Well I feel so free!
Hmm what you do to me!
What you do to me when we do the Eagle Rock.
~ Eagle Rock, Daddy Cool.
I realise in this moment of time that this is going to be the last blog post for the year of 2014.
Since I am currently living in a household described as ‘Entering With Own Caution’, I have realised the best way to finish the blogging year off. And that is to listen to the same song that I played when sitting down and starting the year of 2014 off.
While Daddy Cool sings about doing the ‘Eagle Rock’, I am having what you would describe as flashbacks from this time last year as I sat in the sunroom. With everyone running circles around me getting ready as I sat there in my swimmers and what everyone thought was my dress, I was editing the last part of my blog for it to be uploaded.
I would soon regret my decision of not having a glass of water and something else to eat before leaving the house. Due to the reason that if someone hadn’t invented the camera, I would have certainly not believed what my parents were telling me as to what I had done. Because all I can remember was sitting down and learning the basic of ‘how to ride the bus’ and then waking up the next morning, complaining of how tired I felt.
At the present point of time, I am listening to Lois’ choice of 80’s music and can I just say as her daughter, ‘what the fuck are we listening to?’. Some of the shit she is playing should personally have stayed in the 80’s and not be allowed to make an entrance into the thousands and that our speaker should be not allowed to go to 30. The image of Lois swinging her arms from side to side while popping a hip or someone else doing that and considering it as a dance move, makes me shudder in horror.
However in the past of last year and not listening to ‘Dance Hall Days’, I was about to experience my own kind of horror as I peered through the curtains and felt the sun stream into my tiny fragile eyeball.
Squinting in pain, I groaned ‘what the hell happened last night’ as I had no recollection after sitting down and playing cards. Lois, the ever loving mother of mine, showed me what had happened during the late of 2013 and the wee hours 2014. And the only thing that I can say without incriminating myself is that I hoped everything I saw was photo shopped.
Safe to say, it was not photo shopped.
As my mouth dropped with each photo being showed, it was in that moment of not being sure whether or not I liked this side of myself, I decided I wouldn’t be found in the same situation. That wishful thinking I had was soon short lived as I found myself dancing for six hours and randomly touching an Irish lad’s hair. Not to mention my half drunken conversation about Sweden and Norway and how different the countries were from Australia.
Fast forward a couple of months and I found myself once again in a similar situation except my pyjama pants were dangling off the fan. Once again not remembering what had happened after waving Lady Blacksnot off for the evening, all that I remember was settling down to write my assignment, post two glasses of wine.
After much deliberation of whether or not I wanted to know, I crawled into bed next to Lady Blacksnot and groaned as I slipped my sunglasses down over my eyes. The messages on my phone suggested that I had a grand old time the night before, while I was typing my assignment that I remember getting me a distinction for it.
I don’t remember having a discussion about boobs and vaginas with Lady Blacksnot as she went into the city and her admitting to stumbling out of a nightclub and spilling condoms in front of a bouncer. Needless to say knowing me, I probably would have ended up laughing hysterically. It was after scrolling through my messages, I got a douse of cold water going down my spine as I clicked into The Sheriff’s messages and waited with anxious breath as I typed, ‘Did I send you any text messages. Curious’.
The breath I had been holding was released with a whoosh as I read, ‘No’.
As much I vowed that I would never ride the bus again or have compromising photos of me throwing my bikini into the air at the stroke of midnight, I haven’t regretted the moments I’ve shared with Lady Blacksnot this year. Some of the many moments that jump out to me is when I was gifted with the taste of freedom that I had been presented with many of times but didn’t necessarily want to take.
Kicking me out of my comfort zone and when staring at the shining lights like a stunned deer, I was supported and comforted. Not only by LBS but also by a very funny and caring, Mr. R who is certainly a favourite of mine. Even more so when he dances with brides and then proceeds to seagull them for our entertainment and grins at us. During this time, I never had to fear from being propositioned by drink guys asking for a threesome after having a friend tell them that myself and her are looking for some fun.
At a cost of course.
Going out with LBS several times over the past 12 months, I never once feared of having my drink spiked while I kept a seat vacant for her. Or having her offer some random the opportunity of him and his friends having a gang bang and if she passed out, then I would be more than willing to step in. And when the moments got tough with uni and I felt like singing the lyrics to ‘What About Me’ while clutching drunkenly onto a Corona or a martini, the promise of vodka chocolate cake kept me going.
