Nettles, prints and failures – what I did today

I had a thought while on a walk today about how it’s important to make an effort with yourself. I’m ever so unorganised and my Mum calls me skanky, which isn’t as big of an insult as you’d think, so I often neglect TLC. I lack in taking care of myself sometimes, I forget the benefits, then every once in a while, for no reason, I do it.

I’ll paint a picture for you before you imagine me dressing as a princess or bathing myself for hours in a natural spa while being fed grapes from above. I was in two day old clothes, I’ve had to stop wearing bras because my anxiety is so bad and let’s say I had washed the day before when you and I both know I didn’t. This is where the ‘skanky’ bit comes into play, I prefer to call it chill, plus I love not wearing bras. So it’s clear to say I hadn’t looked after myself in an appearance way but with the knowledge I was going to walk home from my boyfriends house in the morning I had prepared my current notebook, ear phones and downloaded a few (turns out the exact amount) of Ted Talk podcasts.

I have walked these fields home for years, on this blog I’ve documented it for years, and I’ve never needed any of these things before but almost as a treat to myself, I made a bit of effort.

And these were my thoughts as I began my journey; how it’s important for you to make an effort with yourself.

Then just as I was about to reach my fields (where I had unknowingly planned to sit for a bit and let these thoughts play out in my notebook) the stinging nettles appeared. This was the only entrance to the field – a long, narrow path. I persevered as a Ted Talk was telling me ‘how your brain decides what is beautiful’ in my ears. Certainly not stinging nettles. I had reached the half way point, after being stung all over my body but I looked ahead and it was ridiculously overgrown. There was no way I wouldn’t come out of it without looking like I had accidentally fallen into a nettle bush. Also bear in mind that this path has a metal fence that looks into a plant nursery, and I had definitely noticed out the corner of my eye a few of the workers watching me as I tackled this mission impossible. Sorry, reader, I am not Tom Cruise. I had to turn back. And get re stung by the same nettles.

I never managed to get to sit in a field and come up with some inspiring thoughts for myself. The walk was extended by taking the roads, and so I was, I imagine, 30 minutes more sweaty than I should have been. Sweat really should be measured in time, thinking about it. I was an hour and a half of summer sweat (stronger than winter sweat) by the time I reached home, and after a coffee in the garden, which you add 10 point on top of the hour and half (5 points for the sun in the garden and 5 points for the hot coffee) then another 3 for getting angry at my little brother and nephew fighting: that totals 13 points and an hour and half of sweat. Logic.

After a few reality checks recently and some much needed self reflection, I managed to kick my self up the back side (also did some stretching, clearly) and did some internet work bits at home. These prints are ready and photographed and almost ready to go in my shop From Miles.

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When James had finished work we made plans to go fly a kite (as part of my summer goals) but after driving for 15 minutes and sitting in a Sainsbury’s car park we decided there was no wind whatsoever. I’ve never flown a kite before but I’m sure wind is a huge factor in making that happen.

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And so no point in going home in the traffic and James had a meeting, so I spent an hour in the car outside. Which is where I’m writing this, including the words I’m writing. Right. Now.

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I hope you enjoyed reading about a random day in my life. It ended with going to a pub for dinner, called The Moat in Wrotham – looking like that?! I hear you cry. Don’t worry, I bought dry shampoo in Sainsbury’s, that’s why we were there. But yeah, looking like that. Skanky, see. No, damn, I meant chill. I wear it like a badge of honour. Cheers!

 

What depression is to me – because sometimes, when you’re depressed, you can only talk about depression. Then laugh at it.

Every bout of depression surprises me like I’m 14 and it’s my first period all over again. Yes, I was a late bloomer and I wish I could feel the jealously of millions of women around the world, if only this thick layer of depression didn’t do exactly as the word says it does. Surely that rich jealously from women would cure any depression? I’ll add it to the list of Reasons I Shouldn’t Be Depressed pinned up in some ignorant fuckers minds. But sadly (the irony) there will be no pinning as I am channelling Ringo Star today and therefore take back any snarky word I’ve said – peace and love, peace and love.

