change my life

I've just got back from my first run ever in my life (except from the time I had to run away from a drunken Spanish groper on a Benidorm backstreet). I started off walking up the road away from houses so the neighbours couldn't see me wheezing and have a good laugh at how un-fit I am. Once I got away from habitation I broke into a jog, and wierdly, I quite enjoyed it. The sun was just starting to go down, and I ran along a path at the side of a field, and the green of the new grass and the golden sunshine was just gorgeous. I turned up my ipod (Ash and Kings of Leon) and just enjoyed feeling alive. I kept myself going by aiming for trees ahead of me; 'just get to that tree and then you can have a rest' and then when I got to that particular tree I'd pick the next one and keep going. I did stop once, but I reckon I did alright considering my lifestyle for the last ten years. Am planning to go again tomorrow after work, but I've got to go into town to get a birthday card for L before he picks me up at 6pm to go for dinner. Its his birthday on Tuesday and he's having a big party on Friday night. Have I sorted out his birthday present yet? Nope. I am so disgustingly disorganised.
Am writing this while watching American Idol. Its 70's week this week, and generally the song choices have been pretty wank. Before each contestant goes on, they show a short VT of them talking about what American would be surprised to learn about them. So far we've had drag-racing, gymnastics and punk band membership. If I was on this, what on earth would I say?! I can't think of anything. Surely the world is full of average people who don't have crayzee hobbies an just go to work, go to the pub, go to the supermarket etc etc? How come all I seem to come accross is people who spend their spare time bungee-jumping and potholing?
Anyway, enough of this stream of consciousness. Plan for this week: run at least three times, don't make any attempts to contact Big C (I can't take any more rage), and apply for the MA. At least I've got the house tidied today so I don't have to worry about that. Can't be arsed to do the ironing though.

Have been experiencing unparrallelled rage today, as Big C hasn't replied to the text I sent him last night.
Big C is my occasional lover. I've known him for years; in fact we went to primary school together, though he was two years above me. Obviously he wasn't my lover then, that didn't start til we worked together at a pub when I was in my first year of uni. We had a night of frankly outrageously filthy sex, and then I met L so all prospect of further filth was delayed until me and L split up five years later. But once we had split, it wasn't long til me and Big C found ourselves sharing a bed once more. Since then we've managed to get together every couple of months or so. He lives down south, and is something to do with the military and has to go away to Iraq or Afghanistan every so often, which makes it hard to see each other with any kind of regularity.
Initially the casuallness of our set-up was what I liked the most; if we were in the same place at the same time then great, if we weren't for a while then no loss. I liked getting out of bed, saying goodbye and having no idea when and even if we'd get together again. But all of a sudden I find the casualness of the set-up bothering me more and more.
Big C is one of life's good blokes. I trust him with my life, I know he'd never mess me around or do anything to upset me. At least intentionally. And the situaion is mostly of my own making. I've never given him any reason to think that I may see him as anything more than how I describe him here: an occasional lover. But slowly I have found myself thinking about him more and more. When he's away with the military I find myself thinking about him every day, and worrying about him, and feeling so relieved when I know he's back in the country safe and sound. And this is not me; I am not one of life's worriers. But I realise that I miss him when he's not here, and I look forward to seeing him more snd more, not only because he makes me come like no-one else can but because (and I hate to admit it) I like him. Bugger.
So I text him last night at about 7:30pm. Nothing big, just to say hello and how are you. Have I heard anything back? Oh nooooooo. He's famous for this; generally being wank at replying to messages. He's done it to me a million times, and usually replies 24 to 48 hours after the text has been sent. But oh my god! it winds me us something chronic. Its not like I want to enter into some big long text conversation with him, I just like to touch base every so often, but gaaaaaahhhhhhh!! REPLY TO YOUR TEXTS BOY!
But anyway, I went to the local pub quiz tonight with R and O, two good boy mates. Didn't talk to them about any of this; having had a hlf-hearted fling with R last year I didn't feel it appropriate, so we just drank and failed miserably to get a decent score. Had a good laugh though, and forgot about how enraged I was for a while. No jogging, quelle surprise.
ps. Text has just come through from Big C, 28 hours later. Silly man. Love him.

Today I've been contemplating the little lies peope tell. I don't mean whopping big porkie-pies, I just mean the little embelishments we probably all make to the details of our every-day lives slightly more interesting. I know I do it all the time. Par example: when people ask me what I do for a living, I don't say 'I'm an administrator in a nusing home' because its just too sucky and dull. Instead I say 'I'm an accounts assistant for a company based in ........' which is sort of true in a very round-about way, but is very definitely misleading. And even that doesn't sound great.
What started me thinking about this was talking to L over dinner tonight (a regular monday night occurance) about a mutual aquaintance who used to work at the same place as me. Ths woman, it eventually transpired, lied about everything. She told lots of stories about how her blood-pressure was dangerously high, she was on strict medication, the doctor wanted to sign her off work but she would struggle on to help us all out et cetera et cetera. This went on and on, embelished with all sorts of stories about performing first aid on a man she found collapsed in the street, winning £500 on scratchcards, being flagged down while driving by a woman who's small child was having a seizure blah blah blah. Finally she came up with some story about chasing down a mugger who'd stolen some old dear's handbag: this is the woman who for years has been going on about how she's about to drop from a stroke and apparently can't even climb the stairs at home because she's so ill. And we're supposed to swallow that this 58-year-old walking heart-attack had chased down and rugby-tackled some drug-soaked chav and held him down 'til the police arrived. No-one believed her, everyone had lost all respect for her, and she resigned not long after.
So I wonder what had made her tell all these blatant lies. She didn't make any financial gain from them, she didn't advance her career (what there was of it, she was a cleaner) and she didn't make any friends from it as we all actually reallly liked her when she wasn't spinning some monsterous yarn. The conclusion I drew was that she was so desperately disappointed in her own life, married to a man she obviously had no kind of relationship with, living and working in the same village she grew up in, no money, no chance of ever going anywhere, and probably felt like all her chances had passed her by. The lies probably just covered up her own embarrassment in her own life. And this is not a judgement on her; no-one's life is a failure and I never thought of her as anything other than a lovely person who for some unexplained reason had a tendancy to tell untruths.
Turns out (thanks to some insider knowledge from L) she had fallen in love with the son of a local farming family when she was a teenager, and he in return with her, but in some Romeo-and-Juliette style nonsense his family were a bit country-set fox-hunting hooray-henrys and didn't want him marrying the farm-hand's daughter. So their budding romance was thwarted and he married a more socially acceptable horsey type and she in turn married soon after. They then spent years indulging in some late-night fumbles in the back of his landrover, and apparently still see each other 'on the down-low' to this day.
Maybe its actually the greatest romance never told. I feel bad for her. She must spend a lot of time wondering 'what-if?'

