"Hello Poppet.."

Okay so I've spent the last 6 days pretending not to be waiting for Rocket Boy to text me. It's pathetic, I know, but i can only admit that now because he just has. 20 minutes ago. At 1:30 in the morning, just under a week since I last spoke to him, he texted me.

'Hello poppet. How are you? Hows your week been? x'

I must admit, my heart fluttered immediately at seeing his name on my phone. So, unsure how to play it (Standoffish? Blase? Playful, as if last week didn't happen? Flirty and sexual? Friendly? Annoyed?), I went for the safe;

'Well hello you. Weeks been good, couple of job offers. How did the big gig go? x'

I think it's good. Not as friendly as my usual texts, bit standoffish but interested still. I figured next text I might have a sly dig at his wasted opportunity last week, thus win back the balance of who's chasing who..

Half an hour later. It's now 2am in the morning, and im waiting for him to text me back. Why do I do this? Glutton for punishment much..?

So now I'm thinking dammit! I should have stood my ground. I was far too nice in my text. I should have made him wait, so he couldn't be the one to make me wait! But I do a double take and think what? See suddenly it's all about game playing! How is it that this time last week, we were strangers, and lovers and friends, and absolutely nothing, and it was all simple and new, and suddenly we're playing mind games?

I am really quite annoyed at myself now.

"Her Heart Is Pure And Yours Is Mucky"

I had a dream last night.

I was following this light. Not sure where I was. I had no shoes on and there was water up to my ankles, but it felt like smoke. I was tired, and alone, but felt calm and light. I knew there was something behind me, watching me, but I didn't mind for now. I also had something in my hand, but I don't know what it was. I was following this white blur of light for what seemed an eternity, knowing that when I reached it I would know why I had followed it. I knew I would find peace and serenity, and not be scared any more. As I approached the light, a man appeared in front of me, looking at me reproachfully.

"Stay away from her. Her heart is pure and yours is mucky." he said. I turned away and everything went dark.

I'm not one for the paranormal and omens and ghosties and that, but this dream really unhinged me. I suppose its about feeling vulnerable and turned down and wanting and following something but that I think when I get to it, it wont be there, or it wont want me.. but whatever Freudian interpretation of death and sex, theres a definite sense of searching, in both my conscious and subconscious. Searching.

But what for..?

That Time When Everything Went Fucking Mental.

At some point in my life, I'm going to look back on these past 2 weeks and think "dyou remember that time where everything went fucking mental?"

Because, and bear in mind that my life has been far from conventional and I seem to encounter crazyness and hassle at every turn, these have been the most insane two weeks of my life. Well, that I can remember. And to be fair, my memory is shite. But I'm pretty sure that even if I remembered every single detail of my life, I would still think of these past two weeks as the most ridiculous.

In a paragraph..

I've fainted twice in the street, been subsequently poked and prodded by doctors who then diagnosed me with diabetes, had a lumbar puncture and countless blood tests at St Mary's (the hospital where it would appear every wing and corridor holds some disturbing memory of mine), been thrust into debt by emergency dentist and root canal, subsequently having to miss going with The Cats to the Big Chill festival (the only break I was to have this year, and also the second holiday this Summer that I've paid for and not gone to), spent about a week living at Charolastra No.1's house as I had a bit of a physical and mental shutdown, had the briefest of confusing sexual trysts with Rocket Boy which managed to shake me up within the space of a week, held a hugely unsuccessful but entirely enjoyable gig night at which I was rejected by Rocket Boy but also inspired by his singer friend through having a conversation swapping tales of music and heartbreak, was then followed around the back alleys of Camden on my way home by 8 or 9 guys, one of whom had me by the neck and I got away by stubbing my cigarette on his hand, that night my dj's saved my life - Robocop and The BFG came for me in a taxi at which point I blacked out and went into shock, waking up in the BFG's arms and immediately feeling safe and cared for (a novel new feeling), Darcy called and wanted to meet up and gave away no clue as to what the hell he wanted from me and I nearly fell for him all over again but at the last minute he mentioned Greenland and I remembered what a liar and coward he is, I lost my ipod (doesn't sound like a big deal, but I don't function without my ipod. Couldn't leave my house until Pickled Lily lent me hers), I got offered an incredible job offer in Bristol that would involve entirely relocating, got offered several promotion-related jobs that are pretty cool, none of which I applied for or even knew existed, subsequently decided to entirely drop everything I'm doing (working at the hospital, working at the autistic charity, doing my degree/masters) and persue music. Again. Like it didn't break me completely enough last time. And I'm just under £1,500 in debt due to all of the above things (not including the 10 grand of student loans I have to pay back). All of this resulting in me being thrust completely into limbo, and quite probably the next time my feet touch the ground and everything settles down, it will be into a life that is completely different.

