Sunday, July 30, 2006
Holiday! Celebrate! ( In the style of Madonna )
I am away for a week at the seaside, pics and humour and things and news on lumps when I return!
Holiday! Celebrate! ( In the style of Madonna )
I am away for a week at the seaside, pics and humour and things and news on lumps when I return!
Friday, July 28, 2006
If only I got to do this everyday!
If only I got to do this everyday!
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Right here, right now.
Surrounded by bureaucratic paraphranalia, envelopes across my desk like leaves in autumn gutters, I am working the best I can. There is little to fill my time and thoughts are coursing through my synapses. Broken memories and broken dreams are colliding. There is so much I need to say to certain people.
I am afraid.
Humour is no substitute for truth.
Aching clasps my sternum, heaving, trying to bend to snap. I'm trying to show in snippets how much I can care and at the same time appear unthreatening. I don't want to scare people away. Bend my ear, I'm not going to go away.
Some where inside me there is an unexplained object that scares me more than alienating those I care about. Having been given an appointment with a consultant I am only more scared. More than the incessant Westbury lonliness, the cancer word, however unlikly hovers in my brain. I know I'm young, I know it would be very unlikely, but there's always that one in a million chance.
There's always that one in a million chance if I get a phonecall this evening it will be words I want to hear. But the reality is it will bring more pain and hurt and longing and not having and ending.
There's a one in a million chance I'll be happy again. That I'll be able to live through all this mess and be who I was supposed to be.
I wish I was like Chris and couldn't feel. For all my posturing, for all my you need to know the lowest lows to understand when you're having the highest highs, I hate having these huge sweeps between bliss and despair. The rest of the world burbles by without thinking for a second how we are a blink in the eye of the universe, that we are less than air particles moved by said eye's eyelash. Oh how to be so ignorant. My head swims with my aches and hurts and desires, but trembles, quivers at the insignificance of it all and berates myself for worrying over something so meaningless.
I am not changing the world. I'm not making anyone's life better. I am not one of the chosen few who can.
My current book, 'How the bible became a book" fills me with questions I cannot have answered. There is no one here to discuss the things that I love to dissect and I feel this absence.
I miss late night conversations about creators and gods and politics looking at glow in the dark stars.
I miss hiding in the history reading room and finding things that make me buzz with ideas and knowing I'm alive and in this place that I was so clearly meant to be.
I wish on stars and floating seeds. Always the same green star of a wish. That I might get that one chance to try.
I am afraid.
Humour is no substitute for truth.
Aching clasps my sternum, heaving, trying to bend to snap. I'm trying to show in snippets how much I can care and at the same time appear unthreatening. I don't want to scare people away. Bend my ear, I'm not going to go away.
Some where inside me there is an unexplained object that scares me more than alienating those I care about. Having been given an appointment with a consultant I am only more scared. More than the incessant Westbury lonliness, the cancer word, however unlikly hovers in my brain. I know I'm young, I know it would be very unlikely, but there's always that one in a million chance.
There's always that one in a million chance if I get a phonecall this evening it will be words I want to hear. But the reality is it will bring more pain and hurt and longing and not having and ending.
There's a one in a million chance I'll be happy again. That I'll be able to live through all this mess and be who I was supposed to be.
I wish I was like Chris and couldn't feel. For all my posturing, for all my you need to know the lowest lows to understand when you're having the highest highs, I hate having these huge sweeps between bliss and despair. The rest of the world burbles by without thinking for a second how we are a blink in the eye of the universe, that we are less than air particles moved by said eye's eyelash. Oh how to be so ignorant. My head swims with my aches and hurts and desires, but trembles, quivers at the insignificance of it all and berates myself for worrying over something so meaningless.
I am not changing the world. I'm not making anyone's life better. I am not one of the chosen few who can.
My current book, 'How the bible became a book" fills me with questions I cannot have answered. There is no one here to discuss the things that I love to dissect and I feel this absence.
I miss late night conversations about creators and gods and politics looking at glow in the dark stars.
I miss hiding in the history reading room and finding things that make me buzz with ideas and knowing I'm alive and in this place that I was so clearly meant to be.
I wish on stars and floating seeds. Always the same green star of a wish. That I might get that one chance to try.
Right here, right now.
