End of the day

Wow, that's a phrase I hate, 'at the end of the day'. Used so much, and means so little. Anyway, I had these words in my head and thought there was no place better to put them. I think I have to start being a do-er and not a thinker <--- see what I did there, totally ruined it. I look all around me, and I'm surrounded by 'doing' people. You know the people, who just do stuff. Don't like their lives, so they change it. Today I spent 3 hours just reading a book in the sun. Was nice but I suppose I could have done more with the time. Book was good though and I'm happy I read it (only now I have nothing to read so swings and roundabouts). Then I walked to the shop for ice-cream. And realisesd that if the world suddenly turned on it's axis, I'd be one of the first to go since I'm so very unfit (probably helps here, if I tell you the book was called Flood and was basically about the world flooding - if it was a movie, it would be better than Waterworld). And if I was a doer kind of person, I'd get up off my lazy ass and get myself fit. However, running bores me and since I've never set foot into a gym (boxercise classes aside), I kind of don't want to ruin that record. Actually running doesn't bore me, if I'm honest, I'm probably too embarrassed to do it. I run like Bambi, it's not attractive and the masses shouldn't be subjected to it really.
But then you think, maybe I should do it in case of a world event where I'm going to need to run - be it from Zombies, or Crazies, or floods etc etc. Another thought, maybe I should change the books I read! :o)
I don't know, I'm 30-ish something and I'm a little bit stagnant, a little bit in a rut, a little bit not living like I think I should. And then we're back to the fat lazy ass again. Gosh, it's like a circle with me.
I believe it has something to do with the weather, the sun comes out and I want to play. I come alive in the warmth, I bask when it shines. I crave the heat and thus try to shake Winter from my bones and attempt to emerge butterfly like from the shell of the miserable months.

This isn't really what I wanted to write about, funny how you start a sentence and them ramble and amble onto something else. I like it.... it feels good. So good in fact, that I shall put a little picture in here, not one that should be shared, I imagine this might be the only picture of me in my glasses. How very vain that I hate being photographed in them (another blog for another time maybe?) I share this picture, to show what a cracking good time I had with Lily on Thursday night. We danced on the wii-dance, we polished off bottles of stuff and put the world to rights as only girl folk can do on a bottle of vodka. I love that I have friends like that, I wish some of them weren't so bloody far away, but I love that I have them.

Steps to take

This is my step, this is where I'm writing from. Not a 'naughty' step but an Ali step. This is my 'cup of coffee in the morning' step, my 'late afternoon' step, my 'reading' step. The step where I dream, I ponder, I think of all the things I want to say, need to do. The step where I gain my confidence to be who I am. And if you walked past this step, you wouldn't know it for what it was.

I've falled in love, watched my son's first haircut, laughed like an hyena, written so much and cried for hours on this step. 13 years of step-love. A hunk of concrete leading to my garden and yet it's so comfy. It's like it is my throne, all mine. And I do have other garden furniture but none so homely as my step.

Sweetness

Isn't it lovely when you get a nice email? I've just got one, totally unexpected and out of the blue. Wasn't a long email but had enough sentences to keep me happy. And I like that it made me smile. And I like that it had some nice bits in it to make me a little warm inside.
I do like email - I always did like letter writing, but I hadn't written a proper letter in ages until a few weeks ago, and that experience has kind of put me off for a bit. It wasn't that the letter wasn't nice, it was. It just ended up being read by someone's mother. It wasn't full of filth, no I used lots of correct grammar and punctuation. But it wasn't a letter for a mother to read.

Home time blues

Sometimes I get this ache in my heart. It's where my family is, where my friends lie, where I want to be. It's the place I was born, the place that watched me grow, the place that remains so beautiful. When people are homesick, they tend to remember the sights, scenes and memories they acquired while being there. I'm that, but I'm also homesick for the place that grows. I devour the news from 'home' - and watch how it's moving and shaking and I wish I was a part of it all.
And I say 'home' but I doubt it is now. So really I'm sick for a place I once was a part of. I wonder if it's because I've never said goodbye properly. It's always been a 'see you soon' when I leave, I always expect to come back.
I know my being and soul would thrive should I be lucky enough to live there. I know that I would maybe still live the life I live here, but it would have so much more personality to it. And my aunt would be there, and I can't begin to put into words how I miss her company. I have family in England, I have my parents. I have people I would miss so much should I leave this island. They say it's a small world and such a global community and I get that, but it's still too big for my liking. To see pictures of your closest friends babies, but not be able to watch them grow in front of you, makes the 'global' community seem like showing a drought stricken area a picture of rain but not letting them hold their hands out to feel it.
And I wonder if the www makes expats long that much more for their 'motherland' - I don't ever recall my dad longing for England the way I yearn for Africa. Or maybe it's Africa, maybe once it's in your blood, it just keeps calling for you. I can remember my dad pining for Southern Africa when in the UK so maybe that theory works.
And maybe I'm just romantising the whole situation. I wanted to come to Europe, I love being so close to London for those times when I want 'big lights, bright city'. Maybe I'd be happy if I just had a beach with sand instead of pebbles. Maybe it's as simple as that. Maybe I want a life I was never meant to live.

