Emotions are hard. They are painful to handle, difficult to read and impossible to predict. Yes, we all need them to be able to feel the wonderful elements of life and subsequently, we must feel the rough, the heartache, the pain in order to feel love and passion and joy with the maximum effect, but sometimes when you're ill and all you want is calm, emotions are almost impossible to deal with.
Realising you're not important to someone, someone you hold dear, is challenging to accept at the best of times, so throw an illness in and that's it, Niagara fucking falls.
At times tears can feel like the end, falling rapidly and without an end in sight, but then there are those times when they bring relief, falling slowly down your cheek one tear at a time. They bring with them the realisation that a part of your life, a part of you maybe over. These feelings are not necessarily a negative emotion but when you're filled with a physical pain of flu and perforated eardrums, the inner strength to see the positive melts away. No matter how much relief they bring, goodbyes fill me with a certain sadness.
So my way of saying goodbye to one part of my life (yes, it was a really REALLY massive huge stinking part of it) and to welcome in the new, I have decided to spend my sick day writing a letter to my future. So here it is, my letter to my future Mr Josephine Maria;
Dear you,
If I can do one thing for our future, writing this letter is it. Everything else I do may seem irrational, silly and possibly out of a Jane Austen novel, so take this letter as my apology.
I will spontaneously break into song. A lot. If I say or hear a line that happens to belong in a song I know and love, it will take a mountain to stop me from singing it. And I have a terrible singing voice. If you want to shut me up, just kiss me.
Kiss me endlessly; don't be afraid to do it. Kiss me whenever and wherever you like. If I have chosen to be with you, I love you, so therefore do not ask, do not wait, just kiss me. I will love you all the more for it. Unless, of course, I am vomiting into a toilet. And then seriously, what sort of sicko are you? I'm vomiting, why would you even want to kiss me at that moment? Why? What is wrong with you?
I mock, but only when I care. Please take my gentle banter as a compliment. And please, for the love of Nutella, mock me back. Tease me. If you love me, I will know you are doing it to make me smile. And yes, you will be rewarded.
Use Nutella; you can always win me round with it. If you present me with it and I don't smile, you're in trouble. Real trouble. I don't know how to bring you back from that, but hopefully you'll know me well enough by then so surprise me. But not with your penis. If I don't want the Nutella you've handed me you can bet your fat arse I don't want your penis. Not at that time anyway.
Spend a day with me describing the film of us. Involve car chases, speeding fines and kicking someones butt on Senlac Hill before winning your girl (that would be the part I play).
Dance. Badly. I will adore you for it.
Kiss me, every morning. I know I've mentioned this before, but I can't stress how much love I feel when you are holding me close, kissing my lips.
Plan revoltingly romantic trips with me where we'll discover a city one historical fact at a time. It doesn't matter if we never go, planning them can be half the fun. And if you tell me that exploring my body is more important than exploring any city I may never recover.
Make love to me in every room in the house. And car.
Hold me when I'm sad. Love me when I cry. Laugh with me when I'm fun.
Take me on walks. Hills. Fields. Country villages. I may hum the tune from Pride & Prejudice, that simply means I'm happy.
Morning sex. If I need to explain that one we have a problem.
Tell me I'm the worlds ugliest crier, that the blotches and face swelling have convinced you that perhaps I am allergic to my own salty tears. But please, kiss me anyway.
I will send you cheeky photographs; don't be cross, just know that when you get home from work or wherever you are, my clothes are yours to be ripped off my body.
Don't cringe when I don an Eastern European accent. Life is too short, if you can't join me, just let me be.
When I am feeling sorry for myself, slap me. No one likes a moaner. Perhaps a jar of Nutella will lessen the blow.
Talk to me. I may like to talk enough for Europe but if you need me to listen, I always will.
Don't ever silently cry at night whilst watching me sleep. That's creepy, unnecessary and frankly, feathery strokers don't float my boat. If I'm that bloody beautiful as I'm sleeping next to you, rub my bottom and kiss my neck until I'm awake and we can enjoy the benefits of lying next to each other. Believe me, the benefits are multiple, mind blowing and the exercise is better than any gym! *giggles*
If you fantasise about me wearing your cricket or football shirt, just ask. I love you, I will do anything you wish. And yes, even if it's THAT football team, I will wear it for you. Be thankful.
Hold my hand when I need you to. Hold it when you need me to hold yours.
Let me wear my festive pyjamas. If you're lucky, I may even do my slow motion chicken dance in them for you.
Geek out. Whatever geeky interest brings out your boyish charm, embrace it. You will be at your most attractive when you do.
Never be embarrassed to share anything with me.
Love me. I don't know what the future holds, but if you love me let me know. The rest will sort itself out. I will love you. For as long as I can.
Life is short, let's have a little fun. Together.
Yours,
Josephine xx
Tuesday 15 January 2013
Saturday 12 January 2013
I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly...
