I lost myself some time ago,
and could not get me back.
I mourn in silent agony,
for the things that I now lack.
The passion that once drove me,
has vanished into air.
And the things that I once loved to do,
it's like they were never there.
Monotony and endless days,
are bland and dull and dreary.
The life that I've now settled to,
drains, and leaves me weary.
I don't recognise my face these days,
the light has left my eyes.
And even though I say I'm fine,
I don't believe those lies.
I miss the me that I once was,
And long for her return.
To reignite the fire,
and watch this empty shell burn.
My life has turned into this endless search for alternative employment. I check the recruitment websites daily, I’ve applied for a number of jobs since the start of the year – and have subsequently received a number of rejections. I am desperately seeking a change, and at this point almost anything will do.
I’ve had a bad week. And it’s only Wednesday! My need for a new job is the most pressing issue in my life currently, and I’m hoping that something presents itself soon. I am trying to think positively about it, because I know that my time with my current employer is coming to an end. Recent events have made that even more clear, and so I know that the right job will come to me at the right time. Or at least, I have to believe that it will, because it’s the only thing I can focus on at the moment. And if things continue they way they are for much longer, I’m going to do something stupid and just quit on the spot. I’ve come extremely close to doing just that, particularly in the last couple of weeks.
At the crux of it, my problem is a lack of work/life balance. Six days of work and one day off is not enough, particularly if you’re like me, and cannot do nothing. I am endlessly filling every ounce of spare time I have with extraneous activities, and then I wonder why I am so exhausted all the time. It’s all a part of my restless nature, but I’m not helping my cause any. And the days I spend at work are dull, monotonous, and equally draining. I’m not expecting my dream job to just pop up out of nowhere, not least because I’m still not sure what my dream job would be. But if not that, I would at least settle for a job that doesn’t make me want to carve my eyeballs out with a rusty spoon.
So, because a little extra luck never hurt anyone, cross your fingers for me, friends. May a new job present itself soon, and may my life become something more than a long, endless grind.
Outside of blogging, it’s been a long time since I’ve put pen to paper – or in the case of modern technology, fingers to keyboard – to write something creative. There was a time when every spare moment I had was used for writing creatively, even back into the days where I would buy blank notebooks and fill them with words. I used to love writing, in a way that I can’t seem to anymore. I don’t know if it is perhaps because my childish enthusiasm has waned as I have fallen into the mindless trap of adulthood, or if it simply that I can no longer do it. Regardless of the reason, I can’t help but feel like something is lacking, and it is something I intend to rectify.
Perhaps one of the reasons for this inability to create is my lack of time. Working six days a week leaves me very limited time to do anything fun, and often I end up doing things by halves, in an attempt to fit as much into my singular day off as possible. Writing has felt like a chore for a long time, if I am being honest, an my lack of spare time could be a contributing factor in all of that. But I’m not one for hiding behind excuses, and the other significant reason for my lack of writing, is because I haven’t been inspired. Lack of inspiration leaves me staring at an empty screen, and I end up giving up entirely, to the point where I don’t even try anymore. Where writing was once easy, these days its akin to pulling teeth out with a pair of chopsticks; ineffective, and frustrating.
I have this notion, that if I lived in my own house, and had a dedicated writing space, and all the time in the world, then I would write constantly. But despite the pretty fantasy, the truth is that I probably still wouldn’t write like I used to, I’d just perhaps be more content with my life. I feel like my creativity is being slowly, systematically stamped out of me by the daily grind, and monotony of adulthood. Can I still be called a creative person if I haven’t written anything creative in months? If I can’t recall the last time I sat at a sewing machine and made a garment? If my painting has fallen by the wayside, and I’ve not picked up a brush in six months? I feel like a part of me is missing, and I don’t know how to get it back.
I notice it even in my most recent blog posts, as I read back over them I notice a distinct lack of style. My writing has begun to sound lazy, childish. I need a reset, or…I don’t know, something. At this point I’d take a baseball bat to the head if it meant I would come out of it with my creative streak energised. Whatever the cause of this creative block, I need to find a solution, and fast. Because I’m lost, and my life is a whole lot more dull and colourless at the moment.
Published in 1868, Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women was one of my favourite books when I was a little girl. When I discovered it was being adapted to screen (again) – and starring a whole bunch of my favourite actors, no less – there was no way I was gonna miss seeing it on the big screen. Full disclosure; I never saw the 1994 version (or indeed, any of the many other on-screen adaptations that have been made since 1917), and after watching this new version, don’t think I need to, because the 2019 adaptation was so. Flipping. Good.
