Remembering who I am.

With so many things happening around me I feel that I am losing a sense of myself. This is the very ‘self’ that I have worked tirelessly to rediscover, and the thought of losing sight of it is devastatingly cruel. I’ve spent days thinking about ways that will allow me to keep my identity in a society that seems so bloody hell bent of stripping me of all originality. I haven’t found the answer. I have discovered that even though I don’t know the words to many songs, and I don’t like bands, forget buying me an album it’ll stay in its little plastic wrapper gathering dust. I love music, I love the lyrics they resonate with me, they remind me of the past, they make me think of the future. Music is part of my soul, a part of me. Today i’m gonna share this song…

I love this song, the beat, the words, the memories. Everything about this song makes my soul sing.

This song reminds me of when I was a teenager, one specific guy, a wanna be biker who thought he was the bees knees.

I was maybe 15 he was 17/18. He had all the charm and a bike to match. A nice bike, a very nice bike all chrome and black he clearly thought he was gods gift as he rode along the country roads. Of course I was fooled by him at first, who wouldn’t be? He turned out to be a typical poser looking for a trophy on the end of his arm. He’d take me out on the bike to bars and show off his gothic girlfriend. I was young and impressionable, but I wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take long for the real him to appear, telling me to dress a certain way, wear my hair, just, like, this. Well we’d been dating a few weeks when he decided to make a pass at a close friend of mine. We had a show down, in a supermarket car park. I thought that was the end of it all. I got drunk with friends, laughed and forgot all about him, Till I got home. There on my couch balling his eyes out to my Dad was this guy. Telling my Dad that I was the love of his life, asking my Dad for my hand in marriage. Crying because mean old me had dumped him. My Dad looked up at me, asked what happened, I told him. I swear I felt the air turn blue and a static charge fill the air as my Dad laughed, and laughed and continued laughing, until finally telling the guy to ‘fuck off outta here you fucking cry baby, you wanna grow yaself a pair balls mate!’ Ha ha ha my Dad rocks!

I hear so many people saying that they wish they could forget the memories of the past, but, the memories are what keep me alive, they remind of who I am and who I am not. They are a key part of my evolution.

Intoxicated energy.

Always such a rush to intoxicate,
The bottom of the bottle,
Just cannot wait.
You’re not looking for answers,
As you’re too scared to ask the questions.
It’s escape,
That you create,
A reclusive excuse,
So you never have to choose.
You drink fast,
lose your mask.
Replace it with another,
It is
The real you.
Is this true?
You’re not picky,
even when sicky,
Cidar, beer, wine
Or even a spirit,
Anything goes,
When you’re in the flow,
Rounded, smooth
Young or old,
Alcohol making you bold.
Always such a rush to intoxicate,
anything to avoid fate.

Drink to me tonight.

One drink,
Two drinks,
Three drinks,
How many till i hit the floor?
five drinks,
One of us sick,
Always the first,
Never the last,
Girl you drink it down too fast.
Talking turns to giggling,
Maybe even jigging,
Whilst of course swigging
From the bottle at last.
Secrets revealed,
Scars healed,
Nothing is sealed.
A night of our own,
Ten drinks,
Or is it seven?
The room is spinning,
Alcohol winning,
Taking away my soul tonight,
Letting my thoughts see the light,
Thinking what they might,
Elevating me
To a new height.

Booby tops and jeans.

I wanna wear jeans,
And a booby top,
Trainers, and
Eyeliner that makes my
Eyes pop.
I wanna drink vodka,
Mixed in with coke,
As i tell you the secrets,
Before i choke.
I wanna sing loud,
And dance on my toes,
Laugh till i hurt,
and be the last ones to go.
I want to walk through the
Morning streets,
smile and bid good morning,
To everyone we meet,
Watch the milk float go past,
and the sun reach across the sky,
And settle for a moment,
In my happy tired eyes.

The raving ramblings of a desperate mum.

You know what i hate about being a grown up? Everything, yep, everything. Nah just kidding, thing i hate is the amount of planning that goes into an adult play date. I mean seriously all i wanna do is get pissed, and chat shit….OK and gossip. Why the hell is it so hard. Weeks worth of.planing over a few hours serious drinking. Before kids, you know when me and the gal were young and free, it took a single phone call quick change of clothes and the drink was flowing. Now, well now we have to plan in advance, weeks, and then more weeks. By the time our day comes round i’m all fizzled out and the excitement over my amazing gossip is gone….usually because i’ve caved and ending up spilling it via text message. Am getting close to the point where i am considering spilling the gossip…with myself, bit of vodka, a mirror i’m well away. I know i shouldn’t moan, us mums are all in the same boat, but truth is a rarely go out, twice a year maybe, and those are (usually) the only times i drink, i’m a tee total mummy on duty kinda gal, which i’m happy with, but hey even a tee total on duty mummy has to let her hair down every once in a while.¬† Oh well, if lady luck is on my side then next Saturday¬† is my turn to dance…if not it’s gonna be another three weeks! Yeah, this whole being an adult malarkey is rubbish.
oh but how amazing the smallest leak of a tit bit of gossip can be. Next Saturday it is, next Saturday night, i am me, me, me….drunken me…i suspect, very drunken me!!

My very most favourite time of day.

My very most favourite time of day,
Is when the air is crisp,
and i’ve lost my way,
In the soft morning mist.
when the birds are all singing,
Their morning song,
And the sun is just creeping,
When my voice is hoarse from too much talking,
And my feet bare,
And aching, from too much walking,
But i do not care.
My very most favourite time of day,
Is when my night has yet to end,
When i’ve been playing
With my friends.