The Definition of Insanity ...

... is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

I had an absolute cracking couple of hours in which I went through my old blog and relieved the days of Derek, Nate, Burke, the American, Guy #1, Guy #2 and so on. I honestly do not know how I had the energy for so much drama! Unfortunately, I can see myself following the same pattern and I don't like it. Two examples:

1. Towards the end of my relationship with Derek, I suggested we have a separation rather than completely break up. This went on for a couple of months until I eventually just broke up with him. Round 2 has me going on a "break" with James for a fixed 6 month period. The similarities are glaringly obvious but I just don't know if once again I am too scared of change and heartbreak or, if this time, there is something worth fighting for.

2. As soon as I was up shit creek with Derek, I transferred all my affections to the ridiculously, unsuitable Nate. The second time round, James and I have agreed we can see other people while we are on a break so of course I immediately went on a date with a guy called Marc who I was 99.9% certain was trouble and, lo and behold, turned out to be trouble. The similarities are glaringly obvious and absolutely nothing sets this time and the last time apart. Thankfully I am older and (touch wood) wiser. I have shut this non-thing with Marc down because I can see it for exactly what it is: a distraction from a difficult situation that I'm finding hard to face; fleeing at the first (well, 15th) sign of trouble; jumping ship before checking you can plug the leak; pessimism that a chipped vase can't be restored. You get my drift.

This time I'm not running away from my problems and I will face them head on.

A Change Is Coming

Change can be really difficult even when we know that it's for the best. While familiarity and routine can bring us comfort, they do not necessarily encourage us to live our lives to the fullest.

I am 26 and I have this huge fear that I am not living my life to the fullest. That I'm letting my best years pass me by in a dull routine of work work work. That I'm staying in a relationship that no longer makes me happy because I'm scared of heartbreak. That I should be young and carefree with not a worry in the world but in truth I'm carrying 10 lifetimes' worth of worries. That I'm too young to feel this old. Being in your twenties is fucking hard people!

All of these feelings (and some other stuff I won't cover just yet) came to a head 3 weeks ago. Neil and I decided to move out of our flat and take a step back from our relationship. We're on a break and can see other people. I moved out this weekend with the help of some amazing friends and my sisters and I'm slowly adjusting to life in some kind of strange limbo land. On the upside, at least I'm back in south London.

Who am I?

I feel like I'm losing my sense of self. Lately I've been reading novel after novel (and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that I'm talking about the girl meets boy and lives happily ever after kind) that I'm losing focus of what will actually make me happy in the real world. I become so emotionally invested in fictional characters and find myself daydreaming about how my life could be a fairytale to the point where I'm close to banning myself from reading fiction. I mean, is this even normal? I swear, books have ruined me for life and have almost made it impossible for me to accept any kind of romantic love that doesn't involve grand gestures, drama and the obsessive kind of love that would make most women run for the hills. I ask again, is this fucking normal? I just wish I didn't want so much.

I'm Not Gonna Lie

I only write when I can't sort through my thoughts. When shit goes round and round in my head and when having the same conversation a million times over doesn't get me any closer to an answer. When I've bored myself to death with indecision. I'll say sorry now to get it out of the way*. James. It's been 4 years and 6 months now. Fcuk me time flies. I love him. He loves me. But I'm bored of what we have become. There's no passion. We both agree that this is the case. We both agree that we don't want to break up because we love each other but we are both worried that actually there might be better out there for both us. We are both worried that if we "take a break" or just break up completely, meet someone else, think we did the right thing because the new relationship is exciting, new and full of passion but then 4 years down the line we find that actually it's no longer exciting, new and full of passion because this happens to all relationships but oh shucks we broke up with each other 4 years ago and what we had was actually pretty good but now it's too late. On the other hand, if we stay together we are worried that we would be settling. On the third hand, I'm worried that (like my friends think) there is no man on the planet who can live up to my expectations, I read way too many novels and I'm an idiot to even think about walking away from a guy like James. That is it in a nutshell. We've talked about taking a step back and moving out into our own places but that kind of just seems a halfway point to breaking up. Suggestions as to what to do on a postcard please. I said sorry right at the beginning. My entire thoughts are taken up by a boy and I have nothing better to do with myself. Guilty as charged.

