"I'm gonna pick up the pieces, and build a Lego House.....if things go wrong I can knock it down...."
He's a clever guy Ed Sheeran - writes all his own material, sings, plays several musical instruments and has a house made out of Lego.
Funnily enough, so do I.
Because Lego is cool. Lego is the future....and my Lego house rocks....
I remember how scarily brilliant this film was when it first came out. It scared the shit out of me. I was on the edge of my seat with a cushion over my face for at least half of it.
Can you imagine that?? Like if that actually happened to you??
Because you've just happened to cross paths one day with someone who decides that they want what you have. And so they decide to take it....with or without consent. And fuck the consequences...
But then that would never happen obviously. Because Single white female is just a film....
Birmingham New Street train station main entrance is not the place for a meltdown. This is what I am telling myself as I wave goodbye to the taxi driver and attempt to drag both myself and my bags through the automatic doors towards the turnstile.
I'm tired, wired and just really need to catch my train today. So, tempting as it is to just sit on a step with my head on my knees and make the world around me go away right now, it's not really an option for me at the minute.
I'm attracted to chaos like a moth to a flame.
I always have been. Since I was a child - Subconciously re-creating car crash scenarios.
I know where I am with chaos. I know "what to do". It's all I've been used to. Noise and uncertaintainty and drama. So I've always had a plan B for when plan A goes wrong. Which is most of the time.
My friend Nathan knows me pretty well - We spend a lot of time together. A lot more time than we used to actually, now that I'm sober and capable of stringing more than just the odd sentence together.
Tonight we are talking about my drinking days. I don't really want to have this conversation but it's Nath and he was worried for a while and so I know that I should.
I take a sip of my drink, grit my teeth and prepare myself for a bumpy ride...
Before I became ill and way before I became a writer, I had a completely different life.
I was a fixer. A magician. A person who performed miracles and made magic happen. If people said that it couldn't be done I would prove them wrong by being the person to do it.
I "get" superficial. I do. We've all done it. Played nice at parties or events or meetings or whatever. Superficial is a two way thing. It serves a purpose. No harm intended. You both know that you'll never call the number. Go on a second date. Meet up for coffee and a chat. Its just a way of wrapping up a conversation. Saving face. I get all of that. I've done it loads in the past.
But I don't get false. Hidden agendas. Jealousy. Especially when you don't actually see it happening. From someone who's supposed to have your back. Not be stabbing you in it. Especially when they know that you are going through a really shit time.
Still. I know now.
I know everything....
So you can have what you stole from me. It's yours. You can keep it.
I hope it makes you happy and that all of your deception was worth it.
Because I was ill when you took it. It became an albatross around my neck...now it will be one around yours.
So enjoy it while you can.....and enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame.....because everyone knows who the real winner is here. And trust me sweetheart, it's never going to be you. You're just an imposter doing a not very good job of impersonating me. And failing spectacularly....it's all a bit "Single white female"....if i'm honest. Maybe I should be flattered .....or maybe I should just say this....
The truth will come out. So I'll have my say then.....in the meantime though, be careful what you wish for.
Because Karma's a bitch.....and she's coming for you. "Mate"...
He's home alone.
For 5 days. His housemate's away. Do I want to come over?.....
That should have been a stupid question. Normally I'd be there like a shot...But right now I don't know.
I'm mulling it over in my head. Pro's and cons. Fantastic sex on tap versus potential emotional fallout. Because as much as I want this guy, I'm not sure I want to play this game any more.
Six months ago when I met him, this would have been top of my wishlist. He's cool. I love hanging out with him. But a lot can change in six months. And I have changed beyond all recognition.
My inner fox is begging me to do this. In the bedroom we are fluid. We know instinctively what to do to blow each others heads off. The last person to make me come was him. In a hotel room. Booked last minute because we couldn't bear to wait a second longer than we had to before we got naked. Just us....our massive desire for each other, and two novelty toothbrushes that we grabbed from the Co-op along the way....
Check-in took forever.
And then it was just the two of us. In the same room. Unable to keep our eyes or our hands off each other.
We didn't make breakfast....
It was awesome.
A repeat would be incredible. More of the same and God only knows what else. There's only one problem.
I'm not a booty call. His or anyone else's.
I would love to do this. He knows my body better than i know it myself. And vice versa. But after my journey through detox and rehab and looking back at all of the wrong turns and "not quite right" men that have got me to this point, where I am now sat here writing this, I've realised that I don't want it.
Because the next person I get naked with is going to want more than just five days. I don't want to be strung along, promised the earth and then be left dangling. It's insulting. And bad for my self esteem. I've been through enough now. I'd rather be by myself.
I've never been able to say that before. But it's true.
He's messaging me as I write this. Small talk. Chit chat. Building up to the main event. Which would involve me and him getting naked and picking up from where we left off...I can't say I'm not tempted....
Except it's not going to happen. He can call all he likes. It doesn't mean that I have to pick up the phone..for the first time ever I'm putting my emotional needs first.
