cosmicgirlie

spouting all the crap you never say out loud.

Beginnings

Pegs And Holes

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I Was just in the middle of blogging some crap, and didn’t really know what I wanted to say. So I deleted it. (Ahhhhhhhh censorship, I can fucking well do without that.)

Then The Mr literally just came in 20 seconds ago and said,

You know, you get smacked down so much. And you always get back up again. And I’m proud of you, because that’s really amazing. I just wanted to tell you that.”

(Not many people tell me this; not many people say those words to me, I guess because they don’t always see the smackdowns.)

I don’t get up nearly as fast as I like – I used to literally bounce right back up. But now I take my time, because there are lessons to learn, knowledge to gain, and power to use.

So that’s what I’m doing at the moment.

Everything on the surface looks a bit shit, but underneath? Holy crap, underneath there is SO MUCH going on. And I’m hanging on to that, because it’s giving me strength.

I’m not excelling where people seemingly expect me to excel, and I’m not doing the things people seem to assume I “should be doing”. Mostly because (as my now deleted post started), I wasn’t designed to do the same old stuff as everyone else. I’ve always thought differently, seen differently, approached differently – I’ve been hyper aware of how different I am. And thankfully, finally, I’ve come to realise that it’s probably A Good Thing.

I couldn’t fit in if I bloody well tried, and, I have tried so much. But that was my mistake. And I’m done with trying to fit in, because…well, I don’t bloody fit, do I?

They’re Just Flowers

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Ahw.. man. All the soloists got a bunch of flowers last night, and got applauded by the orchestra AND the audience. It never occurred to me to imagine what that’s like, because I’m so used to giving the well deserved recognition to other soloists. It’s the least we can do!

But to be on the receiving end of that…damn. To finish playing, and have people applaud you, and then you walk off stage too early cos you’re thinking “I really should clear off now, it’s someone else’s turn…” only to have someone (cello partner Sally) stage whisper my name really loudly, turn around and see you’re supposed to take the thanks, AND get some flowers…

To a lot of soloists, it’s standard practice. Maybe it’s the norm. Maybe it’s expected. But I could never expect that, perhaps because I’ve spent so long thinking I shouldn’t deserve that. I shouldn’t deserve the recognition, because it seems I’m an asshole of a person, and a shite cellist. Shouldn’t deserve the recognition, or the praise, or the simple act of being given a bunch of flowers as a way of congratulations, or even “thanks for playing”. That’s what I’ve been led to believe for how many years.

I’ve learned a lot during my time in the industry, and most of it was learned in the wrong way, which left me sad and broken, confused, hurt, and mostly, humble. BUT, I’m thankful for the things I’ve learned now, just since joining WSO in October. I’m finally starting to trust people in this industry again, and that’s taking a MASSIVE upheaval in everything I already know. It’s hard to change to something new, when you know nothing about that something new.

It’s hard to trust people in a world where you have never, ever, EVER known trust.

I’ve just put my flowers in water (yes it’s taken me nearly 24 hours to do so – I still can’t believe that they’re mine, or believe the reason they were given to me), and they’re an epic reminder of what I’ve battled through.

To everyone else, they’re just flowers. To me, they’re a bloody massive achievement. And it’s nice to feel cautiously proud about that.

*Emotionally exhausted face*

PS Thanks for sharing this teeny tiny journey with me. So many people said “you’ll be fine”, but the fact is, no one knew that for certain. Even The Mr and I didn’t know that for certain. (One day I’ll talk about The Bow Shakes, and the continuing Asshole Voices In My Head.) Those of you who knew of the Shit Storm, I cannot thank you enough for the genuine encouragement and support. I want to thank you individually, but right now I kinda wanna sleep for a week… 🙂

PPS OMFG MY NAME IS ON A POSTER, YO.

WSO Concert Poster

So A Bunch Of Stuff Happened

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I moved to a new web host. During that transition, I lost a bunch of shit, including every single blog post from 2015, because I forgot to back up my database. So all that shit about my dad getting cancer and dying, all the posts about my mental health, some stuff about our holiday in Jamaica, all the posts about random crap which I really can’t remember – all gone.

Also, whilst my site has been down for the last 3 months, I’ve been inundated with Silent Sunday requests. Is it coming back, will I be hosting it, can I pass it on to someone else, all kindsa GAAAAAHHHHH. I Still don’t know the answers, though I’m erring on the side of No, Silent Sunday will not return to my blog.

I don’t really know.

Anyway, shit hit the fan, I’ve cleaned up as much of the shit as possible, thought there’s still an awful lot of it left in some very small crevices. I don’t think I’ll ever get that out.

So I’m just going to carry on knitting my current jumper (because that seems to be My Thing at the moment), and remind you of my awesome children, in case you hadn’t seen enough of them over on instagram.

The Smalls, Polzeath, October 2015, Carmencita Film Lab-1

The Need For 3D People and A Mushroom Power Up

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A while ago, I wrote about struggling with the concept of the “{{{{{HUG}}}}}” and how much it meant (or um, DIDN’T mean) to me.

I understand the sentiment. I understand the purpose. But that’s where it ends for me.

I’ve become very aware of how much we hide behind our social media outlets, and how we use social media to “connect” with one another. “Oh, are you around? I’ll see you on Facebook, yeah? Or catch you on twitter.” I don’t belittle these outlets because let’s face it. Some of us live so far away from each other, these outlets are almost all we have. Without the likes of Twitter, Google Plus and Skype, I wouldn’t have found two of my best friends in California and in France. Added to that, I’m eternally thankful that I have this means to speak to them, without really speaking to them.

