Tuesday, 26 May 2015

Untitled

Found here
Why is it so much easier to write about difficult feelings and tricky decisions than it is to write about happiness?

I'm unbearably happy at the moment. So much so, it makes me nervous, and I find myself saying to A "You aren't going to leave, are you?". I tried to push him away by being horrible once. He just gave me a cuddle and asked if I was okay. Proof, if I ever needed it, that he probably isn't going anywhere just yet.

I think it's also that reading about how happy people are is actually a little boring. We like tragedy. We like drama. We like the stories about men who don't call after a date, about kissing inappropriate married men, about friends who are no longer friends, about incestuous webs of friends who have all slept together or lived together (these are all conversations I've had in the last six months or so).

We don't like stories about the way he and I do the crossword on the tube home, or the stories about how I fall asleep on his shoulder when we're watching Eurovision, or how we spent Monday morning making avocado and poached eggs on toast. It's not interesting. It's twee.

So what do I write about?

I'm bored of reading blog posts about lipsticks and wishlists. I'm bored of posts about products that clearly wouldn't have chosen unless they were sent for free.

So it leaves me here. Posting once in a blue moon about nothing in particular. Other than to tell you that lately, I feel like I have really found my people. Those people I'd run to whether I was happy or sad or needed help or needed a laugh. Their initials are oddly alphabetical. A. B. B. C. C. C. D. E. J. M. Occasionally there's a G in there too, though often not. Some live close by. Some live far away. ALL make me hideously happy. I spend little time with people who make me feel anything less than phenomenal- I've had friendships in the past that have made me feel dreadful about myself, where I find myself constantly competing, comparing, and finding myself wanting. 

Is this it? Is this what happiness is? Feeling content, and peaceful, and generally smiling rather than feeling anxious and confused?

Of course, it's worth noting that there's an element of this that is a medicated happiness. That a huge part of me fears the fact that this is a medicated happiness. Is it real? Is it an illusion?

I like to think it's real. I suppose only time will tell.

And there was a five-month saga, that left me confused and battered and bruised.  That left me feeling baffled and happy and rejected and empowered and oh.so.guilty. Always guilty. I have to keep reminding myself that I genuinely did nothing wrong. I was always honest, never cruel. But regardless, it has now finally, absolutely been put to rest, and the weight that has been lifted from my shoulders as a result is palpable.

Anyway.

What do you want to talk about today?

Friday, 17 April 2015

Independence

It's a funny old thing, independence, don't you think?



Over the years, I've been told off on multiple occasions for bottling things up, not letting people in, keeping things to myself.Not long ago, Mama CupandSaucer sent me a text telling me It's okay to let people look after you Alice. As long as you don't take advantage- which I know you won't- then it's okay to accept offers of help.

I'm ferociously independent. I have no problem with taking myself out for lunch, or coffee, or flying alone. I have problems with people trying to do things for me. I'm small, and sometimes that makes people think I'm dainty, and need looking after- and I like to prove that I don't, by standing on kickstools in five inch heels to put posters up, or balancing precariously on the edges of things so I'm able to reach something before some tall person reaches it for me. I brush it off when I walk into things, or fall over, or get hit in the face with a ball, because I can't bear to admit that I need help.

In fact, when I was interviewed for my current job, they asked me, "What would you say your biggest weakness is?". I thought I'd already messed up the interview by this point, so decided I had nothing to lose by being totally honest. "I won't always ask for help when I need it". I gave good examples, and managed to turn it around- and clearly, it didn't damage my prospects, as they gave me the job- but even now, my boss will sometimes say to me, "Why on earth didn't you say something?!" when I fill up during a one-to-one, or threaten him with the Nerf gun he bought me because I'm so stressed. I remind him that I told him on Day 0 that I don't ask for help, and he sighs, shakes his head, and reminds me that that's what he's here for. His job is to make sure I can do my job.

The problem is though- once I let someone in, and accept their help, I become scared of relying on them. I'm scared that I'll lean on someone too hard, and they'll step away, letting me crash to the floor. It's happened before, and it will happen again. When people ask me why I won't let them in- in the past, ex boyfriends have got very upset over it- I remind them that everyone leaves. And sooner or later, they up sticks (or, in some cases, I do), and they prove me right.

A is away at the moment, and I miss him. I miss him more than I should. I'm scared that I'm too reliant on him- but at the same time, I know that he and I rely on each other. We support each other because we get each other. And that's not me losing my independence. In the early stages of our relationship, A used to laugh at the fact that I'd have to schedule him in a couple of weeks in advance because I was so busy. Now, he's my three-legged-race partner. We look out for each other, knowing that if one of us trips, the other is there to catch them.

I'm independent. But suddenly, I've realised that being independent doesn't mean I'm not allowed to depend on someone else sometimes too.

Thursday, 16 April 2015

Happiness is... (vol. 98)

On a day where work felt almost too much to bear, and life feels hard, and my heart feels heavy, and my eyes are tired- these are the days I need to write happiness lists. These are the days I need reminding that while things may sometimes seem awful, they perhaps are not endlessly so. This too shall pass.


 
Being greeted at the door with a gin cocktail on the warmest day of the year so far.

Wearing heels to work three days in a row.

Saturday morning coffee dates, with a man who brings me flowers.

White t-shirts tucked into swirly midi-skirts.

 Completing the crossword. Between us, we do it almost every time.

Green tea.

 Feeling like I'm becoming the woman I always thought I would be.

Thank you cards, hen parties, and save-the-dates.

Carrying armfuls of flowers and second hand books home.

Craft fairs and croissant dates with beautiful friends.

Menu planning.

The warmth of the spring sunshine on my shoulders.

Friday, 20 March 2015

Morning, Early Riser

 
 
"Morning early riser, couldn't you sleep?"

So he greeted me this morning. He's keeping an eye on me- sitting me down, pulling information out of my brain, making me think carefully about what has to be done now, and what I'd prefer to do now. What I can delegate up, what I can delegate down.Whether I'm sleeping. What's going on at home.

He keeps joking that I'll have my own office and department by the summer; I keep telling him I'll be Queen of the Universe by the time I'm 30. He tells me I have a lot of common sense for such a little person; I threaten to punch him for patronising me. I might be small, I tell him, but I can hit hard and pull it out of the bag when I need to. He knows that, he reassures me. He has every faith I'm not going to mess up.

We tease each other, bounce ideas off each other, keep an eye on each other. I value these moments. The half an hour of quiet conversation when the office is nearly empty at 8am. The offer of proper coffee from the little shop across the way- every morning, despite the fact he knows I've given it up for Lent. The giggly conversations while others look on in bafflement. The times he goes to put his hand on my knee and stops himself, or when I go to rest my head on his shoulder before realising I really shouldn't.

It's something. It's always been a thing. And at the same time, it's not a thing. It's nothing at all, actually.
 
 I'm happy- tired, and busy, and stressed, but happy. And having support from all sides- and knowing I'm loved by a multitude of people- helps. And A. Always A. A, who makes me forget about this and who needs me as much as I need him. A, who deserves only the best things.

Is it any wonder I wake early?