Heyy,
Alas stepping onto the scales last week, a mere pound away from losing my first stone and 1.5lbs from seeing a new stone-zone I was silently disappointed. Can hardly remember the last time I was in the 17-Stone range?! Nevertheless, I had a good week, eating out three times and snacking most of Saturday night so can hardly be surprised. Unfortunately, the Saturday to follow was all about sore heads, and not the good kind!
My Nephew, or should I say, future Nephew (at least for the next few months) had a big birthday this weekend and as the birthday boy wanted to do Ice Skating, Mr Warehouse and I joined his brother and his young family and a few friends on the ice at our local ice hockey stadium to shred it in our blades.
Now when the kids asked me if I had skated before, I didn't exactly lie to them, maybe just bent the truth. Honestly, I had only been skating a handful of times, and I mean a handful. I think the last time was with Mr Workaholic and his family in Hemel Hempstead, and even then I needed one of those kiddie penguin things. Nevertheless, I was older now, more mature and Dancing on Ice was a thing. So whilst I acknowledged I would not be doing a Disney On Ice recreation of pirouette's and jumps, I was hoping I may be able to do without Percy Penguin this time.
Donning my skates, I was anxious as I watched on as each person carefully stepped onto the slippery ice. one by one they all skated off, gliding over the frozen water like fucking pro's. I was envious, to say the least as I knew, stepping out and sliding along a little I was not going to be as graceful. In fact, it took only a few tugs along the side of the rink before I lost my balance. Down I went. The only problem being is that despite my weight loss so far, all of me came crashing down. The first thing to make contact? My head. With the corner of the rink itself. Smacking my head heavy off the corner of the entrance I was dazed a little but knew I had to get up, for fear of embarrassment if nothing else.
Suffice to say, Mr Warehouse was pissing himself, literally nearly dying from lack of oxygen due to laughing so hard. But, with my British stiff upper lip I (attempted) to keep calm and carry on. Slowly but surely my aching legs and arms pulled me around the rink, three times in fact, although not without my fair share of slipping, sliding and splitting (literally doing the splits like an X-Rated version of fecking Bambi). Yes, I fell over, but so did others, although I don't think that they were approached by two very concerned 14-year-olds asking if I needed help getting up like some geriatric old fart. After falling over several times and being overtaken by several children younger than myself I found a polar bear (not a real one) and continued to go round a couple more times with him aiding and supporting me. I had no shame. None whatsoever. I was Darcey Bussell. No-one could stop me. Apart from the ice. The ice stopped me a few times.
"I thought these things were meant to stabilise you and stop you from slipping over?!" I exclaimed in my head as I headed towards Mr Warehouse and Co. on the other side of the Ice Rink. Needing a rest I stopped for a little, more so to give my leggies a rest more than anything. It's hard to relax any sort of leg muscle when your feet are strapped in tighter than a fat man on a rollercoaster and your only contact with the ground was a thin shiny metal blade.
Sitting down, exhausted, Mr Warehouse made a comment about how I didn't look well. Truthfully I didn't feel well. I felt sick. Like as if I was going to vomit. My skin felt weird, like that kind of flu-ey skin you get when you are ill. I couldn't concentrate, my eyes desperately trying to focus on anything. Something wasn't right.
"How hard did you hit your head?" Mr Warehouse said jokingly as he went to reach up to my head. And there it was searing hot pain spread across my skull. OWWW! Mr Warehouse face changed as it went from jovial fun on the ice to a serious and scared fiance. Reaching up to feel my head I could see why he was concerned. A huge lump had arisen. At the size of an orange, I knew that I had done some damage. I began getting irritable, shaking for no reason. I felt like I had been drinking for weeks and stopped, all of a sudden on some sort of come-down. I felt weird. This was weird. This wasn't right and I am not OK.
I decided that as much as I wanted to I couldn't risk going back out on the ice, plus some little fuck had stolen my polar bear so probably for the best. I took off my skates as did everyone else and headed back to the car, a dull ache starting to set in. Everything hurt. Every step I took was going straight to my inflamed head. After a quiet car journey and a stop off at some shops for a drink and some painkillers, we headed (excuse the pun) back to my future In-Laws for cake and presents. I really could have done with going to Accident and Emergency but I didn't want to worry anyone or spoil my Nephew's birthday.
After an hour or so I obviously wasn't looking right so Mr Warehouse made our excuses and left. After a little telly, I hit the pillow for an early night and struggled to wake the next morning, still with sore head and body littered with bruises. I was aching and I was tired but with a risk of concussion, Mr Warehouse refused to let me sleep any longer and instead we headed out to meet my Dad and his wife for tea and cake. That afternoon though I got my wish as I lazed on the couch most the afternoon snoozing in between pokes from my fiance just to make sure I was alive still. Even the weekly traditional roast dinner didn't sort me out and still even today at my desk colleagues referred to me as looking peaky and "not well". I spoke to HR who advised to go home, to which I replied that if I was paid to be off with sickness then I would, but I have a mortgage and can't afford time off.
As I looked online at the NHS Website and their advice on Minor Head Injuries and Concussion, I knew that things are not good when on day two you still have symptoms. Now to be fair, it does state that if you have been knocked out but have now woken up, been vomiting or have been drinking alcohol then I should go to Accident and Emergency, but I haven't so it's OK right? The Website continues to states that it's normal to have symptoms such as a slight headache, feeling nauseous or dazed and these can last anywhere up to 2 weeks.
