*Note to self*
Burning your lunchtime potato waffles in order to test the fire alarms is not a good idea. It leads to having to open all the windows in the flat to clear the smoke, which in turn leads to you sitting wrapped in the duvet because it’s so cold you can see your breath.

Plus, fire alarms are LOUD when you have a headache!

On the plus side, at least we know they work now and that’s there’s no way on god’s green earth we’d ever sleep through them 😕

Gar at Rich. Gar I say! Damn that boy for knowing I can’t resist a good (or even mediocre) meme. I had this “don’t post anything – he’s being far too cocky” moment going through my head for about three seconds. No, five at the least. Then I kinda shrugged and went “what the hey?” One of these days we’ll actually coordinate schedules and I’ll make him buy me a cup of tea as an apology so all is good.

Time for more navel gazing (oh, for a pretty unscarred navel *sigh*) On with the meme.

Five Reasons I Blog

1. I love to write – I’ve always told stories and written. It’s how I make sense of the mental and physical worlds which I inhabit. When I face a problem, I invariably sit down and write something, and by the end of that process I can frequently see my way clear. Writing is my release. Writing is my way into the world.
2. I want to leave something behind – An incredibly maudlin thought, I will agree, but there it is. The chances of me ever having a book or something published are, sadly, rather slim. Bright Meadow is my own little piece of writing. Something to say “Claire was here”.
3. I want to touch people – In a non creepy way I hasten to add. I love the idea that the words I’ve written in my little room in the eaves in Southampton are read all over the world. That people out there read what I have to say and… Have a giggle. To brighten someone’s day. That’s enough for me.
4. I want minions – Adoring masses. I want them. I want fans. Positively oodles of devotees willing to do my bidding. I need love and adoration, damn it! Give it to me now!
5. I was fed-up to the back teeth with “are you alive, Cas?” emails – Seriously, answering those things was just such a hassle. This way you just have to look at the blog. If it’s been updated that week, I’m alive and kicking. Longer than a week, then you can prod me.

And that’s five reasons why I blog. Are they the only reasons I blog? No. Are they the most important reasons I blog? Maybe. Ask me again when I’m drunk and see what answer you get then 😉

I tag… Ooooh:
Girl Dates London (she might be reading this, who knows?),
Tammie just because,
Roro because I’m turning into a serious groupie-stalker-fan and I want to know!
And Jay because he’ll grumble if I leave him out.

Just, sorry.

I didn’t mean to give away plot points for Angel.

I’m sorry.

*hangs head in shame*

Just goes to show, you never can tell.

I just filled in a dyslexia questionnaire for work (got to trial these things on ourselves before we can let them loose on the clients) and if you get 9 or more ‘yes’ responses, it “suggests a dyslexia type problem”.

I got 15 ^*

Could be worse, but it sure explains an awful lot.

^* Though I challenge one of the questions – hell, YOU try saying the months of the year backward. It’s not easy!

You know that antsy feeling where you just kinda drift around the flat, waiting for something happen? You know you want to do something but you just can’t for the life of you think what?

So you end up sitting on the sofa watching three disks of Angel season 3, eating half a box of Cadbury’s Rose’s, and generally feeling fat and sorry for yourself.

Stage two, following inevitably as it does a day-long hung-over binge on Joss Whedon creations, normally involves sitting at the desk, staring at the view, and self-analysing as opposed to actually DOING.

Or perhaps you aren’t familiar with these feelings. Lucky you is all I can say.

I’m sitting here, listening to The Sweet (don’t ask), occasionally getting up and pacing, waiting for life to give me a swift kick in the pants to get me going. Or for me to give life a swift kick to get it going. There should be kicking going on somewhere down the line, of that at least I’m sure. I’ve got all these plans you see. I can tell you exactly what needs to be done yet… I’m not doing it.

Have I rejoined the gym?
No.
Even though I really need to get fit again?
Still no.
Even with the prospect of meeting new people in a few months and wanting to look good?
Um, check previous answer.

Then there’s the whole “going out, having fun” thing. So sure, I went round the Divine M’s last night and had an absolute blast. (Which might, or might not, be something to do with attractive men plying me with me wine for the better part of the evening). But tonight I’ve reverted to full hermit-mode and stood up illyna for a night of dancing – I love dancing!

It seems I get so far and then skedadle back to my little cave waiting for my knight to come rescue me. Because I think that’s the problem here. I want rescuing. I don’t want to have to rescue myself, because rescuing myself is just too much like hard work. I’ve got comfortable in my little routine and it’s a big, scary world out there. I’m not sure I want to challenge the status quo because then…

Eek. Something might actually happen.

Don’t get me wrong: I adore my life right now. My job, whilst it sounds boring, is actually enjoyable (mostly), challenging and involves me making a genuine difference to people’s lives. Plus it pays enough that I have a little extra each month to treat myself – not a lot, but enough. I can’t complain. I have as much of my health as I ever am going to have. Plus I have people around me who I adore and who seem rather fond of me in return. I am honestly, truly, hand-on-my-heart happy with where I am. So why am I antsy? Why, deep down is there a little thought squiwrling away saying “you’re never going to have that happy ever after…”

Why following that is there still the voice that goes “and you don’t deserve it either…”

Crap. I shouldn’t be sitting here waiting for my life to happen, I should be out their living it. I want to go for lunch with my friends and tell them the stories of my nefarious deeds, as opposed to just listening in awe to theirs. Vicarious thrills are all well and good, but something tells me that to personally experience said thrills would be more, well, thrilling.

Just, well, I think I need someone to come give me a kick. Or a kiss. This frog thinks it’s time she turned into a princess.

(And yes I am aware that I seem to be pinning all my hopes for improving my life on getting a man. I know, I know. I really am as self-sufficient as the next girl – just so long as the next girl is some gooey soppy romantic at heart who just wants to be loved. Grrr. Damn my self-esteem for actually existing now and making me think I deserve someone more than just ordinary. It would be so much easier if I was willing to just settle for the first guy who could string a sentence together.)

It’s official. I don’t like lemon on my pancakes. Each year I go to myself “do I like lemon on pancakes?” So I try some lemon on a pancake and invariably ruin a pancake because it turns out I DON’T like lemon on pancakes.

So I thought I would blog about it so next year, I don’t forget.

I really need to stop giving out the URL of Bright Meadow to people I know in real life. More importantly, I really need to stop giving out the URL of Bright Meadow to RLOs (that’s random lust objects to those who are new).

So what did I do today?
Yup. You’ve guessed it.
Firmly put my size sixes in my cute little mouth and gave the work RLO the URL of Bright Meadow…

We were having what started as this innocent conversation about work and the future of the team and the next thing I know I’m explaining how writing is my thing, and that I have this website, and – well, it was give him a moo card with the URL, or let him think I have a MySpace. What else could any self respecting 9ruler do?

I think I might have said this before, but this whole blogging my life deal does make it hard when objects of my desire are suddenly equipped with a window into my neurotic thought processes. I mean, I have taste in my lust-objects, so they invariably have brains, and are MORE than capable of penetrating the cunning code I use to disguise identities. That’s the other problem with my life: when there’s *counts in head* ONE guy in your team who was born in the same decade, it kind of restricts the potential candidates for RLO status even more.

Sigh.
I have no other way to end this post really. I’m just going to have to drunkenly dance around my room a bit more to a bizarre playlist comprising Enrique, Eve 6, The Ataris, NFG, Foo Fighters, Mika, Greenday, and Fools Garden (bless autofill) and then go get some sleep. I mean, the RLO could be in the office again tomorrow and I’ve got to be looking my best 😉