*Insert whinge and whine about time zones right here*

The problem is I crave the 3D people, but I’ve found that I need THE RIGHT 3D people. I’m a physical person, and like most other humans, I react with contact. I can’t see what’s going on with a 2D person, they’re so much harder to read. Sure I can take a text or a tweet or whatever and make of it what I will. I can look at their 2D photo and try to be reassured in knowing who they are. But at that time, with just a bunch of words on a screen in front of me, I actually DON’T know what they’re about, because my connection is reduced.

3D people are real people. I can read them, I can feel them, I can understand them, and so I can connect with them.

Once I leave this house, and find my own place to live, I wonder how well I will cope living in a world of 2D people for a while. I feel like my strength will diminish, and I won’t be very “effective”. Sure we can go out and meet up with friends for a coffee or whatever. But for me it goes beyond that. I need REAL 3D people and/or mushroom power ups, if I am to keep going. I need nuggets of energy to see me through. And I think a lot of other people do, too. Some realise it, some don’t. But I know for a fact that many others feel they have all the connection they need via social media. But like me, like I thought for a while, it’s because that’s the place where we can seemingly  get the most interaction.

As I said to one of my friends recently, I’d sooner travel for days for one cuddle, than instantly take 1,000 (((hugs))). I know what’s real, and I know what my power ups are. Those will help me stay strong for now.

Then there were the next shitty bits which I forgot about.

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This week, I told The Smalls, The News. I told them as best as I could (“Very soon, I won’t be living here any more, BUT you will still see me ALL THE TIME, and you can come and play round my house if you like, and I’ll still pick you up from school, and do your tea, and listen to you read, and do writing and dinosaurs and Doc McStuffins, and – Noah, it’s ok, there’s no need to cry, you’ll still SEE me, and I’ll still nag you to sort your stuff out, and tell you to pick up your toys! And I’ll still do French with you and stuff. Pardon Isaac? Yeah sure! Of COURSE there’s no need to cry, you get it, right? Sure you do. It’ll be fun! Yes, of COURSE you can bring Father Bear and your dinosaurs.”) and cried silently while Noah had a cuddle.

Because I have to be brave and strong for him, right?

I think, although the news sunk in immediately with Noah, he was pretty quick to understand that I’m not going far away. I’ve shown him houses I’ve been looking at online, ad have told him roughly where they are. He realises that I’m aiming to move, quite literally, up the road.

So…yeah. I’m moving out. And We have decided they will be registered as living with me. Originally, at the start of the week, they were to live here in their current home with The Mr.

And then I flipped my shit, because I realised that would pretty much make me feel like a nanny; pick them up from school, look after them until he returns, and then bugger off. Be their primary carer, without the title of primary carer. That didn’t sit well with me. So I had a minor rant, and verbalised with twitter a whole lot, and got some really fucking useful info. We can SHARE custody of The Smalls (I fucking hate the word “custody”, it feels taboo), and as long as it stays out of court (you bet your fucking ass it will stay out of court…) we can decide on shared custody in whatever way we please. I didn’t realise this before, though it makes me a lot happier now.

So, they will be living with me for the most part, though I guess they will do most nights in their current home.

I say that NOW, I have no idea how it will be once I’m out of this house.

SO THAT’S NICE.

I fucking hate being so goddamn lonely.

I think I was lonely all along, for aaaaaaages and ages, but deciding on separation kinda highlighted it. Which is pretty shit.

And then, loads of people are offering help and support (you really are fucking amazing, those of you who have offered or mentioned or whatever. Thank you). Which is lovely, but…I think because there’s SO MUCH going on, with a whole spectrum of family issues as well as Endings, I know I don’t yet feel there’s anyone I’m wholly comfortable with. I know that once I start talking, I probably won’t stop, and there’s just sooooooo so much built up.

So instead it comes out here. Into open posts, into photos, into private posts, onto twitter…it almost feels easier to spread the load, rather than try to talk to a small handful of people. I suppose it’s also weird because there are people whom I’m drawn to, to talk to, but can’t (for whatever reason). And then there are others so seemingly…desperate…maybe, to reach out. But I can’t let them near for whatever reason. The connections aren’t right, the vibes aren’t there, the words are wrong. It makes perfect sense to me.

In this last week, everything seems to be happening at a lightning speed, and yet I can’t get through this fast enough. Looking for somewhere to live, working out how I can support myself on practically minimum wage, wanting to get to the stage when crippling emotions finally start to lose their edge.

I’m that mom in the school playground, who hides in the corner not wanting to make eye contact, avoiding talking to people. The one you think is a stuck up asshole, too good to speak to others, but is in fact just trying to hold her shit together. Trying hard not burst into tears in the playground. Trying not to let others see her face because her eyes are puffy and horrible, and her face is already streaked with salt water tears.

I despise those moments, because they leave me exhausted, low, frustrated, angry – full of all the negatives. I won’t survive this if I’m full of negatives. I know there must be balance, I get that. But the scales are stupidly fucking tipped, and won’t stop wobbling.

I currently have no fear about where I’m going, or what I’m doing. I know it’s right, I know it’s meant to be. I’m ok with that. And I know that I haven’t got time to be afraid, because this is just the shit that I have to get on with. I’ve made my choices, including this bastarding path I’m on.

My feet hurt. I am tired. I’d like a Zimmer frame. I’m a fucking pussy, whining about shit all the time. Maybe I need a reality check. Maybe I need a break. Maybe I need to get royally shit-faced with friends and remember Life. Maybe I need someone to just stop, listen and hear me, genuinely.

Maybe I’ll just try to keep recharging, ready for the Next Shitty Thing.