Last New Years Eve I was hypnotised. I was sceptical but my best friends (The Blonde One and Dynasty) wanted amusing and hell, I may not have been the best friend to them so the least I can do is humiliate myself from time to time for their amusement. Trust me, they're worth it. For those of you who read this blog regularly (*snogs your face*) you'll know this NYE's hypnosis filled me with confidence. Confidence enough to risk it all and move to Manchester. It may not have been all smooth sailing (step forward The Boy with your emotional constipation and well, we won't talk about money, it's vile) but it has been one hell of a ride that has finally lead me on a path that I want to be walking upon.
So where, a year on, is my confidence now? Well actually, it's pretty high. Is it still riding high due to that funny, reggae signing hypnotised? I doubt it highly; my feelings for an emotionally unavailable dream of a man killed that long ago. Around my birthday actually, which was delightful (And where are The Boy and I now? Almost exactly where we were at that first post where I realised I had turned into a Smiths video. Him unable to commit; me unable to quite let him go. Yes, we tried becoming just friends, his conscience and feelings for me didn't allow him to hurt me any longer, however, he missed me (I melted when I saw those words. Naturally) and I was unable to say "piss off until you can commit you bloody emotionally stunted beautiful man". I'm still convinced that statement would have gone down swimmingly. Missed opportunity or what! Ahem).
So why then am I feeling so confident? Work is wonderful, yes, but that's not quite it. For I still have a degree worth to learn there.
No. Quite simply, I've met someone so to speak. To be completely honest I haven't met them. Only online. You've Got Mail, (IMBD the film if you find yourself lost at the reference) if you will *hides behind hands and plunges face into pillow Meg Ryan style*. I know. I know. You can stop rolling your eyes at me. I've already rolled them a million times. Yes, this person could a serial killer from Milwaukee but who is to say they're not Tom Hanks? My Joe Fox? (see You've Got Mail to understand!) Oh, hush your noise. He's not even from Milwaukee.
It matters not, we cannot be together. I own a small bookshop Around The Corner and he owns big nasty Fox Books that is going to put me out of business. No, wait? That *is* You've Got Mail staring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. I'm not Kathleen Kelly? He's not Joe Fox? Shucks. That's that out of the window then.
The real details are not important, nor is the guy. Not to you. Whether it's a country, a job, religion, a fetish for bondage that is keeping us apart, we are not together and that is the way it is. The end. However, I wanted to thank him. I wanted to thank him for helping me more than he can ever realise. Because of my subconscious need to be complicated and my lack of all things verging on mushy and romantic I have not (or possibly not *let* myself) click with more than three or four men in my lifetime. I know that seems surprisingly few for someone who didn't marry their childhood sweetheart at 16, but there you have it. I'm a cold hearted cow. There, you were all thinking it. Perhaps this is why I have been holding onto The Boy for such a long time. Yes, he is and always will be one of the, if not THE nicest, most generous, just all round wonderful human beings I have ever met (and man alive the boy can kiss...ahem) but possibly my ridiculous thought that he was the ONLY boy that could ever make my stomach flip more vigorously than The Cirque du Soleil was a stubborn, idiotic thought that has lead me nowhere.
As I've stated and as The Boy affectionately tells me often; I'm odd. I've always known this and it's something that bothers me not, however, I've always thought that finding a man that didn't mind this would be perfect. I was wrong. I've been so wrong.
This other boy; my online boy; my Joe Fox; this witty, talented, kind, sweet boy has made me realise that this is all wrong. I *have* been settling. I have not been giving myself enough credit. But that is going to change. This boy likes me not in spite of my Kermit the Frog impressions or 1066 geek out moments but *because* of them. He does not roll his eyes at my little musings and oddities, he lets them warm his heart. He finds them adorable.
My thought that The Blonde One and Dynasty would be my soul mates and a boy would just be someone to have fun with and to help fill my house with laughter is wrong. I will always love The Blonde One and Dynasty more than I can possibly express but now I want more than just a boy to have fun with. More than someone who will put up with my need to perform every Les Misérable song at one point over the year. More than someone who tolerates my frequent Eastern European accent or my slow motion chicken dance. I want someone who will fall in love with me just the tiniest bit more every time I get the giggles at some immature fart joke. Or sing out of tune in the shower. Who will not accept that wooly festive pyjamas are my thing and put up with them with the hope I'll don the sexy corset the next night but will see me on my sofa wearing those festive bad boys and get a big giant beautiful erection.
My Joe Fox has made me realise that not only will I find someone who will not just be settling for me but I will find someone who will wake up next to me every day and think its Christmas bloody day because they get to have my peachy bum all to themselves. Thank you, Joe. Thank you for finally helping me see something that The Blonde One, Dynasty, my mum and who ever else have been trying to convince me of for well over a decade. Thank you for the stomach flips, the tingles, the smiles, the glow, thank you, for allowing me to be me. I may not be able to have you (*sobs uncontrollably whilst rocking back and forth* dramatic, what?) but I will no longer settle for anyone less than imperfect. Anyone less than you.
And you, my dear readers, shouldn't either! Don't settle for someone who is settling for you. Don't settle for someone who "puts up" with your imperfections. Give yourself to that person who adores you for them. Who couldn't imagine or love you without them.