This most recent adaptation was directed by Greta Gerwig, and reunites her with Saoirse Ronan and Timothée Chalamet, both of who starred in her 2017 film Lady Bird – and who incidentally will be on screen together again, in the upcoming film The French Dispatch. I really loved Lady Bird, and so I was eager to see Gerwig’s take on this classic story. I wasn’t disappointed, and her feminine voice and vision really brought these beloved characters to life.
Saoirse Ronan stars as Jo March, our feisty, independent protagonist (and one of my personal literary heroes). Jo was always my favourite character, and that is largely because she is so much like me. Hot tempered, wilful, stubborn and intelligent, she is a writer with no aspirations to marry, or fit in with elegant society. I loved her dearly as a child, and Ronan’s portrayal of her is everything I could have imagined. Timothée Chalamet plays the role of the charming next door neighbour, Theodore “Laurie” Laurence, and even I fell in love with him a little. The on screen chemistry between these two young actors is always a treat, and probably has a lot to do with the fact that they are off screen friends as well. I love seeing them together, and the fast friendship of their characters is one of the things I enjoyed most about this film.
They are supported by an equally stellar cast, including Emma Watson, Meryl Streep, Laura Dern, Florence Pugh and Eliza Scanlen. One of the things I loved so much about this story, both in literature and on screen, is how multidimensional the central characters are. The plot concerns four sisters, each with their own individual interests and talents, and their unique voices. It was a true joy seeing those literary characters made flesh on screen. Emma Watson embodies Meg’s maternal instinct and quiet longing for elegance. Florence Pugh brings to life the Amy’s occasional petulance, but also her dedication to working towards her ultimate goals. Eliza Scanlen plays the gentle and shy Beth, and she was played so sweetly that I wanted to jump through the screen and embrace her. It was beautifully acted on all accounts, and I really felt that the casting choices could not have been better.
As fabulous as they were, it wasn’t simply just the actors that made this film to spectacular for me. Speaking from a dressmaker’s point of view, I have to say that the costume department needs to be commended. It was a great thrill for me, seeing so many gorgeously made costumes, each tailored (pun intended) for each character. The darker hues and more practical clothing for Jo’s tomboyish attitudes, contrasted against the lighter and more arguably feminine gowns Amy wears in Paris. I swoon.
I loved this film. Unabashedly. At it’s heart, Little Women is a story of sisterhood, of overcoming individual hardship, of carving out a place in a society determined to pigeonhole women. It is the kind of story that I think every woman can find something in; a character to relate to, or perhaps a situation to sympathise with. With all of this in mind, it is my personal feeling that Greta Gerwig’s take on this classic story is absolutely worth watching. It is heartfelt, honest, emotional, and beautifully directed. I truly felt invested in the story, and the characters. It is one of the rare films that I would return to the cinema to see again, and similarly, one of the few times where the film measures up to the book. Perhaps I feel so strongly about it, because I am familiar with the source material, but from a purely cinematic standpoint, it was just a really lovely film. Go and watch it.
This one is for any same sex attracted person out there who has been on the receiving end of unwanted comments by strangers who think they have the right to cast judgement, and give opinions where they are not wanted.
The other day at work, I served an older male customer. I put a battery in his watch, the same way I do countless times in a day. Apparently he was impressed with how quickly I completed the task, and proceeded to tell me that I was a “good girl” and that “your husband is a lucky man.” Now, I should have just let it go, but, in typical Amy fashion, I bit back at the assumption, and stated that I wasn’t married. The old man laughed, as though this was the funniest thing he had ever heard and responded with “ah well, your boyfriend then.” Again, I should have just shut my mouth but again, my sass won out and I replied with “I don’t have one of those either.”
Now, in a way, the resulting conversation was of my own doing. Had I just shut up and let the man go on with his archaic assumptions, it would have been just another dull interaction with another ignorant customer. But alas, I am argumentative, to a fault. And I wasn’t in the mood for this guy, and his attempts to be funny. So, when he proceeded to go on about how a “pretty girl [like me] should be married”, and how “any man would be lucky to take you out” I snapped and said “Well, I don’t really like men, so it’s a moot point”. And then it really began. I was barraged with comments, questions, further insistence that I should be with a man. Then it got worse.
