Bob, Africa, and Me

Yesterday in the g2 section of the Guardian, the cover article was entitled What Did 2005 Achieve for Africa, by Bob Geldolf.

I am proposing it should be changed to, Bob Geldolf, Me, Myself and I, by Africa. or What Did Bob Geldolf Achieve for 2005, by Bob Geldolf

Facts
27 : The number of times Africa or African is used in the Article, not including the title or bylines.
33: The number of times "I" is used in the article, not including mine, my or me (which would have increased the difference materially), title or bylines.

There are bits of the article that resound with me. That poverty and the concept of impoverished Africa is a product of politics seems an honest description of the situation; accordingly the problem to be solved fully needs to be dealt with politically. Mere sending in money by the people of the First world countries to Save the Children will not result in the sea change that is needed to lift Africa out of its Third world status.

The objection for me is the tone of the article which is set by the copious mentions of "I" not to mention the plethora of "me"s. All praise Messiah Geldolf. It upsets me because I was brought up with the cultural assumption (and i use those words carefully because it has to do with culture, and because it is an assumption and i acknowledge that it is open to argument) that to revel and promote yourself whilst doing a good deed is a conflict of interest.

Basically, why is doing the world a favour so in need of publicity which benefits you (ie BG) and not the object of change? And is moving the problem into the political domain through your status as pop culture celebrity mutually exclusive from also digging into your own pockets and assisting at your personal expense?

And his answers to the critics on why the initial Live8 lineup had no representation from musicians of African descent was obfuscatory and illogical. red herring anyone?

So, in my opinion the following are true: Africa is fucked up, the fuck up can be cured with sufficient and powerful political decisions supported by the support of the citizens of the first world and Geldolf is a good hearted guy that can't divorce himself of a massive ego and need for attention.

here endeth the rant.

planes, trains and pick up trucks

The journey back home from the US was a parabolic one taking me from the dissappointing ache of familial farewells to the tingly anticipation of being back home to flourish a rested face and renewed positive attitude.

Tuesday my parents drove me to the airport -dee eff dubbya ("dfw") in the afternoon. the terminal was quite empty as we drove up to the curb and parked just behind the only vehicle there, a large white stereotypical pick-up truck with a guy my age unloading the back and two women dilly dallying up front. I get some things out of the front of our truck whilst Dad unloads the mini santa sleighs (my luggage) from the back. I check out said guy who i notice is quite attractive, with his white University of Texas baseball cap and scruffy Texas prep look. Actually, he really resembles Matthew McConeaghy. Hmm. Look a little to the right, and notice a Spanish women who is pretty but not Penelepe; continuing to look in that direction and see that she is helping a woman out of the front of the truck and hm, yes that would be Penelope Cruz. Hiya Matt, now that the worlds hottest man, whose career I have followed since Dazed and Confused in the early 90s, is about 10 feet away from me. And then we check in to our BA flight together as well. Well, they area in the first class line, and i am the only person in the non first class line just next to them. And sods law, some gremlin took my BA Admirals Club card so I wasn't able to hang with my local celebs.

And yes he is very attractive in person. Penelope is very pretty but not unbelievably so. She is quite pale, and probably an inch shorter than me. And cheers to the stealth wealth style, they had nondescript bags and jeans and jumpers on. No bling for my homies.

At this point I thought the travel faeries were with me. But i never got a call or sms to go visit them in the admirals club. little did they know i could have given them the best advice as to where to hang in London, assuming they were staying in town and not jaunting off to the countryside with celeb friends.

Lo my luck kept turning. Boarding on the plane i was behind a group of very loud American adolescents. Within 5 seconds you knew they were from a local college "marching band" off to visit london and playing in the new years day parade. Some had never flown; most had never heard of England and did not know its relation to London.

The travel gremlins now conspired to seat me with the great unwashed in Steerage (Matt, Penelope, save me, please; now Penelope don't be jealous, you have nothing to worry about, really) squashed in between these kids. All of which were typical wal mart meet mcdonalds weight.