Yeah I know, right? Fucking mental.

Men Of The World, Listen Up.

I've run out of patience with men.

So me, Charolastra No.1, Pickled Lily and the Stig were in the pub yesterday discussing men and women. And why it's still so bloody complicated. It all stemmed from talking about my half-baked tryst with Rocket Boy which appears to have been fraught with confusion from any given angle. He is still reeling a bit from whatever happened with his newly exed girlfriend, and backed away suddenly and strangely from our flirty play, presumably not wanting to jump into another relationship. Which, by the way, I never wanted from him. So now, I have to miss out on a cute boy, who I could have had a bit of fun and a bit of making out with, because apparently women are all gagging for a relationship.

I just want some fun, dammit. And fun doesn't have to be meaningless, it just has to be.. simpler. Gentler. Without agenda. Why is that so hard to find?

Why is it that fun gets such a bad rap - having fun makes you feel good about the world, and can be lovely. Having fun with someone is brilliant, but for some reason when you say 'I want to have some fun with you' it makes it sound unimportant, or hedonistic. And why is it that the default assumption is that men only want a fuck, and women only want a relationship? Because it's bollocks! Well, the 2nd part is, anyway.

Cute boys of the world, listen up. If I am by chance flirting with you, this does not mean that I want to marry you, or meet your parents, or bloody fall in love with you, I would just like to have a conversation and a bit of a laugh. And possibly some sex. I would like a sprinkling of conversation with my sex please. And maybe a dash of friendship. No? Just the sex then. For the record, I'm pretty cool. I'm interesting, and funny, and I'd love to see if you are too. Why would you not want to get to know me a bit, hmm? And why are you not flattered that another person wants to know what you're about, if only for a moment? Because apparently that is terrifying to you. And as such, just so you know, men of the world, you are missing out.

Desire.

Love belongs to desire, and desire is always cruel.

It is unlikely that any portrait will ever do Desire justice, since to see her (or him) is to love him (or her), passionately, painfully, and to the exclusion of all else.

Desire smiles in brief flashes, like sunlight glinting from a knife-edge. And there is much else that is knife-like about Desire.

Never a possession, always the possessor, with skin as pale as smoke, and eyes tawny and sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever you are.

Everything.

Despair.

Despair says little, and is patient.

Despair, Desire's sister and twin, is queen of her own bleak bourne. It is said that scattered through Despair's domain are a multitude of tiny windows, hanging in the void. Each window looks out on a different scene, being, in our world, a mirror. Sometimes you will look into a mirror and feel the eyes of Despair upon you, feel her hook catch and snag upon your heart.

Her skin is cold, and clammy; her eyes are the colour of sky, on the grey, wet days that leech the world of colour and meaning; her voice is little more than a whisper, and while she has no odour, her shadow smells musky and pungent, like the skin of a snake.

Despair says little, and is patient.

A Rush Of Fear To The Head.

I'm terrified and mistrusting and closed down and losing myself and vulnerable and I want to fight it, I'm too tired to fight it, I need a break from my head, I can't detach from the past and all of the pain, I need to laugh, start from scratch, begin again, I want to run and unburden, I want to be happy, I am withholding and I can't bear it, and I'm afraid of everything I want, afraid of being who I want to be, I've lost all clarity, finding it hard to stop judging myself, and desperately needing validation, and I can't seem to change, and I'm becoming everything I hate, and I can't handle the pressure, and I feel like a failure because I can't handle the pressure, and I feel small and I feel sad, and my own silence screams at me in the night, and I'm craving intimacy and connection and attention and affection, while as ever feeling cellularly solo, and I'm deteriorating, and I'm ill all the time, and I'm scared that I'm just a coward, and I'm scared of my own strength, that it's made me too capable at defence, that my crumbling armour is never going to break, that you will forever haunt me, that I will never be anything but my past, that I will never drop my guard, that behind my guard is nothingness, that I would be beautiful if I could only believe it, that I am my own demon, I'm ashamed of my sensitivity to the judgements of others, and I can't sleep, and I can't handle silence, and I'm so tired. I'm so fucking tired of it.