A Weekend of Domestic Pleasures

A photo from about a month ago in Aldwych. Doesn't London have such charming lampposts? I'm really getting into the photography thing. On Thursday I found a stray pair of number plates and I've been taking lots and lots of pictures with them. At the moment its part of the furniture and my family have been duly contacted and concerned. Dad thinks I'm pregnant. Never mind that I'm a lesbian, whenever I eat weird things like peanut butter and banana sandwiches its his natural reaction...

I've spent quite a bit of time with him this week, with my doctors' appointment and the last two days. On Friday I saw my wonderful friend Anna and made her my nut-nutella cake which got lapped up. I got a bit drunk and was home by midnight which I think is pretty sensible for someone about 6 weeks away from her 18th. (How scary is that? Me, a walking and talking real-life, responsible adult.) As my title said, it was dedicated to home life. I tidied my room, made stir fries, got my own freeview box (a sort of satellite-lite), two pairs of trainers. Dad got his plant pot and his freeview box and scart plugs and some more bulbs.

This weekend of domestic pleasures has given a lot to think about, not to mention my Dad. He's turning 47 on Wednesday (any ideas for a present?) and then off to America for a job he hates. He realises that frankly, he's hated all of his jobs since he was 16 and needed to help pay Grandma's mortgage. The weekend has always been too short, the rewards never substantial, the free time fragile and almost imaginary. Dad tells me that now this is the first time he has real free time, where he is not simply pressing for survival among other, smaller domestic pleasures. I mean, domestic pleasures make everything that little bit easier, and frankly its more manageble than any of that true love and friendship stuff. So I'm thinking up hobbies and drawing up a booklist to have him read for pleasure (this conflict had started with my late Aunt Jenny). Shall he read books or learn landscaping? Would languages or photography show him what he's been missing? Dad has no idea. He's at a new chapter, and I'm certainly watching that space.

For me, this weekend of domestic pleasures. Now that I can see it so clearly it feels foolish to descrie my time before its realisation, so foolish...

It's easy to say that time runs away from me. It is traumatised, terrified of me, wary of I, pitiful and confused. That must be why time moves so fast - why the afternoon only last a few given moments, how weeks meld into a few golden shite moments. And I panic because the faster it moves the less I can keep up. How can I compete with time and ill mental health? If you're fat, or a slow walker you'll understand how damning and isolating it is when you can't keep up with the pace of the people you're walking with at their pace. How you can't engage in real conversation because you're all breathless, and you can't take photographs of your walk and sometimes they don't even realise how fast they're walking. When you try to piece back moments they're all blended and you can't remember; theres nothing to take from it. And that is my life. A fat girl who can't keep up and ends up missing out on everything as life and golden moments and snapshots and events blunder by on a rolling stone. And there is nothing I can do with that gem, although I see more clearly than I've ever done before. It's time to accept this fat girl and take life at her own pace, methinks. I think this poem I wrote a couple of weeks ago helpa. You can skip this bit, but I can write.

I’m not myself and I don’t know how to be;
I’ve locked myself in, I don’t want to be free -
Please -
Let me live and love myself
Intermittently, randomly, unproductive yet vibrantly
I’m not entirely sure how I got this way
But I found myself lost in a sea of faces
In the blank tornado of time, and I’m on the brink
Precariously, constantly backtracking to the mess
Behind me
Wondering when my life is real or when it’s
Just a dream
As I recline back on a chair or whatever else,
Lazily philosophising on my own...
No, I’ve not grown at all.

There, that wasn't so bad was it? My life has been otherwise eventless. My thoughts otherwise blurred and ergo pointless, but the music has improved. I'm now listening to Led Zepplin, Lily Allen, The Kooks and Wolfmother along with the eternally delectable Regina Spektor. I've also bagged my birthday treat of Hyde Park Calling (Razorlight, Roger Waters, Texas, The Zutons - should be a good couple of days.)

And now, we have a new feature. Favourite All-Time Snaps of the Day (FATS). Just to show off my *erm* photography prowess. FATS 1 -

Gorgeous 16th century church and graveyard. Black and white digital filter. Good weather. What more can you ask for?

I really like this one because its blurred at the edges, which makes a little mystical and these gates look ancient. They're always open, waiting for someone to come in.

And finally, our Unassuming Bus Passenger. (Great subjects for a rookie like me. Unassuming, casual and fun.)

I'm a little annoyed it didn't focus properly but I think it has an emotional value to it. And here ends thy blog. I hope you liked the photos, poem, etc. Let me know - I am a comments whore!! Hahahaha