Life on the Outside

 

No, I haven’t just been released from prison. Some of you know, some of you don’t. It’s been an interesting journey so far, and I felt like writing about it… When I left Brazil 4 years ago, I had dreams of going straight into the Royal Navy and having a glorious and long career with them. I had the perfect life planned out and I knew exactly what was going to happen, when it was going to happen and how it was going to play out. Ha! Well, it’s good to dream, right?

I lived in Northamptonshire for 2 years, my favourite part of which was working at the Sports Arena, which I still look back on with a grin for the fond memories I have of the people there and things we did. However, half way through my second year, I knew it was time to move on. I couldn’t stay there forever, mostly because what I was doing was only ever meant to be done for a year tops. So I packed my bags, gathered my metaphorical skirts (’cause chyea right I was gonna actually wear a skirt. You make me laugh. Hahaha!), set my sights on the horizon and moved to Shropshire, still full of the knowing and hope I’d come to England with. I spent six months there. Sometimes I loved it, sometimes I hated it, but I made some good friends, learned some valuable lessons and met and fell in love with The Man.
At this point, both of these jobs were live-in. Out of necessity. I didn’t have my EU citizenship yet and so couldn’t get a proper, full-time job. I’d had some issues with the bureaucracy of embassies and officials and was fast associating London (where the Embassies live) with disappointment and despair.

After 6 months in Shropshire getting my first tan I’d had since I can remember (I avoided the sun like the plague when I lived in Brazil, for good reason, but working in the outdoors in England gave me a nice glowing complexion), my contract ended and it was time to move on. I panicked a bit this time: there was no one to help me pack, I had to look for a new place without being able to consult with a hundred different people before accepting a new job. I still didn’t have my citizenship and time was running out. The Man had left for a job in Wales at the beginning of that month and I remember markedly not feeling any of the hope I’d felt when I first arrived, or when I left Northamptonshire, but eventually I found what I thought to be a lovely place in Buckinghamshire and once more packed my bags with all my worldly possessions, gathered my metaphorical skirts, set my sights on the horizon, and left to a better place.

Initially, I kind of enjoyed Buckinghamshire. The Man and I would meet up once a month somewhere else in the country and spend two or three days together at a time. I bumped into one of my mother’s friends from her youth completely by accident and made a friend there myself. However, after 9 months of (still) living at work in a place where I clashed with other people so intensely that it was breaking my spirit, I had to find a way out.

My way out presented itself in the form of a caring job in Merseyside. By this time, The Man had finished working in Wales and was now happily ensconced in a job in Merseyside himself. I grabbed at the opportunity with both hands and left Buckinghamshire as fast as my legs would carry and my heavy suitcases would allow. It was a match made in heaven: I needed them and they needed me and together we helped heal each other’s soul wounds.
Life was good for a while, but the back of my mind it started poking me again: I needed to get my own place. A proper job. I needed freedom. After almost 3 years of living-in at work, biding by other people’s rules, dress codes, behavioural codes and even dietary codes, and what felt like absolutely no freedom to be ME, I could feel myself wearing thin. I had frequent thoughts of “This isn’t what I wanted,” and “I never thought I’d be HERE,” and “How much further do I really have to go to get anywhere?”. Please don’t misunderstand, I wasn’t completely unhappy. I got to see The Man almost whenever I wanted to, I lived with nice people that didn’t shout at me if I slipped down the stairs or berate me if I walked into a <insert inanimate object here>. Consequentially, I was less stressed and so became far less clumsy. I still felt like I was in a prison though. The house wasn’t mine, the food wasn’t my choice, I lived and worked at home, so that I never really had the chance to go out and meet new people. I felt stuck.

The answer to my repeated prayers came in early August of ’13, though not what I expected. My dad had received his citizenship (and consequently his passport), which meant that mine was on the way. There were a few more complications with mine (London: despair, disappointment, fear, failure, elation!), but in November, I finally got that email that made my spirits soar: “Your citizenship has been approved! Come and collect it and apply for your passport!”. Early December saw my passport arriving, and by mid December I had a NI number and, boy, did I strut like a proud peacock then! All the hopes and dreams and Knowing of before came rushing back to me. “I told you so,” said The Man. I shushed him and carried on strutting.

