808s & Heartbreak

What do you do when someone you love ends up going?

I don't think I have ever really been in love or loved someone like I have felt recently, but again life changes and becomes a cruel mistress.


I once again find myself going through a tumultuous time of separation and recovery. So what to do?

Kanye wrote an album about it, but unfortunately I don't have all his talents.

Usual things to keep me alive when even breathing hurts:

- ordering mass amounts of food to be delivered from around the corner to your door (even though you have no appetite)
- pilfering Netflix from the ex until the password is changed

- actively not showering. Like, finding ways of doing things differently so I don't have to get wet. i.e. getting food delivered instead of walking 7 minutes to the shop. Note - I enjoy this way more than a normal human should. I don't smell, don't get me wrong, but I like the physical sign of unhappiness. The way my hair stays like those old Cabbage Patch dolls with bendy hair you could mould into any shape.

- reading the back of cereal boxes/food items as that is the only attention span I have for literacy right now
- crying over the dishes he left in the sink or his dirty laundry in the bottom of the hamper- scream-singing every Tegan and Sara song and even some old Celine's
- pacing (this is far more comforting than I thought it would be. In fact, I'm starting to see the joy of walking up and down the hallway, counting footsteps. And beginning to realise how closely a break up resembles behaviour showcased in the film, A Beautiful Mind.)  


I even tried going out with some friends this weekend but my vibe was so low that I ended up bringing the energy of the entire group to new depths. By the end, I had successful, happy friends questioning their own life choices. What is this all about? Does love exist? Am I really proud of my life? If a tree falls in the woods, does anyone hear it? I eventually just had to just leave before we all ended up drinking some Kool Aid in a circle.  



I have also exhausted my pool of friends to tap into and cry to. There are only so many times that you can say, "but why if we were in love?" before they cut off all communication. Another side note - it's only been two days.... two. So instead of talking about the only thing I want to talk about, I have to talk about really small things so that they continue to engage with me in a pleasant way. I talked about wind drafts in my house for 15 minutes today to just keep hearing human voice and not my own breathing whilst laying facedown on my couch. 

It's also interesting how one's feelings can change so drastically over the course of a day when going through a break up.  

Wake up (now about 5am) - Do I have to open my eyes today? Can my body liquify and just absorb into my mattress?
Morning - I can do this! I can do anything! I am a strong, confident woman who has a great life! I will live life to the fullest and not let this break my stride.
Lunch - I will literally die without him
Afternoon - Maybe if I am super cute and do all the right things, I can trick him into loving me again.
Dinner - I'm totally fine with this, in fact, I agree with it. I will write him to thank him for being the bigger person and doing it for what's best for both of us.
Evening - Bed. Bed without him. Him. Him.  Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Weep.
Sleep - Sporadic and riddled with dreams of us.  

All in all, it's the things that distract us or tricking us into believing it will be ok that keep us going.  To this day, I still think it was the wrong choice and we should be together. But it is evening now...

Small Bag Vacation

When trolling through the internet looking for cheap flights, people seem to lose their minds. I will agree to do just about anything to save £75 on a flight.

16 hour layover in Tajikistan? Sure! I can experience a different culture's airport and hospitality service!

Only a handbag for a week's trip? Easily done! I never wear more than two outfits on holiday, and I have one pair of shoes that goes with everything! I don't need any liquids/gels, I'll go au-naturel!

All day flight with no in-flight entertainment, next to an infant's section? I LOVE kids! I'll be THEIR entertainment!


However...when it comes time to the flight and packing for the excursion, panic begins to set in.

Speak Tajik? I don't speak Tajik! I'll be like Tom Hanks in The Terminal! I'll get stuck there, unable to ask for help and just waste my years away forced to live in the airport. 

A handbag? I can't wear only wear pair of shoes! I need to have at least one brown and one black pair! A week???? My hair will be a wild beasts if I don't have gels!

I hate babies. 


I am currently packing to go to Italy for 4 days with only a hand bag allowance. Why would I ever think that was ok? It's also in between seasons, so it may be open toe weather or maybe boot. I don't know, I've never been to Milan. Also the dreaded weather check. I've just found out it will be raining later in the week, how do I prepare for a completely different weather change mid-trip with only one bag?

The debate of if I can go without deodorant or underwear should never happen. But then again, how many pairs does one really need? Especially if we go with the old inside-out rule.

Debating what you'll pack is like the ultimate Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs put into practise. I am floating pretty between the Physiology and Safety bottom areas of the pyramid. So I know that on this trip there is no way I will access the Love, Belonging or Esteem parts.

