I was saying yesterday on Twitter that I feel like I have something in me that is pushing its way out and needs to be said but that I don't have the words to phrase it yet... I spent most of last night trying to pin down what it is that's hovering there under the surface. What is it that I'm not telling myself. And why am I hiding from myself now...
And it wouldn't come. Though I was replying to a comment on yesterday's post and I couldn't think of how I wanted to phrase what I was saying (and I'm not entirely happy with what I did write), but something did trip out there that sort of made sense.
I was saying about how in your own head and your own world your life is so sad and horrid and problematic (slightly worried as "Everybody Hurts" has just come on in my iTunes mix *my computer can read my thoughts!*) and you can't see the woods for the trees. And then you watch the news and you realise that your life is so small and your problems are miniscule compared to someone else's.
But it doesn't stop it from feeling that way. You can only live the life that is in front of you. (That was the phrase that struck me, by the way).
And I thought of how selfish I am. Why is my life more important than theirs? Because its mine is the obvious answer. You have a very protective streak about the things that you own/care about.
I've always thought of myself as a compassionate person, I have always tried to see things from others view points. I have always wanted to help people fix things and to be there for them when they need it. I think that the world would be a much better place if we all just accepted that people are all different and unique and that accepting those differences as standard rather than being something that sets people apart would make us all a bit happier.
Cause I couldn't care less about who or what you are, you can be my friend as long as you are prepared to accept me for who and what I am. People are all the same. And being different makes us unique and interesting.
I was never a herd animal, even at school. All the sheep who all wore the same clothes and wanted to blend. Wasn't for me. But I didn't really fit my chosen group either. I only occasionally wore the all black (it doesn't suit me). Instead I had the same style of clothes, but in every colour of the rainbow. I rather famously wore bright orange Doc Martens for most of my days after 15. I also had some rainbow dungarees (yes, dungarees, this was the early 90s) and I wore them all. the. time!
I was the one who whilst wearing my regulation school uniform of navy blue also had jade green tights and the orange docs on. My parents (apparently) got phonecalls about my lack of respect for full uniform! I *never* knew about that until recently. See, my parents are cool really.
I'd like to remind everyone who's known me long enough to remember how strict my dad always was with me. How did I get away with that?
I was told off in sixth form for taking liberties with the colour code that was in place. I was asked to stop wearing one of my skirts because although green was allowed they preferred not that many shades of it in one garment. (yes, really). They let the blue tie-die trousers slide though. I actually remember getting an award at the end of sixth form for being thee most fashionable person!
I maintain it was tongue in cheek, but beggars can't be choosers!
I really wish there were more photos from our youth around. I have a couple, which include the rather lovely V and L (not the one who had twins. Twins! *squee*) Sadly I am not wearing anything particularly exciting in either of them!
I didn't listen to the same music as the rest of my group either. Being that I have been in love with Michael Jackson since I was 10. I did, from 14-17 listen to almost entirely nothing else. I know all the songs inside out and backwards. I am a massive MJ geek and am (finally) not ashamed of it. Anyone who ever checks out the photos I've liked on Instagram will be aware of my obsession still going strong!
God I love that I can fangirl happily away on Instagram...
Ugh, now I'm thinking of MJ and that it's June. It'll be 4 years on the 25th. I still haven't watched the tribute that friend H recorded for me. I can't bring myself to. My heart is still too broken to try.
I'm not sure if I've mentioned before that I used to draw. That was my crafting outlet as a youth. Well, you can probably guess what I spent most of my time drawing. I am very proud of the fact I can still knock off a recognisable MJ at the drop of a hat (Ha! Pun not intended.) but some of my old artwork is actually not that bad.
I miss drawing. But I don't have the ability any more. I'm not sure why. I used to be able to spend hours trying to perfect the likenesses. I lost my patience for it, I guess. I have been thinking of it more and more recently, so maybe it's time to give it another go...
I have drawn madam a couple of times, just quick sketches that I haven't been completely happy with. But I think I could really make a good go if I really tried. And in case you're wondering, no I don't really draw other things. Always people, usually faces. Unless madam is making me draw her things to colour in... Or I'm doodling for t-shirt designs ;)
Well, this post still hasn't solved that roiling feeling inside. But it's quite enough from me for one day...
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