NHS guidelines go on to say that to bring down any swelling holding an ice pack (or a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel) to the injury regularly for short periods in the first few days is helpful. Resting up and avoid stress is also advisable and to take paracetamol or ibuprofen to relieve pain or a headache but not aspirin as it could cause the injury to bleed. And whilst I have been at work today, it is probably not a good thing as further advise states that patients suffering from minor head injuries should not go back to work or school until feeling better and should not drive until fully recovered.
At the moment I still feel sick and having to concentrate today at work was hard. The screens didn't help and where I was normally focused and on the ball I simply couldn't take it in, sometimes taking several attempts to read the simplest of sentences, not good for a busy and fast-paced environment. I will have to wait and see how I feel tomorrow, but if I am not getting paid then I won't have much choice, concussion or not.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Head. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Head. Show all posts
Monday, 9 March 2020
Monday, 17 February 2014
Love is in The Air and It Stinks!
Hello there!
And what a busy week I have been having since the laziness of the past few. So typical boring British I shall begin with the weather however don't be turned off just yet as I am merely stating the fine fact that the past few days have been warmer than average and I am looking out of my window now at work from my new desk as Credit Control Administrator with a smile on my face in the knowledge that summer is only just around the corner.
So this week in the UK and I am assuming most other places on planet earth it was that god awful day ... Valentine's Day. Now I love 'Love' and in fact I am sure that some of you will know that I am the kind of person that falls very easily and quickly for someone. Not naming names here but there is more Mr. Men here that there is in a children's book store! I enjoy the fact that for at least one day a year everyone should have the ability to either get chocolates, beer, flowers or sex and if your in a relationship then lucky you because you probably are getting all three. Valentine's Day is a wonderful occasion that you can celebrate with your loved one. Unfortunately for me those days were over some weeks ago and so this year I spent my Valentine's with my fellow singleton, Miss Tweedle-Dee and her cat (Although I'm not sure if the cat has a lover? Great now I'm starting to think that the cat gets laid more than I do!)
Every year this calender event rolls around and every year I feel like carrying around a sick bag just watching other people being in love and in all honesty happy. I hate it. And yet at the same time I want to join in and share in that love although it is frowned upon to just pull up a chair to a couple on a date in a restaurant (Not from experience of course!) It is such a bitter/sweet moment. The fact is that whilst I had purchased slushy and somewhat crude Valentine's card's for Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee; I had also purchased, signed, sealed and delivered such a card for a certain someone. I shall not name names but I have been told off by many friends of mine for sending such a thing and to never do it again. Yes, that might not have been the most cleverest of things to do but I thought nothing of it and if I'm honest; hoped it would patch up some holes.
Friday night after finishing work I headed home and packed a bag for the weekend. Not only was I indulging in a night in with my Miss Tweedle-Dee but I was also meeting with Miss Cupcake who is getting married in several months. Miss Cupcake has asked me to be the photographer for her wedding as mentioned last week and we had finally put aside some time in our busy schedule's to walk around the grounds in which the soon-to-be-weds intend to take their vows. Looking outside however hearing the rain start to drizzle down my quaint windows I felt that this may not be the weather for a half-hour walk to the train station. But I couldn't leave it as knowing England the rain could go on for days. Braving the cold, wet droplets I headed for the station only to get there colder and wetter than when I first started out. I was now frustrated and annoyed and just wanted to be warm and cuddly. And the mood did not improve when I got to the other end. I boarded the wrong bus which stopped half way and chucked me out in the middle of where I grew up (A place I despise with a passion). A typically deprived 'chav'-area and despite living there for the longest period in my life I had not taken on the appearance of a common resident around those parts. A life filled with 'Jeremy Kyle' and the occasional spliff, lounging in bed all day with the only reasons to get up is either going to sign on, feeding one of your nine children (all by different fathers) or maybe a trip to the local shops to steal stuff in your Primark ugg boots and pyjamas, or if your lucky a velour tracksuit! Yes I did not miss my hometown.
Angrily cursing under my breath I huffed into the freezing air. Aggravated I punched in the numbers of a local cab company I knew of. As it dialled through I thought about how unsatisfying it is to just press a screen when you are mad. Long gone are the days where you could push down so hard of buttons they would catch under the plastic handset or snap shut that person on the other end of the line. In good time (But not good enough given my foul mood) the cab arrived and I was soon en route to Miss Tweedle-Dee's humble abode. As soon as I arrived I hopped straight in the shower, warming my bones that had chilled in the weather. Walking out into the warmness of her home I noticed Miss Tweedle-Dee had brought out her guitar. Feeling more of an improvement now I had arrived at my final destination and knowing the tune she was strumming away to I joined in with the chorus and thus commenced our Valentine's night. The remainder was just as I had hoped for. Girly chit-chat, Youtube videos, takeaway food and a horror film. I think it was one of the best Valentine's Days I have ever had, regardless if Miss Tweedle-Dee pre-booked me over a year in advance. I hope maybe next year I can do the same - With or without a boyfriend!