Because if this is a booty call then I've done myself a favour....I don't need the headfuck, and if it isn't, well....he needs to raise his game and show me that it's more.
God, this feels weird. Like I've been swapped. With someone who actually has some self-respect....
Wow. Go me....it's only taken me 30 odd years to find some....
So this is a story about a man.
A funny, intelligent and articulate man who has recently snowballed into my day to day life.
Out of the blue. From Nowhere.
Completely unexpectedly, and completely unannounced. It's kind of a complicated story. Involving an extremely complicated man.
So I didn't actually tell him that we're over.
We somehow went camping instead....
Big mistake - Massive in fact. It turns out that my inner Diva doesn't like camping. Or more accurately she does - but just not with him.
Anyway. It started to go wrong at Sports Direct. AKA Inner Diva's idea of hell. Apparantly it was necessary to buy walking boots. Oh God. It was the quickest Sports direct sale in history. "These in a size 5 please. No I won't need to try them on. BrilliantThankYouBye" And..."Whoosh!". Inner Diva was gone. Off to join my inner fox in Lush.
Nowhere near a wood or a forest by the way.
No.We were on a car park. In the middle of bloody nowhere. In a gale. . Brilliant. What was also lovely were the lack of facilities. As in there were none. Nada. Nothing. Unless you counted sheep.
Not so bad at night time having a wee in the dark in the bushes. Not quite the same the next morning attempting to wee in broad daylight and then finding out that my lady garden has been clocked by several elderly coastal walkers and car drivers pulling into said car park.
Mortifying. For me. Not them.
So then we go coastal walking. In the rain. Up a cliff.
Inner Diva is not impressed. One iota. It's blowing a gale and she's morphed into a sulky toddler who's run out of prams to throw her toys out of. Inner Diva is essentially throwing a strop to end all strops. He is left in no doubt at just how little she is enjoying this. It would have made painful viewing. If there was anyone else around. Because mysteriously, not many other people seem to be halfway up a cliff. In the rain. Clearly not having fun. No. They are all doing normal stuff. In the warm somewhere. Like I should be doing.
God I need to end this. I'll tell him tomorrow.
It's Saturday night.
I'm alone in my room watching Netflix and occasionally checking my twitter account.
All of my friends are either working or doing things that tonight don't include me and so I am home alone, just me myself and I. I'm bored and don't really know what to do with myself.
I thought about going out but it's not really the same just sitting on your own. Plus I work here. I try and keep my work and my private life separate. I don't want to be sat propping up the bar on my nights off. It looks a bit desperate.
I'm trying not to look at the bottle that's on my bedside table. The bottle that has a label that reads 0.0 Alcohol Free. Because my mind can't seem to process that. It looks like alcohol. It tastes like alcohol. But it's not. Yet my tastebuds say it must be. And suddenly my head is reverting back to old behaviours. My old buttons are being pressed. Because, despite me having two similar bottles unopened in the fridge, my head is pressing me to go out and get more. To stockpile. Even though it's pissing down outside. Because my head for some unknown reason appears to want to get obliterated again. It's talking to me. Chatter, chatter, chatter. I'm determined to ignore it.
I thought that I was over this. That I've kicked my addiction.
However, this internal conversation that I appear to be having with my "inner addict" right now appears to be telling me otherwise.
I always thought that it was bollocks when they banged on about it in rehab. Apparantly not. My "inner addict" is alive and kicking if this conversation is to be believed. It's just taken a while for it to introduce itself. Almost a year actually. Well ten months and twenty one days. Not that I've been counting. It's just that the admission date of detox is tattooed on my brain.
So this is not what I wanted to find out today. That there's yet another mountain to climb.
I've been super, super careful around anything to do with alcohol since I walked out of rehab. I'm not going down that road again for anyone. But I don't want to live in a coffee shop either. Or go to meetings every night. I'm a social girl. I like bars and restaurants.
But I was so sick to death of drinking squash. It made me feel like a child. And I was sick of the questions. And the automatic jumping to conclusions by people who haven't got a clue about me or my life choices now let alone why I made them.
So going alcohol free opened new doors. I looked like everyone else now. With my beer thats not beer really.
Only it is.
It contains traces. Teeny, tiny bits of the poison that I used to try and drown myself with. My body knows it and my chemical hooks are kicking in.
This is not good. Or maybe it is. Maybe it's my inner voice urging me not to be stupid about this. That it's waving a red flag ( however small) in my direction for a reason.
I have the capacity to make stupid decisions as my blogs and my life story have shown. But the occasional stupid mistake doesn't mean that I actually am stupid. Because I'm not. Being stupid would be for me to not pay attention to this, think "In for a penny, in for a pound" and get back onto the real stuff pronto.
But that would drag me straight back to hell. And that would be beyond stupid. I learned my lesson the first time.
I get up and pour my pretend beer down the sink. Bollocks. Fruit shoot it is then.