Photo - Beach Time Longings

'But the beach is right there, Mum!'

Musings – Plastic Body Parts; Shudder.

I have a fear of dolls. It’s called Pediophobia, I googled it.

The name itself also looks pretty horrific especially in today’s world and you could easily be mistaken into thinking it is a fear of something else entirely. But it is dolls. This type of fear is also labelled as an automatonophobia which is a ‘fear of humanoid figures’. That sums it up more accurately as on a whole my fear includes anything that is made to look human or animated when it really really shouldn’t.

Now I know that other than Chucky no doll is going to suddenly turn its googly eyed expression in my direction and set chase. I know that the resuscitation aids (who commonly lack arms and legs) are not going to waddle menacingly on their torso’s down the corridor to get me. I know China Dolls in their ridiculously lifelike outfits are not as evil as they appear to be; even if they are often lined up on someone’s bedroom shelf in attack formation. And I know that Marks and Spencer’s manikins with their Per Una outfits and detachable extremities are not possessed with a zombie like need to sample my medulla oblongata.

But still I shrivel at the very thought. I sweat and shiver, every hair on my body stands on end, my stomach turns over and my eyes widen to horror movie proportions. My very core rejects plastic body parts in the same way it would if I was asked to eat a camel’s testicle. (I watch TV, I know my ‘Get me out of here’ boundaries).

What I am trying to say is you can’t help what you fear, however preposterous it might be. And you should never mock another person’s fear; I laughed at a fear of sticky hands and was consequently presented with a Barbie.

Though I have to admit: Barbie? I could kick her ass.

So a fear of dolls…

Irrational: Yes.
Helpless to overcome it: Yes
Praying that when I eventually have a child it’s a boy as footballs and mud are perfectly acceptable in my warped mind: Yes.

Question: 4

I am 29... is it too late?

Musings - Where did I go?

Sometimes I fear that my lack of organisation is what is making my life go by so fast. Perhaps if I was to fill my time more effectively I might be able to slow the hands of my biological clock or at least achieve more in the sorrowful amount of time I have left.

I have decided to write myself a schedule.

I will start with a week, nothing too adventurous. I will input all that I currently do but also what I want to get out of my week. I want to know where my hours go! I want to see if I can free up some time to be Stacy.

That might seem a strange thing to say as I am pretty much Stacy 24/7 but the Stacy that makes me me is disappearing and I want her back.

I am too busy being wife, daughter, friend, worker, mother to a terrorising Terrier and to be honest moaner. I don’t like it. There is no time left to find out who I am, who I am becoming as I age and how far I am from the person I expected to be.

So I am going to be organised. I am going to take charge of myself and see where it gets me.

Watch this space ladies and gents. Mission Accepted.

Question: 3

When will I ever learn?

Photo - Rohan Galadriel Redmond

My furry baby girl in the absence of a bald one. :) Rohan born December 3rd 2008

Photo - Ikea Shelves

New shelving - a mobile photo so the quality is a little poor. x

Diary - Janaury 15th to 21st 2010

Diary – Jan 15th to 21st

This week has been about three things…
1. A 30th birthday party and all that came with it
2. Ikea and all the came home with us
3. Old faces returning to old places for a new stint and the problems that come with that.

I am quite proud of myself this week. When faced with two children and two impending bumps (within arms reach) I didn’t turn into a complete and utter blubbering wreck. Instead I focused my maternal longings on to a dog the size of a horse, well not quite a horse but a Shetland Pony would definitely be dwarfed. Nero, great big fluffy idiot that you are, you saved me. I hope you loved the steak I snuck you. :)

I also had a headache for three days which morphed itself into a sore throat and a nasty taste before ending up as a bit of a cold. Felt like crap but to be honest I didn’t have the energy to feel like crap so I got over it PDQ. That’s pretty damn quick by the way. I have a manager who says it, I also have an imagination that wants to slap him for it.

My purchases this week have included Ikea shelving which looks fabulous if yet somewhat empty, some exciting new brassieres which due to my only adequate proportions look somewhat empty (ha ha) and OneRepublic’s new album which is amazing… no emptiness there at all.

And I ask… the people who have recently returned into my line of sight; be gentle with this heart of mine for made of stone it isn’t.

Next week… I am going to be lustful and attempt to enjoy myself.

