The list keeps getting bigger...

I've done yet another stupid thing, the list just doesn't seem to end.

Friday I was having a wonderful time dancing round to music I really couldn't pick a beat to - Drum'n'bass. I was chatting to people I hadn't seen in months, and basically having a good time. I felt pretty, flighty and flirty. For most of the evening there had been something I'd wanted to say to one person in particular, and for some reason I felt that this was the night that I'd allow myself to be a little more flirtatious.

He has been, for a long time, someone who I found very attractive. Softly spoken, sweet, funny, witty and very good looking in a Gerard Butler way (so maybe we'll call him GBL? Gerard Butler Lookalike). Since the time I first knicked his chip, or even earlier than that (three years ago? Maybe earlier?) I've always had a soft spot for him. I'd sneakily ask for a hug, or just try to make him laugh (I don't know why he always had such a bright smile). Whenever I was around his friends, I'd always find myself asking after him. When he'd allow his hair to grow a little, I'd always found that it softened him and made him look so good. And those green eyes, so serene, quite peaceful really. What always got me a little worried was his ability to keep me talking. Sure it doesn't take much for me to get talking, but he was always the type to keep very quiet and allow people to talk. When we'd met up one evening for him to help me out with my research, we'd stayed for a couple of drinks and I found myself gabbing on about things that I didn't tell most people, and I couldn't believe it. Yes, you could say I've been fond of him for some time.

So Friday, in between dances and moving between floors I found myself keeping an eye out to see what his dance moves were like. He wasn't that bad, but very 'white man kinda has skills'. It was drum and bass, what could I expect? In between tunes and shifting of floors, we'd catch each other and tease one another. It wasn't until we were getting refreshments that I turned to him and said, "You're looking good out there, and may I add, in general." He gave a nod, slight smile and replied, "Why thank you, and so are you." The dancing continued, but I was getting quite tired and asked if I was taking people home. I ordered my cab and decided to give my ear drums a rest and sat on the couches in the lobby. GBL found me as he walked up the stairs and took up my invite (the whole tapping the spot next to me on the couch). We chatted for a bit until I got a call which I took outside. When I came back, I snuggled next to him and continued talking.

I then quietly said that there was something that I'd wanted to tell him, then changed my mind and said I couldn't. His arm came round me and he said in his sexy, deep, soft spoken voice, "Of course you can tell me." Now for most of the night I'd been rehearsing in my head a ditzy, cute but flirtatious line I thought I could get away with - because I know I can do that so well (sadly enough). Unfortunately, my head wasn't wired properly and instead I leaned forward, away from him and said "If there weren't complications, I'd fancy him like hell." I then paused, realised what I'd said and thought to hell with it, and said, "No, things are complicated, I fancy you like hell." I let it sink in, continuing to look ahead, until I heard his voice. I turned to him as he agreed with me that things were a little complicated, and he waited until I leaned back a little and was looking straight at him to say, "I feel the same way." I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching slightly into a smile. He then leaned in and added, "I mean, you're stunning." I don't know why, but my face just distorted into a confused look. I never thought he found me attractive in any way. I always found an excuse to touch him, hug him, play with his hair, wrap my arms around his neck, peck his cheek. In his cool laid back manner, I just never got the impression that he may have had the slightest interest in me. And here we were, sitting on a leather couch in a club very quietly telling the other that yes there was an attraction and no, we couldn't do anything about it.

For a few moments we sat there and stared at each other. And for a second I knew that he was thinking the same thing I was "Could we get away with a sneaky kiss?" Oh how I wanted to kiss him, I was so curious. I know we would have slowly leaned into each other, closed our eyes and held our breathe until our lips touched. I know he would have had lovely, soft lips. I know it would have started off gently and slow, and possibly would escalate into a more passionate link. I cupped his right cheek with my hand and brought myself closer, leaning my head slightly. My lips met his cheek and there the rested. I then whispered, "Happy birthday GBL." We looked at each other and quietly smiled.

Our moment didn't last as a couple of his friends, one of whom was involved in our set of 'complications' came to sit with us and say their goodbyes. My cab finally arrived and I went to grab my things. As I said my goodbyes to everyone, I walked to GBL and as I went to give him his usual peck, he wrapped his arms around me. I was slightly taken aback as he always held back and never gave me a proper hug, or from what I could see from the one he was giving me. His arms kept hold of me and as I felt them closing in more, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my face against his. As we pulled away, his arms very slowly came away from my waist, his fingers lingering on my waist, before giving it a cheeky pinch. I giggled and left.

