To Err is Human

A person is born and then they die and in between a lot of mistakes are made, an awful lot of mistakes. Mistakes are how we learn and how we form good judgement, (which, quite likely we will go and ignore anyway). Mistakes often form more of us than our successes and mistakes show us what the right decision and course is.

I don’t think a person should be judged by their mistakes, because everyone makes them and a life that is full of should, could and might hasn’t lived. What matters is what a person does after their mistake; the mark of a good person is their action after the error. Sometimes we make a wrong judgement and sometimes it is a blunder or a simple slip-up, it happens we’re human it is only a terrible thing if we let it be.

Just because someone messes up doesn’t mean that things cannot be changed for the better, for example I made a terrible error in my dance exam. I couldn’t change my mistake, all I could do was determine if I was going to give up or resolve to finish performing with everything I had and make-up for the fault. The problem is it is often much easier to give up, do nothing or blame some else when mistakes happen and things go wrong, it is always harder to try and fix something. We are faced with the decisions to run from or learn from things every day, it is only when we chose to learn or fix something that good will come from it. I ended up trying harder in my exam than perhaps I may have done had I not made the mistake, I ended up with highest honours.

In the end the sun will rise and the sun will set no matter what mistake I make, but after all that, it is down to you to decide if the mistake will remain a blunder or fault. As with everything it is down to me to decide how things will turn out for good or for bad, it is down to me to turn a decision into the correct path or an error. As with most decisions and paths, a mistake has the potential to change a life.

Greener on the other side

I bumped into someone today who once told me I was the type of person who would always believe the grass is greener on the other side. I don’t think this person ever really understood me. I remember sighing at them and saying it wasn’t that I thought the grass would greener, just that I was tired of sitting on short well kept grass and that I wanted to lie in the tall wild unkempt grass instead. I like change, I like the new and I am always looking for something more; that doesn’t mean I’m looking for something better, I’m looking for something different. I move on a lot and I believe that life and identity is something of constant transition and change. No matter how much someone may try and stay still, the world marches on and you can either stumble long with it or embrace it and skip to the beat. I have chosen to change schools, hobbies, favourite things, jobs because the world changes, life changes and I change too.

I have never believed that the grass was going to be greener on the other side; I’m just in search of different grass. Grass that might have taller daisies or smaller daisies, grass that has sunshine dandelions, grass that maybe has some lucky clover. I don’t think that the grass will be a better shade of jade or more luxurious, it’s just that maybe I don’t want to play with Buttercups anymore, maybe I want to make daisy chains or search for a four leaf clover.

I think no matter where your patch of grass is who and what you love doesn’t change, your passion and pleasure stay mostly the same and your nature at heart is fairly constant. Those things close to your heart make the grass green. I don’t think how green the grass is has much to do with where your grass is, it about how well you choose maintain the grass you are lying in, even brown and brittle grass can be lush and green when watered and tended to. I think if you want green grass, water the grass you have, if you want something different go in search of it, but you have to look after the grass no matter where you are.

I suppose I could just plant daisies and clover and dandelions and buttercups, but I have a feeling some miserable sod has labelled them as weeds and the packet seed would be hard to come across.

Holiday time :)

Passport, passport…….. Where’s my passport?

Can I fit an extra pair of shoes in my case, I’ve got room, but it is already kind of heavy, I only need 3 pairs right?

Why does my suitcase look empty, I’m fairly sure my packing skills aren’t that good so why is there so much room? I’ve forgotten something haven’t I? I have no idea what I’ve forgotten to pack, damn, O I’m not unpacking and checking. Nope I’m not, I had better unpack and check.

Have I got enough sun cream? Have I got enough insect repellent? Do I need a bigger jacket for the plane? Four books is enough for 10 days right? I’m not going to finish them all?

Need to put a bathing costume in my carry on just in case my suit case gets lost.

Where the hell is my passport?

I’m going on holiday, and I am horribly excited even if I do have to have these irritating thoughts running through my head. Actually the thought about the passport I really need to start listening to because I’m leaving this afternoon. Leaving the UK for a better climate is also pointless at the moment because the fabulous weather we have been having, still I’m excited.  I’m going somewhere completely new.

