Day 172.

It had finally arrived.

*

After what has felt like a week of emotional drain after Christmas, New Years Eve has finally arrived. It's the same thing each year.

I wanted to end the year, with my blog, on a high note. I wanted to remember how much I have achieved in those 12 little months. 

I began my year in a new job. Writing every day. It was good, while it lasted. Leaving it wasn't too difficult. I blogged every day about sex, toys and products we were selling even though I didn't believe in any of them. I moved on to care work. An average job, an average company. I wasn't blown away particularly by any of it apart from a few clients. I became single at the end of July. 5 months later and I am in the happiest situation I could be. 5 months later and I am back to feeling properly like me again. No worries, no stress, no disruptions. I directed a pantomime. I made new friends. I started university. I made a plan for my future.

This year has been good to me. Of course, there are parts I'd change but overall each moment has taught me something different. I've seen a lot of people complaining about how this last year has been shit for them. Rather than moaning about it all why don't you spare a thought for all of those who have sod all year in, year out. You may have broken up with someone, lost a job or broken a nail but in whatever way you should be grateful for every day you have on this planet. I certainly am.

I've been blessed this year with new friends. Really good friends. I have also lost a lot too. Finally. There are some people in this life that I have known and lost who I haven't been fussed about losing. It's not a shame that they've gone, it's a blessing.

There will be no 'new year, new me'. All I've seen is people complaining about that phrase but I still haven't seen one of those statuses so far. There's nothing wrong with a bit of aspiration and there's nothing wrong with wanting to improve on yourself. I don't intend on starting the new year with a new me. I haven't been so happy with my life in a very long time. I don't want to change whatsoever.

I hope this new year brings you all happiness, health and harmony. I cannot thank each of you enough for going along with my ramblings over these last few months. This blog has most definitely saved me. It has been the place I can come to to release pent up emotions and frustrations without fear of being judged.

Thank you all.

Happy New Year!

Hannah xox

Day 167.1.

Note to self:
Buy a notebook for all your random thoughts. Not a diary. Just sheets of paper where you can scrawl all those feelings you hide from your blog. It'll do you good Hannah. It really will.

Day 167.

Oh, well I wish it could be Christmas everyday.

*

Well, that flew by again. Christmas has been and gone. That one day a year where we all try and play happy families, exchange gifts and eat more than is humanly possible. It's all over with. I love Christmas. I love going to church on Christmas Eve, sing my heart out so people turn round to listen and watch, going home, mince pies, drinks, presents under the tree. It's all so magical. Perhaps, not in the same way as when I was a child but still, magical. 

I am currently fighting against my end of year mentality that seems to sweep me up in the last week of every year. I have that sudden urge to transform myself. Like everyone, I worry about whether I should have a new year's resolution, should I change everything about myself? Yet, it irritates me that people must wait until the beginning of a year to change something about themselves. It shouldn't matter what day, time, year. You should be able to change whenever. I've been like this for years though. I like to have the date written down, so when I look back I can see how old I was and what I was doing. It's my history. It's my legacy. I want to be able to look back and go 'That was twenty years ago, where did the time go?' I feel great importance at this time of year. I feel as though ties should be cut, changes should be thought through and life decisions should be made. I feel as though waking up on New Years Day, hangover or not, is the chance for me to breathe new life in to my world. A fresh start, with nothing tainting the year before it's begun. 

I get very emotional around New Years Eve. I reminisce and become hyper critical. I look at all of my failings and wrong doings and resign myself to being an awful person. I then have some form of arse kicking and I suddenly become overly motivated. Frustrated that I can't really put my plan in to action right away. I must wait. I must wait for the right time. There isn't a right time though. I know that yet my past life Hannah comes back to haunt me and I find myself obsessing over date and time.

Another trait I have is trying to make sure that there are elements in place that I will remember in time. For example, the last song I hear on New Year's Eve will become a huge factor for me. Of course, I will forget what it was but just for that brief time, I must remember it. Hold on to it as though it actually makes some kind of difference to me. I must remember the last thing I say as the clock chimes. I must remember who I am with, how I am feeling, what I am wearing. I must remember it all, as though it will impact my life if I don't. Everything has to be just so. I have to be in a way that as the clock strikes 12, I am reborn.