Christmas was a muted affair for various reasons, but it was a happy time, as I hadn’t seen my parents in 2 years, and we were finally together again, and finally free. Of course, I hadn’t accounted for the time and dedication it would take to look for and find a new job. Three months went by and my spirits started flagging – job hunting is possibly one of the most wearying jobs out there. Then the start of April rolled around and I was surprised by an email one morning: Thank you for applying for the position, would you like to come in for an interview? Well of COURSE I did!!! Oddly enough, I hadn’t applied for any position there. In January I’d handed in a CV there and they were getting back to me in April!
I went for the interview and got the job. I was all excited and started planning my move immediately, only to realise (silly me, should have checked), that it wasn’t a full time job. My stomach sank. I dropped all my excited plans and slipped into gloom for a week. I took the job anyway, on the basis that it would be an extra job, and the little bit of extra money wouldn’t hurt. I could save up and thus have an easier time moving out when I eventually managed to move out. I was getting more than my contracted hours and soon it became apparent that I wouldn’t be able to keep it as a secondary job. This wasn’t a huge issue, because the lovely family I’d been staying with had got me a colleague, and were planning on getting someone else to help out too, which meant I didn’t have to worry about leaving them in the lurch. However, I still didn’t think I’d be able to move out. On a whim one day, I looked up house shares near my new job and amazingly found an affordable place.

It all happened so fast I’m not sure I recall it all in perfect order. I found a place near work, and moved in 2 weeks later. The Man had to go down south for a month with a job he’d just got with a company that has centres all over the UK. Since then, although it’s been difficult adjusting to life on the outside, a new job, a new town and new people, it’s been wonderful adjusting to precisely all that. Finally being free to be me all I want.

I’m not quite settled yet, and I’m far from where I’d like to be, although my dreams and ambitions have changed drastically from those I arrived here with, but it is nice using my own crockery, finally being able to get my own food and eat what I like, wear what I like and do whatever I want when I’m not working, and even though I’m not earning much at the moment, it feels good that I don’t have to panic about how much money I need or have. It feels good to have my own space that I know other people aren’t just going to walk into so that they can show their guests what ALL the rooms look like.

And so, to end, in the immortal words of a song from a Disney film (yes, Frozen, hush!): For the first time in forever, nothing’s in my way!

Wisdoms of the Light

Well, I don’t normally blog book reviews, and this one I wrote a while ago, but the book was so good, I think everyone should read it, so I’m posting it here too.

Wisdoms of the Light is the sequel to First Light. If you haven’t already read that one, I strongly suggest you do!

Well, when I finished the book, I officially had a book hangover. You know, when you read a book that’s so incredibly good, and you finish it and suddenly your life seems empty, and you don’t know what to do and everyone else around you is carrying on as if nothing had happened? Yeah. One of those.

The story is about a land where colour is illegal, and about several character’s journey into discovery and awakening to themselves and those around them.

I’d been waiting for this sequel for a long time, and I can honestly say I wasn’t disappointed. Wisdoms of the Light takes you on this twisty roller coaster ride emotionally and spiritually. Just like in First Light, you follow the lives of the characters so intricately that you are drawn into the story. You feel involved, as if you were there with them, living it and breathing it. Michelle Frost has outdone herself!
What I like most about this book, which I also loved about the first book, is that it surprises you around every corner. You think you have something all figured out and then you get a few chapters on and suddenly all is not what it seemed. That, and the way the characters unexpectedly pull together and connections are formed where you don’t see them forming.

Wisdoms of the Light is an emotional and spiritual journey, a fascinating read and a whole new land to discover.

In conclusion, from day 1 the book was glued to my hands and I only put it down when I really had to work, or, you know, to get 2 hours sleep. I highly recommend this book (and the first one!) to anyone who really enjoys a thoroughly good, can’t-put-down read.

A Flibbertijibbet, a Will-o’-the whisp, a Clown!

Sometimes, I struggle to write. That’s a lie. I struggle to write most of the time, these days.  Somewhere deep inside me, I blame someone who has been out of my life for almost a year now (thank goodness), like that person frightened my muse away and I’ve only half-heartedly been looking for her since. I’m fairly sure it’s not that person’s fault. It’s mine. I stopped writing, and a writer that doesn’t write isn’t a writer.  One of my longest standing dreams has been to be a best-selling author. You know the kind… “New York Times #1 best seller” emblazoned in shiny gold under my name on the cover of my novel. Hugely successful, everyone’s talking about my book like I’m the next Tolkein or Rowling. Isn’t that every author’s dream though?