I was sat next to Napolean Dynamite plus 100 lbs. I am serious (do see this movie if you want to understand growing up in America); constant almost monotone dialogue the whole way from this massive four eyed trombone playing marching band geek. When he got out his sketch pad I almost asked him to draw a Liger (Lion - Tiger combo animal) . About useless trivia, or just anything would he pratter on about. I was one Bitter Beverly. I had one hope of pulling a gem from the coal mine that is this trip and that was the hottie. I pleaded with the faeries and gremlins to have us sit next to each other. We had been smiling sureptitiously at each other whilst boarding. But no. Two rows down and off the other aisle. I stalked him the whole time hoping to pounce during a loo break. the man must have the bladder of iron; or he went whilst i was sleeping. I then tried to find him at the baggage claim, but he had already gone. Future ex mr. go london, lost again. I was going to use the, excuse me but do you live in Fulham, you look really familiar line...

And despite Napolean D + 100, with 3 bottilos of vino and a sleeping pill, i did manage some sleep. However, it was quasi sleep owing to the very turbulent ride we had which caused me to whisper, please please god you can't let this plane go down, matt and penelope are on it. I couldn't tell whether i should be more scared because we all know that celebs die on planes more than drug overdoses, or that because they were there = i was safe. Appently the quid pro quo of not dying, was sitting amidst the Teenagers and missing out on pulling the hottie. Well, i am here to try another day! Bring in on London, and 2006.

Advent Calendar of Change

Tomorrow I go home to Texas where it will be sunny and 21 degrees for a week. I am very happy and hope that the time will be smooth and free of most anxiety. We have some horses sick ( we have the geriatric ward of horse farms), and couple of octogenarian canines, and my grandfather has passed away recently, so I query whether these will cause unexpected emotional currents that I am not used to. I want to do nothing more than talk to my parents and two sisters, sleep, eat, go for rides and run.

Although my family are drinkers I am going to try to drink little as I need the rest. My brain has been so scattered lately, I can barely have a meaningful conversation. If it is small talk, fine. But any oral capability about a business type topic is beyond me at this point. To many drinks, to little sleep, and other parts of my mind are still humming away on emotional issues.

As always when I go home, I chant my mantras about moving beyond my oldest sister role in my family and into an adult capable of moving past stereotypical role playing. And how do you think I score on that? Well you would be right if you think each year improve, but we aren't even at a 75% test score and I have been working on this for years. Do not criticise youngest sister. Do not fuss at mother . Do not get into debates with father because I am so beyond his debate capabilities in terms of practice and armed with facts rather than the latest Republican paid media article….Maybe if I made them positive. Compliment both sisters. Help mother and just shut mouth up. Nod head and smile at father because in the end I am not going to change and neither is he. But oh part of me wants to walk of the plane in my best eurogear, waving an Economist and talking loudly in a non-American accent how myopic and insular americans are when it comes to global responsibility and by the way they do realise they are causing global warming?( i do have a bit of the drama queen in me, but she rarely comes out. except drunk at Christmas parties at Chinawhite when fueled with sexual frustration.)

Am I really going to succeed at not drinking a bottle of wine a night….

So, perhaps if I spend most of my time sleeping, reading, writing, riding and running and cooking in my parent's phenomenal kitchen, I won't have time to make family dynamics an issue. The trip will not be full of social plans because we live in the country and it is too far to drive to see the few friends I have in the "Metroplex".

Here are my 12 days of Christmas:
12 nights of too much drinking
11 pairs of gloves lost this winter
10 boys I have flirted/had dates/kissed or received numbers from in this Advent
9 dogs and cats to hug when I go home
8 pounds of food and treats I am bringing home care of Fortnum and Mason and Charbonell and Walker
7 pounds I had better not put on whilst home so thank goodness for the treadmill although I wish it was a spin bike
6 nights I will be in Texas and average about 10 hours of sleep
5 people to get presents for in my family including moi
4 hours of sleep on average on the 12 days
3 new wrinkles on my face and now reasons for botox
2 brain cells left functioning; lets pray to the baby jesus for multiplication, amen
1 happy girl that I will be returning to London for an optimistic 2006, my third year here.