I knew I had just done something very foolish, and there was so much I had wanted to say. I had managed to say that I'd didn't have completely innocent intentions when we met up for my testing, which he said he'd enjoyed. But I wanted to tell him that I had been wanting him for so long. I wanted to kiss him! I wanted him. I messed things up. Now I just added more to it................. but who am I kidding? If I really didn't want it to happen, I would do the sensible thing and avoid it completely.

.....................which may explain why we didn't kiss that night.

Love or lust...?

According to my horoscope I should be careful about confusing lust for love and the other way round, that I should look deep into my feeling to know which I'm truly feeling. I thought I did know. I thought I had it sorted and that I knew which was which, I think I've got it sussed to a certain degree.

On a superficial level, I find him to be sexy, gorgeous, tasty and I just want to rip the clothes of his body and do terrible things to it – lust. On a deeper level, I find him to be wonderful, sweet, charming, funny, kind, old fashioned, considerate and sexy – love? I can't help but watch his pouty lips when he talks, when his green eyes light up, when his cheeks touch his eyes as he smiles or laugh. I can't help but watch his hands as he gestures or rests them somewhere, wondering if they'll ever rest on me. Is it wrong to wish that his arms would find their way around my shoulders instead of the back of his chair to rest on? Is it wrong to wish that I could rest my head on his shoulders or wrap my arms around his neck?

Friday night at Fabric, as he stood there in his t-shirt and jeans, I just couldn't help but feel fat. Looking at his t-shirt stretch over his fit and trim body, how as he raised his arms I got a peak of his trim and solid stomach, how his jeans hung a couple of inches under his navel. Could there be a sexier image? The teasing image of what lies beneath? Knowing that there's more hidden under a flimsy bit of cotton material that could be ripped of or slowly unbuttoned? How I wanted to reach out, allow my fingertips to stroke his hip bones, letting my fingers wrap around his waist, hooking my thumbs in his shirt and slowly lift it up to...

Ok, so that entire paragraph screams lust. So I have the intentions, I have every intention of doing nasty things to this man. I've had every possibility to pull his face to mine and show him just how passionately I feel about him. And yet I just can never bring myself to carry out the act – not even the simple act of gently brushing his face with my hand. Something holds me back. I finally realised what it was, I am not in a rush to push him into it. He is not ready to start something and this time around I realise I'm not to spoil it by being my usual self. I always initiate things, rush in, or doing something truly foolish to make the first move. This time it's different. This time I will wait until he is ready. If I'm not the person for him, at least I'd be able to rest in the knowledge that I didn't push him into something he didn't want or wasn't ready for. He needs time and that's what I'll give him. During that time, I'll sit on my hands, I'll continue to adore him from afar and wonder what it would be like to wear that shirt of his one day...

Old habits, talking about the future

Another day, another latte, another chicken sandwich, this has now become my routine, and I'm quite liking it. It's helping me to relax, although my mind is racing at 120mph. I'm thinking of a number of things simultaneously and the only way to pick them apart and organise them is to keep endless lists - things to remember, things to do, things to sort through, and so on. I have 3 notepads and a diary in my bag that I carry in and out of the college I'm testing. Sitting here freezing my buns off in this a/c'ed building, people would never be able to survive in the heat if the air conditioning ever broke down. It's funny, at the end of the day when my dad comes to pick me up after he's done at the office, I go out five minutes early, just so that I can stand in the sun. I'm wearing my headscarf and abaya, but being able to thaw out and slowly get toasty under the sun in the 34 degree heat.



Yesterday, my mother came home from in the afternoon, and as per usual we made a pot of tea and sat on the couch and got talking. Yesterday's theme was about housing and what I planned to do about it in future.* We spoke about buying and renting places in London, how when I finally get comfortable with my (hopefully) stable career in either academics or publishing that I wouldn't mind moving further into the city. I'd either move in on my own (which I'm not sure I really want to do at this point) or move in with a friend/housemate.

I've never known what it was like to live on my own. That week I spent at home on my own while my grandmother went away for a week is not what I consider living on my own. I never felt that I was alone because I knew it was for only a short period of time and that my grandmother was only on holiday. Then travelling for conferences and staying on my own isn't the same thing either. I would like to know what it is like to be a grown up at some point, a responsible, truly independant grown up, and really know what life is like. Although I have to admit, I'm very happy the way it's working now - how I'm being eased into it slowly, that works for me. One stress and possible break down at a time.