The Uniform Project

I am having a major style and cashless crisis and The Uniform Project sounds like the perfect solution. Now I am not suggesting that I should wear the same dress for 365 days but I think the key lies in buying or even making simple clothes that can be dressed up or down with accessories. I adore the UP dress but it doesn't look as though you can buy it anywhere. I should know, I spent most of my day today googling it!

Today was 30C - God help us all because 30C in June is NOT normal. I had lunch in the park and my dear friend took me out for a Thai dinner to distract me from being poor. How I love Thai, mussaman lamb curry has to be favourite meal but unfortunately it does not do anything for my waist line. I have two pool parties this summer so I figured it could be my "last supper" before I begin starving myself into my bikini.

I write this at five past midnight on Sunday morning. My eyes keep shifting from the inexplicably shiny floor (I polished it not long ago and I can actually see my reflection in it), to the corner sofa (James is sleeping, he might wake and find me blogging, which would be an issue as he doesn't know I have a blog, although I'm not quite sure I can still say "I have a blog" when I haven't written a post since June 2009) to the screen. Try as I might, I cannot continue to write as though everything is okay, when the fact that I am writing is clear evidence to the contrary: we all know that I only write when I am unhappy. I feel like the church goer who only attends church when they need a favour from God. So why am I unhappy? It's nothing exotic so I will not bore you with a full breakdown of the reasons why I spent Saturday night polishing floors. If you were minded to know, you would probably find from a simple process of deduction from a list of the most common reasons for unhappiness in women (which, according to Google, are 1) financial 2) negative body image and 3) men) that my problems were most likely in the financial/negative body image realm as a few sentences ago I mentioned that James was asleep on the sofa. Did I also mention that it was our sofa and that he was asleep in our living room and that it was my own polished floor? In the 11 months since I last posted, I have made major progress on the commitment front. I now live with a boy in a two bedroom house with a garden in East London. To be honest, I am not sure if my self from 11 months ago would have taken greater issue with the "live with a boy" part or the "East London" part. I was always a "south east 'til I die" kinda gal and I don't know what changed and when, all I know is that on a Saturday night I am now more likely to be found on Brick Lane with the too cool for school crowd drinking a punchbowl cocktail whilst sat on the kerb. Anyway, I digress. I was talking about my unhappiness. Now I know that I am prone to being a tad bit dramatic, but I sometimes wonder if I am capable of being happy. I say "sometimes" because I am almost positive I would be forever ecstatic if I won the £87 million Euro jackpot. I have a boyfriend who is usually amazing, I have a job I want (note I said "want" and not "like"), I am young (still 23) and I am living in one of the most amazing cities in the world. What more could a girl want? Well, skinny hips and some cash to occasionally enjoy living in one of the most amazing cities in the world are just two things. A multi-region dvd player so I can watch season 5 of Grey's Anatomy is another. Don't worry, I have already been told that "if those are your biggest worries Ella, you have an amazing life" but I should remind you that this is my blog (can I still claim ownership of a blog that I have neglected for almost a year?)and I can write what I want. Maybe "unhappy" is the wrong word. Dissatisfied or discontent would be more appropriate. *sigh* My mood has not improved in the 55 minutes it has taken me to write this post, I have just lost track of what I was complaining about in the first place because, let's face it, I only ever write to complain. No worries, I am sure I would have remembered what it was I wanted to complain about by the time I write my next post on say 22 April 2011...

I'm in Africa!

And one thing I don't miss is tube strikes!