FYI: still smoking, still drinking, done f-all jogging. Perhaps I am headed down the same path?

Following on from the last entry, I though it'd be wise to provide a bit of background.
I did what everyone does in my family; GCSE's, A Levels and then off to university. I didn't really stop to think about it, which in hindsight was my first mistake. So I did a BA in History, which was the subject I was good at rather than something I wanted to make a career out of (possible career: history teacher, errr... thats it). I had a good time at uni, met some great people, but in the summer before the start my final year, while I was back at home, I met L. I then spent the entire of my final year bombing up and down the M6 visiting him, and then moved in with him when I graduated. Looking back, the idea of having to be completely self-reliant after university must have sub-consciously terrified me and I needed someone to lean on. L was older than me, had his own business and home, so I guess he provided me with a ready-made life meaning I didn't have to forge out my own. I was offered a job doing administration at a nursing home in the same village, which paid a decent amount and gave me plenty of free time to spend with L. Really, looking back, I just devoted myself to L in a quite ridiculous way, I just completely absorbed myself into his life. None of this means I didn't love him, I really did, and he made me incredibly happy for a good few years, but I suppose gradually the stability that I must have been attracted to became stifiling and I ened up feeling like I'd nailed myself into a life I didn't necessarily want forever. We split up two years ago. Happily we've managed to reach a point now where we can be pretty good friends, so its all good.
Its just my luck to live in a pretty nice area, and couldn't afford to get my own place when I moved out of L's, so didn't really have much choice but to move into my parents, who only lived a mile up the road. Happily, the granny flat they'd built for granny (naturally) was vacant since good old gran had shuffled off the mortal coil the year before, so I do at least have my own space: bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. And my parents are pretty cool, they don't bother me too much, except to collect the (always late) rent.
So to sumise, nearly six years after gaduating, I live in a granny flat, make a living invoicing old ladies (all the men die before they get to the nursing home stage), and do the standard go-out-and-get-drunk at the weekend. Oh, I also do a couple of nights a week as a barmaid at an old duffer's pub in th nearest town. I'm not miserable, I'm generally fairly content, but I just always thought there'd be more than this. That I'd be more than this. Hence the decision that I need t stop lying around and actually take some action, otherwise I'm just a moaner with a computer.
So, what action have I taken so far? Well, today has been as follows; lay in bed 'til 11am, went to the supermarket, laughed at the chavs who'd rolled their Vauxall Nova into a hedge (all unhurt and standing looking sheepish at the side of the road talking to the police), had dinner with the parents and eldest bro, who was visiting with his kids, fell asleep on the sofa, ate tea, did some laundry. Thats it. Not productive in the slightest. And I've smoked four marlboro lights. A roaring start.

The negatives: I'm 27, I live with my parents, I've got a shit job I find it difficult to take any interest in, I'm single but all my friends are in relationships, I smoke too much, I drink too much, and I've reached that uncomfortable time when all the chips I've been scoffing for the last twenty years are finally catching up with me.
And the positives? I'm only 27, my parents are great, I have got a bit of cash in the bank, I have a very nice occasional lover, I love 43 and coke and I love marlboro lights (not sure how this is a positive but hey-ho), I'm not stupid, I do have pretty decent qualifications, and I'm not exactly fat, just a bit softer than I was.
Perhaps I should stop being so critical of myself, but there are some changes I want to make, and this is the time to do it. No ties, no committments, no financial restraints, no dependants. If I don't do it now, I never will. And the hope is that keeping this blog will spur me on, if only so that I have something a little bit interesting to write about instead of drivelling on about how rubbish my life is.
So, the changes. The aims for the next twelve months. Or at least the aims to work towards.
1. Quit my job. Not just to namby-pamby around and find another rubbish job to replace the current one. I'm talking full-on career change. I always wanted to write, so this is the aim; enrol in journalism MA or suchlike, hopefully to start in September 2008, and at least point myself in the right direction.
2. Stop smoking. Not much to say about this one really; its bad and its got to go. But other smokers will know, sometimes a marlboro light just hits the mark and its like.....ahhhhhhh!
3. I want to run a marathon. I'm not going to overface myself and book myself in for the New York marathon tomorrow, but its something I've always wanted to achieve so I want to start towards that. The aim is; be able to run a mile without passing out by June. See no. 2 for why this is a big deal for me.
4. Move out of my parent house. Hopefully to be achieved by no. 1. I love my parents but I'm dangerously close to being an official loser.
So thats for starters. I'll probably think of others as time goes on, but leaving my job and home and abandoning one of my favourite passtimes in favour of jogging seems like more than enough for the moment. Wish me luck. Or talk me out of it, it probably wouldn't be difficult.