Holy shit balls.
After a gruelling 24 hours I just had to go to the pub for release. Not good for the mono-ab I know but FANTASTIC for the soul!
You know when you have one of those conversations and connections that you wish could last longer than a brief chat at the taxi-rank? Yeah I had that tonight. Words that flowed probably free-er than you'd like to admit but what gives you the push again to believe in your spirit.
It's random and it's unexpected but it's awesome. It's true to assume that I am a nerd of words. Seduced by the power of the conversation. Turned on by the freedom of speech...
It's all about connection. You meet someone that has solidified their passion and their place in the world and they don't give a rat's bollocks what anyone else thinks. Jesus I crave to be that confident.
Okay so I might be just a little pissed but a wise man once said that that was the juice of creativity... opens the mind. Hence my verbal squirts here.
So.. to update you... had this fantastic splurge of inspiration, got it all down here, exposed my soul, bled my heart dry, even signed off all heartfelt and true, ran naked along Albert St (metaphorically) and what do you know? I lost the rest of my ramblings in the unstable environment that is the online world. Aww shit.
Now I'm too far gone to remember all the awesome things I said. Maybe it's for the best and they weren't that awesome after all. But not one to give up... I'll try and recap... just like a Sunday night Dukes of Hazzard episode... but without the tight jeans :-)
I have always wondered... why have I not had a relationship with a creative??? They GET me, they INSPIRE me, they talk like a song I could listen to on repeat and they bring laughter and reality to my world.
You all know me... I shirk the problems, am great at advice but shit at taking my own... then... when I finally emerge from hobbiton, I remove the invisibility ring of the real world, shave my feet and re-surface into the world of the unknown.
The life of the lonely creative. No wonder we drink.
So I'm sitting in my little study on my Friday off in my mis-matched jarmies listening to the rain... yes once again its raining on my cheeky long weekend and I'm feeling ever so slightly flat. No not FAT... flat. Almost a juxtaposition but not quite...
I'm a bit disappointed in myself to be honest. I started this wee story with such passion and commitment and fresh inspiration and yeah a little too much Pinot Gris last night and I was on fire. Fingers flying over the keyboard with the speed of superman, ideas and anecdotes flowing like perfect rivers from a fountain of literature... I was in writer's heaven... the perfect post and then...
It all went horribly wrong.
If there is such thing as an afterlife... could someone scrap up my lost words and dump them back in my brain because that's the only place I can think of where they went. They just... disappeared. Like the hot guy I had a crush on for ooh months at high school and finally ended up snogging in a dark corner of the school ball. Only to have him suddenly wipe off the pink lipstick, stagger off to the loo never to be seen again... leaving me sitting alone at a table, feeling more of a loser virgin with every excruciatingly long passing minute and wondering how many people saw my cheap undies while my legs were flailing about like a windmill in a hurricane.
Yes that's how I feel this morning. Gutted. And I know that it was just a little bit my fault. Being slightly pissy-eye (yes the downside of a lifestyle change is that booze hits your brain at warp speed and reacts with it like Woodstock-strength LSD.) I wasn't functioning as well as I usually am on this thing and didn't really take much notice of the non-responsive 'save' button until it was too late. As much as I rebel against the "do not get pissed and blog" rule - coz that's when it's really magic, the ramifications of blogging while smashed can be gutting - and I do feel like a tool. Because it WAS magic.
Okay sure you guys (all four of you) are smart cookies and can tell when Miss Stylz has had a wee too many drops from the jungle joose jug because her stories are insane... but that's why you're here and that's why you're my friends. Embrace the freak within :-)
Maybe I should have a drink... okay so its only 8.20 in the morning but what harm can come? It might re-ignite that particularly glorious creative flame I had blazing at 9pm last night until I passed out with my jarmie pants on inside out and a random twig stuck in my hair (I have no farking idea... if I can't find my words how the hell am I supposed to know how I got the ability overnight to sprout branches from my head - just another hidden talent I reckon).
Anyway... this wonderful story last night... it was all about me. Hehe. Actually it was about you lot, and creativity and love and the spirituality of being special and......... yeah okay I definitely was hammered but it was cool and very well written for someone that was typing on dual keyboards thanks to double vision. (Yes, yes I know... another talent - they just keep surfacing... like jobbies that won't flush).
On the upside... I AM shrinking. Not of old age but actually shrinking. My mono-ab is retreating at a rate of knots and my Angus Burger craving has all but dissolved (until just now.... DAMMIT). It's been just over two weeks and today is the big day of tape measures and scales. I'm a bit nervous but I'm confident... when you can actually sit down in your jeans and still have the ability to breath you know you're doing okay. When you can't cross your legs without your fly simultaneously exploding open due to the gravitational pull and immense pressure of the bulge... it's certainly nice when you can finally rise up from your chair without frantically grappling around your crotch to try and find where the fark the little metal zip thingy has escaped in fear to.
It's nice to peel off your jeans at the end of the day and not look like you've been hacked to pieces when you see the swollen red welt reminder that your body had punished you with for cramming it viciously into pants you have no business even looking at let alone wearing out in public.
It's nice not to have a camel toe.
It's nice not to have to find a top that is more of an illusionist than David Copperfield to hide a life-preserver sized mono-ab hanging over your skin-pinching waistband.
It's nice to put back fat behind me. (hehehe - oh come on that was GOLD)
It's nice to put on a bra for support and not have 14 other pairs of nipple-less breasts pop out around it.
And it's nice to wear undies that do not require a mining crew and drill bit to retrieve at the end of the day.
So all is not lost. Words, yes, braincells, yes, weight, definitely. The balls to get up and start again... never.
One word of advice before I embark on whatever surprises and inspirations the day may bring... SAVE NOW. Okay that's two words but hey I'm a giving kinda girl.
Stay cool, hug a new friend because they don't come around often in this world as we get older, and for farks sake have a bloody good laugh.
Peace
Skinnier Stylz
xxxxxxx
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