Apaz I havedecided to write a blog.
Perhaps by posting a record of my most tedious rituals, ugliest secrets and innermost thoughts I will somehow be purged.
Maybe the hot sparks that sizzle as my furious fingertips pound the keys will suddenly conjour a turbulent jacuzzi from my hitherto luke-warm bath of a life? probz not d000d.
Never mind. I'm writing a blog. And I'm writing it for a reason.
The problem is, I have been misinformed. I incorrectly believed, for 19 years and, let's say 116 days, that Love, (Luv/Luuurve) was the answer. Err, no, don't necessarily know myself the nature of the question I had been asking myself for these 7,000 or so days, but in my little heart I just knew or thought I knew, that lust, amour, romance, passion, a mutual head-over-heels situation really, would be the perfect solution to, well.. rubbish stuff in general.
Come an after-school detention, a dusty evening spent home alone or the aftermath of a particular heated row with my well-intentioned but ultimately tiresome mother, a daydream about the current object of my desire would cheer me up nicely. Thoughts of hand-holding and even (in extreme cases) making-out, have more or less the same effect on me as a 'nice cup of tea' has, according to the grandmothers of Margate, or as benzodiazepines do on 'behaviourally challenged' 5 year olds. (Equally effective on the nerves of their frazzled mothers.)
Since the age of 8, I have nursed (and devoted a considerable amound of time to the nursing of) several powerful, passionate crushes, on numerous unsuspecting 'victims' (on my part known by various - often lust themed - terms of endearment; 'Him', 'The One' 'That Complete and Utter DISH', 'Romp-Material-on-Wheels', 'Take Me Roughly Under-the-table-Please' 'TheOnlyTrueFaceOfSex' etc etc etc.. ) I still believe secretly that time spent lusting after the unattainable is time well spent.
Come an after-school detention, a dusty evening spent home alone or the aftermath of a particular heated row with my well-intentioned but ultimately tiresome mother, a daydream about the current object of my desire would cheer me up nicely. Thoughts of hand-holding and even (in extreme cases) making-out, have more or less the same effect on me as a 'nice cup of tea' has, according to the grandmothers of Margate, or as benzodiazepines do on 'behaviourally challenged' 5 year olds. (Equally effective on the nerves of their frazzled mothers.)
Since the age of 8, I have nursed (and devoted a considerable amound of time to the nursing of) several powerful, passionate crushes, on numerous unsuspecting 'victims' (on my part known by various - often lust themed - terms of endearment; 'Him', 'The One' 'That Complete and Utter DISH', 'Romp-Material-on-Wheels', 'Take Me Roughly Under-the-table-Please' 'TheOnlyTrueFaceOfSex' etc etc etc.. ) I still believe secretly that time spent lusting after the unattainable is time well spent.
My one unfortunate 'real-life' boyfriend, (endured for a fitful, and by no means crush free, 23 months between the ages of 16 and 18) was sadly never lucky enough to be a recipiant of my earnest, strawberry-lip-gloss-and-school-changing-room flavour affection. He was simply in the right place at the right time. The only one I could convince to go out with me. A pretty straightforward case of 'You'll Do'.
So to sum up, the reason for this blog: To document the Re-Education of An Frax. A way for me to recount the process of my growing up. My transition from 'Gooey-eyed Girl with Heart-Shaped Pupils' into 'Sensible Self-Sufficient (Yet by no means Man-Hating) Super-Cool Grown up Laydee' (Yes I will work on the title..). And hopefully along with it, the metamorphasis of my grey scummy cooling-bath existence, into a bubbling, froth filled jacuzzi of general loveliness. We'll see.
Wish me luck, and please kindly remember: DO NOT PICTURE ME NAKED. EVER.
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