I think, somewhere along the line, I just gave up. That’s not to say I haven’t had support, or people telling me I write well. The few who Have seen chapters of the books I’ve started to write still ask after them, still enquire after the next chapter, still wonder when I’ll sit my butt down and actually put my mind to writing. The big question for me, however, is this: How does one recapture a fugitive muse? It’s got so bad that I actually started snapping at encouraging comments, or whining that “You just don’t understaaaaand!”

I did sit down and write, recently. I managed exactly 341 words before it was bed time. I shut off my laptop, closed my eyes to fall asleep, and instantly forgot about it. About a week later, all thoughts of writing erased from my mind, I got some encouraging words from my mother, which I snapped at and growled like an injured animal. She was only telling me that I still have it, somewhere, that I can and should still do it, that you can write anytime, anywhere, and she was right, but my question is this: How do you glue back together the fragments of a seemingly broken muse?
She’s there somewhere, surely. I wouldn’t be able to write this if she wasn’t, but how do you catch her illusive hand and make her sit down with you to write when you want to? People say that a writer doesn’t need a muse. You sit down and you write, because writing is what you do, even if you only write gobbledygook, or the first thing that comes to your mind without actually stopping to think about it. Which is grand, and probably true, why should your muse come back if you’re not using her, right? Only I feel that I need her to sit down and do THAT in the first place; and now I leave with  a song with the wrong lyrics stuck in my head (and an earworm in yours):

“How do you solve a problem like a muse? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? How do you find a word that means a muse? How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?”

P.S Why is it called a “Will-o’-the-Whisp” anyway?
P.P.S Image shamelessly yoinked from here.

Goliath

I walked in all right. Away in my own world, as usual. I think I had been contemplating the tasks of the day. I turned to close the door behind me, the satisfying soft ‘click’ half bringing me out of my reverie.

That was when I saw him, staring at me from the other side of the room. I stared back in horror, rooted to the spot and unable to move. This was *not* what I’d had in mind. I tucked my tail between my legs and fled to use the downstairs toilet instead, now fully awake, no pleasant little reveries and now contemplating the very large issue upstairs, instead of the little tasks of the day.

I spent an hour or so regrouping and planning. Once satisfied, I pulled up my big-girl panties, grabbed a bowl and a piece of paper and headed back up the stairs to my certain doom. I sidled slowly into the room, David facing my proverbial Goliath. Goliath? Nay. Titan.
His long, Fat legs were covered in hair and he stood unmoving, staring at me in the same fashion he had before.
“So… We meet again!” Said I aloud.
He merely sniggered at my predicament. I approached slowly with my sling, I mean, bowl. I stopped, reassessing my situation. My weapon of choice did not have the accuracy needed to carry out my plan. It was too heavy and unwieldy. I searched briefly for a smaller wide-mouthed receptacle, quickly finding it in a ceramic cup-thing.

I changed tactics too, sneaking up behind Goliath and put (or, y’know, threw, whatever. Same thing, right?) the cupthing over him.
Ok. Now what? Ah-HA! The window! Perfect. I looked dubiously at the cupthing balancing on top of The Beast in my bathtub. Would it hold the giant? I decided that the best action would be to move quickly, so move quickly I did, removing everything from the windowsill, and the stool and towels from in front of the window, and finally, unlocking it (the window, that is).
With great trepidation and a sense of impending doom, I approached the final task at hand. I lowered the piece of paper into the bath, then, slowly, carefully I began the delicate, precise art of sliding the cupthing on to the piece of paper. This accomplished, I now faced  the actual picking  up and removing of The Beast.
At first I moved slowly, then changed my mind and thought it was best to once again move fast. I wriggled my fingers under the paper, doing my best not to separate it from the cupthing, picked it up and turned it over, clamping the paper down as tightly as I could. Goliath would NOT touch me, I was determined. I made the fluid movement to the window, and then did the separate-and-throw-really-quick-and-hard thing that you do.