While all this unsolicited bombardment was going on, a younger man approached, who it turned out was the son of the ignorant twit I was dealing with. And said ignorant twit then turned around and tried to set me up with his son. Let me repeat that; the old man, who by this point was highly aware that I was in no way interested in men, tried to get me to go on a date with his very male son. The son looked a little bewildered as his father went on about how attractive he was, and how we would look nice together, and how “even though you say that’s not your thing, how could you say no?” And finally, he told me that my being attracted to women is a waste. At this, his son ushered him away with a mumbled apology to me and I was left to ponder what I had just experienced. I thought that was the end of it.
Today, that same old man walked past my shop. That same old man stopped me while I was working, and once again – as if he didn’t make it clear enough the first time – felt it necessary to reiterate his earlier contention. He said “I still think it’s a waste.” Now this time I just threw my hands up and walked away. Sir, I am sleep deprived and of a generally irritable disposition; I am not in the mood for your shit today. I mean, why is it such a supposed waste? It’s not like your crusty ass would be getting the benefit of it if I liked men anyway! I just grow increasingly tired of hearing the same old shit from jerks who think I care what they think.
So, to all the people who have told me it’s a waste. To all the people who have told me I just “need a good dicking”. To all the people who have asked “How do you know if you’ve never tried?” To all the people who have asked if they can watch me and another girl get it on. To all the people, past and future, who have ever or will ever give me an unsolicited opinion about who I am attracted to, the decisions I make regarding marriage, and the way I choose to live my life. Allow me to offer you an aggressive, and resounding FUCK YOU.
When the black dog rears its ugly head, there is one thing that always comes with it. One single thought, endlessly repeating in my brain. And my brain, being the wily, cunning thing that it is, gives me evidence to support this thought. It is a simple phrase, but one that seems to carry with it an incredibly heavy weight.
you are not enough
It reverberates around my head constantly. It is accompanied by a feeling of worthlessness and a strange kind of loneliness. Depression has a way of isolating those that suffer from it, and there is nothing worse than feeling like nothing, and having to try and maintain a normal facade despite it. You worry that you can’t mention how you’re feeling, because people will get sick of you. You can practically feel the eye rolls and hear the sighs, and so you pretend that everything is ok, even when all you want to do is cry.
I don’t cry in front of people. I wait until it’s dark, and no one can see me. And it never makes me feel better, but what else is there to do? Being constantly beaten down by your own brain chemistry and intrusive thoughts is draining, man.
I don’t know how to teach my brain not to tell me such unkind things, and I don’t know how to make myself believe that those things are not true. There is no physical enemy I can confront here, no one I can yell at, nothing I can physically push away. I am trapped inside my own negative thinking, and I can’t get out of my own head.
I need a break from everything, I just want to sleep for a year and wake up and just be ok.
I pass you, unexpectedly, and then I’m gone before you see me; lost in the throng of people milling about in this small, not so small space. I’ve not seen you in a long time, and the weight of reaction is heavy in my chest. I should be over this by now.
My heart drops to my stomach in that singular instant. If it made a sound, it would be the dull sound of a lead ball hitting a carpeted wooden floor. That’s what it feels like, and I know I’ll be replaying those few seconds in my head for days to come. I’m angry at myself for it.
The green of your dress, and the dark length of your hair sticks out vividly in my mind. You are like a beacon in my memory, shining more brightly than anything else of late. I hate that you still make me feel this way, I hate that you still make my heart skip a beat.
I wish you were nothing to me. I wish you were invisible, unknown. I don’t want you in my mind anymore, and I wish I’d never had cause to know you at all.
A few years ago, when I was working in my current job the first time (which is to say, before I quit and subsequently returned a year later), I had a woman accuse me of wearing her shoes. She had dropped them in to have heels replaced, and have them stretched. When she returned to pick them up, she asked my boss if anyone had been wearing her shoes, and looked pointedly at me. She said they were stretched out, completely ignoring the fact that one of the things she had requested that we do to her shoes, was stretch them. Obviously the accusation was denied, because there was no truth to it, but the woman didn’t appear convinced.
A short time later, one of the shopping centre security guards approached the shop with a grin, and informed us that the very same woman who had made her accusation, had gone into the security office and demanded to be shown the security footage of me walking out of the shop with her shoes under my arm. Of course, no such footage existed, because I hadn’t taken her shoes home to wear them. Not least because they were hideous, but also, and more importantly, not something I would do. When she was refused this by the security guards, she went one step further and left an online review for the shop, claiming that she would never be returning, because “The girl there wears customer’s shoes”.