It’s like a ghost tapping on my shoulder when I’m really engrossed in an activity. I’m mindlessly scooting or painting a tree branch and BOO. Except there’s no BOO, there’s nothing to see, just empty space, no proof for others of what just happened in my brain. I’m still looking over my shoulder though, there has to be a culprit. I’m looking over my shoulder just to prove to you that something is going on and I’m not just crazy. I’m looking over my shoulder to see if others are also looking over their shoulders. I must be surrounded by people that also feel like Nearly Headless Nick just passed through them. These Dementors are real, I swear. J.K. wasn’t lying. You understand, right? You have to understand. What do you mean we are all different? You don’t like Harry Potter? Oh, wow, that just tops it all off. Well, I’m in Hufflepuff, I’ll have you know. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A HUFFLEPUFF IS? Depression gone, replaced with rage. That cured it. Peace and love, peace and love.

I moved my entire room around yesterday. It’s unimportant to what I’m writing other than the hilarity that I was breaking down in tears every 10 minutes. Why, you ask? Are you due to bleed from your vagina, or do you have a little human growing in said vagina? Nah. Apparently moving heavy furniture by yourself does this to you. You don’t know, maybe every person who has ever moved furniture by themselves has just cried the entire time, and I’m the first person brave enough to admit it. Or, and a much more reasonable answer, my body decided to not sweat from my armpits, but rather from my eyes. I have no memory of smelling so it probably is true. I mean, The Flight Of The Conchords didn’t write the song I’m Not Crying for no reason. Needless to say, this time round the depression seems to be a bit more random and spontaneous. Oh, how exciting! A spontaneous depression.

I’m not stopping doing things. My bed is my friend but tonight I’m going rock climbing. Tomorrow James and I are going for a picnic in a park that we have only briefly visited once before, but I’m a little unsure about it. It looks like a place people would go dogging, and I’m not sure that I want to be sitting there eating a scotch egg while there’s people dogging in the bushes next to me. Might put me off my food, you know? Spreading my philly as they’re spreading their… Or dipping into my houmous as they’re dipping into… It’s best if I stop that there. I just envision a sudden break down of crying on my part, still eating my cherry tomatoes between sobs as they start to taste more and more salty from my tears rolling down my face, which makes me cry more, then, softly at first, you hear moaning. Then louder and louder as my cries match the volume and pitch. One bush apart from each other – immense joy and immense pain.

Now I re-read the part about us only briefly visiting this park before, sounds like we were the ones dogging.

This is where my sad and tired brain is at. It is what it is. Peace and love.

 

Going from one bed to another

I seem to have gotten into a routine of bed hopping. Now hold on one second, that is not anything sexual before you think it! But quite frankly I’m charmed that you would think that I could pull that many guys to bed hop like that. Thank you. Sadly, I mean because of my work schedule, James’s work schedule, my depression and, lets be honest, laziness, my new routine is literally to leave one bed for the next. Like a beauty vlogger; My Morning Routine! My Daily Routine! My Nightly Routine! Bed. I’m in bloody bed. It’s always bed. I’m in bed as I write this. It’s 18:09. 

Let’s lay it out. For the last two weeks James has been getting up at 6:30am for work, and seeing as the only time we can see each other is in the week, I am there. Waking up. At 6:30am. On my days off. I get home at 7:30am and go straight to bed. I don’t sleep, I drink coffee, blog, watch YouTube. Bed.

Suddenly it’s like 10am, shit. I must do something. How about a tea this time? Well, while I’m drinking it; bed. Breakfast? Bed. What’s next? What do I want to do? I go off and do it, and then when I’m not; bed. Maybe bed is my ‘sofa’ because I live with my parents. Whatever, it’s still a bed.

I’ve said bed so many times it’s no longer a word.