Surrounded by bureaucratic paraphranalia, envelopes across my desk like leaves in autumn gutters, I am working the best I can. There is little to fill my time and thoughts are coursing through my synapses. Broken memories and broken dreams are colliding. There is so much I need to say to certain people.
I am afraid.
Humour is no substitute for truth.
Aching clasps my sternum, heaving, trying to bend to snap. I'm trying to show in snippets how much I can care and at the same time appear unthreatening. I don't want to scare people away. Bend my ear, I'm not going to go away.
Some where inside me there is an unexplained object that scares me more than alienating those I care about. Having been given an appointment with a consultant I am only more scared. More than the incessant Westbury lonliness, the cancer word, however unlikly hovers in my brain. I know I'm young, I know it would be very unlikely, but there's always that one in a million chance.
There's always that one in a million chance if I get a phonecall this evening it will be words I want to hear. But the reality is it will bring more pain and hurt and longing and not having and ending.
There's a one in a million chance I'll be happy again. That I'll be able to live through all this mess and be who I was supposed to be.
I wish I was like Chris and couldn't feel. For all my posturing, for all my you need to know the lowest lows to understand when you're having the highest highs, I hate having these huge sweeps between bliss and despair. The rest of the world burbles by without thinking for a second how we are a blink in the eye of the universe, that we are less than air particles moved by said eye's eyelash. Oh how to be so ignorant. My head swims with my aches and hurts and desires, but trembles, quivers at the insignificance of it all and berates myself for worrying over something so meaningless.
I am not changing the world. I'm not making anyone's life better. I am not one of the chosen few who can.
My current book, 'How the bible became a book" fills me with questions I cannot have answered. There is no one here to discuss the things that I love to dissect and I feel this absence.
I miss late night conversations about creators and gods and politics looking at glow in the dark stars.
I miss hiding in the history reading room and finding things that make me buzz with ideas and knowing I'm alive and in this place that I was so clearly meant to be.
I wish on stars and floating seeds. Always the same green star of a wish. That I might get that one chance to try.
I am afraid.
Humour is no substitute for truth.
Aching clasps my sternum, heaving, trying to bend to snap. I'm trying to show in snippets how much I can care and at the same time appear unthreatening. I don't want to scare people away. Bend my ear, I'm not going to go away.
Some where inside me there is an unexplained object that scares me more than alienating those I care about. Having been given an appointment with a consultant I am only more scared. More than the incessant Westbury lonliness, the cancer word, however unlikly hovers in my brain. I know I'm young, I know it would be very unlikely, but there's always that one in a million chance.
There's always that one in a million chance if I get a phonecall this evening it will be words I want to hear. But the reality is it will bring more pain and hurt and longing and not having and ending.
There's a one in a million chance I'll be happy again. That I'll be able to live through all this mess and be who I was supposed to be.
I wish I was like Chris and couldn't feel. For all my posturing, for all my you need to know the lowest lows to understand when you're having the highest highs, I hate having these huge sweeps between bliss and despair. The rest of the world burbles by without thinking for a second how we are a blink in the eye of the universe, that we are less than air particles moved by said eye's eyelash. Oh how to be so ignorant. My head swims with my aches and hurts and desires, but trembles, quivers at the insignificance of it all and berates myself for worrying over something so meaningless.
I am not changing the world. I'm not making anyone's life better. I am not one of the chosen few who can.
My current book, 'How the bible became a book" fills me with questions I cannot have answered. There is no one here to discuss the things that I love to dissect and I feel this absence.
I miss late night conversations about creators and gods and politics looking at glow in the dark stars.
I miss hiding in the history reading room and finding things that make me buzz with ideas and knowing I'm alive and in this place that I was so clearly meant to be.
I wish on stars and floating seeds. Always the same green star of a wish. That I might get that one chance to try.
Because I can...
(\__/)
(='.'=)
(")_(")
A rabbit - just because.
And in other news: I have done some tiny baby related knitting for a certain couple who will be having tiny scottish babies.
I got to do a powerpoint presentation at work and it was the highlight of my day and I was so excited that I almost died from over stimulation. That was yesterday. I am currently back to labelling envelopes.
It is my last day today before I go on holiday for 6 days. I've been here 4 weeks and I need a holiday already! Tomorrow will be spent doing the hair of small girls for their ballet exam. I will post pics of my amazing handiwork.
This day is dragging.....
(='.'=)
(")_(")
A rabbit - just because.