Now, if I could just book Joe Fox out for a wee ego trip the next time I have a job interview, that would be wonderful. Thanks. You take card, right?
So where, a year on, is my confidence now? Well actually, it's pretty high. Is it still riding high due to that funny, reggae signing hypnotised? I doubt it highly; my feelings for an emotionally unavailable dream of a man killed that long ago. Around my birthday actually, which was delightful (And where are The Boy and I now? Almost exactly where we were at that first post where I realised I had turned into a Smiths video. Him unable to commit; me unable to quite let him go. Yes, we tried becoming just friends, his conscience and feelings for me didn't allow him to hurt me any longer, however, he missed me (I melted when I saw those words. Naturally) and I was unable to say "piss off until you can commit you bloody emotionally stunted beautiful man". I'm still convinced that statement would have gone down swimmingly. Missed opportunity or what! Ahem).
So why then am I feeling so confident? Work is wonderful, yes, but that's not quite it. For I still have a degree worth to learn there.
No. Quite simply, I've met someone so to speak. To be completely honest I haven't met them. Only online. You've Got Mail, (IMBD the film if you find yourself lost at the reference) if you will *hides behind hands and plunges face into pillow Meg Ryan style*. I know. I know. You can stop rolling your eyes at me. I've already rolled them a million times. Yes, this person could a serial killer from Milwaukee but who is to say they're not Tom Hanks? My Joe Fox? (see You've Got Mail to understand!) Oh, hush your noise. He's not even from Milwaukee.
It matters not, we cannot be together. I own a small bookshop Around The Corner and he owns big nasty Fox Books that is going to put me out of business. No, wait? That *is* You've Got Mail staring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. I'm not Kathleen Kelly? He's not Joe Fox? Shucks. That's that out of the window then.
The real details are not important, nor is the guy. Not to you. Whether it's a country, a job, religion, a fetish for bondage that is keeping us apart, we are not together and that is the way it is. The end. However, I wanted to thank him. I wanted to thank him for helping me more than he can ever realise. Because of my subconscious need to be complicated and my lack of all things verging on mushy and romantic I have not (or possibly not *let* myself) click with more than three or four men in my lifetime. I know that seems surprisingly few for someone who didn't marry their childhood sweetheart at 16, but there you have it. I'm a cold hearted cow. There, you were all thinking it. Perhaps this is why I have been holding onto The Boy for such a long time. Yes, he is and always will be one of the, if not THE nicest, most generous, just all round wonderful human beings I have ever met (and man alive the boy can kiss...ahem) but possibly my ridiculous thought that he was the ONLY boy that could ever make my stomach flip more vigorously than The Cirque du Soleil was a stubborn, idiotic thought that has lead me nowhere.
As I've stated and as The Boy affectionately tells me often; I'm odd. I've always known this and it's something that bothers me not, however, I've always thought that finding a man that didn't mind this would be perfect. I was wrong. I've been so wrong.
This other boy; my online boy; my Joe Fox; this witty, talented, kind, sweet boy has made me realise that this is all wrong. I *have* been settling. I have not been giving myself enough credit. But that is going to change. This boy likes me not in spite of my Kermit the Frog impressions or 1066 geek out moments but *because* of them. He does not roll his eyes at my little musings and oddities, he lets them warm his heart. He finds them adorable.
My thought that The Blonde One and Dynasty would be my soul mates and a boy would just be someone to have fun with and to help fill my house with laughter is wrong. I will always love The Blonde One and Dynasty more than I can possibly express but now I want more than just a boy to have fun with. More than someone who will put up with my need to perform every Les Misérable song at one point over the year. More than someone who tolerates my frequent Eastern European accent or my slow motion chicken dance. I want someone who will fall in love with me just the tiniest bit more every time I get the giggles at some immature fart joke. Or sing out of tune in the shower. Who will not accept that wooly festive pyjamas are my thing and put up with them with the hope I'll don the sexy corset the next night but will see me on my sofa wearing those festive bad boys and get a big giant beautiful erection.
My Joe Fox has made me realise that not only will I find someone who will not just be settling for me but I will find someone who will wake up next to me every day and think its Christmas bloody day because they get to have my peachy bum all to themselves. Thank you, Joe. Thank you for finally helping me see something that The Blonde One, Dynasty, my mum and who ever else have been trying to convince me of for well over a decade. Thank you for the stomach flips, the tingles, the smiles, the glow, thank you, for allowing me to be me. I may not be able to have you (*sobs uncontrollably whilst rocking back and forth* dramatic, what?) but I will no longer settle for anyone less than imperfect. Anyone less than you.
And you, my dear readers, shouldn't either! Don't settle for someone who is settling for you. Don't settle for someone who "puts up" with your imperfections. Give yourself to that person who adores you for them. Who couldn't imagine or love you without them.
Now, if I could just book Joe Fox out for a wee ego trip the next time I have a job interview, that would be wonderful. Thanks. You take card, right?
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