I haven’t been able to go one holiday in ages, my job keeps getting in the way, I had to be a grown up and put that first. I had to cancel one to Florida last minute, I was so upset.  It much easier when I was young, my mum always knew where my passport was, we would go in the school holidays so there was no conflict, and a parent booked it easy.

I love travelling and going on holidays (I even like airports), I love ending up somewhere new and interesting. I love not knowing exactly what I’m going to get where I get there or what I’ll do. It’s opportunity to explore somewhere new and leave your old world behind for a little bit. So happy right now, or would be if I could find my bloody passport.

So I’m on vacation for the 10 days, I’ll you guys when I get back.

An Old friend in London Town

What I’ll remember most about yesterday was the soaring temperature, the dry air and sticky skin, fidgeting and grinning from overwhelming excitement and anticipation and the shear relief of hearing an almost lost voice and having a hug I have missed. The last time I was in London was a little under a year ago and last time I saw Kat was a little over 2 years and 2 weeks ago. I love both immensely, for wildly different reasons but I don’t see either as much as I would like.

Kat was my roommate while I was studying in America, I hadn’t shared a room since I was eight and despised the idea of having no solitary escape. Kat made having a roommate not only bearable but a wonderful part of my experience in America. She made what had been a sparse and gloomy room, home by filling it with trinkets, colour, noise and friendship. When I finally returned to Britain and my own room, I felt like someone had ripped away part of my being, she had been such a big part of my life it was odd to now have a life and a room without her.

I can’t remember ever really doing the tourist thing in London but who could say no to that chance and seeing an old friend?? London has never disappointed me but to look at everything through the eyes of a traveller was incredible. No one cares that it is over crowed, with people rushing or the expense; we were idle and easy going, swapping stories, answering question (seriously who knew I could regurgitate so much crap about the Royals) and filling her in on a whistle stop tour of London and Britain’s culture and quirks.

We started at London Bridge before following the South Bank of the Thames to the Globe. I love it at the Globe there is so much history there and the white round architecture always amuses me. We than went next door to the Tate, which I have to say is an extraordinarily ugly building considering it houses some beautiful art work. Yesterday they also had a BBQ outside, expensive but good. We followed the burger with a walk across the Millennium Bridge (the one that gets destroyed in the Harry Potter films) to S. Pauls on the opposite side of the river. This is a stunning building and the  gardens at the beginning of summer smell fantastic. We strolled up The Mall to Buckingham Palace and down The Mall to Trafalgar Square where we people watched whilst discussing education, politics, art, music and sports just like when we were hiding in our room pretending to work.  We found time to squeeze in a visit to  St. James Park, Piccadilly Circus before it got dark and we arrived in Leicester Square  it got dark and finally we ate at a proper English pub (or at least as proper as it gets in London).

I loved every moment of it even when my camera died, particularly that I was acting like a complete  tourist. When I go to London I go to shop, to the theatre or an exhibition, for work, I don’t see London, it’s just another city. I adored yesterday because I felt like I was seeing bits I had missed and because I was with amazing people. I was with Kat and in a prolonged moment of a day, doing all those things was so much better. So here is the upside to being a bit older, I can afford to go to London and buy my friend dinner. I can spend the day doing nothing and it be a wonderful guilty pleasure because I can drop everything and still go to work the next day. I’m now old enough to have a friend from years ago who lives in a different country and maintain it.   

Where I am the best version of me.

Is there a place where you feel like a different person, or perhaps where you feel like a superior or ultimate version of yourself? Somewhere that brings out your greatest aspects, diminishes you faults, somewhere where you excel. Mine is my old university town. I have yet to find anywhere that can make me feel safe and peaceful; it is where I formed some of great ideas about literature, art, friends and life. Aberystwyth in Wales lives in its own dazzling bubble, with little crime, vice or evil one can quite happy forget there is a big bad world beyond it boarders. It was a place where I could just be, just live and be happy.

I went through a lot of pain there but I never felt isolated or lonely. It wasn’t just the incredible people I met there, the place itself stood by my side, it laughed with me, stood close by me when I cried in the dark and stopped the world to comfort me. I miss it, I miss the people I love so much I cling to them as though I’m afraid they are a wonderful dream that will slip through my fingers. I miss the person I was there, the better, smarter, prettier and happier person. I miss the conversations about politics, books, comics, films, music, love, passion and life. I wondered if it was just me who had a place like this? Or does everyone have a place where they are the person they could be?   