Of course, then I had to look out the window to see if Goliath had actually gone, or if he was still in my cup and about to attack me. He Had gone, but instead of landing a little further in the garden, he landed on the slate roof just below the bathroom window, AND STARTED RUNNING BACK TOWARDS ME!
WELL, I’ve never shut a window so fast, or done quite such an elaborate heebie-jeebie dance (it’s mandatory in cases like this, you know). Anyway. I now have one of my friends warning me that Goliath will come back for revenge. Apparently he will weave his web across the front door and lie in wait for my unsuspecting, dreamy self to walk out without thinking, and when I do, he will be waiting.

*extra heebie-jeebie dance* that was one mahoosive spider. *shudder*

P.S No pictures ’cause I didn’t think to take one before I threw Goliath out the window. Also, so as not to offend the squeamish.

P.P.S An excerpt from Wikipedia:

Female body size can reach 18.5 millimetres (0.73 in) in length (making it the largest members of the family), with males having a slightly smaller body at around 12 to 15 millimetres (0.47 to 0.59 in) in length. The female leg span is typically around 45 millimetres (1.8 in). The leg span of the male and is highly variable, with spans between 25 to 75 millimetres (0.98 to 3.0 in) being common.

The Giant house spider has the same coloration as the Domestic house spider; it has earthy tones of brown and muddy red or yellow. They also have conspicuously hairy legs, palps and abdomen.

The Thrill of Meeting the Race That Knows Joseph

So, recently (i.e in the past 3 years or so) I discovered that Anne of Green Gables actually has a whole load of sequels. Exciting stuff! A little more recently (past few months) I managed to acquire the whole series for pittance, which, of course, had me really excited. Anne was my best friend growing up and it’s nice to follow the rest of Her growth, y’know – like continuing to grow with a really good friend. Any way, no spoilers, in case someone out there is also like “OMG, THERE WAS A SEQUEL?! WHAT?” and wants to go after them and read them, but I will say that in the 4th book, the one I’m currently reading, Anne meets an older lady who introduces her to the concept of “the race that knows Joseph”, anyone who is a ‘kindred spirit’ is from the race that knows Joseph.

Well, a couple of days ago I met someone from the race that knows Joseph. I was merrily skipping up to the train station on my way to visit Ste, not really thinking what I was doing, y’know… Singing out loud and spinning (hey, I thought I was on my own. No judgements please! =D), stopping to pick blackberries, y’know… Me stuff. Stuff you can totally see me doing and won’t roll your eyes at because, well, I’m cuckoo that way anyway and everyone knows it. Well I got to the station and stopped dead. It was locked up. I looked around confusedly and (somewhat embarrassedly) noticed a lady walking up behind and passed me, summarily disappearing into the wall a couple of paces down the road. Ok, ok, what? No… People don’t walk into walls, Tatiana. There’s obviously a door there. So I followed her and, of course, discovered a little side door into the station. Yay! I walked in, but noticed to my dismay that the door to the ticket office was also locked from the inside. It’s happened to me once before, but I wanted to make sure, so I sized up the lady who had walked into the station a little ahead of me. She was (erm, is…) about my height, maybe a little taller, with stylishly short grey hair, a flowing skirt, sandals and a pretty top, with a really cute patchwork bag. She looked pleasant enough, so I jogged after her and did the whole “Excuse me, does this mean we buy tickets at the destination?” routine. Well she had such a musical accent I had to comment on it, and one thing lead to another and we spent the whole train journey chatting about anything and everything. She turned out to be 50 (I swear she didn’t look a day over 40! Even with grey hair), a published poet, an incredible gentlelady and every bit from the race that knows Joseph! She practically radiated light and love! I got off a stop before she did, so when she saw I was getting off, she just gave me the biggest and warmest hug ever! I really hope I meet her again.

I find that when you meet someone from the race that knows Joseph, your step is lighter and your smile is broader (and generally unwavering for about an hour afterwards at least), and so, venturing off the train, and towards my connecting train, my step was light and bouncy and I was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Apparently too much, though, because a middle-aged lady kept staring at me, and at one point asked “Are you ok?”. Why, yes thank you! People in general kept staring in my direction, but avoiding eye contact. When did we become a society that mistrusts happiness and smiles?

