Il dress up as a ghost tomorrow

Feel horrendously tired. Have been putting so much effort into work that I have become the typical Capricorn that just doesn't know when to stop. Losing my appetite and feeling hyper during the day only to crash like flight Oceanic Airlines flight 815. The pair of trousers I bought a week ago now require a good hitching up ever few steps I walk and I am sure my fumbling with my trousers is very unsightly- but losing weight is also, and always will be a huge confidence boost for me. However negative some of this may see, it is, what is known as positive stress for I am in a strange and highly demented way, enjoying the work. Its very empowering doing a job you feel makes a difference. The problem is I am not very good at getting off the treadmill of "taskdom". Previously I have experienced burn out and I refuse to relive the mistakes of the past. I realised yesterday that I was frantically writing on the corner of my train ticket the order to do a number of tasks that would be completed in the most efficient way. Then realised  that it was time to have a rest. Today I enjoyed inspiring the more artistic in my class as we engaged in some recreation of African arts using authentic patterns and colours. It was very therapeutic. I'm sure the children enjoyed it and possibly liked the fact that I participated in the task myself and willed away a few satisfying hours with some pastels and crayons. Tomorrow is the last day of half term and I shall be dressing up in a ghost costume and strangely, I am looking forward to be able to act completely like a child.

Insomnia entry 1

It comes to the same stage at 11.30 each night when the Claire within begs, almost embarrassingly begs me to relinquish the thoughts and feelings and emotions the day has brought me in sweet sacrifice of sleep so desperately needed. The day is amazing isn't it, it gives us insomniacs the fuel for our night, of persistent dwelling on matters that are not even worth worrying about, but seem so crucial in thy minds eye, when the lack of sleepiness comes upon us and we are just hurtled down the road of repetition and replay of things we could and perhaps should have done better. .

Insomnia entry 1.

Hazy Happiness

Do you ever drift seamlessly through moments of euphoria and then sink down the crevices of inertia  in the beat of a heart? I do. Im one of those people that can never just be so so. You know the type, you have a headache, I have a migraine, you like someone, I wanna have their babies, it tastes good, I just had an orgasm..  Then in the same fret of the melody , your sad, I'm on the phone to Jenny from the Samaritans, yeah you know Jenny...shes not from the block. You feel a little run down, Im looking for bone marrow donors,,,

The thing is I seem to do this whilst still  been very understated and whilst accusing others of drama queenness, I vow to try to be less Gok Wan and more Maury from daytime tv....  He reminds me of someone I just cant think who (I bet his a sex magnet in real life).

The man in my life was talking about some dreams he was having recently, that he felt was unnerving, personally I couldn't see the madness he seemed to see, I mentioned something that often comes up in my dreams and he went silent for a while, and quickly the conversation moved on.  (and no I'm not going to tell you, that will remain between me and the shocked him).  I call that top trumps, and wasn't even trying. Maybe I do need help :p

Just as an after thought, I am soon to meet with my on-line wow buddies in London on the 6th. I hope we dont duel......

Random stuff in my head...

Questions I would like answers to...

Its smells so good, so intense the odour clouds my mind.

It tastes so good, so decedent that I need to fall inside.

It looks so good, I can gaze too long or il never be found again.

It feels so good, I have no breathe, I am lost now, I don't want to be found.

There's a girl who looks out of the window each day at 4 oclock and has a number 5 written across her forehead. You would think it would say 4.

I wonder if birds close their eyes to sleep, if they do, do they dream of words or do they dream of something fresh and seasonal...like the television cooks seem to do.

Why does the news of the world newspaper only run stories about footballers shagging women. Where is the world news?

Why was I looking at pictures of people playing brass instruments earlier and thinking it was a sexual fetish?

Why do I like batfink?  I wish Nicola Turkington would read this. He would know why.

I wish I knew where the bracelet was I believed was haunted when I was about 13. Did I really lose it during that talk with Mehnaz and Kellie at the East London crematorium

Why did I feel the need to climb across shed roofs when a teenager, knowing that I would always end up falling through them and maiming myself,

Why did mum make me wear knee high socks.....They only reached to the middle of my calf.