Role playing

Wasn't it just two weeks ago that I had no men even on the horizon and my waters were quite clear? And now this: going out with one guy, saying goodbye to another, and sidestepping emotional minefields in between.

It is almost time to get off the carousel of Christmas chaos. I definitely feel scraped into the ground. Going out drinking almost every night is taking its toll on my physical and mental health. My skin does not look good, I think I have gained wrinkles and a pound, and my immune system is in the negative. About once a week I have had a night in with nettle tea and salmon and sleep, but that effort is merely to keep me surviving. I need weeks of that for full recovery, as the next day I go back to the chophouse and do it all again. Emotionally, I give myself huge guilt trips over drinking so much and the trouble I get into whilst doing so. And then I spend time unguilting myself. It is the roller coaster dance of the perfectionist. And it is taking a toll on my confidence as well.

I tell myself, limit alcohol units when you go out then. And I just can't do it.

To misquote Buddha, Desire is the root of all unhappiness. And I learned this concept when I was in therapy in the US. The best way to deal with heartache is to deal with its cause; eliminate it. Thus, with the case of my longstanding interest in guy at work, and the embarrassment that my behaviour towards him at our Christmas party caused me (can we say Stalker, aka raving mad lunatic sexually frustrated Miss gL?), it is now my goal to chant everyday that I will let go those feelings I have, say farewell with positive energy, and move past. Emotionally unavailable men should be passed up, not worked on. I have dealt with this before and it will probably crop up here and there until I get married. There is nothing positive or helpful for me so I must forgive myself and keep moving. I have said this before, but each time I say it with more conviction and acceptance, and finally i feel i am there.

I am also beginning to see this man Speed. I really like spending time with him and am attracted to him. Actually, I find that going out with someone who looks at me not as arm candy and who wants to get to know me both educational and exciting. Finally, what i say matters. Which comes with it responsibility. It is very honest and unassuming when we are together. I had forgotten what that was like. We talk to each other and not merely at each other. And almost each time we end up talking about how we are relating to each other and reach a sort of impasse. He has one method and I have another and the two are not synchronising perfectly. I am reserved physically and will be less so as a matter of time and "knowing" which for me adds up to "trust", a necessary combination. He needs affection and constant reassurance that he is on the right course. I don't give this automatically. He told me that he has noticed that I have this wall up around myself and he interprets that as me not liking him. I have a wall around myself and it is called Me As Built Up Over Time and Experience, not anything to do with him or in reaction to him.

The most stunning revelation that I have had though came from my mouth but he caused it. I said look I am sorry but I am used to being both the woman and the man for myself and it is hard to let go of the latter when that is how I spend most of my time, but now that I am conscious of it I want to let it go. I stunned myself into silence. It just fell out of my mouth and I almost fell down after I said it. Right now, i thinkk my biggest stumbling block in relating to guys is that I say I want them to have the guy role in relation to me, but then I won't give it up and it becomes a fight for it. Which is not attractive, nor healthy, nor beneficial to me. Or, I only will give this role up once they pass through these hoops, testing whether they can be as good of a "guy" as I am. It sounds horrible and it is horrid.

This relationship may not evolve, but because of it I have learned a huge personal insight which will help me be a better friend and companion in the future. I feel that I have been shown a major stumbling block that I have to entering into a intimate relationship. There was a Seinfeld episode on this point, the one where Jerry began to realise he wanted to date himself. Not a good quality. It sounds narcissistic, but maybe in my case it is borne of protectionism.

Go Speed Racer

I receive texts from Shrewsbury Stalker Scott now about every other day. Yesterday he texted me that he turned 19 and had closed the age gap between us some, am I sure I did not want to keep talking? This man has not seen a photo of me and yet somehow I have charmed him purely via the text talk. That just maybe the thought of a law firm employee in London has him seeing £££. I am sure it is my charm…
On Monday night I went out on another honest first date. And he went to public school in Shrewsbury. Synchronicity strikes again. The first date was fun. This guy is a real guy, not an international player. This means that I am actually nervous and excited. And forcing myself to play things cool.
So the next morning when I got dropped off back at my flat since I stayed over at his place, as I rarely do, I sat down and did a typical miss gl thing. I analysed the t the date until it wept, and wrote down all the things that I did wrong. First, I talked too much. I know he isn't a player, but I still should have been less of a photo and more of a frame. I tried, and I was really good about it at the beginning of the date. But then the wine flows down and in and I get talkative. And the wit flows too though. No one wants to date a stand up comedienne one who specialises in intensely geeky nerd girl shstick. Second, at some point I let it slip that I was concerned that since we talked so much the first time we met, that we would have nothing to talk about. Never let them see you sweat! Such a breaking of a ground rule.