Who knows what next year may bring. The next twelve-months will be an exciting journey I shall share with you all once more again. The highs, the lows. The Mr.'s and the Miss'. Maybe this time next year I shall with with someone, or maybe just the same old loon still partying as she enters her twenty-fourth year of life! Regardless I know I'll have a whale of a time (maybe because I was called one on a beach sometime! Sad face). This week I have a flat to fix-up, a house-warming to prepare for and a date with someone who shall be named before encountered - Mr. Minigolf!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
And what a busy week I have been having since the laziness of the past few. So typical boring British I shall begin with the weather however don't be turned off just yet as I am merely stating the fine fact that the past few days have been warmer than average and I am looking out of my window now at work from my new desk as Credit Control Administrator with a smile on my face in the knowledge that summer is only just around the corner.
So this week in the UK and I am assuming most other places on planet earth it was that god awful day ... Valentine's Day. Now I love 'Love' and in fact I am sure that some of you will know that I am the kind of person that falls very easily and quickly for someone. Not naming names here but there is more Mr. Men here that there is in a children's book store! I enjoy the fact that for at least one day a year everyone should have the ability to either get chocolates, beer, flowers or sex and if your in a relationship then lucky you because you probably are getting all three. Valentine's Day is a wonderful occasion that you can celebrate with your loved one. Unfortunately for me those days were over some weeks ago and so this year I spent my Valentine's with my fellow singleton, Miss Tweedle-Dee and her cat (Although I'm not sure if the cat has a lover? Great now I'm starting to think that the cat gets laid more than I do!)
Every year this calender event rolls around and every year I feel like carrying around a sick bag just watching other people being in love and in all honesty happy. I hate it. And yet at the same time I want to join in and share in that love although it is frowned upon to just pull up a chair to a couple on a date in a restaurant (Not from experience of course!) It is such a bitter/sweet moment. The fact is that whilst I had purchased slushy and somewhat crude Valentine's card's for Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee; I had also purchased, signed, sealed and delivered such a card for a certain someone. I shall not name names but I have been told off by many friends of mine for sending such a thing and to never do it again. Yes, that might not have been the most cleverest of things to do but I thought nothing of it and if I'm honest; hoped it would patch up some holes.
Friday night after finishing work I headed home and packed a bag for the weekend. Not only was I indulging in a night in with my Miss Tweedle-Dee but I was also meeting with Miss Cupcake who is getting married in several months. Miss Cupcake has asked me to be the photographer for her wedding as mentioned last week and we had finally put aside some time in our busy schedule's to walk around the grounds in which the soon-to-be-weds intend to take their vows. Looking outside however hearing the rain start to drizzle down my quaint windows I felt that this may not be the weather for a half-hour walk to the train station. But I couldn't leave it as knowing England the rain could go on for days. Braving the cold, wet droplets I headed for the station only to get there colder and wetter than when I first started out. I was now frustrated and annoyed and just wanted to be warm and cuddly. And the mood did not improve when I got to the other end. I boarded the wrong bus which stopped half way and chucked me out in the middle of where I grew up (A place I despise with a passion). A typically deprived 'chav'-area and despite living there for the longest period in my life I had not taken on the appearance of a common resident around those parts. A life filled with 'Jeremy Kyle' and the occasional spliff, lounging in bed all day with the only reasons to get up is either going to sign on, feeding one of your nine children (all by different fathers) or maybe a trip to the local shops to steal stuff in your Primark ugg boots and pyjamas, or if your lucky a velour tracksuit! Yes I did not miss my hometown.
Angrily cursing under my breath I huffed into the freezing air. Aggravated I punched in the numbers of a local cab company I knew of. As it dialled through I thought about how unsatisfying it is to just press a screen when you are mad. Long gone are the days where you could push down so hard of buttons they would catch under the plastic handset or snap shut that person on the other end of the line. In good time (But not good enough given my foul mood) the cab arrived and I was soon en route to Miss Tweedle-Dee's humble abode. As soon as I arrived I hopped straight in the shower, warming my bones that had chilled in the weather. Walking out into the warmness of her home I noticed Miss Tweedle-Dee had brought out her guitar. Feeling more of an improvement now I had arrived at my final destination and knowing the tune she was strumming away to I joined in with the chorus and thus commenced our Valentine's night. The remainder was just as I had hoped for. Girly chit-chat, Youtube videos, takeaway food and a horror film. I think it was one of the best Valentine's Days I have ever had, regardless if Miss Tweedle-Dee pre-booked me over a year in advance. I hope maybe next year I can do the same - With or without a boyfriend!
Who knows what next year may bring. The next twelve-months will be an exciting journey I shall share with you all once more again. The highs, the lows. The Mr.'s and the Miss'. Maybe this time next year I shall with with someone, or maybe just the same old loon still partying as she enters her twenty-fourth year of life! Regardless I know I'll have a whale of a time (maybe because I was called one on a beach sometime! Sad face). This week I have a flat to fix-up, a house-warming to prepare for and a date with someone who shall be named before encountered - Mr. Minigolf!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 27 January 2014
A Greek Tragedy
Hi,
So here I am. All moved in, definitely not unpacked and slightly exhausted still from the week I have just had. Oh, and to top it all off I have a stinking cold and have been investing in Beechams since Saturday. This flu stuff sucks! I suppose it is no surprise really since I have been run off my feet all week what with preparing for the move and all. My new abode, whilst freezing cold is much nicer than my old place and will soon be a Palace fit for a Aphrodite herself. With its angled ceilings and views over the town I can see myself being very, very happy here. But as I am sure you are all well aware, my house move is not the only thing I have been preparing for this week ...
