A lovely little trip to Daunt.
In a shock move I actually bought something! The Lonely Planet Guide to Thailand. I’m just dipping my toe in. Why should other people have all the fun and see the world. What have I seen? The worst parts of Limerick and County Clare and the not much better parts of North London. Okay I have seen more than that, but lately it feels like the last time I travelled was in my Third Year trip to the site of the Normandy Landings.
Here’s the scene that I woke up to on the sofa: an empty bottle of Rioja, a stack of half-used Kleenex, a half eaten packet of chocolate digestives, an open jar of Nutella and shattered glass from a broken picture frame but no photo.
The last thing I remember is being on the phone with Auntie Monica. I remember a few tears (okay a lot of tears) and her telling me to just come home. DBx
Idea for novel:
Set in Victorian London. A young woman discovers she has special powers of some sort. She only gets them when she’s 18 or something. She has to hide them or be considered a freak by her family. But then she has to use them to save her sister from a life threatening situation. Her family are deeply religious and decide to ostracize her. She is sent to America to live with her mysterious uncle (some sort of Quaker name – Dutch?) There she learns that he is part of a secret society that foretold her coming and so he agrees to teach her in the ways of The Force (but it’ll be called something that won’t infringe on copyright laws.) After these trials she has to face off against a big bad.
I’m still working on it.
Okay there are days when this town doesn’t suck. Maybe my novel shouldn’t be about the past. Maybe the here and now is more important. DBx
I wonder when I can quit this job. Caroline left today to go an work for Channel 4 as a researcher. Meanwhile I’m stuck writing copy for a blog on The Top 5 Things You Should Never Say On Your CV. Here’s what I’m thinking so far:
- Don’t make up the results of your Leaving Certificate or GCSEs – they WILL check
- Don’t bother writing about your hobbies – they’ll know you’re lying and they don’t want you to have a life outside of the office anyway
- Don’t use generic terms in your personal profile – everyone says they are a dedicated, collaborative individual, try and surprise them with things like I steal and I’d gladly step over the body of a colleague to get to the top
- Try not to swear – may sound obvious, but you’d be surprised
Killer stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree. DBx
Someone remind me why I’m doing this? I’m guessing it’s just to distract from life, right? Am I sharing stuff with you (invisible, non-existent you) or am I just documenting life so I can check back on myself in ten years time and go: oh Lord, who the hell was I back then?! Maybe I should just be writing a long list of everything I hate about living in Kentish Town. I’m sure someone will find that useful one day. Although that is a little unfair given that I’m getting it all for free for the next six months. It’s actually the perfect setting for my life right now. A no man’s land. Not quite town, not quite middle-class suburbia. It’s the ishiest of all the ‘ish’ towns. It could be worse, he could have had a flat in Paddington.
I think I might just be having a small wobble. Yesterday I nearly broke every photo in the flat. That might have been the half bottle of Malbec. They were just all staring at me, reminding me of how little I seem to be doing. Snap shots of worlds I haven’t been invited to. Reminders of the journey I’m not being allowed to take.
No allowed or not willing? Not brave enough? I’ve just realized… I’m the ant. I’m the bloody ant, aren’t I?
I think I’ll finish the other half of the bottle tonight, but to be safe I’ll pop some Post-it’s on all the frames to remind me that they are just photographs.
I’ve always loved to write. I was considered quite the Dorothy Parker at university (was not.) So I’m arming myself with the pen once more (artistic licence people – I know what a keyboard is) It’s time to cure what ails me. We all know “the cure for boredom is curiosity” and I don’t need the cure for curiosity. So I’m going to flex my muscles on the page. God knows I’m not flexing them anywhere else.
I won’t be moaning. This isn’t therapy. Although maybe it’ll start out as therapy. But it won’t feel like therapy. I think I’ve written the word therapy too many times and now that’s left me feeling like I’ve protested too much and this actually is therapy. Okay, fine, maybe there’ll be a little bit of therapeutic wordplay. But mainly it’s an exercise in getting my voice back.
This is one of my favourite places. I’ll be honest I rarely buy. But I do like to just sit and soak it all in. On a sunny day, even in the heart of winter, the light through the windows is magical. And I can walk it from home if I’m feeling particularly energetic.
I was always in there, he just took the shine off. Ew, no. He didn’t do anything. I did it. Let it be done, at least. Love will do that to a person. If it even was love. It was more like a prolonged stomach ache with long bouts of loneliness and average, intermittent smushy snoggy whatever thrown in as a distraction.
NO! Not about him! Even my blarg is about him.
So sad. I can’t quite get what’s going on this year…