Tumbling Pretties

Why a slow week at work is bad for your health.

I remember in my youth (ha like I’m old now) that some weeks used to feel like they dragged but I don’t think I have every really understood the idea of a slow week until I got a job. I’m an underling, and when work is quiet I have nothing and I mean NOTHING to do. I mean what do adults do at work, when there is nothing to do. When I was at school I passed notes and day dreamed of the promise of 8 hot hazy summer weeks, I don’t even get those any more. I have also come to the conclusion that a sluggish week at work is incredibly bad for your health.

1. A slow week at work means I’ve become frustrated, anxious and stressed, I’m not only bored but completely puzzled where has all the work gone?? I had some last week, so where is this weeks?? Have I just missed it, is there something massively important I am meant to be doing that I’m not?? Is it all just piling up and I’m  going to end up dealing with it all next week, which lets face it, would suck for future me. This worry makes me feel nauseous.
2. Fear sets in as well like I said I’m an underling and if there is no work there is no job and I’ll be the first to go. Maybe I should be spending all this spare time figuring out how to make the copier machine work when the odd little light comes on and become a little less expendable. All this fear is equally not nice and I worry I may lose sleep; well actually the worry about losing sleep is making me lose sleep.
3. Increased intake of coffee, tea and biscuits are beginning to take there toll. Having the time to frequent the kitchen is not helping the waist line, I can’t even remember how many cookies I had today and I pretty sure I don’t want to.
4. I’ve started chit chatting with the people I work with more, because I now have the opportunity and this had lead to some of the most mundane conversations imaginable. I have also come to realise that I don’t like half of them as much as I thought I did. I also find out things I really really really didn’t want to know.
5. After I have become lethargic, frustrated, worried, scared, fat and isolated it will inevitably not be a slow week next week, it will be a hectic week and I will want to go in a corner and cry and shout at the cosmos for just being irritating.

 

Occationally you watch something and it’s just like: yeah, that just works. It just fits in with your life, and where you are in the world. It speaks to you but also amuses you, makes you smile and feel a little bit better even if your weren’t especially down to start with.

So I thought I would share it. Enjoy

When am I too old to……?

I’m wondering at what age does it become unacceptable to sleep on your friend’s floor? This is a genuine concern for me as I do it lot, visiting people, nights out, going to gigs and other things. I always stay on someone’s floor, but I, er, get the impression that you proper adults/grown ups don’t do that. Soooo I kind of want I want to know at what age is it, you know, ‘improper’ for me to sleep on my friends floors?

Seriously, I mean my parents don’t slumber in sleeping bags on a mate’s carpet; so at what age do I have to start… I don’t know shelling out for hotel rooms or making other arrangements? (I have no idea what these other arrangements are.) Or is that they don’t stop snoozing on mates floors but rather that they have fewer reasons to? Do ‘adults’ stop going to gigs, stop going on nights out and getting too inebriated to drive home and stop visiting friends ? Is that why they no longer catch Zzzzzzz on floorboards?  I suppose that adults stay with other adults and adults have spare rooms, is that it?

This is just one of the many, many questions I have about being an ‘adult’; for example my friend who I went ‘white dress’ shopping with at the weekend, still goes out for coffee, orders a coke and slurps it. She getting married in 4 months and still doesn’t drink coffee and still slurps her drinks. How is she grown up enough to be married? I went to a gig on Monday; now am I allowed to go to a gig on a week night if I have work the next day or am I meant to be responsible and not go? This gig was for a band I have loved since I was 14 and my friends and I went along with every intention of re living our youth in a big way. Does that mean we are adults now because we can relive bits of our youth?  Am I too old to like cartoons, Disney Parks and teddies? If so I am definitely not adult enough to have the child that would provide the ‘permission’ for me to be seen enjoying these again.

I never used to care about these things or what other people thought about these things. Is that a sign that I’m more adult or grown up or whatever? Sod it, I really just want to know when I’ll stop getting back ache from the all that contorting as a result of sleeping on those hard floors!

White dresses and a level up in the game of life.