And in other news: I have done some tiny baby related knitting for a certain couple who will be having tiny scottish babies.
I got to do a powerpoint presentation at work and it was the highlight of my day and I was so excited that I almost died from over stimulation. That was yesterday. I am currently back to labelling envelopes.
It is my last day today before I go on holiday for 6 days. I've been here 4 weeks and I need a holiday already! Tomorrow will be spent doing the hair of small girls for their ballet exam. I will post pics of my amazing handiwork.
This day is dragging.....
Because I can...
(\__/)
(='.'=)
(")_(")
A rabbit - just because.
And in other news: I have done some tiny baby related knitting for a certain couple who will be having tiny scottish babies.
I got to do a powerpoint presentation at work and it was the highlight of my day and I was so excited that I almost died from over stimulation. That was yesterday. I am currently back to labelling envelopes.
It is my last day today before I go on holiday for 6 days. I've been here 4 weeks and I need a holiday already! Tomorrow will be spent doing the hair of small girls for their ballet exam. I will post pics of my amazing handiwork.
This day is dragging.....
(='.'=)
(")_(")
A rabbit - just because.
And in other news: I have done some tiny baby related knitting for a certain couple who will be having tiny scottish babies.
I got to do a powerpoint presentation at work and it was the highlight of my day and I was so excited that I almost died from over stimulation. That was yesterday. I am currently back to labelling envelopes.
It is my last day today before I go on holiday for 6 days. I've been here 4 weeks and I need a holiday already! Tomorrow will be spent doing the hair of small girls for their ballet exam. I will post pics of my amazing handiwork.
This day is dragging.....
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Saturday, July 22, 2006
CHRISTOPHER EDWARD JONES you are to refrain from scrolling down!
OR I WILL KILL YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You may only look at this picture of me in my sunglasses. That it all. I will kill you you know. I know how. *evil laugh*
Dear all, please excuse the spots,the heat does not agree with my skin, The rest of you please continue to see my crafty gify endevours....
You may only look at this picture of me in my sunglasses. That it all. I will kill you you know. I know how. *evil laugh*
Dear all, please excuse the spots,the heat does not agree with my skin, The rest of you please continue to see my crafty gify endevours....
The cushion is ready!
It has a faceless friend.
Excuse the mess of clothes. This is Chris' present, a thank you for having me. Those sunglasses are going to get work out during the week I'm staying at Chris' house at the seaside.
CHRISTOPHER EDWARD JONES you are to refrain from scrolling down!
OR I WILL KILL YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You may only look at this picture of me in my sunglasses. That it all. I will kill you you know. I know how. *evil laugh*
Dear all, please excuse the spots,the heat does not agree with my skin, The rest of you please continue to see my crafty gify endevours....
You may only look at this picture of me in my sunglasses. That it all. I will kill you you know. I know how. *evil laugh*
Dear all, please excuse the spots,the heat does not agree with my skin, The rest of you please continue to see my crafty gify endevours....
The cushion is ready!
It has a faceless friend.
Excuse the mess of clothes. This is Chris' present, a thank you for having me. Those sunglasses are going to get work out during the week I'm staying at Chris' house at the seaside.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Trains
The commute is perhaps one of the nicest things about my working life. That's not something you hear everyday, is it? The train journey from Westbury to Bath, especially in the early mornings is dreamy. It encompasses rolling green fields, misty valleys and quaint villages made of Bath stone that glow in the early morning sunshine.
I like to sit by the window, head angled against the glass. From this vantage I can watch the rails go past, great long silver snakes that are constant agaist the blur of the landscape. They connect me with home, and connect me with work and don't change wherever I go.
Trains are one of my favourite forms of transport. They hold memories for me. The first I remember is going to Southampton with my mother, to stay with my grandparents. There's a new label on my rucksack that I make my mother read to me. It has my adress on it, and it's in it gets lost. I remember the ribena we bought in cartons from the refreshments trolley, and me being adament I had to give my own ticket to the conductor, not my mother.
Other memories encompass those shopping trips you'd take with friends in the summer holidays, buying pittance but loveing the excitement of being teenagers out without parents. Then come the one where I'd be snuggled in someone's lap on the way home from the cinema. Then the most recent, the glimmering journeys to Southampton, full of books and learning and interesting conversations with my fellow passengers.