And my litany of "oops" moments does not end. Actually, one more. The other one I am proud of, so let's take it first. He asked me in bed, whilst we were curled up, whether I was comfortable with him. Do I feel awkward or not secure or not at ease? To which I replied yes, I do, actually, I feel quite protected (men love protectors, always "go vulnerable" when in doubt, and obviously pulling out all the stops to make up for Mistake Three (see above). And about 5 seconds goes by. I say "hang on, you are actually asking me why we are not shagging aren't you?"…"well, um yes, actually". I am learning the ways of Englishmen not saying what they mean but something completely different and so you have to reverse engineer to reckon what they really are saying. It still takes a while though. To which I replied the usual, but a bit too wordy, sex is important to me, and I need to know someone and trust them to enjoy it, and I think that intimacy takes some time to build up, and I do find you very attractive and I think there is chemistry but I just don't work that fast. To which he replied, okay, or something like that. And what is really being said in my inner monologue is this (motion hands over body) has a price tag and it is called being taken out to some nice things before you get to reap all the benefits. mister. I don't even shag the men I am most attracted to; I absolutely won't for someone I just met and is still in R&D phase.

Lastly, we (I will now dub him Speed) had a discussion about the appropriateness aforementioned reverse engineer Englishman speak, aka inferring from what is not said. I know him through my ex, T who I went out with 5 years ago in the US, but T moved here 9 months ago. They are uni mates. I do not like my ex but for as a friend, but he wants to rekindle. I brought T to a party on Saturday and told him to bring single friends, he brought Speed. Speed and I got along famously and talked the whole time. However, a few weeks ago T invited me to be his date to a Venetian ball in the country this Saturday. I said yes as the caveat that I was going as his friend, not date. The invite says one person only. T being him, not the most delicate or aware of manners, is inviting people to come along, including Speed.

So, back to the pillow talk, Speed says well I may be going Saturday night too. And I say oh yes that is right, have you decided to go. And he says, "I think so, but if I do, you know, it is not like you and I are out together, it’s a ball, you know it’s a big party." Que? No me gusta this statement. Another typical miss gl 5 second pause measured by heartbeats. "what is that supposed to mean". What do you mean? Well, I don't get what you are trying to say. You are doing the typical English its what I am not saying, but I am not English so I need an interpreter: what you just said makes no sense to me. " "well, you know, its just that it’s a ball, and there are lots of people there, and it won't be the same as if we were going out like tonight or this friday". " are you trying to manage my expectations about how you are going to act around me? Now we are getting closer. What is this really all about". Pause. Silence. Big Male Sigh that says, women! "look, T invited you. Then he invited me, but I don't have a ticket. Then…I met you". So this is really about T and you isn't it (read: cock fight). Yeah, I guess so. Then why don't you just say so. It makes sense, and can't be misinterpreted like your first statement, which meant nothing. Well, it was supposed to make you aware of the tension there. It only did because I finally got you to tell me what you were thinking."

See what I mean about talking too much? Silly American Girl! I can try to be Euronised, but I still blabber. Big Girl Sigh. We will see how fast Speed continues to go or whether he puts on the breaks due to my motor mouth. We have a date tonight, and the Venetian masque ball is tomorrow.

Goddess of Destruction versus Father Christmas

Due to loose lips sinking ships and all that, this story of how the night before christmas miss gl stirred alot of trouble up, wished she could have scattered off like a mouse the next day but ended up running barefoot home with rhinestone heels in hand into the concerned frown of colleauge who wondered just where she had spent the night post Christmas party...

i will republish this book at some point.

