People have made me feel all of these today. People can be mean. People can be cruel.
Shapely. Mature. Sociable. Funny. Needed. Clever. Well-suited.
People have made me feel all of these today. People can be kind. People can be nice.
I used to watch films, shows, musicians, artists, people in my classes, my workplace and WANT to be them. I would try and change my looks and my tastes to be someone else. Until I sat myself down and had a good chat. It may have taken a while and alot of chocolate digestives, but when I stopped fighting and let myself be me, I was happier than I could have been as anyone else.
Sometimes I am messy. Sometimes I am lazy. Sometimes I am greedy. Sometimes I am clumsy. And sometimes I try and write a meaningful blog and realise writing about wash cycles is definatly more my style. Sometimes you don't know until you try.
]]>Leaping from my desk (excited by anything that is not work) I made several vital mistakes
- forgetting I had wound my scarf around chair legs, pencils, a lamp, anything else within close reach
- forgetting there were two drinks within "nadine" range
- forgetting only my Mother has the phone number and is unlikely to be using it while she is away walking in the Lakes
however, above all, I forgot I was currently enjoying the delights of Christmas songs far more cheesy than should be shared with others in the studio. Ripping the headphones from my laptop Mistletoe and Wine filled the air while I lost about three stone from embarrassment.
You thought I'd have learnt my lesson when I accidently revealed to the studio I enjoy Jimmy Nail in a similar incident.
]]>Let me explain.
Currently I am wearing one delightful striped sock in attractive greens and yellows, while my other foot relaxes in the comfort of a woolen hiking ensemble. Now, I have been known to mix socks in the past (a crime far more punishable than mixing drinks) however this is purely on a needs must basis. How would one sock, forever tatooed with galloping frogs, feel after losing its life partner (tragically condemmed to a retirement of cleaning my sink) if I did not allow it to share the fragile few moments of its life with a similar widow, emblazened with cows? Therefore I strive to match my odd socks, odd stripes with odd stripes, odd animals with odd animals, and at Christmas one angel with a rather thin looking christmas tree, hanging on year after year by a single thread.
It is important to understand however, the relationship of socks is pure, affairs are enough to prise a sock from its dignity, those allowed to form casual mis-matched pairs, while their partner lies in the drawer patiently awaiting their return, turn old before their time, skin sagging limp, lifeless and thin. Now, imagine my horror when on sorting the washing this morning I discovered although none of the clean socks are yet to be widowed, their partners were nowhere to be found. At first I simply assumed a gathering of great minds, however after checking the usual places (top of the washer, that crack between the beds) my fear mounted. What would make a group of well matched couples suddenly split without warning or my help? However upon closer inspection I discovered it was only my socks that were victims of this tragic disaster. Jack's laid in neat pairs on the bed, grinning smugly at the victims of newly broken homes. Fashion socks, unable to hide behind their bright designs the trauma of the breakup. Trainer socks destined to spend their time paired with one of two larger adult socks. Moving from drawer to foot to wash more often than its friends, tainted with the sign of an bankrupt sports company, revealing its troubled past.
While I contact the appropriate parties, organising a rescue mission and a light lunch, I hav reached a temporary solution, preventing covorting between single socks. Complete mismatch. While my purple woolen walking sock may have formed a worrying bond with a blue sock of similar background, I can guarentee it will not find solice with a young and shallow fashionable member. And bought from Oxfam, I neednt worry about a Golddigging Green and Yellow striper upsetting the harmony.
The moral of the story is quite clear. Give your socks an inch (and personalities) and they'll run a mile.
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