Why did I once compose a song devoted to onion relish?.

Why, quite out of the blue did I shout after a train passing the back of my house "and you can fuck off with the money".....I don't know,  

Why did the museum in Stratford close down?, it was a think of beauty and intrigue.

Why did I lose all matter of control and laugh for an hour constantly when shown a picture of a canal in a history lesson once.

Why do I sneeze when I look at the sun?

Why do I feel like I am the only person who ever watched Martin the vampire movie.

The Rift and the brick wall..........

Good Evening fellow bloggers.

My blog today is called the rift and the brick wall. My fellow guildies will know that I am currently taking a holiday from playing the on-line game of World of Warcraft. I have hung up my guild mistress shoes for a week or two and have unhinged myself from all the responsibilities and worries and concerns it has been giving me for some time.  This was a big decision by me, I am and I admit here, an utter control freak when it comes to my guild. I feel very much like its parent. To let it go for a even a week or two was hard for me. But with the situation we currently have, I am prone to hitting my head against a brick wall. The guild I am is a wonderful mix of people who are friends of mine. Its like a funny dysfunctional family at times. Most of us playing so much we know more about some of our on-line buddies then we do our real-life ones.  However because the people are so nice its very hard to say "Can you please do better, your holding us back". Because we are so polite, it means it never gets said in the right way. The truth is we have hit a point in the progress of the game where we cant go beyond. I'm actually looking forward to the nerf the dungeons will get in the future patch. Its getting very dull whizzing through a dungeon only to be held back by end bosses that cant be downed because collectively we don't match the dps needed. The only additional pain in the ass feature it will mean is the new gamplay is still going to be out of our grasp eg firelands. I hope I am wrong to be honest. But Cataclysm has meant this game is not as much fun as it was...mostly because its forced people to play better and on certain fights are incredibly unforgiving of the slightest of mistakes(ok not a bad thing) but for some its made it not as enjoyable. 

I will be back in a week or so, I guess back to the same situation I dislike, but back to people I like a great deal (and miss).

Currently I am playing RIFT. If you haven't played it yet its basically a wow, conan, lotr ripoff. However its very good. Feels fresh and new, and I feel all shiny again like I'm a noob. I like the noob feeling. I love the exploration of new lands, facing new foes. I am playing a warrior right now. Tanking in fact and I love it. God I wish I had bullrush on my palladin in wow!! http://rift.zam.com/en/ability/55959725/Bull-Rush.

If you would like to try it, I am playing on fireward roleplay/pvp realm europe and I play ctearus. I am also in a guild full of dull people that are not my vanilla dudes and dudettes and I am kinda lonely without them. Thats why I will play rift in the future, but wow is where the heart is. So I will be back....but I hope I wont be treading such a rocky path,,, Its hard to be so optimistic and leadershipy all the time...

Number, numbers......Grrrrr Numbers.

I love Saturday nights. Its the one day in the week where I can really relax and chill. Saying that I found myself scanning schemes of work for year three today , because I really wanted to, ordering some educational books for next year from Amazon- and been a little excited about my new class next year. I don't think I am capable of switching off. This Friday just gone, I actually felt sad that I wouldn't see work colleagues for a week. We ended up going out for a drink after work and I was mildly surprised at the out of work personalities of the people I share the bigger part of the day with. I wondered if I was sad that I spend a great deal of my time dreaming up crazy lessons to teach. Why is it after nearly 10 years of teaching I still love it? I love having the attention of 30 children, I love challenging what they think or giving them new ideas to think about, I love empowering them and making them feel worthy. Some teachers unfortunately burn out and fall out of love with the profession....I guess I did with secondary school teaching. I was lucky enough to be able to go into primary school teaching. It wasn't easy. I pretty much had to retrain. My biggest thing to overcome was having to learn how to teach mathematics (it was never my strong point). I have had to learn how to teach lots of methods I never ever used before...the bus stop method, the grid method, the extended multiplication method, the tree method of calculating fractions... to name a few.