(Arm) Candy and Sugar (Daddy)

My Friday night date began well. I had an engrossing conversation with the really sweet cab driver about men and their views on life, women and most importantly communication. He agreed with my latest dating lessons I have learned. First, I believe that a guy makes his mind up whether he likes you almost as soon as he spies you. All you have to do is ride on the coattails of that, in other words do nothing outside of neutral territory, and in the words of Vince's character in Swingers, your money baby. Second, let them talk about themselves, act impressed, don't volunteer too much about yourself, and play the frame to their picture. NB this standard operating procedure works on players, but not real people.
So, chanting my mantras, (shut up, be nice and sweet ( I can be a bit sarcastic and have a dark sense of humour), no worries, and don't bore him with how smart you are), I arrive on the date at the Electric.

I did not remember what he looked like but he texted me his outfit and was waiting near the front. Cute in the I am a mini Richard branson kind of way. Much older, which I had surmised. We have dinner (which was not great by the way, I find that member club bistros tend to be dull and without inspiration, resting on the laurels of gin that everyone is drinking). We chatted, met a few of his friends, within an hour were hand holding. I thought it was funny but in no way did I ever think "whoa this guy is It". Or anything along those lines. It was like being on a roller coaster. Fun to say you did it, pretty fun on the actual ride, but at the end of the day, not too bothered whether you ride it again or not. We went on to a club afterwards for a little dancing, then to his place for nightcap and snog. Then I made my way back in the middle of the night. I can't stand not being in my own bed and it avoids uncomfortable situations too.I think it was well into the second hour before the man asked what I did. He was very happy to tell me all about him and his life and the way a poor boy from Essex climbed his way to the top of the legal ladder to be a quasi celebrity barrister who now owns property in three or four countries and retired four years ago. I did my job though. Shutted up, offered no stunning personality traits (in other words I hid them), and was a very pretty frame for the photograph of him.

Actually, it has been a long time since I have been on a date like that. Where you play the system but while doing so you are not really yourself. You are a game piece that you shove around, watching the moves that are responded to. Interesting cerebral exercise. But adds up to bunches of air. These dates with the international playboys I seem to be scoring are fun for the moment, and good for story time kids, but they are one hit wonders. They will never lead to consistent cuddling, sharing and shagging. And that is what I would like, not these stop gap exercises in social graces and flirting.

Dating mantras

I have an honest date tonight. And getting in girly mood is so much fun. Work out during lunch, bubble bath when home, turn on Goldfrapp, open some champagne. I will be wearing my black and soft white as seen on paris hilton in US magazine diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, cream tights, very high cream boots (which are a bit too pussy cat dolls but its cold, and my black boots are not delicate enough for the dress), Benefits Bathina sparkly products on decolattage and some hair gloss on my locks. Have been mulling over straighten versus curls versus mere rolly brush. The last time we met my hair was in between straightened and brushed dry. And as I don't remember this guy, and it has been 3 weeks since we met, I think I should keep the hair the same. Some frost for lips and eyes. My new earrings from Paris.

So did you catch that? I don't remember this guy. I was completely smashed at a club opening in Mayfair (thank you to the shots for that) and apparently spoke with this guy for 30 minutes or so and he got my mobile, and called the next day. I sms'd back with my email. We emailed a few times, and called once. And now, here we are, about to be taken to a very nice restaurant with a man who apparently could pass for Damien Hirst. And he parties really hard. Please let him be cute. I do not need hot, but an attractive personality would be such a bonus. Flirtility factor please!

I am slightly nervous, partly because of the "blind" aspect, and slightly because well, I always put pressure on myself to be perfect and in control and at the end of the day the one with the choice. But I also think we churn ourselves into nervousness because it is fun. It is the drama of the unknown, and it doesn't happen frequently. To be in that moment is a challenge. The prequel to the date is the changing of the date mantras. I will be charming. I will be nice. I will be relaxed. I will be me. I will be slightly mysterious. I will be nice. I will not be too "look how smart I am". I will have perfect manners. Can I say perfect in relation to me one more time? I will forgive myself for being a person…I will not overanalyse but just be me because it seems to work quite well anyway…

a funny thing happened on the way to bedfordshire

i experienced my first random text banter last night. I was very amused, and if my life were really a book, then actually it would have not ended as it did, but with a passionate encounter, some energetic shagging, and a satisfied ego waving good bye to a broken heart.