I love travelling on the train when I went to Holland with my family. We travelled from Wassenaar to Amsterdam on a double decker tilty train that was clean and fast and puctual and oh - so - cheap! I look forward to the trip from the airport to Centraal Station when Chris and I go to Amsterdam, even though it's a notorius journey for thieves. I shall sit on my bag and refuse to be distracted by knocks on the window and my fellow passengers. I shall even ignore you, Chris, and breathe in that train carriage smell and make a new train memory to add to all my others.
Of course, another nice things baout trains is the fact that they provide nice mindless, empty time for knitting. My cushion cover is coming on well, I am about 1/3 through the back, and debating closures. I think I might make it longer than half of the front and make and envelope type closure to slip the cushion pad through.
----Edit for Yellow----
I like to sit by the window, head angled against the glass. From this vantage I can watch the rails go past, great long silver snakes that are constant agaist the blur of the landscape. They connect me with home, and connect me with work and don't change wherever I go.
Trains are one of my favourite forms of transport. They hold memories for me. The first I remember is going to Southampton with my mother, to stay with my grandparents. There's a new label on my rucksack that I make my mother read to me. It has my adress on it, and it's in it gets lost. I remember the ribena we bought in cartons from the refreshments trolley, and me being adament I had to give my own ticket to the conductor, not my mother.
Other memories encompass those shopping trips you'd take with friends in the summer holidays, buying pittance but loveing the excitement of being teenagers out without parents. Then come the one where I'd be snuggled in someone's lap on the way home from the cinema. Then the most recent, the glimmering journeys to Southampton, full of books and learning and interesting conversations with my fellow passengers.
I love travelling on the train when I went to Holland with my family. We travelled from Wassenaar to Amsterdam on a double decker tilty train that was clean and fast and puctual and oh - so - cheap! I look forward to the trip from the airport to Centraal Station when Chris and I go to Amsterdam, even though it's a notorius journey for thieves. I shall sit on my bag and refuse to be distracted by knocks on the window and my fellow passengers. I shall even ignore you, Chris, and breathe in that train carriage smell and make a new train memory to add to all my others.
Of course, another nice things baout trains is the fact that they provide nice mindless, empty time for knitting. My cushion cover is coming on well, I am about 1/3 through the back, and debating closures. I think I might make it longer than half of the front and make and envelope type closure to slip the cushion pad through.
----Edit for Yellow----
Trains
The commute is perhaps one of the nicest things about my working life. That's not something you hear everyday, is it? The train journey from Westbury to Bath, especially in the early mornings is dreamy. It encompasses rolling green fields, misty valleys and quaint villages made of Bath stone that glow in the early morning sunshine.
I like to sit by the window, head angled against the glass. From this vantage I can watch the rails go past, great long silver snakes that are constant agaist the blur of the landscape. They connect me with home, and connect me with work and don't change wherever I go.
Trains are one of my favourite forms of transport. They hold memories for me. The first I remember is going to Southampton with my mother, to stay with my grandparents. There's a new label on my rucksack that I make my mother read to me. It has my adress on it, and it's in it gets lost. I remember the ribena we bought in cartons from the refreshments trolley, and me being adament I had to give my own ticket to the conductor, not my mother.
Other memories encompass those shopping trips you'd take with friends in the summer holidays, buying pittance but loveing the excitement of being teenagers out without parents. Then come the one where I'd be snuggled in someone's lap on the way home from the cinema. Then the most recent, the glimmering journeys to Southampton, full of books and learning and interesting conversations with my fellow passengers.
I love travelling on the train when I went to Holland with my family. We travelled from Wassenaar to Amsterdam on a double decker tilty train that was clean and fast and puctual and oh - so - cheap! I look forward to the trip from the airport to Centraal Station when Chris and I go to Amsterdam, even though it's a notorius journey for thieves. I shall sit on my bag and refuse to be distracted by knocks on the window and my fellow passengers. I shall even ignore you, Chris, and breathe in that train carriage smell and make a new train memory to add to all my others.
Of course, another nice things baout trains is the fact that they provide nice mindless, empty time for knitting. My cushion cover is coming on well, I am about 1/3 through the back, and debating closures. I think I might make it longer than half of the front and make and envelope type closure to slip the cushion pad through.
