Four glasses of wine and counting...

So, I am gallo fuelled and relatively bored. 

Been doing some thinking today/tonight. I'm not a fan of thinking because it makes me realise what a horrid person I am beneath the facade everyone else sees. A lack of preoccupation allows my mind to dwell on memories I wish were false, not because they're painful but because I'm ashamed of how I behaved at the time. I've done things I'm not proud of, and although I can now sometimes figure out why I did them and my reasons behind them it doesn't make it any better for the people I've hurt along the way. What do I do? Run away and try to make a new life. Pathetic isn't it?

Guess that's all I have right now. Sorry it's so short.

The darker side of things part I

The wind was whipping the leaves across the grass, the breeze appearing out of nowhere as the sun disappeared below the horizon. In the East the stars were already appearing amongst the black velvet of the clear sky that faded to rich purples and pinks where the last of the clouds were vanishing with the sun in the West. The park was emptying now, the keeper moving slowly around on his scooter as he locked each gate and herded the people out.

The bandstand stood isolated in the middle of a concrete square, its stone pillars a testament to the years it had stood there unchanging, the architecture unmistakeably Victorian. A single figure remained undetected by the warden, blending almost seamlessly into the scenery as she stood half concealed by one of the pillars. Her jaw length black hair was swept to one side by the gusts of wind as she watched humanity depart from this piece of the world, surrendering its world to the shadows and all which dwelled in them. The shadows were her world, the darkness part of her; no, her very essence.

Finally satisfied that no one would spot her she stepped soundlessly down the steps with unnatural grace, blinking into the darkness as she habitually lit a cigarette and pulled hard on the filter with a sigh, letting her alert posture relax a little without losing any of her composure before exhaling a long stream of smoke and breathing in the air. Beautiful. Their smell was everywhere; warm, rich, enticing and had her heart still been beating it would have sent a rush of blood to her head with the excitement. Even though they weren’t close any more the scent lingered, making her lick her lips in anticipation before finishing her cigarette and grinding the stub beneath her patent leather boot. Hands on hips she flicked back the ankle length leather trenchcoat to reveal her black mini skirt and blood red halter top. Taking one more deep breath, not to take in oxygen but for another fix of the heady aroma of life, the girl grinned a flash of white, sharp teeth and ran effortlessly into the night. 

Three is a magic number - apparently

First of all, a picture to amuse anyone who bothers reading this, courtesy of my webcam. Caption by AlmostRosey...

Please note that this is not a photoshopped image, I really do have a thing that goes on my nose and looks stupid.

If you don't get the Red Nose thing then you're obviously not from the UK. It's one of those telethon things to raise money for charity, this year's theme being "do something funny for money". Comic Relief. Always worth a watch, especially post-watershed when things get really rather twisted. I'm not doing anything sponsored, because I'm not that interesting so I bought a nose. Which came with stickers.

Anyway....

Saw Witches of Eastwick last night with people from work. There were 7 of us, and 5 including me went straight from work and had a meal. The strangest thing happened, which is probably not strange to anyone else but if you see my previous post you might get why; I felt like I belonged for a couple of hours. While we were sat at that table moaning about random shit I wasn't self conscious, I didn't worry that someone was going to notice my scars and make a comment because I'm sure they've already seen and just haven't said a word. Of course, now I'm back to normal and feeling isolated but there's hope. 

I was going somewhere else with this... then the wind and neighbours banging around a lot freaked me out. Pathetic? Probably. There are still the thoughts that appear with someone else's voice - almost my own but not - that tell me people are after me, that nowhere is safe and I will be found. Just who is after me... I wish I knew. That's the problem with a scientific mind; you always search for the why and how of things and expect a rational, logical answer. Things like this, the depression and irrational anxiety, aren't something that can be explained with a formula and it bothers me more than I let on. If I can find the missing piece of the puzzle, the one bit of data that will make the points plottable then maybe I can get through this in one piece without resorting to the plan. The trouble is that finding what's missing involves thinking about and remembering things that I've deliberately forgotten because I can't deal with them. So the question is do I go searching or just wait and see?

Two's company

Just because one post on its own looks so sad and lonely. 

I have to say that loneliness is a bane of my life. Not the most bothering, but still up there in the top 5.  I've never been one of the popular ones, which used to upset me because of how much I tried to fit in with the cool kids but now it's not so bad. I will always be one of the 'misfits', but now I embrace the individuality. I do things because they're what I want, not because they will please others. 

Still, it is hard to make new, lasting friendships when you move across the country like I did last year. The thing I miss most is being able to walk into a pub/bar and have someone say hello to me, even if they don't choose to come over and sit with me. The only time I really get to talk to people is at work, and obviously there are parts of my life I have to keep hidden there because it will make people think differently of me and make the working relationships difficult. Yes, that sounds hypocritical when you look at the paragraph above but it's not just me that does this. A lot of people adopt different personas depending on the company they're in at the time. For me, the drunken foul mouthed headbanger is as far removed from the conscientious (sp?) overtime-addicted person I am in the labs. I accept that there will be noone on the planet that I can show everything to. There are so many secrets I keep, some even from myself, but as time goes on maybe I will find a group of people such that each part of my personality feels at home. 

At home.

There's another thing entirely. Where I come from is no longer my home because when I am there I will always now be just visiting. I am out of the loop of events, my uni days are over and my friends there (the best I've ever had) seem to have forgotten me. Yet here does not feel like home. I think I'm in limbo, and I'm not sure I will ever truly settle anywhere. Things will get difficult and I will run away again. I'm almost certain of that. But life is an adventure, and sometimes the spontaneous decisions are the ones that give the most fulfillment. Right now despite the darkness returning I think I'm actually almost content, but that's for another post.

The first one

Who to blame for my inflicting my random ramblings to the internet? I think they know who they are. Who am I kidding? Of course they know.

First things first, a bit about who I am. 

I'm in my mid 20s and live in Yorkshire. Education wise I have a BSc in Chemistry which might explain any excessive geekiness that comes out in my blogs. Workwise I'm a lab monkey, working on the fate of chemicals in the environment. The non sciency side to me is, I suppose, music. Mainly I'm into the heavier side of things, but tastes are very varied and there is the odd guilty pleasure hidden in my iTunes library that would shock everyone who knows me. I'm not going to list the other things I enjoy that are along the lines of books and reading because that's just too predictable. 

I guess for now that will do, because writing about who you are never gets the story across. A person is a composite of all the tiny things that make them who they are, not something that can be captured in a list of likes, dislikes and activities. I doubt anyone will even be interested in my thoughts, but I've been convinced that it doesn't matter what I write. If what I blurt out provides someone with some insight into themselves then that would be amazing, but yet again I doubt it. There's nothing special about me, you just get what you see.