After last week's post I went to Dad's for dinner and for once I don't think we argued. I like the fact that when we don't live under the same roof and we have our own space we seem to get along a lot better. I just wish sometimes we could have more time together. And now I have my very own flat I can have both him and his girlfriend round for dinner. Dad was able to lend me some unhelpful advice about the impending Mr. Cheese meeting and also about moving. Although struggling to save up to move had taken its toll on my finances and so I had to pluck up the courage to ask him for money to help me move. Obviously I plan on paying it back but I am sure that many of you will recognise just how hard it is to save for anything nower days, let alone to live by yourself. Wednesday was a good night out with the girls to take my mind off things, until I received a message from Mr. Cheese. He was home earlier than anticipated and could bring forward our meeting to Friday evening rather than Sunday mid-morning. Thinking that it would be better to get it over and done with I obliged and awaited Friday evening like anticipating a bullet to the head.
Friday went well with the move, despite having to take off two doors, four handles and nearly several fingers getting my sofa into my little home. But that was the least of my worries that day, and as the time Mr. Cheese and I planned to meet grew ever closer I became sick with a near faint-rendering concoction of emotions. As the heavens opened, I witnessed him pull up in his car get out and with only a few seconds passed I was kissed passionately by the all consuming Mr. Cheese. Although taken aback I didn't pull away, but at the same time I failed to respond to his kisses in the rain. Pushing Mr. Cheese away I mentioned about going into the warmth of my old flat and so we made the journey inside. In my heart I knew, climbing the stairs, that I would not come out the same way I was going in. Sitting down on the edge of a freshly made bed we made small talk, avoiding the elephant in the room. I crossed my legs. I entwined my arms. But nothing stopped Mr. Cheese from attempting to kiss me or cuddle me. 'So much love to give and yet none of it is for me' I thought. I couldn't go on any further and as he leaned in to kiss me again I asked that all important question - "Where are you at?"
Answering only simply was the words I had heard a million times before. The same phrase that had been echoing in my mind for the past seven-months since we first met on a scorching Sunday afternoon in the summer of last year. My head spinning I struggled to take it all in. You would have thought that after knowing that this would be the case I would have been prepared for such a statement. I suppose in a sense a tiny part of me thought that it would end in a fairytale and that everything in life would finally be fitting into place. My very own Zeus. But alas this was not the case, how could it have been. Mr. Cheese did not love me, despite what he may proclaim. The words "I Love You" had been a mere phrase to appease me and not meant as I had truly hoped. His admiration for me was not a match for mine and so it had to end. And as we sat in silence, each one of us begging the other to make a move I rehearsed what I had planned for such an event as this. Cool and calm I explained the way I felt and made Mr. Cheese clear that I could not continue with whatever it was that we had without some sort of clarity. I needed black or white and all he was giving me was grey. I continued to elucidate that I could no longer be a friend either for the pure and simple reason that I love him too much to stand by and watch as he dates other girls.
Talking continued for hours until our stomachs rumbled. Thinking logically and knowing I didn't want a take-away, Mr. Cheese and I went to dinner. Ironically we went to the same restaurant where only a few months previously we had sat lovingly across the same table from each other discussing our plans for Christmas together. As we sat down to order I enquired about his dates with the now not so talkative Miss South-Africa. Turns out she is a right do-gooder; a charity worker who went on a twatting gap yaaar (said poshly) to somewhere with mountains. The goddess herself (AKA: Miss South-Africa) has blonde hair and a slim figure, something in which I envy more than life itself. Irony would have it that she shares the same name and look as the girl Mr. Workaholic dated soon after we separated a few year earlier. Funny how life likes to take a dump on you sometimes!
As we ate over dinner and with nothing to loose I thought I would explain the in's and out's (almost literally) to Mr. Cheese about the encounter I had with Mr. DJ. Laughing along I hoped he would seething inside as I was about Miss South-Africa, but truth be told I knew he wouldn't because he didn't love me like I love him. Placing his cutlery down I made a statement about not being able to get laid any more and missing the company of a man to which came a response about not having to give up the sex. I pretended I didn't hear as I went to the bathroom. I felt sick. Really sick. Was it the food or the conversation? I didn't know but tried to put the fact that a fortnight had already passed to the back of my mind. Returning to the table I asked for the rest of my meal to be take-away. Leaving the restaurant I inclined myself for the goodbye's that were to come.
Pulling up outside my new bachelor pad, Mr. Cheese accompanied me inside helping with a few things left over from moving. Settling down some boxes in the hall-way I gave his the grand tour of my forty-foot-squared home. tour over we soon settled down and as I opened a bottle of wine I asked what Mr. Cheese's curfew was. Eleven. "Well it was just gone eleven when we left the restaurant so you should probably get moving" I said as I glugged myself a glass of Rose, not offering any to my commitment-phobe guest. I was stunned by the arrogance of the answer being that it was eleven the following morning, implying that apparently Mr. Cheese was staying the night. Of course I didn't want him to stay over, knowing that we would be sharing a bed again, but the cheekiness halted any anger in its tracks, replacing it with a smirk and a naughty grin. Safe to say that the first night in my new flat was one I wont forget. At least the sofa has been christened properly now.