Bed.

Bunk.

Chaise.

Berth.

Trundle.

Thank you Google.

Is my bed the best one in the world? No*. I feel like it hardly resembles a mattress with all the lumps, bumps and indentations, probably from me spending the whole of my existence in it. I think the real reason is because it’s in the centre of all my things. My plants I love watering, my laptop, any craft things, clothes, make up, I dunno, everything I own I suppose. But it’s a bed, it screams lay down. Chill. Browse YouTube. Have another coffee. Then before you know it, I’m going back to James’s to another bed because he’s bed is like his ‘sofa’.

It doesn’t hurt at the moment, like I’m not frustrated at how much time I’m in bed because I’ve been really low. Which, god, sounds like the worst idea. I’m still active, I went for a 3.51 mile walk today, going for a scoot with the dogs tonight, wrote a blog post (not including this one), made bruschetta, made probably about 5 cups of tea or coffee… I just rest in bed in between, I recharge. I’m looking after myself. This is dangerous territory though, I’m fully aware. I do not want to go back to the days when I lived in bed and wouldn’t leave.

Now this is the point in the post where I should make a vow that I won’t keep or put myself up for a challenge that I’m just not mentally prepared for. Nah, I’ll give that a miss for now. No Trying To Stay Out Of My Bedroom For A Week challenge. No I Promise To Only Use My Bed For Sleeping vow

Here’s what I’ll do, a compromise if you will, I’ll move my bed. To be fair, I’ve been thinking it a while. Well, like a week. I’ll start that in this post right now actually, so when I get home tomorrow I mean, because there’s going to be a lot to move, like, fucking hell, why do I have a arm chair in my room? (Surely that should be my ‘sofa’?!) (Mind blown) If I move my bed to the corner of the room, rather than the centre, I’ll have room to move, do my crafts etc. I don’t know what else, this experiment might not work.. But I’m giving it a go!! Because it’s not healthy to keep bed hopping and I really don’t want to catch an STI!

That was a joke. A poor one I know. Still a joke.

 

*When reading this to James he wanted me to include that although my bed isn’t the best in the world, he thinks his bed is;

“No, don’t add I think it is, say ‘his bed is the best in the world’,”

“Yeah, ‘he thinks his bed is the best in the world’,”

“No! ‘his bed is the best in the world’!”

“That’s what I said, ‘he think his bed is the best in the world’.”

People get so touchy about their beds.

“Get out of mine then if you think it’s not the best in the world.”

 

‘You believed in Santa for 8 years – try and believe in yourself for 10 seconds’

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‘It was actually 11 years,’ I didn’t want to give up that dream, but wise words from my boyfriend, James, there.

I’ve had the unpleasant experience recently of being graced with someones presence that loves to shit on other people. Not literally, that I know of, other wise this whole blog post would be about something completely different and I’m not sure I would want to go on. What I mean is bringing others down. Especially if they aren’t part of the norm. And hellooo, here I am, definitely not part of the norm. I am playful, I am young at heart, I love making stuff and I’m not afraid anymore. You hear me? I’m not afraid anymore! Name that reference.

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“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask.” 

“A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.” 

Jim Morrison

I’ve always been an analyser so I’m aware if someone is insecure they like to bring others down to feel better, they feel powerless and so want to regain it. Even so, it still works, it’s not nice. Growing up I’ve always been sensitive (which isn’t a bad thing, no matter what others say) and now I suffer with anxiety and depression (which this person knew about!) but because of that I had to toughen up. I think that’s a natural byproduct of mental health problems. My whole life I’ve balanced along a line of ‘Emily, it’s cool, chill’ or ‘am I making excuses for others when really I’m not being sensitive, they were just being a prick?’ When you are younger it’s more confusing and you aren’t sure of the situation, it’s clouded in hormones, and I tended to question why they say stuff in the first place and then blame myself. I’m 26, I think I’m allowed to say when it isn’t cool.