At 11pm i get a call from a withheld number. I answer in my "hell0" and then a hangup. hmmph. ok.

Then 5 minutes later i get a text that says: "sorry for hanging up! i realised i dialled the wrong number and you werent who i thought you were, am i right? so sorry 2 distrub u"

Then, the following emails i get (because i keep replying to his)
"im scott. thought it was my mates new number but obviously got it wrong unless hes had a sex change. hope u dnt mind me bothering u so late. who r u?"

who r u then? and y is ur number like me mates? are u tryin 2 say im stupid. i hope im no anoyin u"

"ur funny! tell me ur name. i mxed the numbers up because urs and his r similar numbers! neva mind. wot u up 2? where u from?"

"i live in shropshire a place called shrewsbury. im 18 hope that hasn't put u off texting me back. 2nitei played 6 a side footy then went 2 pub. tell me bout u?"

"its not i swear i randomly got u instead of my mates. now i just wanna know who im taling too? can u please tell me ur name nd age? what do you do in london?"

"ill text u tomorrow if you want? as long as u don't mind? u didn't sound 32. who cars? i like ur name. ur job beats hell outta mine"

At this point, i am imaginging a 400kg hobbit heighth guy who works backstock at Asda. Don't you think? What i want is justin timberlake.

bless the pumpkin, he texted me this morning, but i said it wasn't i good idea as we lived far away and i was so much older. i was tempted to have him send me a picture but then i would be tempted to make fun of him and i didn't want to give myself the opportunity to be so rude.


I also think in part of my mind that surely this was some weird holiday scam aimed to con me out of credit card details or money or my virtue.

By By Miss American Pie

I don't really like to do the "America, Great Britain, compare and contrast, discuss" thing. For one reason I think it is for acolytes who have not lived here very long. And on principle, to me, if you make a place your home then you should cease comparing it to something else. When you do that you inherently give the compared to subject priority. I am making Great Britain my home and have no interest in giving the States a priority at this point. Your home just is: it is not the place that does not do this, or not have that. This is the main example why I do not court fellow American expat friends, although I have some and I think they are great (Kristen- the only gay in the village scenario ringing a bell?). In my experience, socialising with a large group of Americans (but not my friends of course) quickly degenerates into an oh my god can you believe they don’t have this or like, that they, you know have this crazy inefficient way of doing that, like whatever…(footnote 1)
I do think the differences are interesting although as I am more and more integrated I notice them less. But I had a moment whereby I recognised a difference in such a way that it was almost an epiphany because I had not been meandering on the subject and it isn't as subject that has much relevance to me either.
I have observed that British read non-fiction books about other great British. Or about British Military History (and it would have to be history now wouldn't it). They do not read books about how to be more monetarily or materialistically successful. How to be billionaires. How to manage your company better, how to manage your time better. Or the newest theory in how to manage or be highly effective in a manageable number of Steps. Americans read the following types of non-fiction: books on the latter sentences, current military events, or perhaps a biography or memoir of a political persona.
Americans are obsessed with becoming a person that a book is written about. The British merely want to read books that chronicle the life of their countryman who happened to accidentally and embarrassingly be successful in the probably non-management field.
Ps
I went to the amazon sites for the countries, and on the UK sight there were about 10 books on how not to be rude and write properly (note the irony), and none on politics or business in the top 15. In the US sight, there were 2 on politics, 1 on a business subject, and none on being rude.
FN 1 I have some expat friends and think the world of them and if they read this they will laugh because of course we have whinge sessions at times along the lines of what I just described. But dude, like hypocrisy is totally fun. If properly done.

Singin in the rain...

Just returned from weekend decadent hols in Paris.
It was great fun, just walking around and soaking around the atmoshpere whilst it soaked up my credit card limits.