Well I guess that's that. Instagram photos for the first 24 hours and then after my face/hair/clothing/general appearance, starts to decay, you will see less and less of me on social media.

Soap Dish

I've recently moved into a new place in my favourite part of the city. I have one flatmate who is rarely in the country, so I have free roam of the place. I love it.

There are large windows, a deck filled with plants, an open living space and it overlooks a garden. Although all these things are great, it's the small things I enjoy about living in my own place again.

The first thing is the soap dish. We have a bar of soap that rests on a stone-looking dish. After someone washes their hands, it collects with the tiniest amount of excess water. Twice a day, I get to pour the dish out into the sink and I love it.

This probably makes me insane, but I think of it as more of a charming quirk of my personality. I somewhat of an Amelie, just no one has made a french film about me yet.

There are also several, full-length mirrors scattered throughout the flat - even in the shower. This makes it sound somewhat of a sex den but I assure you it's all in good taste. Being able to see myself constantly throughout the day not only feeds my vanity but also has motivated me to become more fit. Nothing says, hit the gym, like a mirror in the shower.

So let's see where this place takes me. So far, so good.

A story for Brenda

It would seem I follow my father's footsteps of difficult relationships and poorly chosen partners. Over the years, many tearful calls have been made to him for the "tough it out" and "suck it up" advice. He barely broke stride after two divorces and even remained optimistic about his own love life. Neither of us saw her coming, though. And neither of us would be the same.

...

I remember fighting with Brenda (my stepmum) as a bratty, resistant teen - and ashamedly into my early twenties as well. Seeing women come and go in my father's life, I couldn't be bothered to get to know her. I was hard, callous and just plain difficult. I would test my luck and push the boundaries. However, I was met with a worthy adversary. 

Unlike others, she didn't get down to my level and push back. She was kind, thoughtful, funny and down to earth but also a fierce matriarch. She didn't take any shit from my dad and or myself. She set the example of how we should treat each other in our family and showed real strength; raising a son of her own, on her own. She knew she could make it alone with him again and we knew that if we didn't sort our lives out, she would. It was powerful to see. She was also one of the first women my mother liked as well (which was a nearly impossible feat).

Over time I saw my father soften and change. Become someone I didn't know he could, and grow into a better person. Some might say it just came with age, but I know the difference. She was unwavering in her strength and ability to keep people in line. I have endless respect for her.

Kindness is a hard trait to master, especially toward someone else's daughter, but I know she is only a phone call away and her advice is always sound. For years the only thing that made me believe in soulmates was the love both my biological parents found in their current partners. And perhaps it is these two examples that led me to finding my own as well.

I'm glad I overcame my stubborn, spoiled behaviour, as I have tapped into a wealth of knowledge, love and support I didn't know was there. 

Happy birthday Brenda, and thank you. X

Maybe I should have some pants on.

Windows aren't walls.

It's taken my entire life to realise this and still as an adult, I forget. At my house back in Canada, when it got dark, I would dance in front of the large "mirror" which was our sliding glass door. Usually with some inappropriate hip hop moves I just learned from B.E.T.

Now living in an apartment, I once again feel invincible behind the large bay windows. No one looks up when on the high street. They can't see me here in my bra, crying to the Les Mis soundtrack.

I am very aware of the people across the road, however. Those stupid idiots don't know I can see them. There is Mr. Naked, who is quite literally, always naked. Then there is Smokey Smokersons, who types on a typewriter all angsty, chuffing away at cigarettes (also topless). There are more, all oblivious that I am creeping across the way, completing Rear Windowing them.

Yet...I am doing the same. Why do I feel like I am in a police interrogation room with one-way glass? It's even worse though, as now we are having work done to the outside of our walls and window edges. There is scaffolding around the entire front and back of our flat. All windows have foreign men hollering about and chipping off sides of our building. Normally I don't see them, as I work all hours of sunlight. This is, however, my week off for half term break. I thought I would love the quiet lie-in, hibernating away my latest heartbreak but instead I am awoken every morning at 8...on the dot.

Today I was wandering around the flat, going from room to room; reading, dancing, singing, munching, when I realised - I should have some pants on. Here I am with most curtains open, wandering about in knickers. I know workers are around me because I can hear the details on their conversations. Someone wants to have Nandos for lunch. Another is p*ssed off that the g*d damn, f*cking blaster keeps jacking back and won't hit clean against the wall.

I didn't put pants on. I just quickly squirrelled about the house, closing every sliver of light out with curtains. Who needs sunlight anyway?

Why it's good to be friends with an ex...if you can.