"It won't be lattes every day and buying Lancome mascara all the time." my mother said. I smiled at her and said, "I know, that's what I'm looking forward to, learning to grow up." She admitted that she'd never be completely happy with the idea of me moving in with someone, even if it was another girl, but at the same time, she also knew that it may happen at some point if my career required it. But I think the fact that I knew I wouldn't be ready to do that as soon as I graduate was something that gave her some reassurance.

For the time being, I'm happy with how my life is... in fact I'm very comfortable with the way my life is. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared about how my life will be after I graduate (oh gosh, and then that's ANOTHER worry). Wondering what will happen when I finish my PhD - the exciting possibilities are probably what help balance out the realistic worries and anxieties that it may just all come crashing down. Thankfully I know that I have my mother to depend on should the latter ever happen (God willing it doesn't).

*My train of thought was greatly disturbed when my sister decided to pull an (admittedly incredibly good) prank as part of April Fool's. Because she did it 3 minutes to noon, I did not have time or chance to get her back. But one day, I shall.... ooooh and it shall be good.

How the non-date went

Oh gosh, how evenings change and how perceptions really do turn around when you're in warmer surroundings. My evening out turned out to be a lot better than I had originally anticipated. The butterflies melted away when I stood at the station waiting for him. As I saw the tall, dark figure walking towards me, I couldn't help but smile. The Cuban restaurant we were going to was closed and so we walked to the South Bank to go to a new restaurant, Iguanas.

We sat at the bar and thankfully he did most of the talking. I found him to be such an interesting and entertaining character. He had some interesting stories to tell and used such enthusiasm that made me giggle. He wasn't out to charm me, which I really liked (I'm not comfortable with open flirtation when it's one sided). He definitely made me laugh and we nearly had an embarrassing incident when I was taking a sip from my drink and he'd said something rather silly. Thankfully I've mastered the ability to hold my mouthful before the laugh comes out.

Looking at his mutton chops (thick side burns and beard, with a bridge moustache), I realised he's very good looking. He had thick, black hair in a length that I really find sexy. His eyes were a gorgeous dark brown, and although the moustache was slightly hiding his upper lip, he had such a friendly and warm smile. His 6'5 frame was very slim, with long limbs, but he never seemed awkward or gawky, but very comfortable. He'd had a long time to get used to them, and he was, he wasn't going to apologise for his frame. He had a certain confidence which I liked, a person who's happy with himself in a quiet manner. It occurred to me that the mutton chops were his way of experimenting. The man knows he's not ugly and can afford to play with his looks. He has nothing to prove.

Somewhere in the evening during our conversation it occurred to us that we both had different views of the evening. I hadn't thought of it as a date and apparently he was under the impression that it was! I was flattered, I was under the strict impression that I wasn't his type and was happy to think that I'd made a new and interesting friend. It wasn't until when place closed and we were outside standing on the steps proving how many I needed to meet his eye level, that we were both curious as to how the other kissed...

Non-Date Jitters

Ok, this is truly unusual. I'm sitting at my desk, my hair is done, my make up is finished and my nails are dry. My only worry at this point is whether I should put another coat onto my black nails. I've been sitting at home fretting, semi-waiting by the phone, wondering if I'd get that dreaded call of cancelation. Would I end up sprucing myself up for nothing? Sitting at home, all dressed up and no place to go (I'm sure I would have found myself wandering over to Guanbara later on). My mind wandering a little as to how the evening would go - would we get along? Would there be a lot of awkward silences? Would the evening be a complete let down? Would the music not be to my taste? Or the company even?

How should I dress? Should I take an extra pair of flat shoes for my walk home in? Should I wear my silky flower top with black lace trim on the bottom? Or should I go for a dress? Or should I just go for my black tank top and jeans? Either way, I'll be wearing my black satin heels with black bows... I have to if I want to be seen by a man who's 6'5. Should I have put my hair up? Maybe put a couple of rollers in? Should I tie my hair back with a black ribbon?

Should I wear my usual long gold chain? Should I wear my fan or chain earrings? How many bangles should I wear? Should I even bother with a bag? Especially if I expect to dance in a place that may not even have a cloakroom? I'll leave my lips natural, put some glistening balm, I prefer my lips nude when I have darkly made eyes. Maybe I should add a little blush... don't want to look so goth.