My friend has moved her wedding forward by a year from September 2013 to September 2012. I’m sorry to say I was first in there with the unoriginal question ‘Are you Pregnant?’ I couldn’t help it. I am vastly ecstatic because they got engaged and then the wedding seemed so far away, now it is the highlight at the end of my summer, let alone theirs. The bride is a wonderful friend from university and her fiancée is fab, I spend a large amount of time in their spare room when I’m visiting friends in trade for a bottle of wine. I have spent many happy hours with them and I can’t wait to see them marry, I plan to cry a sea of tears and drink way too much in their honour. They are a couple that is so established in my world that if they separated I’m sure the universe would rip at the seams.

 

The dresses

I’m not going to be a bridesmaid; however I spent the weekend wedding dress shopping with the bride to be and her mother. Would you believe it, the first dress, in the first shop was just perfect and nothing else after could measure up. This didn’t stop her trying on lots of dresses, I watched her try on white gown after white gown and started to feel, well, a little odd. I have never really wanted to get married, I was always in the train of thought that if you loved someone and wanted to spend your life with them just do it, why do you need a piece of paper to prove that you do or will. It’s not like in today’s society it means a lot, every marriage seems doomed to fail before it has started. Despite my cynicism and my generation’s apparent determination to devalue marriage, I always feel overwhelmingly happy when someone tells me they are going to tie the knot, I think it’s because in that moment that person seems incandescently happy. In the bridal shop, staring at mountains of white, cream, ivory, satin and lace I started to wonder if I wanted a big white dress? I can’t imagine thinking I could spend the rest of my life with anyone, let alone wanting or even choosing someone to do that with. Just because I can’t imagine it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like it, it doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t make me content, it just means I have to do some serious revaluation of what makes me happy.

Everyone around me is in long term relationships, engagements and marriage. Me? Well I joined a Facebook group called ‘My friends are getting married, I’m getting drunk’, yes this is probably childish but it feels like I’m playing a game and I just went up a level in difficultly. It feels like I’m getting old and this doesn’t sit well with me, do I have to start checking for glinting gold bands on the left hand every time someone I am remotely attracted to starts talking to me? I am going to start getting sympathy looks every time I say I’m single, watching a small flash of fear in their eye as they panic I’m might burst into tears over my singleton status or even worse they might catch singletonitis? Or heartbreakingly worse am I going to be deserted, left behind by my friends? Is there room in married life for the single girl chasing a Neverland dream? If I fight to keep my friends will they accept me, chasing happiness that’s not like theirs or will we just drift apart on different tides??

Too hot for sleep.

My wonderful Mother received this text message from me.

“What do you do if a boy is too hot in bed to sleep but otherwise perfectly fine?? Xx”

Yeah, okay, you like my mum can get you minds out the gutter right now!! This text message was about one of the boys I was babysitting last night, not about a man that was simply too exciting for sleep. I eventually did get the 7 year old boy to slip off back to sleep but apparently texting your mum at 11:30 at night, when she can’t remember where you are will lead her to assume all sorts of smutty things. My mum assumed that my enthralling text had been sent to her by mistake and had to spend some time remembering where her first daughter was.  It seems once she remembered I had several little boys in my care the text made so much more sense. I did eventually get a response to my child care issue but by then, the minimal maternal instinct I have, finally kicked in and my issue was resolved.

Since last night my mum has taken to showing my text message to everyone, my siblings, my cousin, our neighbours and her friends and everyone laughs. I missed the joke; at no point could I see the unintentional crude innuendo in my text. I am utterly ashamed, not that I sent a perhaps embarrassing text, I am embarrassed that I missed the humour. I was a student only a year ago how can I have lost that vulgar sense of humour that is integral to all students, I refuse to be that old already. My mum thinks it’s hysterical and she is much older than me; please never inform her I said that ever.

I love the fact my mum thinks I would ask this question and that she is imaginative enough to paint the wrong picture but completely disappointed that she thinks I’d ask anyone other than her. Why would I bother asking anyone else?? As far as I am concerned my mother is the all seeing all knowing oracle of my world. Who laughs at me, because she can ……because she knows I’ll always ask for whatever I need. I love how everyone I know has such a rude mind, it’s nice to know that apparently you never grow up from being 19; where everything can have a smutty but humorous spin on it if you don’t take things too seriously.

Anyway, I figure that not getting a reply from my mum is a good thing, I know I can handle a boy no matter how hot he is in bed….. and you can take that anyway you like