Recently, I've been forced to spend time with someone who I had some romantic connection with in the past. I wouldn't say ex, but I'd say we dabbled. All too often we hear to stay away from people we once loved and lost because it's hard on our spirit. But if you can get passed it, it can be a great thing.

Don't get me wrong, it is hard though. But why?

I guess we show that person more of us than we do most people. They see exposed bits of our hearts and souls that we spend time covering up. We want to be together and strong, but they know your weaknesses. You are made fully human.

It is also difficult depending on who did the breaking up. If you ended it with them, there might be fear of sending them unclear signals. You don't want to muddy the waters and leave them confused by what you're after.

If they've broken up with you, it can be a fresh wound you are rubbing salt in. Why do they want me in their life but not entirely? What about me isn't good enough to be their partner? Do they still love me romantically? There can be confusion and blurriness that tears you in two directions. We hear being near someone you once loved can prevent you from ever getting over them. But can it really?

Let's say we are to look at this completely practically and logically. First, you need to fully embrace that you are not ever meant to be with this person. The fact is, you're not. If you were meant to be with them, you would be. The breakup wouldn't have happened. When you find the person you want to be with, you'll be with them. Not sitting around wondering if you should or shouldn't.

Once you've swallowed that sadness pill and fully accepted that cold hard truth, you will likely start seeing why it's better for you to be friends. This is helpfully reinforced when you spend time with your ex or talk to them. All the things you didn't like about them reaffirm why you wouldn't want them as a life partner and all the good things remind you why you still want them somewhat in your life.

Great. Fab. They're around now. Maybe on the phone or in person. Now what do you do with that?

Well, you need to solidify the friendship and move away from the blur. The only way I think I saw this shift was when we started talking about new loves and interests. The first time it was brought up, the words were actually cutting. What do you mean you love it when she does _____? I thought you hated that... What do you mean best kiss? F*ck you buddy. But maturity (and job circumstance) made me let it go. The more it's talked about, the more the relationship shifts. It's no longer about you two, but about your friend and their new person or vice versa.

This discussion also can give you insight into your ways as a partner and the reactions or paths you choose to take. When discussing new relationships with an ex that cares about you as a friend, they want your life to be happy. They don't want you to go down a path you went with them and lead to dark days. They can see you. They can tell you when you are being crazy or when you need to stand up for yourself more. They push you to be better than you were with them.

I find for myself, that I repeat the same relationship problems. I get insecure about something and I cling on or I become too cold when I should be caring and supportive. My sarcastic and deadpan undertones can be misinterpreted as disinterest or callousness. However, when you're in it. You're in it. For me, it's tunnel vision. Good guy friends can remind you that those behaviours are self-destructive and good guy friend exes, can speak to it on a more personal level.

This of course is assuming you still care and love your exes on some level. Obviously I have some dirt rat exes that I wouldn't give water to if they were dehydrating in a gutter. These exes I'm talking about should want you to happy and realise that they couldn't do that for you. Not wholly.

When you're in that position of having someone care for you but not want to rejoin your intimate life, there is a freedom in that. You can do the things you might have censored before in your dating realm, all while having someone who truly cares near. I know, it sounds impossible to get there with a person, but you can. Me being forced to do so has made me cherish the actual friendship that remains after the initial fires have been put out.

I'm not sure how it will all play out, so this post could be entirely moot but it's worth a try, or at the very least, a story.

Fiberglass Childhood

Today I got a fibreglass sliver. When I told my friend this happened, I thought immediately it would be followed by some sort of solidarity. "Oh yes Katie! Those are the worst! They never come out! They only instead work deeper and deeper into your body until they become part of your bone structure."

Nope.

Instead I got, "what the f*ck is that?"

I feel like a huge part of my childhood was spent getting and subsequently spending time removing slivers of fibreglass lodged into my fingers and oddly...ass cheeks. I thought this was something that most people experienced. But then as I started to recount my experiences of when I GOT these slivers, I realised they were completely unique to me as most children's grandparents didn't have life-size fibreglass frames of cars in their backyards. The whitest of trash.

As mentioned four words ago, yes, my grandpa did have a fibreglass car in his yard. How it got there and why, I never knew or asked - I just knew I never wanted it to go away. My cousins and I would crawl in and out of it, pretending to drive away from heists etc. all while dodging hornet nests and slivers. We never felt the sharp pangs of skin destruction until after a play date and our adrenaline had settled, then it was game over. I wouldn't be able to sit for days. I would have sharp, cut-like sensations on the back of my legs/ass causing me to whine and hop around in agony. My grandma would give us damp facecloths to soak the wounds and my dad would scratch the area with a credit card, hoping to remove any bits from the surface. It was true though, fibreglass once in, never out. I'm sure that parts of my body are completely indestructible due to their plastic content.

