It’s true what they say: If you want something done, ask a busy person. Two years ago I was that busy person, and I got so much done. Now I’m working part-time, and I can barely get out of the bed these days.

Time, like money, is a luxury, and like money it can be squandered unwisely. I’ve haven’t been to work for the past nine days, and my only real achievements during that time are watching Heroes Season 2 and a few eps of Weeds Season 2. I can’t be totally surprised as I didn’t have a plan. Without a plan it’s easy to succumb to the temptation of daytime television, random websites and calls from sailors instead of concentrating on moving forward with my life.

My birthday has become a time when I think about my life direction. Since my 25th birthday I’ve been stressing about my 30th. There’s still a part of me that feels that my life should be sorted by then, that I should have a flat and a creative career, regular holidays abroad and perhaps Daniel Craig as my naked butler. Is that too much to ask for?

My mother cruelly keeps on reminding me that I’m returning to work tomorrow. It’s going to be hell, but I can look forward to the weekend at least.

If I’d had some money I might have gone to Europe or even Scotland, but my credit card bill is still on my mind.

My mum has also been on holiday for the last two weeks, which has been a factor in my declining level of sanity.

Vid: We Gotta Get Out Of This Place by The Animals

Mariah Carey: Outside

It’s hard to explain
Inherently it’s just always been strange
Neither here nor there
Always somewhat out of place everywhere
Ambiguous
Without a sense of belonging to touch
Somewhere halfway
Feeling there’s no one completely the same

Standing alone
Eager to just
Believe it’s good enough to be what
You really are
But in your heart
Uncertainty forever lies
And you’ll always be
Somewhere on the
Outside

Outside by Mariah Carey

(more…)

I had 3 days annual leave from work last week, which gave me about a week and a half off work in total due to my part-time regime. As I had no money and the time off was a last-minute decision I didn’t go anywhere exciting. Most days I just dossed around the house, watching telly, blogging and eating crap (as usual). The days just merged into one long solo slumber party. I did leave the house a few times, though I can’t remember why now.

And I bet that you guys didn’t notice much of a difference. I’m still a damn lazy blogger. I don’t know why you even bother to read this blog: it’s not as funny as Dr M or ES, as aesthetic as BV, as inspiring as SW or AV or AW or LS, as informed as AGD, as sexy as NoS, nor as dismal as that spineless JMC (thank godness). I’m not even a superhero like CI. For a so-called “aspiring writer” I’m not writing much, even my blog posts are rarely more than 100 words.

Oh I know, you just come here for the Sunday soft-porn show - you filthy perverts.

Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to write all of that. Last Thursday I was in such a massive rage, it was bubbling in my stomach like a fizzy lake of acid at the base of a volcano. I swallowed it and gave you all a chance to be rude instead, but as usual the bile which I kept inside still leaked out in tiny puddles of mean (like now, in case you didn’t realise - and I have NOT wet myself!).

You really don’t want me to let it all out at once. I’ve never actually completely lost my temper or released my rage. I think the free world would probably end at that moment. I would turn into some kind of mythological beast and terrorise you all with my two heads and razor-sharp fangs. I would demand daily sacrifices of the young and firm of every land, starting with Paris Hilton and Britney J-Lo. I would vanquish my enemies with fireballs (you first J.D.).

I’d probably look a bit like this, though not as pretty:

So you had all better keep me sweet. Agreed?

And by the way, I hate you all.

I think this is the funniest video I’ve ever seen. Yo ho!

It was brought to my attention by Linda* at my former workplace, who met with this interesting lassie to talk about their mutual Orlando lustery.

Now I’m just waiting for Mariah Carey’s fragrance ad to come out. Apparently the perfume smells like marshmellows…

I often said to myself that going to Dirk’s cafe was like walking into an episode of Eastenders, only set in South London. There were the gruff old men with hearts of gold hidden beneath their rough exteriors, a wise old woman who is sharper than she looks, a guy with a limp, a family business and a lecherous married git. I’m not eighteen anymore, so why did I think I was playing the role of Stacey, getting mixed up with a married bloke who had no respect for me other than as a sex object?

I haven’t blogged about this for ages, and my regular readers may have thought that I’d come to my senses and stayed away from Dirk, as I’d intended. If only.

We have shared two more interludes, but we did NOT shag. Of course he wanted to. Part of me wanted to get him out of my system, and the other part of me just enjoyed the attention of an attractive man. There was no chance of us having a relationship, for not only did he have no intention of leaving his wife, but there were no common interests between us except that of the physical. As I said to Veg the other day, this was no meeting of the minds.

And yet, it is over. And I’m glad. My only regret is that I didn’t end it before. My dear reader, you may ask, why should I believe her now, she obviously can’t keep her grubby hands off him? Well, he has succeeding in offending me, which is quite a feat if you know me at all.

Basically I saw him on Friday at lunchtime. He said that he hadn’t been as persistent with me recently as he wanted to “get to know me”. Fair enough I thought, though I hadn’t noticed much change in his predatory behaviour. Then he went on to say that he felt that he didn’t know me so well and claimed to be wondering whether I could have some sort of Sexually Transmitted Disease! Then he said that he thought that I might shag for England in Jamaica, and that he was concerned for me! Such knobbery - if he doesn’t want a STD I’d be happy to cut it off for him!

–

I’m glad to say that I have another suitor waiting in the wings. He reads this blog sometimes and it’s early days in our friendship, so I won’t embarrass him, but is a lovely guy who I admire so much. Watch this space!

How frustrated I am at myself for:
a) Eating loads of crap
b) Being a lazy sod
c) Not writing
d) My infernal weakness for the married man
e) Taking on projects for others when I should concentrate on my own stuff

Serious extended family issues, which I can’t discuss further.
Suffice to say that Tolstoy was right that every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

I’m so bored, and unfulfilled. I don’t know where I’m going.

I have too much time in which to think about stuff now.

I’m remembering lots of my dreams now; sometimes I “remember” something then realise that it happened in a dream, not in reality.

I think too much.

—

Now that’s it’s happened, it feels like it was inevitable, but I promise that I was not planning it.

Feel free to call me a jezebel/slut/harlot/slag/whatever. I’m not proud of myself.

I let the married guy kiss me. I resisted at first, but then a voice inside me told me to let him if he tried to kiss me again. I had been fantasizing about him for so long, that I guess I wanted the fantasy to be real for a moment.

I felt so guilty, and yet so excited at the same time. I had crossed a new boundary, bypassed my morals, forgotten my feminine loyalties and become a sexual deviant (again).

He asked me for my phone number, but I refused to give it to him. He wants to continue our liaison, but I don’t want to be involved in an affair. I don’t want to be a mistress.

It can’t happen again.

I bought a pen for £205 ($404) today. It’s a Mont Blanc Starwalker pen, very lush, but what was I thinking?

I’ve got no excuse not to write something now. Anything.