Weather

As I've lived in England for a million years now (not quite but think it's the longest gap year ever), I think I'm entitled to bleat about the weather. Or indeed blog a bit about it.

Nothing like a touch of Spring and warm weather to make you absolutely abhor it and curse when the 'real' weather comes back into play.

So last week we had unseasonally balmy stuff, lots of sunshine, a bit of heat - indeed temps right up to 20C! Glorious for March. Cue today and it's pretty crap again. Sharp winds, bad tempered looking clouds and a high of 10C. And I had to walk home. Of course, when I started the day off, it looked nice so I was dressed pretty unappropriately. Wind whistling through my ears (nothing much between them), hands like the proverbial ice cubes and legs turning blue. Not a happy bunny. In fact it's taken me two cups of coffee to feel vaguely able to string a sentence without stuttering.
Grr, just make up your mind, be warm or carry on with Winter until it's time to be warm.

Anyway, it took my mind off my hideous wardrobe malfunction <--- oh yes, wearing summer clothes wasn't my only mistake this morning. Getting dresssed in the dark and putting my underwear on backwards and inside out appears to be a talent of mine in the making!

Another musing....

of mine while bored and having the urge to type. Not sure when I did this one, maybe circa 2009

Love is never having to say you're sorry.

Bollocks! Love is being able to say you are sorry knowing that it will be accepted without a smirk and an urge to punch the receiver in the face.
Love is knowing that no matter how much you attempt to get him around to your way of thinking, deep down you know you wouldn't love him any other way.
Love is looking at his grey hair and thinking 'bwhahahahaha' and offering to pull it out, instead of thinking 'oh oh time to trade this model in'.
Love is him telling you you probably deserve better and  you thinking 'but better is what I got'
Love is wanting to hit him so hard all his teeth fall out, kick him so that he'll never walk again and punch him so he can't breath (with anger not real physical violence)... but in the very next instance wanting to kiss him from head to ankle...slowly. **
Love is him saying something out of the ordinary like 'you smell nice'
Love sucks, but kind of rocks too.

** I feel I must clarify this bit. I never ever condone or support physical or mental abuse. I don't believe that is love at all. What I'm talking about here, is that feeling of frustration you get when someone infuriates you so much but you love them all the same and can't help but grin at their attempt to wind you up.

14.11.10

I wrote the below on headings date, on a piece of paper. I've found that piece of paper and I wish to share it a bit.

"It's quite amazing that heartache doesn't change, no matter how old you are. The intensity & rawness remain as real as it did when you were 15 to now when you are decades older. You ask the same questions of yourself: What did I do wrong? It had to be me didn't it? Why am I not good enough? Will I ever find love again? And the range of emotion doesn't change either. From sobbing into your pillow to raging at the Universe for cracking open your ribcage, tearing out your heart with a rusty spoon and scooping out your soul, before eating it with one greedy gulp.

And the one thing you know that will be true, is that you'll never love like that again. With every fresh stomping of your guts, the repair takes a bit more of your trust, the cracks aren't mended as well as they could be, and you find it harder to fall as hard. I wonder how much love one person is allowed? Have I had my quota? Does it dry up and think 'sod that, I'm not doing it anymore'. Are your butterflies of happiness replaced by elephants of cynicism? I don't fall as freely as I did back then, I know this. It takes so much for me to let a person into my heart. So then, when I do fall in love, it hurts like buggery when I'm not good enough, not worthy of their honesty and their love.

I don't worry about being left on the shelf. Because I own the shelf, when I leave it, it's only ever temporary".

The rest is just a bit too personal to share online. But I'll say this:
I do think there lies a fault in me, as most of my so called loves have moved onto really good relationships. And I'm still on my shelf drawing circles in the dust. Actually, this post could come across like I'm looking for love and maybe this is where the fault is. I'm not. I just ponder why I make constantly bad choices in men. I ponder if it's gene related or heart related, do I put faith in totally unsuitable men for me (who I assume are suitable to others)? OR do I choose these unsuitable men because I don't want committment?
Answers on a postcard.