The sofa wasn't the only thing to get christened in the first twenty-four-hours as the following morning I awoke after an awful nights sleep to being violently sick, vomiting into my aluminium sink. Classy. Attending to my side I knew that Mr. Cheese felt helpless and in a round about way I wondered why it was now that he wanted to look after me knowing that he would not be a permanent figure as I had hoped. But as the sun rose and streamed through my window, the magnitude of the situation hit my dearest Mr. Cheese like a bolt from the gods themselves. I lay in bed beside Mr. Cheese feeling the shadow of this flu taking hold and as I struggled to hold down sips of water I took notice to what he had to say. I listened intently as I saw his beautiful blue eyes fill up with tears and nearly choking myself I couldn't help but want to hold him close and promise it would be OK, but I couldn't. Not now. Not ever. It is just a sad fact that Mr. Cheese couldn't see the potential that such a small risk and such an easy gamble would reap such benefits and rewards for a proper relationship between us and just how much more happier it could have made us.
Eventually we dragged ourselves from the warm sheets to get dressed and say our farewells. Standing there in my hall-way, dark and cold, tears began to spill over Mr. Cheese's cheeks and down his soft, warm face. Almost as if watching from afar Mr. Cheese began a prose about how his family and friends had fallen in love with me as much as he had and that I was a 'keeper'. Mr. Cheese spoke of his promise to his elderly Grandpa and Grandma over Christmas whilst I was back with my own family. He had made a promised them that he would never let me go and always keep me close, making me a full-time girlfriend soon. But as Mr. Cheese's voice split and cracked he croaked about letting them all down. As he fell into me, sobbing I couldn't help but shed a silent tear myself for what could have been. Wiping my flushed cheeks as we pulled away I ushered him to go knowing that him staying any longer would just prolong the pain and suffering. And so he left. I watched as he got in his car to leave, driving off slowly down the road. As soon as he left I crumbled like a marble statue knowing that I may never see him again. It hurt. It hurt a lot. And whilst I know it's over between Mr. Cheese and I, it seems I cant help but wish for a little blue car to appear outside the window of my Palace.
After that I had no motivation to do anything around the flat. I needed desperately to unpack but was lethargic and the cold wasn't helping. Knowing that Miss Tweedle-Dumb was at a conference I dialled Miss Tweedle-Dee's number, praying that for once she would pick-up. And she did. After a long conversation, playing out again the scenes from the night before I started to feel much better and through her natural power of persuasion, Miss Tweedle-Dee convinced me to go out Saturday night with some friends. So I did. And what a night I had. In fact the rest of the weekend was a success after the initial stumble. Saturday night I went to a local gig back home with some old friends who are getting married in the spring (I am doing their photography - Daunting I know!). But also at the gig was an unexpected face of Mr. DJ! Thankfully he was busy working the gig and band so didn't have much time to talk. He did however make the point of saying hello and it was almost, just almost, as if that ram-shackled night in the back of his tiny car didn't happen at all. Buying him a drink we looked at each other as if to acknowledge the fact that we both still remembered the night clearly. Turns out that Mr. DJ is single and I think I may have a certain future Bride and Groom trying to set us up. Whether it goes anywhere or not is another matter but quite frankly I only have a craving for Cheese.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So here I am. All moved in, definitely not unpacked and slightly exhausted still from the week I have just had. Oh, and to top it all off I have a stinking cold and have been investing in Beechams since Saturday. This flu stuff sucks! I suppose it is no surprise really since I have been run off my feet all week what with preparing for the move and all. My new abode, whilst freezing cold is much nicer than my old place and will soon be a Palace fit for a Aphrodite herself. With its angled ceilings and views over the town I can see myself being very, very happy here. But as I am sure you are all well aware, my house move is not the only thing I have been preparing for this week ...
After last week's post I went to Dad's for dinner and for once I don't think we argued. I like the fact that when we don't live under the same roof and we have our own space we seem to get along a lot better. I just wish sometimes we could have more time together. And now I have my very own flat I can have both him and his girlfriend round for dinner. Dad was able to lend me some unhelpful advice about the impending Mr. Cheese meeting and also about moving. Although struggling to save up to move had taken its toll on my finances and so I had to pluck up the courage to ask him for money to help me move. Obviously I plan on paying it back but I am sure that many of you will recognise just how hard it is to save for anything nower days, let alone to live by yourself. Wednesday was a good night out with the girls to take my mind off things, until I received a message from Mr. Cheese. He was home earlier than anticipated and could bring forward our meeting to Friday evening rather than Sunday mid-morning. Thinking that it would be better to get it over and done with I obliged and awaited Friday evening like anticipating a bullet to the head.
Friday went well with the move, despite having to take off two doors, four handles and nearly several fingers getting my sofa into my little home. But that was the least of my worries that day, and as the time Mr. Cheese and I planned to meet grew ever closer I became sick with a near faint-rendering concoction of emotions. As the heavens opened, I witnessed him pull up in his car get out and with only a few seconds passed I was kissed passionately by the all consuming Mr. Cheese. Although taken aback I didn't pull away, but at the same time I failed to respond to his kisses in the rain. Pushing Mr. Cheese away I mentioned about going into the warmth of my old flat and so we made the journey inside. In my heart I knew, climbing the stairs, that I would not come out the same way I was going in. Sitting down on the edge of a freshly made bed we made small talk, avoiding the elephant in the room. I crossed my legs. I entwined my arms. But nothing stopped Mr. Cheese from attempting to kiss me or cuddle me. 'So much love to give and yet none of it is for me' I thought. I couldn't go on any further and as he leaned in to kiss me again I asked that all important question - "Where are you at?"