I think back on it now, as I reflected on it at the time, and can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. Some people, when they get an idea in their head, just run with it – regardless of how bizarre or outlandish the idea may be. And when someone is determined to drag your name through the mud, there is very little you can do about it. At the end of the day, people are going to believe what they want to believe, and you are not responsible for how people perceive you. What matters is that the people that are important to you know the truth.
I remember this story, because just recently I found myself in a similar situation, though this time it was considerably closer to home. A few months ago I met a girl through a mutual friend. We began seeing each other, and then began officially dating. Shortly after, I realised that it was not the right time for me to be in a relationship (based on certain things that I won’t go into detail about here), and I broke things off in what I thought was an amicable split. A few days later, I found out that she had changed the story of our breakup to the people she worked with, claiming that I had broken up with her because I “couldn’t handle the issues with [her] mental health”.
When I first heard it, I was angry. Here was someone I had hoped to remain friends with, lying about me to people I had no way of defending myself against. I was being made out to look like the insensitive jerk, the coward who couldn’t deal with the complexeties of mental illness. I am the last person in the world who would sit in judgement of someone suffering from mental health issues. Then, after a long conversation with my best friend, and a bit of personal reflection, I realised that getting angry was going to do nothing more than exhaust my energies on something that was entirely beyond my control.
I cannot control the actions and words of other people, but what I can control is whether or not those people have a place in my life. So, after some consideration, I decided that my ex was no longer someone that I wished to remain in contact with. Perhaps I am getting wise in my old age, or perhaps it is simply that I have no time or tolerance for petty, petulant high school drama. Regardless of the reason, I am no longer prepared to spend my time with people with whom I can find no genuine connection. At the very least, I am not going to waste any time on people who live for rumour and lies. And if nothing else, my recent dating experience had left me with no doubt that being single is highly underrated.
Words like shards of broken glass, slicing through soft flesh. My heart feels torn, a secret yearning never voiced aloud, spoken only in riddles and penned in hidden pages.
Too long, to long for a dream never realized. Will my life waste away before me, with my deepest desires yet unfulfilled? My time runs out slowly, each second drawing me closer to the inevitable conclusion. I know the truth of it, and yet still, a tiny part of me clings to the hope that perhaps I might be wrong.
A silent scream, laced with the echoes of agony. A broken mind, a broken heart, trapped within an ever decaying body. Wasting away into nothing, never knowing the sweetness, nor the fire. Passions are left to fade into nothing, and it all remains the same.
My mind is swirling with a series of unrelated, half formed thoughts. I have tried to begin this post six times, and deleted the paragraph each time. I am thinking about the weight of expectation, and the way people have a tendency to disappoint us, and how unfulfilled I feel, and I am thinking about the clothes I want to make, and the places I want to travel, and the things I wish I had done. My mind is a very busy place at the moment, which is probably a good thing, because my workplace is very much the opposite of busy. That’s where I am, right at this very moment. I am sitting on my bench at work, writing this post whilst all around me, people are milling about, living their lives, doing their thing, and paying me absolutely no mind.
Truth be told, I don’t mind being invisible sometimes. It means no one is in my face, demanding things of me. My time, my attention, my affection, my energy. I think we often spend so much of our time giving to other people, that we don’t leave enough for ourselves. Then again, perhaps this is only true of people who are of a similar disposition to me. I have friends who seem to have boundless energy and sunlight to give to people, but I guard my energy more closely. It’s draining to give to much of yourself to other people, and I think sometimes we feel obligated to give more than we can afford to lose, just so we don’t have to incur any disappointment. They expect so much, don’t they?
I am running on an ever draining battery. Customer service has that effect too. I spend all day dealing with others, helping them with the things that need fixing, offering smiles and conversation and losing a little more of myself with each passing interaction. The nineteen year old girl I am training also requires my time and attention, and I try my best to fill the role of both manager and trainer, but I have found my tolerance for the everyday routine is waning, and I find it harder and harder to maintain the facade. Every part of me is screaming for a break from all the people. I need a quite place alone, where I can think and get my head straight, and refuel and recharge. Bukowski said it best when he wrote “People empty me. I have to get away to refill.”
Small things bring me joy, amidst all this loss of energy and self. A text from a friend brings me a smile. I am making progress with two particular financial goals I have set for myself. I started writing again. These things are the things I cling to, when everything else seems less than satisfactory. I guess that’s what it’s all about, in the end. You just have to appreciate the small things.