It's difficult to explain why I hold so much emphasis on these traditions, shall we say. I just remember growing up desperate to have times, dates, events all stored up in my brain which, ultimately doesn't seem to retain much. I used to write in my diary every year, mainly crying, hellbent on changing myself. I held such importance on being a different person I think it's just remained with me ever since. I think by remembering minor details within the change of one year to another, I'd be able to look back and see how much better I am now. It's not so. It doesn't work like that.

No doubt I will blog again before the new year. After all, I must have something written down, in order for me to remember. To remember the list of samey resolutions, the list of unachievable changes. Time, date, age, name.

A new year is so important to me. I'm just scared of messing up again.

Hannah xox

Day 161.

Her mind was all over the place. She couldn't quite decide what she wanted anymore. She knew, sort of, but it wasn't the great revelation that she was expecting. She couldn't quite pin point the exact moment that she had realised. It hadn't come. Not properly anyway. She was just drifting.

*

"Apparently I hate men. Why do I love men? Deleted from everything because I had a night out with another friend. Petty? Relationship status? Good fucks? Oral sex?"

"I am a plain girl. Everyone else seems more beautiful. Me not so much."

"Womb raider."

These are a few of the notes that I have written on my phone. I do this so I can refer back to them at a later point. They are my ideas for possible blogs. My thoughts as I go through the day. The times where I am drunk and need to write what's in my head, down and quickly. They don't make a lot of sense most of the time.

I am currently sat on my bed, looking like shit whilst wearing my reindeer onesie. I look ridiculous. I look appalling. I look dead. Everyday I look in that stupid mirror which glares at me from the opposite side of the room. Taunting me. Bastard thing. It knows that every time I look up in to it I'll be scruffy. Make up smudged, hair all over the place, beer belly growing nicely. It's cruel. Everyday it makes me realise how old I look now. Everyday it mocks me. Everyday it reminds me that I am merely a plain girl.

When I say plain girl I merely mean how little effort I put in. Some people get away with it perfectly. There are some people on this Earth who look phenomenal without any effort involved. I am not one of them. Then, there are some people who religiously apply their make up, making themselves look like this airbrushed piece of perfection. I am not one of those either. Some days I think to myself 'right today is the day you check your make up is okay more often. You sort your hair out and you don't get embarrassed by putting more make up on so your face doesn't look like something out of a horror film.' Those thoughts tend to only last briefly. I go out with all good intentions and then realise I can't be bothered. I get embarrassed doing it. I am no expert on make up application and feel like an absolute tool when other people are watching me do it. They all have the right brushes, the right colours, the tricks on how to put eyeliner on. I just grab and go. Hair is another thing I haven't mastered. I can be curling my hair first thing in the morning, feeling good. I look fairly good. Outside I go, in to the elements that seem hellbent on ruining anything I have achieved and boom. I now look like a member of the Jackson 5. Good times. 

I think I am plain because I am not astoundingly beautiful nor am I, or I hope, repulsively ugly. I am a middle of the road kind of girl and in some ways it's a pain. I suppose it depends on your idea of beauty. However, I am not beautiful. Not to say I don't particularly like who I am. I just can't be bothered to put false eyelashes on, check my face every five minutes and attend to any form of beauty regime. 

My friends are like me. Apart from they're good looking. They don't seem to fuss about the way they look, they're just naturally beautiful. Myself and one of my good friends are blessed with what appears to be afro hair of sorts. In any type of water our hair explodes in to this fabulous bush-dragged-through-hedge-Jackson-esque 'do' that leaves us looking stunning. For this, I thought, it would be a good idea to try to remedy it. To make light of our sad situation. With it being Christmas, I bought her a gift. She now is the proud owner of an afro comb.

I have been told I'm good looking by many people. That's not me being big headed in any sense, that is by exes, friends, potential menfolk and my mother. I appreciate their sentiment but it doesn't really wash with me. I know, when all is said and done, that I am not aesthetically beautiful. I am plain. I am me. I am okay with that.

There is nothing wrong with being a plain girl. We are lucky in some respects. We won't get badgered by every bloke in a nightclub but we have that secret element that is only ever shown to people we may like. We have those mischievous eyes, that coy smile, the confident walk. We are able to allure whoever we wish to with just one striking feature. That is the joy of being a plain girl. I imagine all the beautiful girls have to put in a lot of effort to remain beautiful. They must look beautiful all the time through fear of someone seeing them looking not so beautiful. We plain girls have the luck of being okay with being okay. 

Perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on myself. Maybe I am over analysing something that needn't be thought about. Maybe me and my confusing notes should hush for a little while. 

Hannah xox

Day 156.