In other news, I’ve taken up running! Yep, folks, seriously taken up running and actually progressing! I’m so proud of myself, although truly, today my legs were rubber by the time I got in. I saw that the NHS had this free podcast online called Couch to 5k, so I thought, wellllll…. Why the heck not? So there we are. I’m running now. I’ve never been a runner, and even when I was TRYING to run in Northampton, I was never any good at it and felt terrible about it most days. However, I’m actually progressing. It feels so good! =)
I’ve also discovered the other day (completely unrelated), informed by my sweet boyfriend who DEFINITELY took no enjoyment in correcting me (haha!) that I’ve been saying Yosemite wrong all these years. What? Well, who told you folks to make it a “let’s not say it anything like it’s spelt” word. Name. Thing. You heard me.

Aaaaaand… That’s about it! Photo was taken in Penrith when I went there a couple of weeks back with Ste. I still need to get around to uploading the photos to facebook, but you know what? Facebook photo uploader hates me. That is all.  I shall force it into submission later. =D

Pockets of Happiness

I had a thousand things I wanted to write in this post, and sure as little green apples grow on trees, as soon as I wrote the title, I forgot them all. *Tries to remember*

At the beginning of March I moved north to Wirral, which is 18 minutes away from Liverpool central by train. WHOOP! This means that I can meet up with my 100% gorgeous/patient/amazing boyfriend whenever we have time to spare. I’m staying with an absolutely wonderful family who treats me kindly and are supportive and sweet.
Slowly, but surely I’m healing wounds and getting back on track. This is going to sound really silly, but I shocked myself about a week back when I started singing in the shower without realising it, and when I did realise it, it felt weird. Not any more, though. =)

I live in a lovely part of Wirral, right across the road from a nature reserve on a picturesque road 10 minutes from the train station, 5 minutes from a huge shopping complex that I can’t see from the house. The house itself is massive. 3 floors, 3 long and 2 short flights of stairs, 7 rooms and 5 bathrooms. It’s a beautiful house, furnished in the most beautiful way, even if it is a bit of a dust trap!

I went to London on Monday. Ste volunteered to come with me, so we both spent 5 and a half hours on the coach each way. The embassy was shut when we arrived and I had this mini (Ste might argue otherwise) panic attack, thinking it was closed for the whole day and we’d wasted a trip, but my saintly boyfriend pointed out a sign that said it would be open from 1 to 5, not the usual 9 to 1. I needed a drink after that (shut up. It was 12pm. Not too early!), so we went to a nearby pub and wasted an hour, only to get back to the embassy at 1 and find it packed to the rafters. 1h30-ish later, I got called up and dealt with someone I hadn’t seen before (he was new), but who took my paper work and said it was all in order, yes, he’d been briefed about my case (lol) and was happy that everything was in order and he would be sending it off as soon as possible. WHOOP! Lithuanian citizenship, here I come!

On Tuesday I spent the day doing a little instructing and was quite surprised when I learned I’d earned something for it. I was just having fun doing stuff with the kids at the centre and wasn’t expecting anything for it, so that’s always exciting!

There’s a poetry competition happening in Wirral with a cut-off date on the 13th of July. First place takes £200, 2nd place takes £75 and the 3 runners up take £25 ea. I want to participate, but that means I need to write something or choose one of my already-written pieces and I have no idea what to write or which to choose. Decisions, decisions!

Sooooo… Yeah. Pockets of happiness all around, right now. =) Things are looking up. It’s taking a while to get used to the idea that everything is a lot simpler and easier now and that it’s ok to stop and breathe and not worry. I wish I could talk to the me from the past 9/10 months from where I am now and explain that it’s all going to be ok and that I needn’t stress or worry (not that it would’ve helped, mind), but c’est la vie, non? Everything is good now and that’s what matters. =)

Inspiration

So I know I haven’t blogged in forever and I’m not even going to TRY and find an excuse for it.

This year has already had so many ups and downs and a few twists to boot. Things have kind of snowballed and avalanched and settled, then snowballed, avalanched and settled, rinse and repeat. The one good thing about this year is that I’ve just finished (reading)  my second book for the year and started my third. I predict to be starting my fourth by the end of the month.
So amid the chaos that has been my new year, I’m finally going to London tomorrow to submit the final bits of paperwork needed for my citizenship. While I’m there I’ll pop in and say hello to Sophie, whom I haven’t seen since summer. That’ll be nice.