Some people are just walking targets for those who are too self aware of what others think, and it comes to a point where you just accept it. Even take it as a compliment. ‘You’re attacking me because I’m not afraid to be myself? Cool. What does that say about you?’ I never have covered up, I’ve always been unapologetically myself and after this recent situation I’ve realised I’ve allowed myself to decide, I don’t need anyone else to guide me, whether that person was wrong or not – my life and my choices. That person was a prick.

 

“I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed. ‘Never be ashamed,’ my ol’ dad used ter say, ‘there’s some who’ll hold it against you, but they’re not worth botherin’ with.’

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire

I’m not going to lie to you, this incident brought me really down low, like phoning James at 6:30 in the morning crying low. Sidenote: I was walking to work, I didn’t randomly wake up crying nor am I just being dramatic with the time of day. His wise words lifted me a lot, which is where this title quote was slotted among – along with a lot more graphic worded ones.

 

“Power over others is weakness disguised as strength”

Eckhart Tolle

It’s hard when someone does stamp on you after trying to help yourself for so long. You feel like you’re back at square one. Especially if they are hitting all your triggers and checking off that list of things you dislike about yourself – even without you realising at the time. What plays on my mind even more is that I was so polite back, as usual. I hated myself after for that but at the end of the day it’s because I’m nice. That’s a good thing, self reminder, it’s a good thing.

Although I don’t think I would have felt better if it wasn’t for James, I love that I have gotten to a place where I’m like fuck it. There’s no other way to explain it than fuck it. If you’re the kind of person that kicks someone down for being themselves then you have a big problem, not me. Fuck people like that. I’m chill, I love who I am. What more; I’m proud.

So you may have noticed the random photos of things I’ve made or done, cushioned in with quotes from things I love, and thought it had no relation to the text – well that’s me putting up a massive middle finger.

(Not to you reading this, that’s just rude – that’s not me.) (Has the impact of that last sentence gone now? I’m okay with it.)

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“If you don’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”

RuPaul

Some summer goals

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If any other English summer is to go by – our summer will probably end by July. It seemed like it was at an end when we came out of the heat wave in June but the weather is hopeful again and at my little brothers sports day yesterday I roasted my round face red. The dooming greyness won’t get me down, I still have goals to achieve. Now, I sound like the kind of person who is super organised and plans her life, I’m sorry to break your heart but I’ve tried and failed at being that human. My hair will always be knotty and I will always ‘forget’ to brush it. These goals are literally conversations I’ve had with people that I’ve miraculously managed to remember and a list has built up in my mind. Let’s start with number one because that’s the first one… that was dumb. I meant lets start with this one because I can already tick it off.

Go to the beach with James. 

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I’m happy to tick this off because I have done exactly that. Gone to the beach. With James. A few times. And wore the same clothes every time, for some reason. I would like to spend a whole, hot day on a beach with him, but is that going to happen? I’m satisfied with this.

Fly a kite.

I don’t have any memory of ever doing this. Maybe I did at some point.

Do extreme sports. 

What’s extreme? I’m not constantly active and sporty, so maybe any sport is extreme for me. I did badminton last night, is that extreme? Dude, that rush when you hit that shuttlecock, nothing like it! No? We have rock climbing coming up this week, I really, really want to do whitewater rafting and also stand up paddleboarding. The rock climbing will hopefully become a frequent hobby but the other two are probably a one time thing. James and I also lack balance. Good luck to us. Also kayaking, nearly forgot that one. We’re fucked.

Actually plant those seeds! 

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This one is on the way. I have to tick it off now, I can’t wait for the end product because what if they don’t grow? What if I fuck it up? I definitely planted them too late. I’m doing my best. I love a plant though, as you’d know because of this weird post. Very weird.

Stay up and watch the sun set then rise

Don’t really need an explanation for this one do I? It’s challenging only because of James’s and I work schedules. I actually wake up for work before the sun has risen – the photo below was from last week. You know what they say ‘red sky in the morning, shepherds warning.’ It was a crap day nonetheless. At least I got to see this.