She didn't know what to feel.

*

It's early Monday morning and rather than be asleep, I am awake, frustrated. For a change, not sexually. I'm frustrated by myself.

I drifted off briefly. Tried to find some peace in these early hours but was instead met by those memories that made me doubt my reasons for staying around. I remembered the times where my trust was broken. I remember the lies. I remember the bullshit I put up with thinking that I deserved it.

Once upon a time there was a boy. There was a girl. This girl was naive, foolish, stupid. She thought he was the only person she'd spend her life with. She lost friends. She hardly saw her family. She let him walk all over her. She was made to sob until she couldn't breathe whilst he called her a psycho and pushed her even further. She was left having breakdowns because she couldn't cope anymore. There were good days. That was when everything was okay again. That's when she did whatever she had to, to please him. He liked those days. She wasn't arguing for things she believed in. She was laughing at his jokes. She was going along with his fabrication of the truth to his 'friends'. She put up with his 'friends'. The liars, the cheats, the druggies, the morons.

One day they were having a rare 'good' day. They went out for the evening. He ruined it. Insert the liars, the cheats, the druggies, the morons. He ruined it. He winded her. He had stolen that last bit of trust she had for him. She hit him. She shouted at him. She called an ambulance and yet again, broke down.

A few months later she was still with him. They were having a lovely time. All smiles and fake laughs for everyone. She found something out. She discovered something she never thought possible. She had something that made her smile so much it felt as though she would explode. She felt real love, protection, adoration. This was what love was. A few months later that beautiful feeling was gone. She was empty. Alone. That little bit of joy she had. He took it away. 

She will never be the same again.

The moral of this story kids is:

• Don't put up with shit from anyone,
• Especially not a partner,
• Don't compromise what you believe in so as not to 'rock the boat',
• Throw them overboard if they aren't willing to accept you as you are,
• When you find that amazing feeling inside, don't lose it,
• Don't think that you have to settle for ordinary,
• Find the kind of love that hurts in the most beautiful way possible.

Before you ask, I'm okay. I'm fine. I just had a flashback. It hurt. Made me angry. Yet, I'm on the right path now. I'm happy. I'm me. I'm so appreciative of all the shite I've had in my past because without it I wouldn't be who I am today. I'm so grateful.

So, to all those who thought you were stronger than me...
Bring it.

Hannah xox

Day 153.

The time had come, where she had to make a decision. She had to decide whether to follow her head or her heart. After years of listening to her head she had fallen back to trusting her heart. It had all changed again. Her heart said one thing yet she couldn't believe it. She didn't believe it. It had hurt her before so how could she trust it again? 

*

As I'm sure you're all aware, I joined one of these fabulous dating sites in order to see what kind of menfolk there are around these parts. In all honesty, it has been lacklustre. The amount of strange, obscure men that roam Sussex appears to be a lot higher than the sane types I was hoping for. My initial plunge in to the site was originally for research purposes. A chance for me to really understand how they work, considering it had never been something I ever intended on doing. There have been some people, whom I have met, that have been lovely. Albeit a little mundane at times. The outcomes of these meetings have been piss poor if I'm honest. Largely due to my lack of interest in dating anyone and my overall dismissal of any form of relationship.

I've noticed, as time has gone on, my lack of commitment to the site. I, lately, have not given a shit, if truth be told. At first I was eager and keen to see what delights would be filling my inbox each day (not a euphemism) and I looked forward to seeing how many 'can I lick your feet' requests I would be bombarded with. Sadly, it appears, the menfolk are not so keen to lick my feet. Although I have been receiving some cracking messages of which I'd like to share.

The first came from a guy who really wasn't selling himself with his profile picture. Him sat on a toilet whilst wearing a morph suit. That's great! It's showing his fun side and how he likes to have a laugh. No. It's showing that you're odd or have the face of a train wreck. Women want to see what you look like in the same way you guys would want to see what we look like, when we are duck pouting and pushing our tits under our chins. His message was somewhat 'eye opening'. Dear reader, I must remind you that I have specifically noted in my 'about me' section that I do not like people merely saying 'Hey how are you? Good weekend?'

"Hey Han. You look well fit. Fancy meetin up sumtym?" 

Ahh there's nothing I love more than to be called Han by someone I don't know. It fills me with such an overwhelming sense of joy and fulfillment...Do not call me Han unless I know you. Even then it gets on my tits. My name is HANNAH! Sweet Lord. So, anyway, he calls me Han. Instant dismissal. He then goes on to use English in the most charasmatic way, I didn't know what to do with myself. Be still my beating ovaries. 