So amongst my big plans for the year is a search for something I knew I was lacking in lately, but haven’t really given it time to register: Inspiration. For anything, I suppose. For gift ideas, for my writing (and that includes personal journalling), for my job, for my future… For my whole life, I suppose… I just feel completely drained of all inspiration. I remember doing a blog, WAAAAAY back when 360 was still a thing, on the muses, and on ki, and on my inspiration. Looking back, I wonder where it all came from, because it all seems to be locked away in a little box that’s been buried in clutter in the back of my brain and I’ve somehow managed to lose the key to boot.

By nature I’m quite an optimistic person, but I find it’s becoming more of a chore to stay optimistic, it’s something I have to actively search for, and it slips my mind more often than not. So I think, all the other crazy stuff in my life besides, I’m on a kind of journey to rediscover my inspiration, not being entirely sure how to do that. There was a time when I had a crappy day that I’d just bide my time till evening, and sweat it out at the dojo and come out genuinely relieved of whatever was bugging me when I went in. No such luxury at the moment, since I’m not allowed to go (only because I can’t drive there, don’t get any ideas!), so my frustrations and disappointments end up building up, my other outlet, writing, seems to have just dried up – except for this blog, it would seem. I used to just create my own inspiration for writing. I’d see or hear something  and I’d twist it around in my brain and suddenly, boom! Pen & paper, or even just a computer screen filled with words. Where did it go?
Truth be told, I’m feeling a bit squashed. Kind of like I did when I started working in catering (was that really only 3 years ago?) and people attempted to squash me into a mould that no matter how I tried, I just couldn’t fit into. It feels more challenging than it should be to stop being squished and just be myself. Guess I’m long overdue for a visit to mum & dad. =)

There. My whining is over (that post turned out to be far more whiny and complain-y than I expected it to, and far less interesting). Time to move on. Time to pick up the pieces and pull myself together. Lots of deep breaths, and soldier forward, right? Right.

//

This and That

Well I don’t have any REAL news, but a couple of things caught my attention in the past few days. =)
I think we’ve actually had a comparatively dry autumn, and it’s been absolutely beautiful because of it! The trees have had time to show us all their colours and we’ve been able to see the multi-coloured leaves carpeting the floor too, whereas usually they would’ve been blown away just as soon as they fell, so it’s been lovely. However, last weekend we had SO much rain, that the river and canal overflowed. I hadn’t thought it had rained THAT much till I was cycling the little monsters to school yesterday.

This side of the river only overflowed a little, but the OTHER side of the river had overflowed over the path and then a little more.

This other photo is after the water had dried up a bit and the river was going back to normal (taken from the other side of the river).

THEEEEEN… This morning I couldn’t get myself out of bed, but when I eventually managed… I looked out the window and everything was WHITE! Er… With frost, that is, not snow. But frost can be just as fun. I went out to get the bikes ready for our cycle to school and I got to play on the crunchy grass for a few seconds. I’m such a child! *Grins* For some reason, frosty, crunchy grass is so much fun. More fun even than crunchy leaves. Ste made me smile today… I texted him this morning all excited about the crunchy grass and he answered about when we first started going out and he caught my whispering to myself and crunching the grass. My boyfriend’s memory for the little things makes me smile (especially when he tells me x]).

Loads of fun!

So any way… Little Monster #2 is finally learning how to cover his mouth when he coughs – AFTER giving me whatever he has (although I seem to be warding it off a bit better than he did). It has been mildly uncomfortable fighting it off, but at least I’m not lying in bed with a temperature and a cough that would put any St Bernard’s bark to shame (poor kid). He seems to be getting better though, and was ok to go to school this morning, so we’re on the up. =) He’s actually been not so much of a little monster the past 2 or 3 days… It gives me hope. *_*

Also, I have a cat on my lap (and multiple scratches on my hands from kitty play time). Having said that, she was having a ball sitting on my shoulder and playing with my hair – which I really don’t mind ’cause I love it when someone plays with my hair. It was funny any way. I think she’s all tired out now. =)

It’s so nice to have a quiet house… The kids have gone to Kumon and I have the house to myself for an hour or two. Bliss. Now it’s just self-control till they get back so I don’t raid the chocolate. Good thing there’s a cat on my lap and I don’t want to disturb her. Hehe.