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I am very sure that I have said other things I’d like to do, so maybe if I think of any I’ll do an update post but my memory is a bag of shit. Remembering these five things is good for me.

I wonder if you get more satisfaction if you have a list of goals. Like a bucket list. Not just having the list, obviously, but ticking off the list, actually achieving the goals. I know a few people who are ticking away at their bucket lists. I don’t have one, I just know general things that I want to do. But with the satisfaction of completing a race or even like picking your spots (ew), I wonder if you get an added bonus feeling when you are physically ticking things off. Completing it. But I question why are you (not necessarily you) waiting so late to do these things, why are you waiting to have a list before you do it and you generally only make a list as an adult when you start freaking out you haven’t done these things. Though, I still get it, I recon I’ll get a tattoo at 40. I’m trying to convince my Mum to get matching ones with me currently, because I know I won’t regret that, but seeing as I’m failing in convincing her I recon I’ll get to 40 and be like why the fuck haven’t I got one before?!

I tell you what, let’s do an experiment. I’ll have to rely on my bad memory for it unfortunately. I’ll compare the feelings I get when I complete something on my goals list to just any other activity I’ve done. The reason I’ll have to rely on my memory of past things I’ve done is because the whole point is doing it without purpose. I can’t purposefully do something without purpose. It’s hard to deem what I can compare them to though, when they weren’t ‘events’. Do I include drinking in a park? Or scooting at midnight? We’ll see. I’ll work it out. Let me write these goals down right this second to make it physical and go from there.

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You can’t cure depression with a bath bomb

I’m facing and conquering a dilemma today. It’s a very proud moment and it involves a bubble bath which is where we all feel most proud..? Now don’t get too excited, the story isn’t that interesting and it lacks a start, middle and, come to think of it, an end. It all started when I turned 26, my birthday, a month ago, and I received some lush goodies as a present from my sister. I was overjoyed, I do love some me some lush and I also love me a bubble bath. I am also poor, side-note. I’m also going to stop using this ‘story time’ ‘kids TV’ ‘presenter’ voice I have going on in my head.

So poor, old Emily started to use the wonderful products. She was very happy with them and therefore tried to make them last as long as possible, with the knowledge that every bath she had without these products would be a wasted bath. It was an act of balancing the want and need of feeling special while trying to prolong the products but therefore feeling only a little bit special but for a longer time. I was never a Queen, I was always like 17th place to the thrown, like there was no way I would get there and I’m not famous enough for new generations to know who I am, but I still have my daddies money to fall back on. All an example, there is no daddies money. How dare he.

Then came a day when all I had left was a bath bomb and a very small amount of something that I cant remember. You’d think if it was that special to me I would remember the name? Oh well. I was a little lost at what to do. Then I had a thunderous day. Very depressed and anxious. I was like ‘today is the day to use the little bit left over’.

And so I did..

And felt no different.

So I was like ‘turns out you can’t cure depression with a bath bomb.’ Lesson learnt.

Lets get back to present day. I’m not 100% all the bloody time, that’s impossible, but I’m feeling a lot more positive today, even this week. I haven’t had a lush bubble bath for a long time now and I have one bath bomb left. Maybe the trick is to use it on a day you feel good, not bad. Then it isn’t wasted. Here’s the test – I feel good, I wrote I post I’m proud to publish tomorrow and I’m a bit stinky. Today is the day. I’m ready.

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Verdict? It was alright actually, yeah. Nothing really changed. I enjoyed the face mask and coffee too. I preferred the ‘little bit left’ one. Erm, maybe it works its lush magic more when you’re exhausted from doing so much stuff? Next time maybe I’ll work out first, do something physical, or accomplish something with my life. I still feel pretty good though, may have prolonged that. Oh well, till next time lush, till next time.

 

Thoughts from the bath – the big 2.6.