Numbers worry me. I also have a problem with retaining numbers. Years I am fine with....Norman Conquest 1066, WW1 1914-1918, WW2 1939-1945.... But phone numbers....Um...I don't know my own phone number of my mobile number, I never remember birthdays, I never remember anniversary. I have no idea what my partners birthday is....

Numbers give me a type of dyslexia. I have never had this confirmed but I do think I have this. I try so hard to retain them but I cant (this makes mental maths very hard- I have to do it by scribbling down the calculations on paper).

It will be my challenge next year- not the level of teaching it...at year 3 its not that difficult...More so I have to conquer my fears associated with maths. If I was to get in a time machine and go back to my time at primary school I would see me been forced to stand on my table and rote call my 6 times table to my class and get it horribly wrong and have my teacher call me a "idiot". The teacher made me do this everyday, because I couldn't retain the times tables. I remember crying my eyes out every morning before I went to school as I knew it was time for my daily degradation  in front of peers who already thought I was a weird kid.

Sadly it turned me a bit into a maths rebel by the age of 15/16. I turned up for my maths exam without a scientific calculator and when asked by my teacher if I wished to borrow one, I said no...I will do it in my head. I then proceeded to write in random numbers into the paper and walked out early, knowing I hadn't got a single question correct. I was that fucked off with it. That fucked off with been totally shit at something I so wanted to be good at.

I paid the heavy price. I went to college to study for my A-levels and fostered my dream of becoming a teacher...only to find I had to get a maths qualification to even get accepted (WTF, Why the hell do I need maths when I am going to teach history!!!!). Result was, I had to study again in my own time, between my A levels. I scrapped a C.

Today I plan numeracy schemes of work, I plan them well and I teach them well. I wish i had me as a teacher back then when I needed someone to just realise we don't all learn the same way...

Master Vanilla Forum Poster

I thought I would speak about my guild today. Its a strange vocation as a guild mistress. I don't think anyone expected me to be any good at it when I was in my old guild. In fact my on-line persona was very different to the CM of today. One of the reasons is I am ofc a little older, but then that I have to be responsible in a way I never had to when I was a officer in my previous guild. I have other people to do that for me. I was just a bit of spirit, a laugh, a flirtatious person. I was however very very good at keeping guild spirit up, and I knew how to delegate, to those who knew more.

Then Vanilla came along and I was so nervous that I wouldn't be professional enough that I couldn't manage everyone well enough, that it would descend into chaos every time someone had a difference of opinion. I learnt I could be strong enough to balance all the male egos behind the scenes in Vanilla. Its a daily job at times, this amazing balancing act. I'm surprised at times how protective I feel towards my guild mates. My online family. The truth is they have given me a great deal of joy. I am so thankful that the officers and councillors I have in the guild are so willing to blow up but then get back to normal. They have all been a rock. Some ofc more then others :)

I think if your going to be a good GM you cant be a fly by your pants type of person. You have to have rules and routines as no one likes change without a damn good reason. People like good organisation and a good social aspect fostered. I really try to do this, as do many of the people I play beside. I think people at times think I am a stickler for the rules, and yes they would be right. i have even lost people from my guild that I like immensely as I had to appear fair when I dealt with them....those times never make me feel very good.  If I have rules I have to stick by them....even my rl partner knows he is no exception to this but I am sure overall he respects me for it.

The guild are, as time goes by, more like family to me. I really do care for them. I try to take care of the newcomers, hope the existing motley crew except them....they usually do.

Online world, I don't care. I socialise with these people. Hoping to meet many of them in August in 2011. How many years we go on, I'm not sure.  But  I have every intention of going on as long as people are happy with what I'm trying to do.

/fingers crossed

The enigma of counting your blesses.

I have so many things I am so very thankful for. I am thankful for coming from a background where I was poor. It made me realise how grateful you should be for the money coming in for a job well done. My mother and father- my father predominately, worked shifts in the night and the day when I was a small child. My fondest and most earliest memories were when he came in from a nights work and got into bed, me behind him snuggling into his big warm protective back. I asked him if he could save me from an atomic war ( I was kinda obsessed with the mushroom cloud as a child) He said ofc not.  It was at the moment I learnt about keeping things real.