Poem - Broken Reflection

I fill my lungs yet can not breathe
I reach my hand yet can not grasp
I close my eyes yet can not sleep
I see my reflection
Still no hint I am broken

I eat my food yet can not taste
I hear your musings yet can not recall
I touch the world yet can not feel
I know my reflection
Still no hint I am broken

I talk out loud yet can not focus
I blink back tears yet can not stem
I walk away yet can not avoid
I fear my reflection
Still no hint I am broken

I crave life yet can not give it
I act the part yet can not convince
I dream out loud yet can not claim
I show my reflection
Please see I am broken

Question: 2

Why is it that self destruction is my only coping mechanism?

Diary - January 8th to 14th 2010

Diary – Jan 8th to 14th

This week has been about three things…
1. Cutting my hair and debating back and forth on what I think of it,
2. Programming the V Plus to record all the geeky episodes that I love,
3. Trudging about in the snow in an effort to prove I can survive without my car.

American Idol has started again; I haven’t watched it yet as I am waiting for Jo, the blanket and a packet of strawberry snails. Apparently this will be its last year or rather its last year without our very own Simon Cowell. Can AI survive without his sarcasm? I guess 2011 will have to wait and see.

On the other channel I was distraught to find Danny in a wheel chair, Don without his suit, Horatio in a body bag and that Sarah had returned uninvited. Only the truest worthy geeks will feel my pain. A new spin off is needed; Texas, just for the accent.

I have spent a great deal of time this week on the Wii Fit. Consequently I ache and feel slightly insulted by the little engorged Mii that dances at me on screen. I am determined to get in shape, well, another shape other than my current wobbly one; my optimism only stretches so far.

I have also reconnected with my inner poet. She yawned and stretched out her sleep ridden bones and found she was still quite creative after all. Watch this space I guess.

Next week… I intend to visit St. Hilda’s and have a look see inside.

Photo - London Eye 2009

London July 2009 - Jo's Birthday Trip. I took this photo, it was a beautiful bright sunny day but the black and white setting brought out the clouds. x

Question: 1

Is it wrong that I feel a strange amount of inspiration when confronted with Vampirism?

Photo - Spring.

A little spring amongst the snow. x

Poem - Hope Hidden

Daily wakening, sigh, here more once again,
Reach for dreams, fading fast are almost gone,
Ever conscious as day starts, fails prematurely, doomed,
All dark as bottom dwelling, sludge of the heartbroken,
Moved only by an empathic whisper, sssh,
Imagine green, gold, ‘cast thy nighted colour off’,
Noise loud, unclear among the fog of uncertainty,
Grasp hold for only self, inner, can affect...

Overtly out of hidden depths is life, subtle, true,
Upholding all aspirations, guarding heart’s pledge,
Today will be that day, accomplishing.

Leave behind those ills; negativity, doubt, anger,
Open faucets of excited envy,
Upward glancing, an almost prayer, pleading,
Dare to dream out loud, focused, hope withstanding fear.

Musings - Ice Day

I am not at work today. Ice Day.

Thank you Calderdale College; I prefer vegitating to risking life, limb and vehicle. Instead I am curled on the sofa absorbing warmth from the laptop.

From my cosy view point I just watched a woman go oopsy daisy splat right outside the house. I think her pride was hurt more than her ample bottom but she got up, soldiered on, not even noticing me chuckling from the living room window. I am so going to hell but at least I won't be lonely; my Mum will be down there, she'd have laughed too.

When I got the call to abandon my journey I had high hopes of being productive... housework, NVQ, Wii Fit, writing... I ended up blogging. I ended up reading the blogs of others too and I am impressed. Can people really be that tortured? Witty? Happy? I guess my answer is to read on.

But not right now... housework, NVQ, Wii Fit, writing... calls. I guess it is better than the reports that I would otherwise be doing?

I think the husband can make me a cup of tea. No milk, no sugar. Pint pot please.

Poem - Love At First Sight

Look around, don’t focus; too late,
Overwhelmed, halt, stop, axis shifted.
Visions, ghosts; whispers ‘this is it’; life,
Erratic heart, breath, function; calm no more.

All you felt, pales, only this moment,
This time, this person, this momentous glance.

Frozen still yet with fateful vibrations, shiver,
Inability to break eyes, once met are glued.
Realisation this is half; this is your soul,
Sudden, inevitable; heart swells, tentative love glows.
To touch would undo, unravel, tip over,

Somehow resisting, somewhere a pull too great, can’t stop.
Imagination fuelled, over worked as distance is eased,
Graze of skin, electricity; two alone in all existence.
Heed life, take note, take hold, grasp tight; wonder,
Take the deepest of breaths; same again you will never be.

