Two Hands

On one hand, my nails are perfect and the skin unblemished. On the other hand, I am covered in scratches and chipped polish.

On one hand, my job is not the worst in the world. I work autonomously; I get paid regularly. I do not work above my contracted hours and I do not think about work outside of those. On the other hand, I need a new job; a challenge; a chance of progression; a stretch of my skills, before I get too comfortable and unable to branch out. 

On one hand, a relationship is a whole lot of effort and expectation that I can't be dealing with right now. It's not something I want; it's not something I'm looking for. On the other hand, it is quite nice to have another hand to hold.

On one hand, I must try harder. On the other hand, I can't quite muster the motivation to do so. 

Flitterbox: Laura Marling ~ Goodbye England (Covered in Snow)

Catching Trains

I...I have to go

Push me away, then. 

A spark tingled my stomach. The gut feeling lasted a mere second before brain thoughts took over. What does this mean? This is stupid. We can't. We just can't. I don't want this, not like this. And I'm going to be late for my train.

Damn you. You can't do this just as I'm about to leave; what the hell, man. We had a pleasant afternoon. Nice. Lovely, in fact. But it wouldn't set the world alight and I knew that coffee and cake does not equate to a date and he's explicitly stated that he's not doing the distance thing, again. So flirting was minimal, from him, that is - I can't seem to help myself, however inappropriate the situation - and when we walk up to the station, I'm kind of sad and he's kind of polite and detached. Nice, pleasant and distant, as ever. Nothing more. Until...

 I can't.

I can't do this. I can't pretend that this is all okay. After the day we've had I'm not even sure it's there. But then one touch sends me into shivers and somersaults? He lightly circles my palm with his finger and oh gosh, I melt as easily as cheese on toast. In the freezing cold of mid-winter, a furnace is burning inside my body; pumping electricity around my veins. And I'm going to be late for my train.

 I..I have togo. I have to leave. I can't stay. I can't stay and slip inside a cosy coat and become intertwined with another body. I just can't and a part of me thinks he's doing this purely to spite me, to prove his point. To show that if we get any deeper into this thing, the feeling will just get worse, every time I have to leave. To demonstrate that distance is a real deal-breaker, not something that you can just forget about because the rest might fit.

I pass through the barriers and he doesn't even smile at me as I leave: detached, distant, done.

Gone. I turn away and bite the inside of my cheek to stem the tears.

I can't.

Flitterbox: Red Hot Chili Peppers ~ Scar Tissue
Flitterbook: The Language of Flowers ~ Vanessa Diffenbaugh

Blank Faces

Today, I have spoken on the phone.

I am currently in a job role in which I have only a handful of people that I deal with on a regular basis. It is mostly contact by email, although I will speak to them on the phone if appropriate. I am the singular point of contact for these people, they know me by name and I them, the same. 

So, I know their names and I've heard most of their voices. But I've never met them. I don't know what they look like. It's slightly weird. I kind of imagine most people to be older, or more experienced, or more senior than me. I don't really know why that is. There's no reason why the person on the other end of the email isn't just as young as me, or have equivalent experience to me. There's a necessity to be professional at times, but sometimes I find it strange to speak so professionally with someone who is essentially, just like me. Hey, we could even be friends? 

It's weird, to think that the person I am speaking to is not some Big Corporate Person, but could just be a graduate girl in her twenties, someone I could have known at university, someone I could bump into on a Saturday night.  It's weird, to think, that I could encounter these people and not even know that they are the person I speak to on a weekly basis. It's not unreasonable that I could be in the same bars or shops if ever I were in the area. I wouldn't even know it. I could pass them in the street and not even know it.

Isn't that kind of odd? So for work, as for the internet. It's the bizarro world we live in, getting to know people before you meet them. Very strange. 

Flitterbox: James ~ Who Are You
Flitterbook: Jacob M. Appel ~ The Man Who Wouldn't Stand Up

Bonne Année

Today, I have accumulated over five years of Flitterbee.

I am forever making resolutions. Whether it’s new year, lent, spring equinox, summer solstice, academic new year, the first of any month, start of the week or simply a sunny afternoon, I will find reason enough for tomorrow to be a fresh start. I rarely tend to follow these resolutions through, but it's not long before a chance to amend my ways comes around again.