I'm in Tanzania to be precise. I flew into Nairobi with Emirates and was met my James' Kenyan friend at the airport. He was under strict instructions (from James) to book me a coach to cross the border into Tanzania, check me into my hotel, take me out to dinner, show me a bit of Niarobi and take me back to my hotel. I hadn't realised how worried James was about me travelling until the Kenyan friend told me he had received email after email from James telling him how to look after him. One of the emails even stipulated that I was only to be taken around in taxis driven by women - there are no female taxi drivers in Nairobi! I had such a brilliant night though, I went to a bar with live music and tried Kenyan beer, all cool stuff. The drive over the border to Tanzania was not so cool, there were near misses with cows and trucks, a dalliance with the police (our driver was speeding) and roads so dreadful I couldn't even begin to describe them. When I finally arrived in Tanzania, my hotel was so gross I checked out after 20 minutes and moved to the hostel linked to the voluntary project im working on. The hostel is amazing! I have an outdoor room and spend my afternoons in the gardens, lying on a hammock trying to teach myself swahili. The hostel also has a treehouse and the most beautiful grounds. I know it's not really how ordinary Tanzanians live but it is amazing.

I went to the school today and taught 3 classes English, Maths and Spelling. The kids are so sweet and adorable and keep calling me 'teacher' which makes me giggle. The only downside to the school is that its an hour walk each way everyday in African heat. I know most of the kids have to do the same walk but blimey, it's tough. I just know that by the end of week I'll be resigned to take a taxi everyday (there's no public transport that goes there).

21 Days To Go!

I'm going to Africa all by myself in 21 days! Aaaaaaaaaah! Scary times ahead me thinks. Because I am a last minute wonder, I haven't prepared much. I got panicky about visas last night (because I had sort of forgotten about them) but turns out most can be obtained at the border so pheewww! I've almost got all of my injections, which have so far cost about £300. "£300?!!" I hear you screech. Yes, the cost has taken me a while to get over, I'm almost tempted to find the yellow fever demon and say to him/her "I laugh in the face of the danger, ha ha ha ha" (two points for those of you who remembered that line from Lion King). Anyway, I'm feeling a little poorly from the set of injections I had this morning so I'm all tucked up in bed with frutella.

Those of you on the Book of Face will know that I have recently decided to have swimming lessons. I told James about this and he almost fell over laughing. He couldn't understand how someone my age (22) wouldn't know how to swim. I tried to explain that when I'm in the deep end I panic and sink. I've tried kicking my legs and stuff but it just doesn't work for me, I go down like a dead weight. I've got a lesson tonight so hopefully I can channel my inner water baby and learn in the next 3 weeks.

Carbs are evil

I love The Mentalist. Uber cheesy, I know, but I'm such a sucker for Five US drama. Time Traveller wrote a post about how sometimes people say things that we never forget. In the last episode of The Mentalist, a really overweight, unattractive truck driver says "It's not my fault, I can't help the way I look" to which the Detective responds "Yes you can, with a low-carb diet you would lose all of that excess weight". Usually, it would be the former statement that would resonate, but after successfully giving up alcohol and junk food for lent my levels of general motivation are generally higher and it's the latter statement that's doing cartwheels in my head. Despite shifting 5 pounds over lent, my tummy is still podgy and I know this is a result of water retention caused by eating too many carbs: toast for breakfast, baked potato for lunch and pasta or rice based meal for dinner everyday. So, I decided yesterday to cut down on (not cut out) my carbs and already I'm in withdrawal - I can't tell you what I would do for a danish pastry, even though I last had one of those babies a couple of years ago. I have tried low-carb before so I know the fatigue etc will pass in a couple of days but I am still a bit miserable. Even so, I re-discovered the perfect carb-free snack today: piri piri biltong. Biltong is a staple for all south/southern africans so I can't believe I had forgotten all about it when it's just so yum!

A successful surprise party ...

