Oh how gimmicks work on me

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A bottle of wine with rustic packaging.

A positive quote in fancy lettering.

Make up endorsed by a celeb.

A yellow phone.

Anything to do with Harry potter.

And now

Reading glasses that mention my favourite book on the packaging.

I don’t actually need glasses, but I went for an eye test and apparently my eyes aren’t as perfect as I once thought they were. Especially my left eye. I keep getting awful headaches and she suggested its working on computers all day and I can get weak glasses to give my eyes a break. I won’t be using them continuously, only when it starts to hurt at the computer or reading.

I wanted to buy some nice ones, rather than Poundland ones that my family buy that get thrown around and sat on daily. I had big, old, geeky ones in mind. You know the type, fashionable ones I suppose. Turns out I just can’t get them to suit me. I have a hat face, not a glasses face.

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte, is my number one, top dog, the bees knees, and the rest of them sayings, all time favourite book. My copy, which was bought from a boot fair when I was 18 for 20p, is falling apart and looking worse for wear. It’s probably my most prised book.

I don’t collect as much stuff to do with Jane Eyre as I do Harry Potter (it’s hard not to go anywhere without seeing something Harry Potter nowadays) but I do have a card on my shelf to do with the Bronte sisters – You’re On It Like A Bronte Bonnet! 

When I saw these in TKMaxx, and James told me time and time again that the smaller ones suited me better, it was like the stars had aligned and I could live my gothic, romantic dreams. Whilst James gives me strange looks out the corner of his eye. Just imagine it.

So what’s these glasses got to do with Jane Eyre?! 

I have no idea.

Other than that warm feeling I get in thinking I have something associated with it. That’s clearly enough to make me buy them.

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Time to retire my sandals

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People dressed up for a snow storm. Snowflake prints, fluffy hoods. Boots, ankle and knee high. Cold wind pushing along the fallen leaves.

And here I am, trying to prolong the use of my favourite sandals.

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At least there are women in cardigans, children walking to school without their jackets, sunglasses, bare legs, harem trousers, people lingering in no rush, short sleeve shirts, car windows open. My shoulders don’t feel as lonely now.

I have warm arms, a warm middle and a belly full of warm tea, while the podcast Accused is playing from my phone. Waiting for James while I people watch and write. A few of my favourite things.

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Wild seals on the beaches in England! Horsey Gap, Norfolk

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Day 2 of camping in Norfolk. The sun, again my friends, had come out to play. Like I said in yesterdays post, I write my travel diary’s as I’m living them but this one is written from the comfort of my bed, with a sun burnt face – thanks Norfolk! Told you the sun was out again.

Also, like I said yesterday, I don’t like to tell a story once it’s happened so I’ll be brief. Woke up, as you would expect, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head.. (Ohhh it’s another game of name that reference. I particularly enjoy playing it with James, because he knows none of mine. But lets be real for a second, there’s no way I brushed my hair.) So got up, got out of bed THEN put the tent away, as we had to be off site by 10. (Doesn’t rhyme). That’s a tight schedule for someone like me and my family – no breakfast for us then. But that’s a slight lie, once we got to Horsey Gap we sneakily cooked our breakfast at the back of the cars. I also had a pee there. Not as the same time.

If you’re a reader of mine you’d know that I’m new to camping, this is my 3rd trip. Already I’m in love with it. As a teenager I used to go on caravan holidays with one of my best friends, which would always be in the summer holidays (and we actually went to Newquay and Hastings, which is the other two places I’ve camped. Odd. There must be something subconscious behind that). So being on this campsite next to Hemsby beach, in the summer holidays, was a massive throw back to the atmosphere on the caravan holidays.

There was a group of teenagers next to us that were so cool, and only because they weren’t in the slightest – for their age group – but as a 26 year old it’s cool when someone younger dresses how they want and goes against the system. Can you remember the peer pressure when you were that age?! That’s cool. It’ll probably be an offence if they knew I said they were cool though, so lets keep it between us.