I count my blessings when I walk past the canals every day and clutching a starbucks, I head to work where I teach wonderful children who drive me mad yet they keep my young and active and full of wonderment.

I am grateful to my two brothers, my oldest a stranger to me until I grew up, but he became the brother I needed, one I can say anything to and he will, in his way tell me what he thinks honestly. My younger brother- same age as my boyfriend yet he seems so much younger....but represents my fun side....we have the same sense of humour...the laughing I have done with him would make tears spring like niagra falls from your eyes. I couldn't wish for two better siblings. My mum, what can I say? I wasn't always the best daughter to her. I was far too much on team father. But I always knew she was a woman who wouldn't think twice about laying her life down for anyone of us. If I am half the woman she is, Id die a happy woman. I know if my brothers read this they will laugh at me and tell me to stop boozing. But with a drink or not, even they know this is true.

My dad, my whole world. His not even in this world and he is still my whole world. I'm a stubborn mule like him, but I have a soft vulnerable side just like him. Wherever he is I raise a drink to him and its the only thing I look forward to about dying, to hopefully (if all this religion stuff is true) see my dad again. We wouldn't even hug, so not our style. First thing we would say to each other would be a piss take.

I've rambled,  I'm happy to be alive. I'm strong enough to deal with what life throws at me. Just don't take my mum or my brothers. Not for a while any ways.

Flesh Wounds- last installment

Well heres the last part. I will work on editing now I have the basic structure of the tale. Il try to re post the entire thing in coming weeks. Its still all needs a lot of work. If you have no idea what this is about check my earlier short story blog posts.  Enjoy.

Then the ground falls away and I realize that this was the last time I will ever see my parents again. I surprise myself about how easy I am taking this. It almost doesn't matter anymore.

"You can enter now" says a disembodied voice from inside the room. I am standing facing a large corporate brown oak door.  Slightly unhinged it opens easily and I begin to walk inside. The light is low. I can see windows showing no view of outside apart from what looks like clouds, wispy and thin. I feel like I am on an aeroplane and if I look outside the window I will see a city in the dark, house lights acting like little beacons in the night sky.

I dutifully walk in and the woman sitting behind the desk lets a small smile escape her lips as she beckons me with a slight wave of her wrist to sit across from her.  She opens up a small drawer from beneath the desk and takes out a envelope. I know immediately what it is.

"I am afraid we cant accept this" She pushes the envelope across the table and I reach for it. I open the letter and I read.

To anyone that cares

I cant go on like this anymore. I have grown so used to fear that I have to make it stop. I go to bed every night wishing I didn't wake up. I cant cope anymore and I hate him so much he deserved to die. I don't feel proud of what I did to him. He was helpless, like a baby when I crept into the bedroom and stabbed him until I was too tired to keep stabbing.  Tell my mother and father I wont stay around to embarrass them. I guess I'm like my mother. I put up with it for so long that a little bit of me died every day. I don't want to be like her anymore.

I will punish myself. I'm sure even after I'm gone I will keep on being punished. So what does it matter if I stay or if I go.

I know what's coming now. The room spins. I no longer have any control over this.

A woman is shining a torch into my face, I am disorientated, petrified. I'm lying on the floor of my bedroom, my dead husband lying in a pool of congealed blood on the bed, arms flayed. Dead eyes looking straight at the ceiling. Our cat licking his face and purring. The paramedics are holding a pressure pad against my neck so hard I feel like I am choking. My legs are elevated, a person takes my pulse.  Its at this point that I realise its not worked. Its just not worked. I cry so hard the tears start in the pit of my stomach and resonate through my whole body. A kind looking paramedic wipes my tears, looks straight into my eyes. "Your going to be alright love" she says.  "Its just a flesh wound".

I hear my father and my husband laugh.

The day when she rediscovers poetry...

William Blake wrote:

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy. 

So its about the corrupton of innocence... Im sensing the theme of sex and decay. Glorious evening time reading. Im now thinking of reading T S Elliots stuff again, not because I was remotely intererested in him, but I was mildly facinated in his wife Vivienne, who led an extrodinary life.

If your interested -http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vivienne_Haigh-Wood

Most noteble quote which says it all "Vivienne ruined Tom as a man, but she made him as a poet."