... James was surprised, there was lots of alcohol and, even at the grand old age of 27, everyone got dreadfully drunk and started throwing my cupcakes at each other*. James got really hyper, disappeared for a while and was found passed out on the bedroom floor. I somehow managed to take out his contact lenses without blinding him and tuck him into bed amidst the occasional 'f*ck off', 'leave me alone' and 'I love you'. All the guests were still living it up in the living room, so I started to do a little bit of discreet tidying up to indicate that the party was over. Cabs were called, final shots were consumed and I joined James in bed. All was well until James decided to throw up in bed around 4am. With the patience of a saint, I did the laundry, cleaned up the near comatose James, administered to the cuts he sustained from falling onto a table with glasses. Not wanting to take any more risks, I made him a bed on the bathroom floor in case he decided to be sick again, only collecting him an hour later with strict instructions to use the bucket next time. Having switched on the lights and realised that he had somehow managed to touch the walls, carpet and door handles with sickie hands, I once again got the bucket of soapy water out and cleaned up, but this time with significantly less patience than that of a saint. I woke up to lots of 'I love yous', 'I'm sorrys' and 'thank yous', and got ready for work. I came back to a lovely takeout laid out in the living room accompanied by further 'I love yous', 'I'm sorrys' and 'thank yous'. And that was my weekend.

*Perhaps the clearest sign that the cupcakes I slaved over for hours weren't actually that nice.

Cupcakes

I have an obsession with cupcakes*. Having ruined James' surprise birthday party by telling him all about it I have decided that everything will be okay if I bake the perfect cupcakes. I have spent the last few nights pouring over Delia's, the BBC's and Good Living's cupcake recipes. In the name of research, I even watched Nigella's Express Bites on BBC 2. If ever there was a woman who harboured a secret p*rn star past and occasionally reverted to her old ways whilst filming a cookery programme, that woman's name is Nigella Lawson. Every time I watch her take a bite of one of her sugary creations and whisper in her dulcet tones "yes, that's hit the spot" I get such strong visual images of a bunch of w*nking foodies squirting all over their TV screens. Back to cupcakes. Armed with my brand new John Lewis piping set, food colouring and more cream cheese frosting that you could shake a stick at, I have decided to bake the following:






If this doesn't make him love me again, nothing will. I say that but you and me both know that I will be writing a post on Sunday morning complaining about how James stuffed them in his mouth without a second glance at my carefully piped, pastel coloured, crystal topped creations.


*Fairy cake to you and me but apparently the term 'fairy cake' is no longer in common usage and has been replaced by the American 'cupcake'. 'Pah' I hear you say.

Feet

I am so excited by all this sun. For the first time this year I went out with - wait for it - BARE LEGS! Ha! I decided to put on open toe wedge heels with about fifteen minutes left to catch my morning training. I then of course realised that my feet hadn't seen the light of day for about 6 months and weren't really fit for public display. In that fifteen minutes I managed to exfoliate my feet, moisturise and paint my toe nails AND run and catch the train, all without a smudged toe or sprained ankle in sight! I have a friend who actually recoils at the sight of toes (painted toenails or not) and can't bare to be touched by feet. The worst thing you could do on a date with him is try and play footsie under the table. My ex was also quite particular about feet - if my feet weren't buffed and toenails painted when I knew he was coming over he would take it as a personal insult and sulk for hour. James, on the other hand, wouldn't be able to identify my feet in a line-up, but then again maybe that's just healthy.

Feeling Better

It's another warm day! To celebrate I've ditched my stuffy work clothes for a bright blue dress with a little cardigan. It's so lovely outside it's almost impossible to be sad. Last night before bed I sent James a text telling him I was still upset and a bit in shock about what happened at the weekend. I then had a good cry into my pillow. I'm a strong believer in crying, better out than in. I don't know about you but when I haven't cried in a while (last time was maybe autumn of last year) there comes a point where nothing else will do and I woke up feeling better for it. James replied to my text this morning saying not to worry as arguing is just one of those things that couples do and he loves me more than ever. I still can't quite shake the feelings I talked about in my last post but hopefully they will just go away and we will get back to normal.