Answering only simply was the words I had heard a million times before. The same phrase that had been echoing in my mind for the past seven-months since we first met on a scorching Sunday afternoon in the summer of last year. My head spinning I struggled to take it all in. You would have thought that after knowing that this would be the case I would have been prepared for such a statement. I suppose in a sense a tiny part of me thought that it would end in a fairytale and that everything in life would finally be fitting into place. My very own Zeus. But alas this was not the case, how could it have been. Mr. Cheese did not love me, despite what he may proclaim. The words "I Love You" had been a mere phrase to appease me and not meant as I had truly hoped. His admiration for me was not a match for mine and so it had to end. And as we sat in silence, each one of us begging the other to make a move I rehearsed what I had planned for such an event as this. Cool and calm I explained the way I felt and made Mr. Cheese clear that I could not continue with whatever it was that we had without some sort of clarity. I needed black or white and all he was giving me was grey. I continued to elucidate that I could no longer be a friend either for the pure and simple reason that I love him too much to stand by and watch as he dates other girls.
Talking continued for hours until our stomachs rumbled. Thinking logically and knowing I didn't want a take-away, Mr. Cheese and I went to dinner. Ironically we went to the same restaurant where only a few months previously we had sat lovingly across the same table from each other discussing our plans for Christmas together. As we sat down to order I enquired about his dates with the now not so talkative Miss South-Africa. Turns out she is a right do-gooder; a charity worker who went on a twatting gap yaaar (said poshly) to somewhere with mountains. The goddess herself (AKA: Miss South-Africa) has blonde hair and a slim figure, something in which I envy more than life itself. Irony would have it that she shares the same name and look as the girl Mr. Workaholic dated soon after we separated a few year earlier. Funny how life likes to take a dump on you sometimes!
As we ate over dinner and with nothing to loose I thought I would explain the in's and out's (almost literally) to Mr. Cheese about the encounter I had with Mr. DJ. Laughing along I hoped he would seething inside as I was about Miss South-Africa, but truth be told I knew he wouldn't because he didn't love me like I love him. Placing his cutlery down I made a statement about not being able to get laid any more and missing the company of a man to which came a response about not having to give up the sex. I pretended I didn't hear as I went to the bathroom. I felt sick. Really sick. Was it the food or the conversation? I didn't know but tried to put the fact that a fortnight had already passed to the back of my mind. Returning to the table I asked for the rest of my meal to be take-away. Leaving the restaurant I inclined myself for the goodbye's that were to come.
Pulling up outside my new bachelor pad, Mr. Cheese accompanied me inside helping with a few things left over from moving. Settling down some boxes in the hall-way I gave his the grand tour of my forty-foot-squared home. tour over we soon settled down and as I opened a bottle of wine I asked what Mr. Cheese's curfew was. Eleven. "Well it was just gone eleven when we left the restaurant so you should probably get moving" I said as I glugged myself a glass of Rose, not offering any to my commitment-phobe guest. I was stunned by the arrogance of the answer being that it was eleven the following morning, implying that apparently Mr. Cheese was staying the night. Of course I didn't want him to stay over, knowing that we would be sharing a bed again, but the cheekiness halted any anger in its tracks, replacing it with a smirk and a naughty grin. Safe to say that the first night in my new flat was one I wont forget. At least the sofa has been christened properly now.
The sofa wasn't the only thing to get christened in the first twenty-four-hours as the following morning I awoke after an awful nights sleep to being violently sick, vomiting into my aluminium sink. Classy. Attending to my side I knew that Mr. Cheese felt helpless and in a round about way I wondered why it was now that he wanted to look after me knowing that he would not be a permanent figure as I had hoped. But as the sun rose and streamed through my window, the magnitude of the situation hit my dearest Mr. Cheese like a bolt from the gods themselves. I lay in bed beside Mr. Cheese feeling the shadow of this flu taking hold and as I struggled to hold down sips of water I took notice to what he had to say. I listened intently as I saw his beautiful blue eyes fill up with tears and nearly choking myself I couldn't help but want to hold him close and promise it would be OK, but I couldn't. Not now. Not ever. It is just a sad fact that Mr. Cheese couldn't see the potential that such a small risk and such an easy gamble would reap such benefits and rewards for a proper relationship between us and just how much more happier it could have made us.
Eventually we dragged ourselves from the warm sheets to get dressed and say our farewells. Standing there in my hall-way, dark and cold, tears began to spill over Mr. Cheese's cheeks and down his soft, warm face. Almost as if watching from afar Mr. Cheese began a prose about how his family and friends had fallen in love with me as much as he had and that I was a 'keeper'. Mr. Cheese spoke of his promise to his elderly Grandpa and Grandma over Christmas whilst I was back with my own family. He had made a promised them that he would never let me go and always keep me close, making me a full-time girlfriend soon. But as Mr. Cheese's voice split and cracked he croaked about letting them all down. As he fell into me, sobbing I couldn't help but shed a silent tear myself for what could have been. Wiping my flushed cheeks as we pulled away I ushered him to go knowing that him staying any longer would just prolong the pain and suffering. And so he left. I watched as he got in his car to leave, driving off slowly down the road. As soon as he left I crumbled like a marble statue knowing that I may never see him again. It hurt. It hurt a lot. And whilst I know it's over between Mr. Cheese and I, it seems I cant help but wish for a little blue car to appear outside the window of my Palace.