We're going to a Cuban restaurant I've been to for lunch before. I've never been to it at night, so it should be an interesting experience, although at this point I'd much prefer going to Guanabara...

All this does help the fact that I feel slightly jittery, I have those little butterflies - something I haven't felt for a long time, unusual. I'm looking forward to the evening and yet at the same time I'm dreading it. I'm not looking forward to the possibility that it may be a complete disaster. That we may be completely unimpressed by the other... I'd be so embaressed if I found that he didn't like me...

The worst part is, this isn't a date! It was never intended to be one! It's just two people who met randomly, got talking, swapped numbers and decided to stay in touch. I was looking for someone to come out with me for a few drinks and then we made plans to meet tonight instead. I didn't intend for it to be a date just spending the evening out with company - so why on earth am I so bloody well nervous?!

As her mind drifts...

She sits in the lab looking blankly at lists of reaction times in her testing. She knows it's meant to mean something, and that at some point she'll be able to look at it with some sort of significance. It will all mean something at some point. She knows that she'll be able to make means and stats out of it, using ANOVAS and such to compare groups and factors, to compare dominance and age of acquisition, compare geographical state and language. But for now, she is willing to stare blankly at it and not make any sense of the lists of numbers before her. For now she is willing to allow her mind to wander.

Winter has set upon London with its biting, gale-force winds, and although it is dogged by its rainy days, the spectacular sunny days more than make up for it, especially when walking over one of the many bridges that cross the Thames. The sun hitting her face in such a gentle fashion that it warms her only slightly even though she is rather toasty in her black drummer boy coat. It's days like these that make her wish she had cropped hair to feel the chilling wind through it and brush against her scalp. She recoils slightly when she remembers the terrible gales she had to endure when she walked through Regents Park one gloomy Sunday. She'd fastened her coat so high up, that all could be seen was the crown of her head. Being a tiny frame she was walking almost horizontal as she tried to make her way to the Hub, walking against the force of the wind.

Her eyes glaze over more as she remember the long walk she had along the South Bank one wonderful Sunday in the summer. It was a sunny summer's day, a rare one that year, and particularly pleasant walking along the Thames with an even more pleasant Scotsman who had such an affection for art and life. Walking through the crowds that had gathered round the Cuban festival that was taking place that day, finding the Banksy jewels that were strewn across the walls of the Tower Hamlets, as they walked to Embankment. She remembered how much she loved listening to his stories, holding his hand and watching the crowds bustle by.

Suddenly, in her mind's eye she sees a ray of light hitting a green, grassy hill, with apple and pear trees strewn around. Fruits ripening on the trees and so tempting to pick as she watches her neighbours walking their dogs or taking in the breathtaking scenery of the rest of the city from their quiet neighbouring forest. She climbs higher still on the hill and a dark cloud looms over her. She very foolishly begins to take pictures of the landscape before her, and slowly makes her way down the hill when she hears an omnimous sound behind her. She turns to see a blanket of pouring rain gradually making its way towards her and she begins to run. She is alone in the open field and makes for the forest of trees. Before she is completely drenched, she manages to turn her phone off, and take the only protection she has from the rain, her pashmina scarf, and wrap it around her head and camera. She doesn't outrun the elements and is completely soaked in her t-shirt and jeans. She wonders if she should wait under a tree until the rain subsides, and just as she tries to find shelter, lightening strikes above her head and in a spot very close to her. Her question is answered and she runs home for dear life, only to reach her front door when the rain finally stops.

Her mind then hits another image, an afternoon spring sun hitting a cherry tree in full bloom. A gentle breeze hits the tree and a spray of petals rains down onto the pavement. As she walks down the street there are rows of cherry trees and the pavements are covered in the delicate, pink petals, almost snow like without the cold. But nothing seems more magnificent than the deafening silence of a street covered in real snow. The muted life that exists when it is enveloped by this powdery magnificance. The sensation of lying in the snow and listening to nothing is truly awesome. Then being able to look up from her backgarden to find a fox jumping up and down in the field behind her, looking for prey makes her feel truly connected to nature.

She sits there with a curious smile on her face as her eyes remain glazed over. Being drawn into memories that she would never want to part with. She is finally home.

A wonderful holiday - shame it had to end

Yesterday I dropped my mother, sister and nephew at the airport. I had had an amazing time with them, and of course I left them feeling that I didn't spend enough time with them. I loved looking after my nephew (although it certainly sobered me up on ANY broody intentions I MAY have had), and I had a great time showing my sister the sights and highlights of London life. And of course I got to spend a (albeit marginally) little quality time with my mum. My sister was here for 3 weeks and my mother was here for 2. It was a wonderful time and it of course ended all too soon.