Short story part 2

Im starting to know where its all going now...Second installment.

I recoiled for a moment, clicked her fingers and I was gone. For now I wouldn't be back. I was now standing in my mothers front room, I guessed the late 1970s if the gaudy orange flowered curtains and the tan bean bag chair that had seen better days were anything to go by. I tentatively looked around and saw the room through the eyes of my 7 year old self. From the kitchen I could hear the kettle boiling, the radio blasting out Bonnie Tyler's its a heartache. My mother singing quietly along. Upstairs I caught the familiar sound of my father snoring, and suddenly none. Silence. I heard my mother turn the radio down, and remembered how she always did that if she though she had awoken him. Hoping to get 20 minutes more reprieve. No such luck. The sound of his two feet hitting the floor.  The sound of the plates been snatched out of the cupboard and a meal hurriedly dished out.

The living room door opened and I saw the face of my father for the first time in 4 years. Younger here, less lined, fuller face, thicker head of hair. He stared at me and shook his head, looking confused.  He walks slowly to me holds his freckled hand out and with one finger runs the tip down my cheek, I mistake it for affection. The finger follows my chin, down to my neck. His finger rests at the gash across my neck and after pausing he pushes the finger inside the wound. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt me at all. As I stare into my fathers eyes I want to tell him so much. I have a lifetime of words I need to share with him. As he gently pulls his finger from my neck my mother enters the room with two plates of rissoles, potatoes and garden peas and a bottle of daddies brown sauce tucked under her arm. She also fixes her look on me for a moment, just enough time to look straight into me and at the same time through me. I hear her sigh and  she sets the plates down. She hurries back into the kitchen for the plate of sliced white bread. As I watch her go, my father cups my face in his hands and turns my head to face his. Pulls me close so our noses nearly touch. He whispers in a voice that doesn't sound like his  "Its only a flesh wound love".

An old Poem..

In stark contrast to this cheery little number below (A poem I wrote some 2-3 years ago), I am shocked at how low and down in the dumps I was. Like Alan Partridge I have "Bounced Back" AHHHHHAAAAA

Right here, right now (3/6/2008 12:41:00 PM)

I dont feel like when I knock on my own door, that I am in anymore Im hiding behind the sofa, putting the phone on mute I want some silence but Im the noisest thing around So I hold out my hands for liquid redemption, and its so sweet, its so kind, its so forgiving and it loves me. It puts me to bed and wraps the blanket over my head, safe inside the dark, safe under the problem It takes the phone away from me, it hides the bottles at the bottom of the bin bag. It makes me feel closer to dad

Whats all this about the bunnies?

The meaning behind my blog is two fold. Firstly going back to around 1998-2000 I was a die hard Buffy the vampire slayer fan. I bought all the dvd boxsets and to be honest they were very pricey back then. I was enthralled by the bittersweet nature of the relationship between Buffy (Stalwart defender type) and Angel (bad guy trying to find redemption). Later when, in my opinion did the right thing and wrote in Angels demise at the hand of the one he loved the most, Buffy. They introduced a new love interest- Spike. BTW my cat was named after him. Just some random trivia for you there.

Well Spike was the opposite of Angel, cockney blood lust vampire looking like a young billy idol. They had some mad filthy rip your clothes off savage sex a couple of times and then the producers of the show decided to play the hot tension down by introducing an episode written as a musical. It was sheer brilliance, and for the record I know all of the song by heart.  The line...Theres nothing we cant face, except for bunnies was sung by Anya- A demon.