James: ‘I know everything for this van will go your way because you’ll be like ‘but on YouTube they did this, on YouTube they did that,’ and I’ll be like ‘I want a hammock.’ ‘No, no, no, no you need a 7 point pin clicking one and a bed at a 7 degree angle that only opens on Tuesday’s if the full moon is out because it saves 2.5cm when you’re shitting.’ That’s what you’ll be like.’

I’ve thrown around the idea of living in a van for a while. Here’s the suggestions from James of what jobs we could do while living on the road ;

  • Pimp and his prostitute
  • man with a van
  • freak show
  • burglars. Specifically cat burglars
  • clean drive ways
  • bandits
  • land pirates

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Satisfaction. This word keeps floating around in my brain and popping up at really inconvenient times. What will satisfy me right now? What will satisfy me in the future? What would satisfy my partner? Now it sounds like we are talking about sex but I’m not, I just don’t know how else I can word that.

I turned 26 yesterday. Age meant nothing to me, notice how I write in the past tense? Since yesterday I’ve had an ‘oh, shit, where has that time gone?!’ moment. I know others have it, one of my best friends is always in shock of her age. I was always pretty chill about it. When my sister was 26, 5 years ago, she seemed so old and so far away. I’m not where I saw her at. Not that it was a goal to be like that, it’s just strange that you reach unreachable goals and you realise it’s all completely different.

I joked all day that I was turning ‘the big 2.6.’ only because it’s not a 21st, it’s not a 30th, it’s 26. Closer to 30 than 20 but still a bit in limbo. And I feel like that’s me to a T. A bit in limbo.

Have I done enough? I don’t know. From my prospective, no, but others may say yes. But at the end of the day it’s a no. Nope. You have a lot more in you. (This is a pep talk, encase you haven’t caught on. I literally only have right this second.)

When I came back from my road trip I tried and still am trying ways to get out of this slump. It’s specifically a slump about not travelling. It put into prospective how much I want to change things in my life. What I want to do to feel how I like to feel. Feelings are important to me, I have a lot of them.. Probably the same amount as you.. Just knocking my ego back down. Unfortunately it’s brought up how much I can’t live how I want or live any life that’s progressed from where I am now without money. You can’t go down any path any more without a lot of money, it’s a dead end. Gone are the days where you could have a ‘normal job’ but still be able to buy a house. You need a lot of money.

Money.

I hate money. I don’t think it’s just people without it that hate it. Let me know?

There’s too much of a system for me. I’m not a system person. It’s fine if you don’t mind it, follow what was set out for us all. Personally though, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to rent or buy a house. I’m not afraid of hard work to get there, that’s not it. I just want something different. As my Mum said, I live to play. (Which doesn’t mean no work! Writing, blogging, being artistic is play. Work can be play.)

There’s things about being an Adult (notice the capital A. I’ll be an adult – little a) that I don’t like and I’m resentful that you have no choice. Yes that sounds millennial but yes I’m just being honest.

All the time people talk about being mortgage free. Mortgage free everything. That’s the goal for Adults. Mortgage free. The dream. Cool. I don’t want a mortgage or to rent. To me it sounds like rent (and waste your money and have no life outside of that and not enough money to save to buy a place (been there)) or buy (and put a ridiculous amount of money into a property that you’ll be paying off for the rest of your life while watching programs about how to be mortgage free (haven’t been there but sounds yucky and seems impossible with England today)). Then this is the part where my depression likes to jump in like ‘Surprise motherfucker!’ from Dexter.

This is where my thoughts are unconventional. Why not live in a van? Mortgage free. Live on land you can’t build on with it. Don’t follow the same route as others. Someone once told me I couldn’t make my own route, that proper bummed me out. Not because I believed her but because she didn’t believe in me.

All I can conclude as this water is getting cold is that I have to save. That’s all I can do right now. I want a plan of some sort but that’s not possible. You hate money but you need it. Just save.

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