Even as the car continued to degrade and decompose and our wounds became more and more severe, we all hoped the car would stay forever. I remember the day it was gone and I was heartbroken. The car was a cruel mistress, but it provided hours and hours of entertainment. Nearly a masochist lifestyle at 10, but we loved that car. Today the sharp burning in my finger reminded me of these sweet times and I longed for warm summers, short shorts, and burning red back of the thighs.

Zero F*cks Given

Well I've started 2015 with a failure.

One of my resolutions was to write more...more specifically, write 31 blog posts in 31 days. I failed.
But guess what, I don't care.

Not because I don't appreciate my readers or believe in following through with a pledge, but because another one of my resolutions is to care less about things that don't actually matter in the grand scheme of life. To "Shake it off" as T Swift puts it so catchily.

I've decided to not give a f*ck as much as I used to about things that would have made me feel guilty or a little be ashamed before.

Someone said to me a few months ago, everything in moderation including moderation. Clever. And I agree. The now trending line of "zero f*cks given" is fantastic as it reminds us that some things that happen to us are really not that important. Some pledges we make and break with ourselves, just happen because life is constantly fluid. Previously I would have felt immense guilt for bailing on a resolution so early in the year but really, I flew back to London, I started working and I got tired. Dead tired. So I don't give a f*ck that I didn't write because now I can.

I vow we all give a few less f*cks about the small things but give a few more for people that are worth it.

Last Visits

Tomorrow I head back home to London. This weekend has been finishing up any last minute visits. Today I went over to see the lovely and ever beautiful Jaime and her family.

More often than not, women are seen as competitors of each other and fight tooth and nail over the smallest things. Instead of acknowledging other women's talents and beauty, we pick apart even the tiniest details and throw them under the bus.

One person you could not even find flaw with, is my friend Jaime and trust me, I've tried (wink). She is hilarious, talented, loving and absolutely glowing. It's times like these that I wish I lived closer to home because she is an inspiration. After visiting Jaime and her funny family, I left feeling energised and uplifted. She has a way of seeing the funny side of everything and can laugh off the small or even sometimes the big stuff.

Female role models are important for women, both in their youth and as adults. It was great to reconnect with someone that inspires me to lead an entertaining but family-centred life.

I will definitely miss all my friends and family who keep me grounded and remind me of who I am. However, it is time to go back and return to the life I have built.

Book Binge

I love books. Like the actual book itself, not necessarily reading. Don't get me wrong, reading is amazing and I was raised on it. My mum being a librarian, really hammered home the importance of literacy and where a book can take you. But now in my older, more hectic lifestyle, I find it hard to find time to sit in one place let alone read a book.

This has not stopped me from accruing books as if I were ripping through one a week. I still consider myself quite well read, whilst probably actually being one illiterate S.O.B.

There is something about the way they look - hard covers that give a satisfying knock when you drum your fingers on them, beige soft pages, catchy titles, smart cover art - it all draws me in.

This holiday alone I have purchased numerous books, books that I must now lug home in my carry-on back to London.

Each year season month I record a reading list to get through and now more often than not I barely scratch the surface.



This year another one of my resolutions is to read more and watch less.



The first book I'm going to power through is Yes Please by Amy Poehler. Let's see if Leslie Knope can get the ball rolling for 2015. You can see its edge just below Lena Dunham's but above Insurgent (don't judge, you don't know me.)

31 in 31 part deux

The starting of a new year means the starting of once again lying to ourselves about all changes we're going to make for a better life. Usually mine involve some sort of physical fitness challenge (insert background laugh track), a decision to have a positive outlook (fuck that), or a dedication to a new skill i.e. knitting, kite flying, basket weaving or the like.

This year, I've decided that I will make small promises to ensure they can be fulfilled. I find that when I make a daily "to-do" list and I included things like brush teeth, wake up, shower, etc. I feel much more accomplished when I cross them off. It also gets the ball rolling so I might actually tackle an important job such as "paying rent" or "lesson planning" or "grocery shopping."

So I've brought back the 31 in 31 to hopefully keep up my writing routine. I also have brought back the "no shame" promise to myself. Once, I gave up shame for Lent and it was the best 40 days of my life. No more dark mornings or pillow wallowing. It's time to live the dream and be laughing while I do it.

I have a great feeling about 2015 and thanks for sharing the start with me.