Generally, I think I prefer retrospective resolutions - I look back on the year, at whatever date marker I deem appropriate, and admire my achievements, even if I had not singled them out at the offset. In this way, I haven't failed. I can just remember all the things I have done, rather than what I haven't managed. There are a few things I would like to happen this year, but they are not so much resolving to change my ways as specific goals. Of course, there are always aspects that I would like to do in a general "be a better version of me" sense, but these are gradual and need greater motivation than the mere chink & cheer of glasses raised upon the welcome of the new calendar year. 

I want to read more; I have a kindle now, so it is more convenient. I want to listen to different music; I need to update my digital music device. I want to write more frequently; it's been a while. I want to capture special moments; I want to make interesting memories. I want to do all of these and more, always and not just because it is new year. These are the continual aims are less measurable - "more" is harder to judge and I can't commit myself to put a discrete value on it. So, I will do what I can and see how it goes.

Happy New Year!

Flitterbox: Girls Aloud ~ No Good Advice

Flitterbook: Swimming Home ~ Deborah Levy

Sept Ans

Today, I have accumulated seven years of blog.

So, I've got the itch to blog. To mark this day in the only way I can - online.

It's been a while. I got into the game a lot earlier than most people I know. The internet used to be just a place to find out things, not "Find Friends" as social networking sites suggest that I do, every time I log in. I never used to be all that open about forming friendships online, in fact, I still don't tend to talk about it because unless you give an acceptable context, many people would still find it strange. It is strange.

In this modern world of a working girl, I have no friends that I see particularly regularly: on a daily, or even weekly basis. Most of my close friends live in a different locality to me; trains are a pain and travel is awkward. You don't take a two hour round trip, just to sit for an evening in front of a TV with someone. So I don't see most of my friends all that often, no doubt the meetings will dwindle further as people do the growing up thing - get married, get mortages, get munchkins. Our interaction is largely limited to a virtual presence and how is that all that different from people with whom I initially began interaction that way? 

Vingt-Quatre

Today, I have accumulated over two dozen years of life.

My twenty-fourth year was a good one. I got a graduate role, finally, after a year of limbo. I met people from the internet, finally, after many years of on-line acquaintance. I made new friends; I did new things. I am so glad  that I do not have exams. I am so glad that I am not unemployed. I am ostensibly content, to a certain extent.

My twenty-fourth birthday was a good one. I met up with the girls for brunch; we painted nails in the sunshine and it was fun. Then we went for coffee & cake, and chatted about boys and chocolate. It was the most I've laughed in a long while; we giggled ridiculously over stupid things, acting like the fourteen year-old school kids that we once were.

It's weird being an adult. My job isn't ideal; my career path is unclear. I do not know where I will be when I turn twenty-five, but I'm fairly satisfied with the way this year has turned out.

Flitterbox: Florrie Arnold ~ Sunday Girl

Flying Kites

The right kind of day for kite-flying is hard to come by. But sometimes, you get lucky. A bit of a breeze, but not too blustery, enough to pick up the kite and allow it to swiftly swoop in the most deliciously satisfying way, like your stomach does on a roller-coaster ride. Even with the appropriate wind speed and direction, there is some concentration involved in the process. The correct amount of tension in the strings that connect you to the kite, managing the way it glides through the sky. The many forces that need to balance in order for the kite to stay soaring, slight friction, not too much, with a bit of resistance. All these aspects come together to give the perfect flight and when it works, it feels fantastic, like you're making progress, like you've learnt something. Being aware of the stretch in the strings, knowing exactly the pressure to exert in order to control how it turns. It takes practise, sure, but once you've sussed the basics, you can work it any way you like.

Until, all of a sudden, there's a change in the wind or you move your arm a little too quickly, the string slacks somewhat. The kite stumbles. Sometimes, it picks up again with the next gust and the panic subsides. Sometimes, it falls, abruptly, without warning. A nose dive, straight to the floor. The gravity that was doing so well in keeping you grounded has won out and the kite sits there, lifeless. After a few more attempts to get it up again, you decide to give up and go home. It's a lot of effort for a small reward and it's just not as fun any more.

I don't tend to fly kites all that often; the right kind of day is hard to come by.

Flitterbox: KT Tunstall ~ (Still A) Weirdo