I have generally been feeling down in the dumps for a while now. It is all related to the stress of my contract as a paralegal being terminated a month earlier than expected because of down sizing and worrying about not having enough money to go travelling. Last week I managed to get a weekend job as a sales assistant in an opticians store, which will become full-time once my current contract finishes. I do feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders but because I spent so long worrying it's taking ages to actually accept that everything is going to be ok now. I just have to keep telling myself that I have a job, I'm going travelling in 7 weeks and when I get back I have a career waiting for me, so I should count my lucky stars.

P.S. I started reading Graham Norton's So Me on the way to work. It really is laugh out loud stuff!

Songs that make you cry

I clearly spoke too soon when I wrote my last post. James and I had our first major bust up at the weekend. It was alcohol-fueled (on his part) and there was a lot of yelling on the walk home at half past midnight. The yelling continued when we got in, woke his flatmate up and, at its height, had James grabbing bedding to sleep on the sofa and me telling him all about the surprise birthday party I had planned for him for this Saturday. We did calm down and said sorry and fell asleep but I just haven't felt the same since. I'm shaky. I'm still a bit tearful and I'm clingy. I can't believe I ruined his surprise party in the heat of the moment and I've been up until after midnight ever since looking up extra special cake recipes, party food, party music, the lot to try and make it as special for him as I possibly can. On the way home today (after spending 2 hours after work looking for a good icing piping set) I started listening to Kings of Leon, Only By Night. I've never been a major fan and have only ever really listened to a couple of songs. Sat on the train home, I listened to Cold Desert properly for the first time and it was only then I realised how lost I felt.

A real post

I've been thinking about why I don't really blog anymore. Why I don't feel like I have anything interesting to say. I think it's because despite being skint, soon-to-be unemployed and incredibly stressed about work and travel plans, I am actually happy. It's quite possible that I have become a victim of Eastenders syndrome - so used to high drama, infidelity and a disastrous love life that anything 'normal' seems boring and waste of good ink (or webspace).

For the moment I am content to live vicariously through my friends. My best friend, Nancy, shared a kiss with her boss after a work function. They talked about it afterwards and decided that a relationship at work would adversely affect the dynamics in their close-knit team. Fair enough. Believing that things were now all back to 'normal' between them she went on a lunch date with a banker she met at the work function. Since her boss found out about the lunch date he has completely ignored her and when he has spoken to her, he has been strictly professional (which is rather unusual given that the previous week they had been hiding each others shoes at work). Which led to us both wondering over drinks what the hell was up with him. We concluded that he doesn't want her but also doesn't want anyone else to have her. In other words, he is a typical conflicted man. Even with me out of the dating game it appears as though men never change.

My arm hurts, I'm tired, I'm p*ssed off and my shoes broke

My arm hurts
I went to yoga last night after a two week break. The yoga lady was more cruel than usual and kept forcibly bending my body into unnatural, painful positions and then saying "Yes! Like that! Now hold for 8 breaths! I said hold!!". I'm always a bit achey after yoga but last night was something else. I woke up this morning and couldn't even lift my hairbrush my arm hurt so much. I've had to keep it close to my chest because even allowing it to dangle by my side really hurts. If it wasn't for the fact that yoga is great for stretching out my muscles after I've been lifting in the weights room and that I want to be able to do the splits both ways come James' birthday in April, I would give up.

I'm tired
Since I've got back from Rome I've been knackered, despite having 2 early nights and staying away form alcohol. Either sleeping in the airport for 8 hours has longlasting effects or I'm just generally run down.