I love to stare at people, but nothing is weirder than me sitting in my camping chair and staring at a group of teenagers that is only 3 metres away, so all I could manage was side wards glances. This one chick was dressed like an explorer, and I really hope my mind isn’t deceiving me, but she was wearing a khaki body warmer (a bit like Nigel Thornberry) and a bandanna ruching up her short hair. I could only hope her pockets were filled with exciting instruments for her adventures. And a book. There would definitely be a book. A classic. On The Road, perhaps. Or maybe Alice in Wonderland.

I’ve gone off topic. My point was how it was a massive throwback to being 16 again, where, and I’m trying to say this really delicately (I’m rather blunt), the outsiders fit in. I don’t know what school is like nowadays, but these teenagers are my people. This was us. I had blue and pink hair when I was 16 and Sophie and I went on a caravan holiday to Newquay. They’re my people. They spoke about books out loud. When we were in Newquay we queued up at midnight for the last Harry Potter book – though I hadn’t read them at that point. 21 July 2007 is the date google says. See what I’m saying? It’s refreshing to see people playing ball games, having conversations and being themselves. I don’t know how else to explain it.

So Horsey beach. After breakfast and a wee, both behind the car, we walked 30 minutes to see the wild seals.

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This trip was a massive throw back for me – when I was 16, in Newquay with pink and blue hair, the seal was my favourite animal. They’re so fucking cute. There was two playing together where the waves crash. Magical.

It’s a very peaceful beach, understandably. I mean, peaceful till my little 4 year old brother came along, thinking he was wolverine and was running up and down doing flips. The seals didn’t react to him, don’t worry, and obviously you have to keep a distance. I read online they have their pups in the winter so I really want to come back then. Then I could possibly do the walk along the beach from Hemsby to Horsey like I wanted.

Highly recommend.

Thanks for visiting!

Clearing my mind with the ocean and camping – Hemsby beach, Norfolk

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I am very happy to say I have visited many beaches this year. More beaches than I have ever done before in one year. It was never intentional, and I recon if I put it down as one of my Summer Goals it probably wouldn’t have happened. It just happened because it did. Which makes it even better actually.

It started with Dunkirk beach in April, then Newquay beaches in May, Hastings beach in June and now beaches in Norfolk. And how many of those times was the sun shining? I know that’s what a lot of people really care about. Only this trip to Norfolk, actually. But I suppose because none of these trips were ‘lets go to the beach!’, we had never planned to sit in the sun, the plan was always to travel or camp etc, and therefore we’ve never been disappointed when there was no sun. Plus, it’s England – what do you expect?!

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In past posts I’ve shared my travel diary on these trips and this camping trip to Norfolk was… I can’t say ‘going to be the same’ because I’ve never really planned my travel diary’s – I take my notebook encase I get inspiration, then when I’m back home I re read it and make it into a post. Something about travelling inspires me automatically, I just know what I want to write down. It’s about the day and what we are doing, obviously, but I do know my ‘style’, I know what I like to document and avoid any fakery (I’m really not a sugar coated kind of gal), and somehow as soon as we step into our car and on our way, each time I’m back in that zone. I love that zone. I need to work out what it means psychologically because if I could have that drive when I’m at home EVERYTHING on my to do list would be done. I think I understand it, travelling clears my head and makes way for the things I deem important – and the negative stuff which stops me in day to day life just fucks off.

So this trip was no different, as soon as the day arrived my brain changed and I was mindful and chill and wanted to document our time. For some reason though, and I think it’s got to be because I was in such a bad way before we came away, I didn’t get enough time to write anything. I just revelled in the fact my brain wasn’t as foggy. I still took photos, and I have a few words from the drive there which I will include next. Other than that – that’s all folks!

 

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And so the next adventure starts with some typically English and Mumsy, despite not being a Mum (other than to my plants), words: ‘Now it’s a 3 hour drive, we better go to the toilet!’

‘Nah, I’m alright,’ James said, and I couldn’t change his mind that it’s a good idea. ‘Well, if we have to stop in half an hour-‘ I let the end of my sentence trail off as I walked to the toilet. Truly because I didn’t have an end. He’s driving. If he wants to stop he’ll stop. But in need of a good ‘told you so’ moment, I thought while I have my wee I’ll write this passage on the toilet for evidence. That’s right, I’m writing this on the toilet.