After that I had no motivation to do anything around the flat. I needed desperately to unpack but was lethargic and the cold wasn't helping. Knowing that Miss Tweedle-Dumb was at a conference I dialled Miss Tweedle-Dee's number, praying that for once she would pick-up. And she did. After a long conversation, playing out again the scenes from the night before I started to feel much better and through her natural power of persuasion, Miss Tweedle-Dee convinced me to go out Saturday night with some friends. So I did. And what a night I had. In fact the rest of the weekend was a success after the initial stumble. Saturday night I went to a local gig back home with some old friends who are getting married in the spring (I am doing their photography - Daunting I know!). But also at the gig was an unexpected face of Mr. DJ! Thankfully he was busy working the gig and band so didn't have much time to talk. He did however make the point of saying hello and it was almost, just almost, as if that ram-shackled night in the back of his tiny car didn't happen at all. Buying him a drink we looked at each other as if to acknowledge the fact that we both still remembered the night clearly. Turns out that Mr. DJ is single and I think I may have a certain future Bride and Groom trying to set us up. Whether it goes anywhere or not is another matter but quite frankly I only have a craving for Cheese.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 23 July 2013
A Week From Satan Himself ...
Afternoon All,
Some people have described me as lucky, but after this week I doubt that this would be falling out of anyone's mouth any time soon. Allow me to explain the disastrous week I have just encountered. So after last week's dinner with Miss Chocolate on Tuesday and planning some more frolicking during these long, hot summer's days I was in a positive mood, not to mention finally putting down a deposit on my new home. But then Wednesday arrived and with it some woe.
Wednesday morning was like any other. I was up dressed and ready for work, watching some daytime TV and having breakfast before making my way to the station. After arriving on platform two and now waiting for my train I began to search through my social media channels and listen to music. A normal day. Until that is I begin to notice all the people from the opposite platform start to make their way up the stairs and over the walkway. As I watched this spectacle I saw a young blonde women walk down the stairs onto my platform when I was the only one waiting for the train to Bedford. She asked me to come with her to the ticket station. Panicked I had done something wrong I asked what the matter was to which she replied calmly with 'nothing'. As I went to pick up my bag she asked that I not look behind me. Not taking much notice I hooked my satchel over my shoulder and carried my steel-framed Rayleigh up the stairs and along the walk way. Nothing prepared me for what I saw when I turned to face the uniformed man at the end of the passenger bridge. As I turned to face the man in the train provider uniform I caught a glimpse of something horrifying. A man's head. Severed from his body. Alone. On the platform I had my back to. I cant remember a face but what I can remember is a thick, dark brown mass of hair covering this man's head. The face I do not remember.
As the colour drained from my face and my stomach churned at what my eyes had just glanced over, the uniformed man had clocked what I had just seen and pushed me out of view from it. He started to explain what had just happened even though I knew, telling me what would happen and that it would take up to several hours to clean up the mess. Even as I was told to go to the ticket office it still hadn't set in that I had just seen. A man been hit by a high-speed train. Accident or suicide, no-one knows. The pieces of human spread across the tracks will remain with me forever. The dark, matted hairy head of a man I never knew. All seen on this scorching Wednesday morning.
Upon arrival to the ticket office, I and some fellow passengers was told someone would be out in a second to speak to us. Amongst swarms of police officers, cop cars, vans and motorbikes, we all stood there waiting to be told the out come of our journey's. As time went on I decided I should call work to let them know what had happened and that I may well be late in. As the dialling tone of my phone played in the background I witnessed police men in vivid yellow jackets carry a white body bag with a dark mass at the bottom. This confirmed what I had seen. And as a voice picked up on the other end of the line I started to croak. Needless to say that I was told to go home and get some rest. I never knew that something like this would affect me in such a way it would bring me to tears. A man I never met, only seconds earlier a living, breathing, human with limbs attached and blood racing through his body. And now he was no more.
After finally coming to terms with Wednesday's incidents I returned to work and was grateful when Friday arrived. Walking into work and putting my lunch in the fridge I began to feel a little more normal. It was at this point that life was spun on its head once again for me. Less than five minutes before my shift was meant to start I get a call. I answered. My agency. As I took the call outside the office I listened intently as they explained how despite everything - The success, the progress, the moving forward in terms of improvement; my employment was to be terminated as of that moment. Devastated I broke once more. After everything I had been told about making all the right moves, about being on track and making brilliant progress that the company had decided I was not worthy of a permanent position. Upset turned to anger quickly resulting in me lashing out at the lady on the other end of the phone. Why hadn't I been tole earlier? Why was it that after an hour-and-a-half commute into work and after walking into the office filled with embarrassed faces and sheepish looks I was to be told now? Apparently my agency was a 'bit tied up' in the morning and so had only got round to them telling me now. Less than five minutes before my shift was meant to start. Heartbroken my thoughts turned to my little flat. My summer of fun with Miss Chocolate, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle Dumb. The Deposit I had just put down on my little nest egg and now it was all gone. After discussing it further and working myself up I realised there was no point. Whats done is done and there was nothing I could do to change that. I walked back into the office, collected my lunch and walked back out past the sheepish and sorrowful looks of the colleagues and supervisors that ultimately caused such heartache. At a later date I was to find out that my agency was in the wrong and have paid for my pseudo taxi journey home.