I'm p*ssed off
At everyone, about everything. I just want to be left alone to stay under the duvet all day. It f*cks me off that:
(a) My sister owes me so much money but yet never fulfills her promises to pay me back.
(b) That my sister moved to Manchester after ignoring everyone who told her it was a bad idea and then couldn't afford to pay her rent and then had to move back home and in so doing kicked me out of my bedroom so her and her noisy kids could use it meaning I have to share with my moody sister at the age of 22.
(c) That I do laundry at home, leave it in the clean laundry pile and then get back home and half of it is missing and everyone promises they haven't borrowed it without my permission i.e. stolen it.
(d) That my bank won't give me a one month holiday period for my student loan so that I have enough money for travelling.
(e) I'm not as skinny as I want to be, my legs are dry and the beautician who did my brazilian left loads of stray bits so it just looks silly.

My shoes broke
By the time I walked to the station today my feet were soaking wet. Wondering why, I looked down at my soles to discover that they were hanging off by a thread. How that happened from this morning to this evening, I don't know. I decided to go shopping for shoes right away only to discover that:
(a) Dorothy Perkins had no size 5 shoes left. What. The. F*ck. Thats like the most common shoe size! What's the point in having MASSIVE posters saying "20% OFF EVERYTHING" and then having a crap supply of products??
(b) Next did have shoes in a size 5 but despite the fact that I am a small size 5 I couoldn't fit them. And of course they had sold out of size 5 and a halfs in the 4 pairs of shoes I was willing to buy.
(c) New Look sell shite shoes.

At that point I gave up.

Rome

Rome was amazing! We visited all the old ruins and even attended a papal address at the Vatican. We tried to climb to the top of St Peter's Basilica but James, bless him, felt faint half-way up and we had to come back down, passing old ladies headed to the top. I must say, I do feel a bit smug that I spent a whole 5 days with James and not only didn't want to kill him but still love him. It was definately a brilliant way to celebrate the anniversary of the date we first met - can't believe it's been a year already AND haven't got a clue what to do next year to top this! But, as always, you get what you pay for with budget airlines. On the way back we had boarded the plane when, after about 30 minutes, we were asked to get off again because there was a problem with the engine (why did it take so long for them to spot this??). The flight was delayed SIX HOURS and anyone who has been to Ciampino knows that after reading 3 magazines, playing rock paper scissors and 'I spy', there is nothing to do there for six hours. I will NEVER EVER fly with them again (I know I said that last time).

Ciao!

I'm off for a long weekend to Rome with James. Cia bellas!

Pack Your Bags

I'm travelling alone next year for two months. I have only just decided my route but I'm pretty scared about how I'll fare on my own. My mode of travel between each country will be buses and trains and I'll be camping on designated sites or bush camping most of the way through (considering that I refuse to go to Glastonbury because I don't like being dirty, this is my idea of being brave). I told my mum about my plans and she keeps telling me I won't come back alive. Note to self: Parents do not need to know everything. It's not just my mum though, everyone I've spoken to has encouraged me to book an organised tour with a reputable company as they all think I won't be okay alone. I am shying away from booking a tour because 1) I quite like the idea of being independent 2) I can think of nothing worse than being stuck with people I don't like for two months and 3) I don't like the idea of giving so much money to a big company, I would rather give it to the locals where I am travelling.

There's a picture below showing my general route. Let me know if you have travelled this route before with or without a tour operator or know somebody who has.

Bon Iver

I have spent the last week listening to Bon Iver's For Emma Forever Ago. Emotional as f*ck doesn't describe it. Bon Iver broke up with his girlfriend and he was so affected he left his home, his friends and band to live in a cabin in the woods for several months. Whilst there he wrote For Emma. I have never heard heartbreak articulated so well. It makes me want to cry because it takes me right back to the time when I broke up with Derek last year. Lyrics like "Someday my pain will mark you" and "Solace my game, it stars you" (The Wolves Act I and II) for some reason just cut right through me. He's playing at the Victoria Apollo for one night only in December. I've bought the tickets for James as a Christmas present (he intro'd me to it).