take any precedent.
Admittedly, due to our 16 year friendship history - which included Turkish Impact, an amazing first kiss in the Paris snow when we were 17 and various other adventures - following a 2 year physical absence from each other, we fell in love after only 2-3 days.
We have shared our innermost secrets and are both susceptible to impulsive behavior (e.g. me uprooting my life to spend almost 2 weeks living with him, with my dogs at only a days notice).
Things have gotten serious very quickly.
We have already spoken of ways to live nearer each other and loosely discussed conjoining our self - employed businesses and forming an ‘empire’. I think the excuse of, ‘well, we’ve known each other for 16 years and feel so close’, enables us to feel this is OK
Following my 2 week sojourn, upon my return to ‘real life’, reality has hit and I am faced with no James.
After 2 weeks of spending every minute with each other - making love several times a day, smelling him on me, talking into the early hours, working, cooking and relaxing together, I feel lost without him and it aches throughout my body.
This pain in my chest feels like my conscience prickling me angrily. I feel compelled.
We talk regularly, texting several times a day and have a long web chat in the evenings. We are planning the next time we see each other which is only a week away - two weeks if we can handle it - followed by another get together for almost 2 weeks in August.
Why then do I feel lost and close to tears?
All day I have felt tears pricking my eyes but not a single drop has been released.
I trust James completely, so this can’t be jealousy.
I wake in the morning to a deep yearning. I yearn for James to be with me, holding me. I want to make love with him and kiss deeply.
I wake in the morning to a text message or phone call from James.
I find my day being dictated by the ‘tone’ of his text message or voice on our morning phone call. If he can’t phone at the pre-agreed time because of work commitments, I worry that something is wrong.
We both acknowledged that we mustn’t rush our relationship and should take things one step at a time. If we rush things - as we are both liable to do, being the kind of people we are - we will ruin it.
This is so special and we have such a close bond, it could be amazing if we play our cards right.
There are so many things to sort out; my ex relationship, my flailing business, his location - being some 230 miles North of my house - his business which is just getting on it’s feet, his day job and lack of free time from having two full time jobs, my location etc etc
We have said that we WILL make this work. It is worth it and hopefully it won’t be too long until we can be together in location at least.
I miss him so much.
In missing him so much, and expressing this so freely, I have given him my power, leaving myself empty.
I have enabled him to be my Messiah, my reason to wake up in the morning and to function throughout the day.
If one call is missed, I sit by the phone willing it to ring.
I let my mind wander into oblivion and entertain ridiculous and insecure thoughts.
The mind is our biggest bull-shitter when we let it.
Sometimes I remember the time my ex didn’t come home. I huddled into a foetal position against our bed and released deep guttural sobs containing raw anguish. He had cheated on me before and at that moment, I knew he was doing it again.
But this was my ex. This is not James.
I have drawn the conclusion that I am lacking in self love and self respect.
My Messiah must be within.
I will no longer allow another to mask my deep hunger.
I must satisfy this hunger on my own.
It is not attractive to cling to the one you love. And, I need to love myself in order to be loved by others.
When James looks at me he sees a confident and successful woman who is talented and creative.
This is who I am.
I don’t know how to be a stronger and more empowered person - but I do know that it will take self discipline. In those moments when I want to be impulsive and drive 230 miles throughout the night, or call and text James more often than needed, or simply find an excuse to be around him, I need to use my head and say, ‘I do NOT need to be around James to validate who I am’.
I am simply enough.
To Em From Em.
You sexy bitch.
(1) Charlie Dimmock from Ground Force frequently shovels top soil with such force, her un-cupped (and much needed, yet unwired) DD Cups - unpert and without any support - flail violently, causing any onlooker - regardless of sexual bias - to swallow their morning tea down the wrong hole.
I have a lot of paperwork to do today.
Paperwork, that on completion will yield a big fat cheque of anywhere between 5K and 20K dependent on how well I complete said paperwork.
I woke up at 10am and if I had started then, I would be finished by now; 6pm.
I’m twitchy and I’ve spoken to at least 10 different people on various online messengers, including the infamous Lupine, an old school friend and a fellow musician.
I’m twitchy as fuck and all I want to do is fuck.
‘X’ was here earlier and I didn’t want to fuck him.
I’m so full of lust for the act I could fuck anyone.
I should slide my hand down my trousers, perform the perfunctory motions, orgasm in 2-3 minutes and resume my paperwork as planned.
The one who can assuage my desire isn’t here.
The password on my office laptop is “I Love Ian”.
And I can’t be bothered to walk to my office on the other side of this room to change it.
What an idiot.
Why the hell did I let him be my password?
The only forseeable way I can avoid the changing of it, is to never restart or shut down my computer; only hibernating it, so essentially, I don’t ever turn it off.
Unfortunately, it is 6 years old and lint/dust is prone to wedging itself in the failing cooling fan which causes my laptop to overheat and power down.
On the next occasion this happens - being a sentimental and born romantic - once more I will have to enter those three words: ‘I love Ian’, to power my machine.
Upon typing these words, I will no doubt break down into tears and phone him; desperately trying to rekindle something that should not be rekindled and BEGGING for him to come back to me.
Why am I such a twat?
Why can’t I just walk over to the fucking laptop and change the password?
Oh bugger me.
There are at least 1000 ‘happy family’ photos of Ian and me with the two dogs in iphoto on this Mac. Bugger. ‘Happy family’ photos.
When I look at these I will no doubt feel torn between my inner need for a ‘happy family’ - for I never did have one as a child - and my inner need for freedom. I will romanticise and think ‘what if? What if I have missed out on an opportunity where we could have lived happily ever after with our surrogate canine children in this minature hell, all the while allowing my creativity to fester?’
Somewhere in this house, there is a photo of us from a time we were happy to play the perfect couple.
There is also an entire collection of his very amazing Vinyl - this I may try to keep - and the Complete Beatles Chord Books.
There is a Basketball and two hand held weights. I don’t want these.
What about the Eeyore mug? He loves this. His gorgeous little niece Indigo bought it for him as she found it too hard to pronounce ‘Ian’ and it sounded more like ‘Eeyore’.
I love that mug. It’s just the right size for a larger-than-usual cup of Tea.
I don’t think I can keep it. It will hurt too much.
He still has my front door key.
His pop up tent is in my shed.
THIS FUCKING HURTS.
Queen Of The F*cking World : Life Ain’t Too Short For Before And After Photos, Runners Nipple and Big Changes (Weeks 21-22).