And so that concludes my hellish week. A week I never wish to relive. Something that I know will make me a stronger person, but also make me realise just how precious life and everything in it is. Right back at square one and starting the job hunt all over again. Only this time the stakes are higher, the past few months worth of life-savings are on the line. I wither move into my new home and scrap by with everything I have or I give it all up and keep battling through life. Hopefully things will change by the next time we speak.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Some people have described me as lucky, but after this week I doubt that this would be falling out of anyone's mouth any time soon. Allow me to explain the disastrous week I have just encountered. So after last week's dinner with Miss Chocolate on Tuesday and planning some more frolicking during these long, hot summer's days I was in a positive mood, not to mention finally putting down a deposit on my new home. But then Wednesday arrived and with it some woe.
Wednesday morning was like any other. I was up dressed and ready for work, watching some daytime TV and having breakfast before making my way to the station. After arriving on platform two and now waiting for my train I began to search through my social media channels and listen to music. A normal day. Until that is I begin to notice all the people from the opposite platform start to make their way up the stairs and over the walkway. As I watched this spectacle I saw a young blonde women walk down the stairs onto my platform when I was the only one waiting for the train to Bedford. She asked me to come with her to the ticket station. Panicked I had done something wrong I asked what the matter was to which she replied calmly with 'nothing'. As I went to pick up my bag she asked that I not look behind me. Not taking much notice I hooked my satchel over my shoulder and carried my steel-framed Rayleigh up the stairs and along the walk way. Nothing prepared me for what I saw when I turned to face the uniformed man at the end of the passenger bridge. As I turned to face the man in the train provider uniform I caught a glimpse of something horrifying. A man's head. Severed from his body. Alone. On the platform I had my back to. I cant remember a face but what I can remember is a thick, dark brown mass of hair covering this man's head. The face I do not remember.
As the colour drained from my face and my stomach churned at what my eyes had just glanced over, the uniformed man had clocked what I had just seen and pushed me out of view from it. He started to explain what had just happened even though I knew, telling me what would happen and that it would take up to several hours to clean up the mess. Even as I was told to go to the ticket office it still hadn't set in that I had just seen. A man been hit by a high-speed train. Accident or suicide, no-one knows. The pieces of human spread across the tracks will remain with me forever. The dark, matted hairy head of a man I never knew. All seen on this scorching Wednesday morning.
Upon arrival to the ticket office, I and some fellow passengers was told someone would be out in a second to speak to us. Amongst swarms of police officers, cop cars, vans and motorbikes, we all stood there waiting to be told the out come of our journey's. As time went on I decided I should call work to let them know what had happened and that I may well be late in. As the dialling tone of my phone played in the background I witnessed police men in vivid yellow jackets carry a white body bag with a dark mass at the bottom. This confirmed what I had seen. And as a voice picked up on the other end of the line I started to croak. Needless to say that I was told to go home and get some rest. I never knew that something like this would affect me in such a way it would bring me to tears. A man I never met, only seconds earlier a living, breathing, human with limbs attached and blood racing through his body. And now he was no more.
After finally coming to terms with Wednesday's incidents I returned to work and was grateful when Friday arrived. Walking into work and putting my lunch in the fridge I began to feel a little more normal. It was at this point that life was spun on its head once again for me. Less than five minutes before my shift was meant to start I get a call. I answered. My agency. As I took the call outside the office I listened intently as they explained how despite everything - The success, the progress, the moving forward in terms of improvement; my employment was to be terminated as of that moment. Devastated I broke once more. After everything I had been told about making all the right moves, about being on track and making brilliant progress that the company had decided I was not worthy of a permanent position. Upset turned to anger quickly resulting in me lashing out at the lady on the other end of the phone. Why hadn't I been tole earlier? Why was it that after an hour-and-a-half commute into work and after walking into the office filled with embarrassed faces and sheepish looks I was to be told now? Apparently my agency was a 'bit tied up' in the morning and so had only got round to them telling me now. Less than five minutes before my shift was meant to start. Heartbroken my thoughts turned to my little flat. My summer of fun with Miss Chocolate, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle Dumb. The Deposit I had just put down on my little nest egg and now it was all gone. After discussing it further and working myself up I realised there was no point. Whats done is done and there was nothing I could do to change that. I walked back into the office, collected my lunch and walked back out past the sheepish and sorrowful looks of the colleagues and supervisors that ultimately caused such heartache. At a later date I was to find out that my agency was in the wrong and have paid for my pseudo taxi journey home.
And so that concludes my hellish week. A week I never wish to relive. Something that I know will make me a stronger person, but also make me realise just how precious life and everything in it is. Right back at square one and starting the job hunt all over again. Only this time the stakes are higher, the past few months worth of life-savings are on the line. I wither move into my new home and scrap by with everything I have or I give it all up and keep battling through life. Hopefully things will change by the next time we speak.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)