Poem - Absent Saviour

There is strength in him belied by gentle fingertips,
That hint to tender protection,
A feel of forceful ease,
Secure hands grasping mine that never falter.

There is a beauty to him enhanced by pride not governing,
That pale skin translucent betwixt darkness,
A form perfect, conditioned,
Taken breath speared from use at every glancing.

There is a seriousness to him harmonised by twinkled humour,
That ready grin and pearly revelation,
A laugh; husky; skimming flesh,
Trust sparked through balanced saviour.

There is an iniquity to him ruled by graceful dignity,
That anger held sieged by a heart, cold,
A conflict of traits base, undefined,
Never feared for only wonder fuelled.

There is a soul to him veiled by eyes; depth and aged,
That need he has for understanding,
A pleading; make me, adore me,
Strength, beauty, grace all hiding love waiting for claim.

There is a willingness in me for him inflamed by all he be,
That perfection encompassing my heart, warm,
A readiness I feel; let me, here, now,
Then I wake so lost, lonely, wanting… he is gone.

Diary - January 1st to 7th 2010

Diary – Jan 1st to 7th

This week has been about three things…
1. Welcoming in the New Year with pink champagne and a couple of party poppers,
2. Finishing off all the sugar coated teeth rotting treats left over from the 25th,
3. Snow, snow, a bit of a thaw, more snow and then ice.

In an effort to start as I mean to go on I have been having a rather filmtastic start to 2010.

I commenced with a Mighty Ducks marathon (with an interesting appearance from Michael Cudlitz) and Nights at the Museum 2 (with an interesting appearance from a cherubic Jonas Brothers). I then moved on to Star Trek (with an interesting appearance from old Leonard) finishing off with Terminator Salvation (with an interesting appearance from a CGI’d Arnold).

I have spent my waking hours sleepy, my working hours waiting to be sent home and my recreational hours (other than in front of the TV) walking through calf high drifts while steaming up my glasses from behind my scarf.

I have renewed my love of Blog, renewed my love of Vampires and renewed my love of just how random Facebook chat can be.

My New Years Resolutions included:
1. No Crisps,
2. No Chocolate
3. More exercise.
And I am pleased to announce that I have kept to all three; must be the oncoming fear of thirty that has kicked my backside into obeying its own rules.

Next week… I intend to get ‘Kiss My Arse’ into at least one sentence.

Poem - First Love

I Think I Loved You…

I think I loved you when we met?
When grey met blue and couldn’t look away,
When fingers felt and couldn’t let go,
When a dance got close and time played games.

I think I loved you when you smiled?
You crinkled and you laughed at me,
You sparkled and you hugged me tight,
You looked at all of me and time played games.

I think I loved you when we kissed?
Our lips warm and soft at their greeting,
Our hearts fast and breathing troubled,
Our patience tested and time played games.

I think I loved you when you loved me?
As a life was shared and plans were made,
As future glimmered and shone in place,
As there was dancing, kissing, smiling and time played games.

I think I loved you when you left me?
I watched and waited for you to turn,
You held my heart but you gave it back.
Tears, both and time was still, cruel, cold.

I think I love you when I remember you?
When grey met blue and couldn’t look away,
You sparkled and you hugged me tight,
Our hearts fast and breathing troubled,
As future glimmered but time changed its game.

I think I loved you but I’m over you now.

Snippet - A Good Old Coating of Snow

A good old coating of Snow...

Snow, despite the obvious dangers and chill factor, has a way of coating the world with optimism and a sense of peace. Open the bedroom curtains to find that sometime during the cold of a blackened night the skies have littered the floor with icy feathers and you can not help but feel hopeful. It swells your chest, a feeling akin to breathing deeply with a menthol sweet in your mouth; refreshing yet somehow shocking with its sensation.

I am a sucker for snow. The falling of it, the laying of it, the slush of it; all of it. I love snowman and frozen angels. Hats, scarves, bundling up in an effort to give Jack an extra challenge. Not a year goes by that I do not wonder at snow, a fluke atmospheric phenomenon which for some parts of the world is nothing special at all. To me it’s special. To me its being a kid again and remembering what it was once like to be liberated at the sight of solidified rain. Easily pleased? Perhaps. Innocent? Perhaps that too.