Dilemmas and speech issues

So I had an amazing weekend last week. Everything was just perfect (including me wandering around like a fly, not sure at all where to go – again – in a Catholic church. Oops) and as everyone already knows, I kinda wish I didn’t have to leave. Oh well. I’ll move north soon enough. If I repeat it enough to myself, it will happen.

I got a rap on the knuckles the other day because I’ve been dropping my Ts, and Little Monster #2 has picked it up. Fair enough, I’ve been dropping my Ts, but he’s only started dropping them since going to school, which means he doesn’t get it from me! I’m just… Not… Particularly helping it along, I suppose… Which brings me to the fact that I really do need to work on my speech. When I moved to England, people thought I was ‘posh’ because my pronunciation was very RP. Now I just sound like a garbled mix between Auzzie, Brommie, Cockney (I got told this weekend! Ack!), and whatever else you care to add. Heaven help my poor accent. I just need to find a way to work on it.
Which brings me to… Yesterday I was given the details of a possible Japanese teacher. I know I should probably focus on my poor, deteriorating English (despite the fact that I’m in *England*), but the temptation to finally learn Japanese with a proper teacher, as opposed to just learning bits and bobs on my own when I can, is … very… Um, temp…ting (and now we wave a sad goodbye to my vocabulary! *hmph* And google’s omniscience failed me too. I tried to google what could come after that phrase and all I got were scriptures… *sigh*)…? So now I’m in a dilemma – get a Japanese teacher, set aside time for self-study in Japanese, or just focus on improving my English again. Having said that, there’s a Russian mum at Tumble Tots that has offered to bring me Russian things, so that I can start learning Russian! Attempting not to squeal really loudly now that I’ve remembered that.

On that note, as November fast approaches, I still don’t know whether or not to NaNo, but I have been thinking about writing again. I need to kick my own backside and get back into writing my book. Blah.
I had other stuff to talk about, I swear I did. I just don’t remember any of it. Oh well. Back to cleaning before the boss comes home and sees me sitting at my laptop being very unproductive.

Me and My Big Mouth

Welcome to today’s episode of My Big Mouth and I! Starring Tatiana Lasevicius – and her big mouth.

No. Seriously. At the beginning of this week, I was having a little complaining session with mum about the injustices of this world (or perhaps just of this house), and how I was keeping such a good house. The kids’ room is always tidy, and downstairs is always spotless (let’s not bring MY room into this, shall we? Although I’ve been doing well the past couple of days, anyway! Moving on). So in my little rant session, I said to my mum “I don’t care what happens, I’m not actually cleaning upstairs. We have a cleaner that comes in once a week for that and I’ve had my fill of making other people’s beds and cleaning other people’s bathrooms. Not doing that again.”
WELL! Lo-and-behold, this week the cleaner’s daughter is ill and we have guests coming to spend the weekend for Little Monster #2’s birthday. Guess who gets to clean upstairs? DING DING DING! Me. If you could hear my voice right now, you’d hear a distinct lack of enthusiasm (and possibly some griping along the lines of a sore back).

So today I’ve cleaned the house from top to bottom, leaving only the rubbish bins, because none of them are even half-way full yet (and to be perfectly honest, I can’t give a rat’s rear-end). I’ll do those tomorrow. Or Friday. I dunno. Oh, and the ironing, but I’ll be damned if I’m doing that.

On the weekend just passed, the Dragon Mother made everyone do some gardening to ‘tidy it up’. Don’t mind if I say this, but the parts where they ‘tidied up’ look just as messy, and they only cleared away half of what they cut back/pulled up. So guess whose job it was to clear up after them? I decided to look at it as being my house and garden to help me visualise… And to help practice for when I actually am running my own house. =)

Complaining over. Weekend after next I’m going to see Ste. I can’t wait! Even though he took today ‘off’ to wind me up as much as possible, then, I quote “Don’t take the bait! You take the bait every time”. GAH!! I hear the echoes of my father who would frequently take the time to wind me up as much as possible, then when I got cranky go “But you take the bait!! It’s so much fun” or, his favourite “You’re like a fish. Come up for the bait every time…” If that phrase was physical, I’d stab it till it bled. Then trample on it for good measure. Just to make sure.

It’s nearly NaNoWriMo! Still don’t know if I’m going to do it. I definitely don’t get enough time to write, but maybe…