Finally after months of promising that when the university year was over, LBS had handed in her thesis for her masters, I had come out of my exams somewhat unscathed; we would collapse. It was shortly before I made my way to The Little White House for some R&R and to get away from my house mates, I received a text. However, it wasn’t just any text but it was the text that I had been waiting what seemed like ages for.
‘Vodka + Cake = Free?’
Before I knew it, I was up from my place on the floor and throwing things into my overnight bag. I was ready to leave the wife at home or in my case, the ball and chain and I was heading off for a wild night on the town. Following the directions given, I made my way to the woman who had fun tucked up her sleeve along and the knowledge that my cravings for burritos/tacos would be cured by the end of the night. When I arrived at her house and after greeting Mr. R with a cuddle, we got onto the talk of my epic walk of shame I had done within my own house. Much to the amused laughter, side glances, shaking of heads and the blush settling its self in my face.
And while LBS cooked dinner and therefore turned her mind off from the conversation, Mr. R and I spoke of how someone would commit a perfect murder. Looking at the cook who was nodding her head to whatever was in her head, I glanced at Mr. R and smiled slowly and watched as his face went a shade whiter. It was then in that moment of horror and amusement, I informed both the cook and R how I would commit the perfect murder if I had to kill someone or write a crime thriller.
Considering I have written stories in my past, not that I am going to share them with you, I had the perfect alibi, setting and disposing of the body. Leaving Mr. R pondering while what he was thinking was displayed across his face and LBS shook her head, I dusted my hands off and started piling my plate like I had just been discussing the weather. When asked how I had essentially thought of how I would murder someone, my reply was “I’ve had time to think about it for the past six months. Besides, I’m a nursing student’. In essence, I don’t think my course coordinators should have allowed me near textbooks since starting my degree because I have found some pretty interesting information that has been stored away.
No need to fear dearest Reader, you can pick up your mouth from the floor before a fly flies in. And you can put down the phone that you are about to realise that you have picked up without thinking. The reason why I have collected and stored this information away is because whenever I wish to take up writing again, outside of my assignments and blog, I plan on writing a thriller. I’m over writing stories that I would soon grow tired of and wish for someone else to take over. In fact my last master piece that I got several chapters into before stopping as the boredom had clicked in was something along the lines of this.
Let out a moan and clench vagina with repetition, breaking every five seconds between each tightening.
Pull fake orgasm face, clench muscles and shudder.
I clenched my muscles and lifted my back off the bed as if I was trying to do some type of yoga position and let out a massive scream. If I had been an actress, I’d have been nominated for an Oscar for most realistic effect.
If I may say so myself, it would have been a hit if I hadn’t grown bored. A story written for every woman on this planet because I hate to admit it for my male readers, there has been a point in time where nearly every female has faked it. And if you haven’t been man enough to ask or your wife/sister/girlfriend/lover has told you, allow me to tell it to your face:
One: you suck.
Two: When are you going to finish because I’m starting to get tired and bored.
Sorry to burst your bubble if you think women don’t like a little foreplay, words being whispered into her ear as you take off her clothes or being kissed sensually. Because I happen to know that turns women on along with the looks you give us when you don’t know we are watching you.
Compared to it simply being about you, what you want and you getting off at the end of the night. That my friend, is a massive blow to our feminine ego and causes plotting ways of how we are going to cut your balls off when you least suspect it. And in some cases, those who have no qualms at all end up finishing business while you sleep, dreaming of shares and mergers.
Another thing that had evolved over the past several or so months is my ability to openly discuss things with you, my reader and viewer of curiosity. Some of the major conversations that I have had both with friends and family to Peter have all been inspired from previous blogs.
I have openly stated that I have thought many a time of dropping my degree and walking away from it. And when facing the idea of going to clinical placement, I made a pact with myself. If I failed clinical placement then I was dropping out of uni permanently and I would be signing off my blog. However if I passed, I would go cold turkey from alcohol while picking myself up off the ground.
And in return, I would enrol for Semester Two classes and continue writing my blog post.
The moment I was told that I had passed my clinical placement, the tears that I had bottled away from October 2012 right through to March started to fall. And my resentment for my clinical placement facilitator was born for a few minutes as I grieved my chance of walking away without a backward glance.