----Edit for Yellow----
I like to sit by the window, head angled against the glass. From this vantage I can watch the rails go past, great long silver snakes that are constant agaist the blur of the landscape. They connect me with home, and connect me with work and don't change wherever I go.
Trains are one of my favourite forms of transport. They hold memories for me. The first I remember is going to Southampton with my mother, to stay with my grandparents. There's a new label on my rucksack that I make my mother read to me. It has my adress on it, and it's in it gets lost. I remember the ribena we bought in cartons from the refreshments trolley, and me being adament I had to give my own ticket to the conductor, not my mother.
Other memories encompass those shopping trips you'd take with friends in the summer holidays, buying pittance but loveing the excitement of being teenagers out without parents. Then come the one where I'd be snuggled in someone's lap on the way home from the cinema. Then the most recent, the glimmering journeys to Southampton, full of books and learning and interesting conversations with my fellow passengers.
I love travelling on the train when I went to Holland with my family. We travelled from Wassenaar to Amsterdam on a double decker tilty train that was clean and fast and puctual and oh - so - cheap! I look forward to the trip from the airport to Centraal Station when Chris and I go to Amsterdam, even though it's a notorius journey for thieves. I shall sit on my bag and refuse to be distracted by knocks on the window and my fellow passengers. I shall even ignore you, Chris, and breathe in that train carriage smell and make a new train memory to add to all my others.
Of course, another nice things baout trains is the fact that they provide nice mindless, empty time for knitting. My cushion cover is coming on well, I am about 1/3 through the back, and debating closures. I think I might make it longer than half of the front and make and envelope type closure to slip the cushion pad through.
----Edit for Yellow----
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Touching words....
Keep it all going,
This delicate balance,
Vulnerable all knowing,
Sing like you think no one's listening,
You would kill for this,
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit,
You would, kill for this
Sing like you think no one's listening,
You would kill for this,
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit,
You would, you would...
Sing me something soft,
Sad and delicate,
Or loud and out of key,
Sing me anything,
We're glad for what we've got,
Done with what we've lost
Our whole lives laid out right in front of us
Existentialism On Prom Night -Straylight Run
Just a snippet from the song of today, the one that is gripping my heart and smushing it into a thousand pieces. They may be indie kids with whiny voices but their lyrics hurt in the best possible way. I want to sing this at an open mic night. I want to be in a band, that has a funky violinst and a sax and a trumpet and bongos. I want to feel again.
I shall sing like no one is listening today as I walk down the hill.
Touching words....
Keep it all going,
This delicate balance,
Vulnerable all knowing,
Sing like you think no one's listening,
You would kill for this,
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit,
You would, kill for this
Sing like you think no one's listening,
You would kill for this,
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit,
You would, you would...
Sing me something soft,
Sad and delicate,
Or loud and out of key,
Sing me anything,
We're glad for what we've got,
Done with what we've lost
Our whole lives laid out right in front of us
Existentialism On Prom Night -Straylight Run
Just a snippet from the song of today, the one that is gripping my heart and smushing it into a thousand pieces. They may be indie kids with whiny voices but their lyrics hurt in the best possible way. I want to sing this at an open mic night. I want to be in a band, that has a funky violinst and a sax and a trumpet and bongos. I want to feel again.
I shall sing like no one is listening today as I walk down the hill.
Music I must choreograph
Pavane by Regina Carter
Next Year by Jamie Cullum
Bliss by Muse
New Born by Muse
Next Year by Jamie Cullum
Bliss by Muse
New Born by Muse
Music I must choreograph
Pavane by Regina Carter
Next Year by Jamie Cullum
Bliss by Muse
New Born by Muse
Next Year by Jamie Cullum
Bliss by Muse
New Born by Muse
Monday, July 17, 2006
Knitting my way through.
There are so many knit possibilities in the air. New houses mean new house - y type gifts for friends.
This is the manly cushion I am working on for the lads's house. You can see my work computer in there. I sit inside at lunch times and knit in the cool. It was 32 degrees C today outside. Nice - but not for my fair skin.
And - because I can - more from Tim's Birthday
Knitting my way through.
There are so many knit possibilities in the air. New houses mean new house - y type gifts for friends.
This is the manly cushion I am working on for the lads's house. You can see my work computer in there. I sit inside at lunch times and knit in the cool. It was 32 degrees C today outside. Nice - but not for my fair skin.
And - because I can - more from Tim's Birthday
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