 

11:53 we left the house. Spoiler alert: we didn’t stop at all. Damn.

Our first stop is two minutes down the road to a garage, in hopes of getting James’s radio fixed. This is how we work – we pack the car the morning we go and we get the radio fixed in the morning we go. To be fair it’s the same amount of effort doing it all on the day and the rain yesterday was so ridiculous that most roads in our town had turned into outside swimming pools. We no longer have to go to Herne Hill for a lido. If we packed the car the night before our camping gear would have been drenched – even in the twenty whatever steps to the car.

Looks like we have half an hour of no music till we get the code for the radio – thank you James for letting the battery go dead! Now we have to talk to each other! Yuck! Instead we are going to play spotify through his phone, problem solved. We do like each others company, I promise.

And 12:57 we have radio! That being said James put on his ‘new’ CD that he bought from a charity shop for 49p – 2007’s Now 68. The second disk only. First song Plain White T’s, Hey There Delilah.

 

15:10 we arrive and James cracks open a Stella. I, on the other hand, has a sudden headache and belly ache. So, as James keeps calling me recently, Sulky Emily is waiting for her pills to kick in before we put up the tent. It’s probably anxiety thinking about it, it takes many forms. But the sun is shining and the beach is only a short stroll away.

Put tent up and we chill and I feel great. Also beer. I’ve had a huge cloud fogging my mind the last few weeks and I feel like these camping trips clear it away, like it’s my medication.

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And that’s all I wrote this time. I could tell you what I did past tense but I can’t write it half as interesting when it’s already happened. Plus my memory is shit.

Thanks for visiting!

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.

 

My bubble of successes this year

I get in this assumption that with time passing I must be more wise and, for lack of a better word, ‘better’. I don’t know what the better is and it’s not as much pressure as it used to be – as been figured out recently I have some high standards. I think it’s at a healthy level now, it’s just me hoping that I’m trying at whatever I’m doing/interested in at that moment. Saying this I caught myself out today when I was watching some YouTube video from December and I naturally assumed it wouldn’t be as good at this YouTubers latest vlogs. Four months have passed since then (but I had to think about that anyway because it went by so fast) and my natural reaction was off putting because this YouTuber is ‘better’ now at her craft than a third of a year ago, yeah? No. Possibly, but nothing works like that. It’s not black and white is it, Emily? Who am I to judge her anyway? I don’t know her and the vlog was good, entertaining, inspiring, and my initial reaction to the date had nothing to do with the quality of the vlog, so does she need to change anyway? I don’t really feel like I’ve changed a lot in four months. Still, I wouldn’t go back to past me. Not even yesterday.

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Example that time can mean nothing in my life, an actual real life example; I absolutely love The Beatles. Favourite band. I just googled it and their first song was released 55 years ago. It’s been 48 years since my favourite song, Here Comes The Sun.

Progress is good but adding time into the mix isn’t.. always.. for me. You can get into a cycle of just wanting more and not even realising your successes. New isn’t always better, it’s a lot more complicated than that. Maybe my environment has taught me to automatically think ‘this is so old! It was made in December!’, when really time is irrelevant on the worth.

At the same time I’m totally guilty for assuming I’ve achieved nothing too, when in retrospect I have. I can’t compare myself to others my age and what they’ve achieved but in my little bubble of the world I’ve gotten better. Better to what? I don’t know, but I’m proud of my timeline. So here are some good things that have happened these past four months, in my bubble;

started work after time off sick – and now settled in

started CBT therapy

leaps and bounds better

did a blog post about each session

learnt a lot in therapy in general and feel good about it

painted my bedroom (and ignored any judgements about the colours)

helped with painting at my pregnant best pals house

threw out so many of my belongings

sold clothes on ebay, sold DVDs, cashed in my pot of coins (nearly £100)

joined a gym

use the gym

started to plan a road trip

socialise so much more

started writing a new book

started writing in my old diary again

waking up at a normal time

got a lot more into music

starting reading books again

doing housework (this one is huge)

I’m dancing around the house again

did more drawings

I feel happy right now.