At twenty nine I should think of sliding tires, leaking roofs and frozen pipes. At twenty nine I should know better than to keep believing that snow can cleanse my soul. Yet at twenty nine I still grin, I still hop on frozen feet with excitement and I still mentally pick out my carrot and pieces of coal. I won’t change; snow won’t change, so as long as I can fling back my curtains and not be disappointed I dare anyone to tackle my point of view.

Snippet - Perchance to Dream.

Perchance to dream...

Have you ever given serious consideration to the personal movie that plays in your mind during those precious hours in which you try and recharge? I’m talking about dreams. Not aspirations but more the sometimes scary, sometimes confusing and sometimes naked escapades of a sleeping subconscious. I dream, usually without fail, more often than not in colour and occasionally with my Emegulata.

I’ve always been an ‘active’ sleeper, my parents can lay testament to that. As a child I would sit up in bed, asleep with my eyes open, point at an invisible foe and scream like I was being abducted. They wouldn’t go in my room alone, who could blame them; all they needed was for my head to spin 360 and the transformation would be complete. I grew out of it. I now sleep with my eyes closed and I lay prone in bed but if anything my 40 winks visions are even more vivid. I can blushingly admit they are a lot more ‘fruitful’.

The meaning of my dreams has also developed with the growing of my bones. I own several books on the subject, have a bookmarked website and even a fellow colleague who seems to know a few things on why and what my sleeping self is trying to communicate to the wakeful one. Falling out teeth means I’m anxious, to dream in Fuchsia means I’m ready for a change and to dream about toilets without doors means I am frustrated about a lack of personal privacy. To dream all three means I’m screwed up just a little. Good stuff. Insightful but mostly fanciful nonsense that most would line up along side escapism.

Of course reoccurring dreams are the ones that speak to you the most. I like to be chased and find I can suddenly fly or spin so fast that I look like I should be in a telephone box wearing lycra and a personalised logo. I often fall down stairs, fail to dial my parents telephone number, eat fruit, kidnap Toby Stephens, play the piano with the ease and flair of Jamie Cullum and pine for an ex-love with a ferociousness that makes waking a hindrance. My dreams are often like episodes; I can wake but continue a dream when I once again dose or even, on rare occasions, continue during a different nights sleep entirely. I have themes, I often dream about the same person in varying situations over a span of several days and I have even been known to write poetry and prose. The notepad and pencil at the side of my bed have become my old friends over the years.

Dreams are often talked about in literature and songs. Hamlet had a perchance to dream, Martin Luther King JR told us all about his, more recently Susan Boyle dreamed about the ones gone by and of course the Mama’s and the Papa’s sang about Mr Armstrong’s Little Dream. To dream is as natural as to sleep and while we can not censure or ultimately control the content we can enjoy its randomness and fun. We can also feel that initial fright when the cute guy at work utters those immortal words ‘I had a dream about you last night’. Were you naked and I was feeding you strawberries? No? Never mind.

Philosophers see dreams as premonitions, a look into the future if only you took the time to filter through the crazy to the critical message. Part of me thinks, wow I could be a prophet, while the other half laughs and snorts with an unflattering animal sound. Take last night; I dreamt I was cooking on Celebrity Master Chef with a Jonas Brother and a Radio 1 DJ cheering me on from the audience. I’m going to cure world hunger and get famous doing it? Nah, I guess I was either hungry or in need of some melody fuelled entertainment.

Dreams I admit are just dreams brought on by bedtime snacks and too much TV but, hey, next time I dream I win the Euro millions maybe I’ll just go out and get myself that winning ticket.

Snippet - Christmas

Christmas…

The time of year when shiny tinsel is acceptable, when it is deemed impolite not to accost perfect strangers in the street and when the excuse of festive cheer is used for drunkenness, debauchery and the down right ridiculous. For 3 weeks of the year Cliff Richard with his Wine and his Mistletoe is played in stores and on radio stations which for the rest of the year shun him in proud public fashion. Yoko is forgiven as she joins John in their little Christmas ditty and a drunken Irish fool with horrific teeth is revered as a lyrical festive God.