However, my appreciation that she had noticed my potential as a nurse who she hoped one day would look after her as she lay in a hospital bed was born. And with that, the determination to strive and succeed was born as I hysterically cried in the hospital walkway, as if I had just been told someone had just died.
Someone had died that night and it was the old me.
As a result, my first semester at my new university wasn’t exactly that crash hot when I looked at my GPA. But the hope of picking up my GPA was placed into practice as I studied hard, partied less and concentrated on the thought of needing a GPA of 5.5 for medicine. And that motivation allowed for my GPA to rise when I received my exam results for Semester Two and the enrolling of my Year Three, Semester One subjects to begin.
During these months, I realised that I need to start letting things off my chest that I had been holding onto for years. And as a result, I ended up penning a blog to my cousin, otherwise known as The Golden Haired Child in my blogs and admitted to you, that I suffered from a wide range of disorders throughout being a teenage and now into being an adult.
I discussed my battle against my eating disorder and the urge that I get to go on a drastic diet to change my ‘outward’ appearance because the voice in my head is telling me that I am no longer perfect in another’s eyes. Which isn’t helped with suffering from depression and the moments of relapse where I don’t go out past my front porch to my apartment or the mild panic attack I had when shopping.
Finally before admitting how I contemplated taking my own life because I could no longer tolerate or bear her thoughts and opinions as to how I should act or look. Instead, I decided on being the better man after admitting that I had better looking tits then her and thanked her for all the bullshit she had put me through. Because I suspect that if I hadn’t been raised with a backbone nor dealt with her beliefs, I wouldn’t have been the person I am today. And in a way, drove myself into wanting to both her and my Grandad wrong after being told that my life would become nothing and essentially, I would become nothing.
Simply for the fact, I would not have a university degree hanging on my wall.
After penning my thank you letter complete with public bashing of how she treats people, I turned my attention to various other subjects I had wanted to discuss. And one of those subjects I had been itching to splash on your screens but resisted because of a various reasons, both you and I read about my thoughts on sex. Lots and lots of sex.
I stated in my blog that both you and myself were going to discover what the true meaning of sex was and with that, the joy of living outside of the box. Essentially calling it my moment in time of ‘living like Samantha Jones’ while enjoying the thought of some day living in Carrie Bradshaw’s closet of dreams. It all started when the curious thought entered my mind one morning while attending lectures as to what people did while attending lectures, when four people innocently confirmed my beliefs and suspicions.
Having admitted that I have sent snapschats here and there and reading my emails purely based upon sex, these four people kept me entertained with what they were doing. As these people decided from a variety of what dress would look amazing, proving to parents that education was not being wasted to some guy watching porn, I was fairly entertained along with you. Which funnily enough, I received an email after posting that blog reminding me that looking at subjects other then uni work i.e. porn, would result in my account being shut down. And punishment being applied as seen fit.
However these are just some of the many moments that have inspired me along the way. Which have resulted in some decent and not so decent blogs being posted and for your curiosity to be fulfilled. And now instead of talking of the past, it is time to talk of my hopes and dreams for ringing in The New Year.
My hopes and dreams are to spend dancing to some exotic song that makes the blood pound, the body crave before being swamped in a cuddle that would fit a bear. After fighting my way out of the bear hug, I would have ‘Happy New Year’ muttered into my ear as kisses are placed across and my face. And when crawling into bed within the wee hours of the morning, I shall reflect upon the new beginnings of what the year will bring for me and what lies ahead. Before hoping and praying that there will be less hospital visits for myself as a patient and the exciting new prospect of out stepping my box of comfort once again.
I think that my hope and desire is reflected within an email that The Universe sent me, so kindly one morning. ‘Oh Scarlett, how I love the morning dew on my face, the midday sun upon my sky, and the fragrance of jasmine wafting at twilight. The infinite perfection conveyed by all my physical senses of every moment of every day. Even now. Thanks, Scarlett because it weren’t for you, such ecstasies I would never have known. Work that body’. I think even The Universe knows what is in store for me and I can honestly say, I am anxious and excited at the same time.
So now comes the time where I sign off but before doing so, I wish you all the best for ending of 2014. May the hitting of midnight and therefore a new year bring both you and your family good luck, wealth and prospect as well as good fortunes and health.
Till the first of January 2015, I shall sign off.
Until next time,