For some reason though it was extremely painful for my sister to leave. For the first time in our lives, my sister went out as adults and enjoyed a healthy social and night life. We went out to a gig, went out with friends, went dancing, and she enjoyed dinners out with people she hadn't seen in a while. She had had a wonderful holiday, everyone made sure of it. It was wonderful, and at the same time, understandably hard for her.



Let's put it this way, she had had 3 weeks where she could enjoy herself, leave her little boy at home with one of us (and he was very happy to stay with us) and do what she wanted. She met old friends and made new ones. Then she'd have to jump on a plane and go back to being a prim and proper wife and mum back in a country where there's diddle to do. I went ahead with my mum and the luggage in the car and my sister had to take the train with my nephew (there was no room and no baby seat) and as she phoned me to let me know she was on the train I could hear her voice cracking. I could hear her tears as she said, "I don't want to go." I knew that pain. She asked me not to tell our mum, but I knew how much it was hurting her to leave.



It's the same pain that I am absolutely terrified of feeling, tearing yourself away from a life you truly love and enjoy. She now knew what she was missing, and I'd been the one to give her a taste of it. I should have been more sensitive to it all, as I know what it's like when someone lets you know exactly what you're missing. But she had wanted a holiday she wouldn't forget - so I gave it to her.

Finding that balance of knowing how much fun to have is always tricky. It really depends on the person to find that balance, or learn to be able to cut off from it all. Maybe I'm talking nonsense - maybe I'm bullshitting about it all. How is anyone supposed to be able to cut themselves off from a good thing. I could hardly manage that when it came to some of the men in my life (t-shirt man). It's the tired cliche of "that's what makes us human." but really what else can it be? Responsibility is a bitch, and growing up is part of that. It's a painful process that forces us to make choices that we know we don't like or want to make (again another cliche).

I really wonder sometimes if I've done the right thing for myself by allowing myself to live here and lead this wonderful life. I've spoilt myself and can never go back to my old ways or home. I would not be able to fit in and I'd only be further depressed. I knew when I was 12 that I would have a horrible time moving back, I was right. For six years after that I was miserable, depressed and withdrawn from everyone and everything. I wasn't as social or as open as some and I know sometimes I gave my parents hell. Goodness only knows what I'd do this time around if I had to move back. Shave my head? Keep it constantly short and pixie like? Never get married and constantly go out with friends? Wear a dog collar with "Superior bitch" written on it? Get a tattoo - nah, too permanent and I'd change my mind straight after it.

For my sister, she goes back to a hubby (she took her son along for the holiday), for me it would be worse. I'd be moving back in with my parents. It wouldn't be terrible as I'd have my mother, who I love dearly, my problem would be my dad - how I dread that.

Under the street lamp is...

I wish I wasn't 26.
I wish I wasn't addicted to men.
I wish I didn't have a weakness for men who have sweet smiles, but even sexier voices.
I wish I didn't have a weakness for men who are 6'+.

Dr. Pete Finch tells Adison that he's going to kiss her, and kiss her with tongue so she can feel it. My mind drifts to that night, standing under the street lamp, staring into each other's eyes, our respective hands in our pockets. He stands there looking down at me with such a sexy smile. "I was just wondering if I could kiss you." It was probably from the sambuca I had minutes earlier which probably made me bug my eyes. I started babbling, but that didn't put him off. He leaned in and I could feel a pair of lips press against mine. I was quiet and I was lifted away...

I love that feeling. Those 'lamp light' moments where you can feel the tension, your heart flutters, your skin tingles. You may close your eyes but you can see what's coming. Your lips part in slight anticipation. Your curiosity reaches its peak, wondering how they'll kiss you, will it be good? Will it be earth shattering? Will it be like two slugs meeting in the night? Will he smell good or will he stink of garlic? Or worse, are you going to get hooked on him?

My hands never left my pockets that night, but they didn't need to. My lips were tingling and I honestly couldn't think of anything. I was lost in that moment. I want more of those moments. I will one day meet someone who will always give me those moments. Moments where my breath is caught in my throat. Moments where I cannot feel my toes because all the blood is rushing to my head. Moments where my hands want to be everywhere but can't because I only have two of them. Moments where I don't want them to end. I will meet someone like that, I just have to get past all the frogs first...