Shoppers (usually calm and collected and often avoiding of the high streets) turn into scary 3 for 2 bargain hunting monsters with their eye only on the prize of buying as many useless gifts for as little as possible. Such shoppers who feel that a multi-tool from Boots, that also acts as a radio alarm clock and which also niftily folds to the size of a 50 pence piece, is ever going to be taken out of the festively designed wrapper. And then you have the shoppers who never leave the house, who refuse to entertain the idea of Christmas. They would rather claim Amazon’s free delivery by buying all their gifts at one online store, in fifteen minutes and with as little thought and effort as possible. Those are the shoppers who deserve to be in the ‘only if I have time at the end of my shift’ section of Santa’s delivery list.

Families both distant and local make an effort to see each other; make the effort to smile even though it is guaranteed that one brother in law secretly hates the second cousins wife. Everyone comes together under a banner of red and gold, surrounded by the fog of singed credit cards. It’s bliss. It’s bliss for the 5 hours that everyone is together until they separate after the evening bits and bobs buffet and proceed to moan all the way home. Did you see Meredith’s hair? I knew that marriage wouldn’t last a year. You’d have thought they’d have put on a better spread. Your Gerald didn’t get us a present this year, I hope he feels awful once he opens his Wedgwood decanters we got in last January’s Christmas sales. And so on and so forth until the end of time…

But despite the tat, the tantrums and the tricky to buy for relatives; Christmas is a time to look forward to. People wish each other a Merry Christmas, husbands panic good-naturedly as they realise that they haven’t listened to any of the helpful hints provided all year and children get randomly excited at the sight of snow, Rudolf and a jolly fat man. But most importantly at Christmas time we kiss and hug and smile without ever really needing a reason to. We whistle our jaunty tunes, we snow ball fight despite the cold and we laugh.

It is often forgotten that Christmas is a time for great laughter and we only really remember once December arrives and we finally let go of the trials that have tested us for eleven not so enticing months. Christmas is the time for hope, for love, for giving and for our soldiers who for a brief time in history lay down their arms to take a moment’s pause. Christmas has the power to cleanse our souls if we let it.

And who cares that come January first we are back to our resolutions of deprivation; Christmas was designed for gluttony so enjoy it while you can.

Musings - The Wait of the World

Waiting

I am waiting. I have been for a long time.

I have big waits and little waits, I have those that are important and those that are whimsy on my part.

The trouble with waiting though is the abundance of time for reflection, time to talk yourself from action and time to dissuade yourself from wanting what you really want when you are afraid of the disappointments that come with those wants.

My waiting and my wants usually end in my heartbroken self contradicting the motivated self that I portray as my shell.

Today I wait for the snow to melt whilst praying for more in the hopes of hiding away with my book, my blanket and my inner aches.

Yesterday I waited for work to end whilst feeling that reluctance to go home to the place where my failings are most intrusive.

Last week I waited to cheer in the Onders whilst mentally screeching on the brakes so as not to invite in yet another year of misery and milestones.

Last month I waited for Christmas, my favourite time of year, whilst knowing that again Santa hasn’t listened and my barren existence and empty womb is still as it is.

Last year I waited for wishes, for my guardian, my genie, my godmother whilst feeling each day that slow death of optimism and hope that I feel without almost knowing that I feel it.

In my last lifetime I fear I wanted and waited for nothing which is probably why the fates have decided that patience is the virtue that I will be tested with in this one.

I will get what I want though…

I have to…

For what wreck will I be if I don’t?

Musings - As foretold...

It's morning, there is still snow and I am feeling philosophical.

It has been over a year now since I last felt musings itch the tip of my tongue to be told. I like to muse, I am known for it but I guess only if you know me. Do you? You there, reading this, do you know me? Do I know me? That is the question, Horatio.

I am alarmed to find that essentially my core is dark, 65 % black or rather a cloudy grey if we are being artistic about it. I was once a pale blue, a sage green but age and existence has murked my Aura with Indian Ink. The snow helps a little I guess. I love snow; the silence of it and its eerie Angelic perfection. I always feel the reluctant pull of optimism when I awake to the blanket of cold cleansing.

I have decided that 2010 in going to be the year of my sense of humour. I am going to find where ever I put it, dust it off and see if it still fits. I once had a beautiful laugh, no cackle to it at all, but I am out of practice. So practice and practice I will. I will laugh heartily until my soul feels lighter and that 65% is reduced to a less miserable and somewhat dysfunctional number.

I challenge you to help, to tell me a joke or whimsical tale...

I challenge myself...