Of course, I didn't reply.

The next poor, unsuspecting victim to appear in this blog is a young-ish man who appears far too 'perfect' apart from I would never be attracted to him in a million years. The message read:

"Wow. Well, I don't know what to say really. You seem like a really interesting and genuine girl and your eyebrows are amazing. What do you blog about? Can you send me the link? Hope this message finds you well."

Now, here there isn't too much to complain about really. He has followed the criteria I have laid out for him, he has asked me about my blog, his English was acceptable. However, my eyebrows? Really? As in really, really? Why has no one told me how ugly I am if my eyebrows are my only defining feature? 

Sadly, there have been some men who have been, shall we say, persistent. The ones who repeatedly message with different variations of 'hi', 'oi', 'you're fit'. (I wrote 'you're' correctly because even when copying it, it infuriates me.) These poor menfolk have had to receive the brunt of my irritable mood. The mood in which I actually reply to their boring messages in order to see whether they can gauge my sarcasm. This one, that I am about to show you, clearly didn't understand.

Him-"Hey babe. How are you? How was your weekend?"

Me- "Wow, what a fascinating and thoughtful message that was. I'm astounded by your level of enthusiasm and interest."

Him- "Aww thanks babe. So you fancy meeting?"

 Baffling.

I would like to end on a message I received this morning from a guy who is clearly unaware of how to do the original 'Myspace' photo effect. It's all about the angles darling.

Him- " Hey! I fancy a chat :-) x"

Me- "I'm very pleased for you."

He had no chance the poor sod. I don't really understand why he had to declare his need for a chat. Why didn't he just start a chat? Obviously he wouldn't have got anywhere but how bloody awkward is it starting a conversation with suggesting a conversation. Dear me.

Perhaps it's just me. Am I being too fussy? Are women really being wooed by these stallions? Are these menfolk really getting any from being so dull? Either way, I'm happy out of it. I will continue with my site research. After all, these messages are far too entertaining for me to not read. 

Dating is a pain. Relationships are a pain. Being single is a pain. My logic is to now be all three of those and maybe the pains will cancel each other out...

Hannah xox

Day 151.

There was nothing more she could do. He had already gone. He had already left her. Funny thing though, was she didn't care. She hadn't cared for a while.

*

I wanted to share with you a message I sent to someone today describing falling in love.

"When it all falls in to place and you just look at someone and it hurts but in an amazingly beautiful pain kind of way and it gives you butterflies and you have to catch your breath and you can't be distracted by anything else because in that moment in time they're all you think about, all you can see, they're everything you never thought you'd have, they're the epitome of perfection despite your resolute admission that perfection doesn't exist, they astonish you with how they amazing they do something that's so simple is so wonderful in your eyes and then you fall even harder."

That, to me, is love. It's a rush of thoughts and feelings that don't allow you to take a breath. It's the culmination of all your thoughts building up together to create this enormous power that even you don't know how to cope with.

It's the sunrise you sneak out to see. It's the smell of freshly cut grass. It's the sun kissing your skin. It's the flutter of a birds wings. It's the first cup of coffee in the morning. It's the last thing you think of each night. It's the shooting stars. It's the inspiration you find on the street. It's the only thing that can remove a person from any sense of reality or normality. It's blinding. It's intense. It's amazing.

There have been so many times where people have given me the pity face because I am single. You know the one. They tilt their head and make that 'aww' sound. It usually instigates the next sentence quite rapidly of 'you'll find someone amazing soon. I'm sure.' This is where I present my overly confident self and say something that is instantly written off as denial. Clearly I only say I'm happy being single because I have no one to call my fella. On the contrary, in actual fact, I was saying how great it was to be single even when I was in a relationship. Go figure.

Love is designed to surprise us. It comes from so many different sources and generally at the most inconvenient of times. It's confusing and difficult but I bloody loves it I do!

We all want it. We all crave it and quite frankly, we all need it.

For now, my love comes from other things that don't involve menfolk. Well, at least not the kind that need watering and feeding all the time. Until the day an appropriate figure from the manfolk community pops up I will be happy living off the love I have surrounding me now.

As Johnny Cash once sang:

"Love is a burning thing
And it makes a fiery ring."

What poor Johnny didn't realise, is that he could of had a perfectly acceptable ring if he'd used a little more lube.

Awkward.

Hannah xox