For your enjoyment I have linked the song here.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cW20AlC0IbA

The other reason is I was born in the year of the rabbit.  I think I suit the definitions too,,,

Characteristics of The Rabbit
The three words that best describe the rabbit? Calm and gentle, but persistent.
Quietly charismatic, thoughtful and calm, rabbits are admired for their tactful and considerate dealings with all who know them. As such, they are most often depended upon for their wise counsel, or as someone in which to put valued trust in a personal friendship or a business dealing.
One of the most cautious signs in the Chinese zodiac, they are the chess players who take their sweet time before making a move. Yet, they are also the ones most likely to win any intricate game of strategy!
This most obvious of rabbit personality traits also spills into their romantic dealings, and rabbits will not commit to any one person right away.
Once they are settled down in a domestic relationship, however, no truer or more sweeter spouse is likely to be found.
In dealings with family and friendships, they can always be counted upon for a sympathetic ear or a gentle hand to hold.
Their highly developed natures can also be found in artistic pursuits. They have an impeccable eye for color and line that is evident in their thoughtful fashion sense. The rabbit is usually on anyone's Best Dressed list.
Despite (or because of) their outwardly calm demeanors, rabbits are extremely shrewd In business dealings and may never show their hand until just the right moment. They are also quick to bolt from any perceived danger and intuitively know when to fold - and run!
Famous people born in the Year of the Rabbit
Albert Einstein, Leon Trotsky, Frank Sinatra, Pope Benedict XVI, Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, David Beckham, Tiger Woods, Whitney Houston.

So there you go, cheesy but its the truth. 

Short story writing...

No idea where this short story is going but have a read of a little bit..

I was dead and much to my amusement, the afterlife was remarkably like life had been. I awoke, or what ever it was that I did after "it" happened to me, to find that I still had a basket overflowing with laundry and a pile of bills propped up behind the roses tin. I sat across the breakfast table and stared into the face of the very man I tried to get away from. It was impossible to escape the sheer irony of it.

My eyes became fixated on the stubble on his chin, the salt and peppery collection of sprouting hairs. I grimaced with disgust. I really hated this man.

It wasn't as if he liked me very much either. We had lived like this for some years, simply because of the convenience. Rental prices been what they were, not to mention the flat was so near our respective workplaces meant it was a solution. to suit us both. So I thought.

It was just as I stood to put the breakfast bowls into the sink, that I caught my reflection in the mirror. Staring back at me was the face of a dead woman with a gaping knife mark severing her neck. My neck had stained rusty, I caught the scent of my own blood, metallic and musty. The gasp I took drew his attention. He looked at me as if it was an effort to fix his eyes on me and simply said "Its only a flesh wound", and with that continued with his cornflakes.

The line the cross and the curve

As the mood took me, I was watching the music video for "The Red Shoes" by Kate Bush.

In this tale, Bush plays a frustrated singer-dancer who is enticed by a mysterious woman (Miranda Richardson-If you ever watched the Black Adder series you would know exacty who she is- and the Frida Kahlo inspired monobrow) into putting on a pair of magical ballet slippers. Once on her feet, the shoes start dancing on their own, and Bush's character must battle Richardson's character to free herself from the spell of the shoes. It left me thinking how much more we might do if people interfered in our lives more. The role perhaps of the devils advocate, an usurper, a mentor or just a plain old interferer.

Bushs character was fighting for her life in the video but in her eyes you could see she had never felt so alive as her ordeal (or rather tricked into by Miss Monobrow) had made her dance harder then she had ever danced before.

Take a look at these lyrics:

And this curve, is your smile
And this cross, is your heart
And this line, is your path

I think we need more people to put us on the path. Havent we become too dull, too eager to live the safe life. To not risk danger, to live in our little boxes that we pay dilligently for each month until we slip into the smallest boxes of all?

I want a Miranda....make me do something I havent done before, offer me a dance with the devil or an offer I cant refuse...

There simply has to be more then work, my home and world of warcraft...LOL

and if intrerested this is the link to the video that inspired my blog post today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9_UsAlu9K0

A look behind with one hand gripping the door to the future..

My divorce came through last Friday.  I came home from work, and saw the letter with "Salens" stamped across the top and I knew. I tore it open eagerly and there it was. The Absolute.
I felt a surge of relief and I became a little bit more me. I was no longer someones wife. I was Miss Redmond, the woman. Since last Friday I have been rediscovering things that made me Claire before the marriage. My love for the singer /song writer Kate Bush, my upstairs downstairs drama fetish, my sense of humour... Just a few things there. I dyed my hair from blonde to Brown... Im sure theres a deep psychological meaning behind that, but the truth is I wanted a change.  Hope I enjoy it!