The architecture and the city itself seems emminently feminine. Even the men there seem to have embraced their feminine side without losing sight of masculinity. Cultures steeped in protestantism seem to ignore or rebuff The Feminine as I have observed it. England, the US, Amsterdam....I don't feel it there.

I had a spectacular compliment paid to me while there. And it was, like 1950s french surreal movei, completely a non verbal compliment. At dinner on saturday night this intensely attractive French man stared at me. that is it. he gave me some smouldering looks at dinner, he being wrapped up mostly in familial conversation with his i assume parents, and then on exiting the restaurant; the look said, i wish you were next to me right now. sigh. smile. Not many other cultures can make the move so charmingly without perverseness.

Synchronicity continues to dust me. On the Rue d' St. Honore, spending merrily along and getting some wet hair and scarves for our efforts, we were walked by the Hotel Costes. As I strolled past, the thought kept at me: wouldn't it be fun to go in there for a relax with a drink? and then i gave into the urge and suggested such to my companion. She concurred, and we walked into the area, was seated in the plush, overdone room but passed one of Adrian's friends, who I had met once. Sigh, ah coincedence. Life is so small when you set out to expand your world.

Deeply Enganged in being in my thirties

otherwise titled, an unfocused thank you to F.Scott Fitzgerald.

There is not so much going on relevant to the men facet of my life. I have sprinted past some of the men hovering on the horizon, or just knocked them out of my stratosphere. And without regret or that sometimes hovering boredom one gets without the silly ego feed of having contact with a guy. It isn't always that I can have no play in this area and be content. But I am now, and very much enjoying the contentness of being me, who is not expending herself on managing guy presences. Actually, i am suprised and proud of myself. I am on a really nice plateau right now, without impetus to move. however....

A majority of the floors located in my brain are taken up with where to take my "career". I need to come up with an alternate word, one that does not connote company life ending with a watch and a pension, allowing the flexibility to be for one's own and not limited to any industry but the one encompassed in our self. Rather than career, I need a word that means the group of efforts that you employ yourself to do thereby creating income for yourself which in turn is used for food/clothing/shelter and to fund experiences.

I have done some investigating into the highly skilled migrant worker visa and there is a strong probability I will apply for it. The thought of being able to be more flexible about finding an enjoyable income stream is exhilarating and scary simultaneously. Scary because it means that the excuse to be nice and lazily wrapped up in this job, warm but suffocating, drops away. Nudity of the soul ensues. Who am I? Can I put energy where my bluster is? Am I as confident as I have been telling myself? Can I work through and past insecurities in an honest fashion?

Sigh….now entering an Era of lassitude. It is the way my mind works, to take paths down their course; and think about all the possibilities; and how I would feel; and what I would do; and making value judgements on things that don't even exist. Also called obsessive compulsive over analysis. I know millions suffer from this affliction, and this doesn't make me special. I have to rein my mind back in and virtually tell it to live here, and now. It is difficult to be Present sometimes, yet it is inviolable. But I find that it is easiest for me here in London, because I enjoy my life so much.

Footnote to today's blog. I am reading and rediscovering an author that I am only now fully appreciating. I am falling in love with his ghost but luckily he has words to read. F. Scott Fitzgerald. I am reading Tender is the Night. His work is amazing. His narrative pierces our social constructs and lays bare everything. Each sentence is imbued with such depth of comprehension of the human condition and how each of our souls interact with others that I am about to cry with the awe of it. That or because the fact that writing that sentance just almost made me cry means I am an idiot who is clearly pms'ing. Each generation must think that they take emotions and actions to the pinnacle where no human has gone before, and I am humbled by reading his interpretation of the politics of life and how they are the exact same in the 1920s, as now. His quotes are untouchable. In the theme of today's blog: "Genius is the ability to put into effect what is in your mind." And in the theme of my life, he writes that one female character is "deeply engaged in being almost thirty". I am deeply engaged in being in my thirties. Final thought, the level of his vocabulary is positively intimidating and each day I need to look up at least 4 words, some of which I have used in my latest blogs. So, really, it isn't you, its me. Apologies.