Roses are red, bubbles are pink...

My Valentines weekend was filled with treats and loveliness:

Cups of tea with my nan, dinner with best friends, giggles, rose wine, hugging the one that needed love, exercise class with best friends on Saturday morning, more giggles, bending, stretching, meditation, my mum finishing the adjustments on my beautiful green vintage dress, wearing said dress, buying pink jellied sweets for gingerbread man, pink fizz, bubbles, a dozen red roses, candles, glitter love hearts, cooked breakfasts, Sunday lounging, shared cooking, homemade spicy meatballs, baby grand, sticky toffee pudding, early night, cups of tea and lots of kisses.

New words, new sites, new ways

My tonsillitis is clearing, but I still see it necessary to eat a lot of comfort food (I have just devoured quarter of a toffee and pecan cheesecake), wear baggy knitted cardigans, drink excessive amounts of tea and go to bed very early.

Whilst eating and drinking lots, I have been finding lots of fab blogs and sites and new pretty things for my kitchen, which will hopefully be finished soon.

Socrates Adams- Florou has started an adventure blog called Choose your own adventure. The suspense is brewing; the chapters are a result of people voting for a particular outcome. I think it might get weird. Fantastic.

Save the word is a brilliant site (a recent find whilst reading Beth's blog), so many words, so much inspiration. I am liking the words: Mulomedic, quibbleism and pigritude. I am wondering who writes the definitions:

bumposopher - one learned in bumps

Mary's boyfriend is a bumposopher, and couldn't stop fondling everyone's head at the dinner table.

I have spent a considerable amount of time on twitter today, I signed up a week or so ago with no idea on what it is or what you are meant to do. Anyway, I am there to twit me or whatever it is.

If the shoe fits....

My turn with the throat of doom

I have tonsillitis. I am at work and I need a hug. My throat is on fire. I have big white gremlins hanging to the side of my throat. I need to be hugged and soothed. I am 29 and I want my mum. There is no one to hug me. Not sure my director would appreciate it if I asked him.
I am at my desk hugging a hot water bottle. I am going to slide off my chair and under my cold, unfriendly workstation and hide until home time or until someone comes and hugs me.

Time wasting

I feel like I have lots to say but nothing worth listening to. I am going to write it as it is and as it comes, which will resemble the state of my mind: chaotic.

I hate writing press releases. We have the 2009 editions of all our visitor guides and pocket guides and I need to launch them with the local press. I don't know why I dislike writing press releases so much, I think maybe, it is a confidence issue, I need to get to the stage where journalists print my news verbatim instead of cutting a piece of work (which I spent far too much time on) down to 20 words.

The problem is, I am instigating a lot of PR. As a destination marketing business, we have a great opportunity to jump on the back of the recession, after all, around 20 % of those who took a foreign holiday last year will be saving money this year by choosing the UK as their holiday destination. Apparently, there will be a lot of 'trips down memory lane' as parents take their families to the seaside resorts that they visited as children. Anyway, I have lots of ideas but even more frustration at the execution of them.

It is an interesting week at work. One of the founding directors is leaving to pursue his career. He is taking one element of our business to set up as an independent Ltd company an I have never see anyone so un-bothered about relinquishing something that was an idea on a cigarette packet a number of years ago and now a fantastic business with staff. He has been a total shit about the whole process and I feel very angry and hurt by some of the decisions and methods he is taking to achieve his goals. As a leaving present I have bought him a pink sparkly stapler as we have 'issues' over (my) stapler which lives on (my) desk.

I am listening to Wasted Youth on repeat, it makes me want prance around and head bang. A feel good song from my not so wasted youth. It is a Meatloaf song if anyone cares.

I feel a bit like a teenager with a huge crush on someone unattainable such as a college student or lead singer of a band, except my crush is attainable, I just haven't seen him for nearly two weeks and I am suffocating with anticipation. Three more sleeps to go.

This morning, when I was half asleep, dozing to the radio, I could have sworn I heard that a women had given birth to an octopus.

The first month

Cold, dull and blue
a deep depressing blue
ephemeral or the course of months to come
new beginnings, bad associations
a split, a phone call, a broken heart
frosty edges and brittle tension
cold fear for the mindful
an email, letter, an apology
tearful expressions
misjudged intentions
s.a.d
or sad

Promise.com

Between partners, friend, colleagues, clients and family there is always a level of compromising which is acceptable, that is how we get through our ever complicating lives; agreeing on less than we originally wanted for the sake of things that are more important to us such as love, peace and more often, a simple quiet life. But what of when you compromise what you, yourself want to be? What becomes of those that compromise the future, security and happiness of others?

There is a lot of compromise taking place around me and I am unsure as to whether it is based on the lack of acceptance or attainability. Selfishness has a part to play; it is the darker voice from the left shoulder saying “think of number one”, “don’t give in”. That is OK, if the compromise is unfair or unacceptable but when someone is in front of you, someone you have a love for, and they are stood with their defences down, hoping for honesty and trust, is it not the ‘right path to take’ and adjust your demands, perceptions or values to a more comprising ideal?

I have a dream. A life wished for and worked towards, a job which is a means to that life. I have morals and values, reflective of that life which holds me as I want me to be, a promise to myself.

Is it that others are compromising my dreams or am I? What would happen if I shared those dreams? They become vulnerable and open to further compromise by those selfish enough to try.