Good Points, Bad Points and a Set Of Scales, please.

One of the things that I’ve been doing to help myself deal with this depression bullshit, is filter what I’m exposed to in life. At the height of my illness, some 12 years ago now, I was around negative people.

Primarily, my partner at the time.

Having spent nearly three years doped up to my eyeballs on anti-depressants (I seriously can’t recall much of that, it’s a bit disturbing…), I remember having a rare moment of clarity. I woke up and told him it’s over. I told him to go away. I told him to leave me alone.

It was a rare moment of realising that a good chunk of the negativity I was trying to deal with was coming from him. Which was a shame, because in theory, he was a really nice bloke. But the bad points outweighed the good.

I’ve learned a lot about that filter now. It’s taken me maybe another 8 years since then to get closer to my goal(s), but I understand far more that I cannot afford to let the negativity of life outweigh the positive. Hardly bloody rocket science, but it’s far easier said than done.

What, for example, do you do when there are people whom you adore, but you find yourself wondering if they are any good for you? What do you do when you want, so badly, to see all their wonderful positive points (of which there are many, I am sure), but more and more you find yourself fighting a barrage of negativity? What do you do when quite selfishly, you don’t want to cut them out, because you think they are awesomely awesome, but you want to maintain your sanity? Where is that balance?

I know I have so much more to understand of others and of myself. I know it’s not just about them. I know I need to find (and maintain) my own balance too.

But conflict. How do you deal with conflict?

It could be so easy to say “well person A has fucked me off more times than made me laugh, so they need to go. Person B, however, has been full on fucking awesome and rarely has a bad thing to do or say, so they can stay.”

Is it even fair for me to say that? (I don’t think it is.) Surely there needs to be balance of some sort, even balance of conflict?

There are people whom I adore, and want around a whole lot (more), but I don’t understand them. I don’t understand how to be around them, I don’t understand how to react to them and that fills me with conflict. Really, I shouldn’t even be stressing about it. I should just let nature take it’s course. But what if nature doesn’t take the course I want? What if, something I want so badly to work, is just destined to fail? How am I supposed to deal with that? Am I setting myself up for an inevitable fail, and should I just cut my losses before people get hurt?

Because people always get hurt. Always. It’s like, some kind of Sinister Law Of Sod, or something. And my instinct is to say something like “well, I can see there are maybe teeny tiny bad points, and a whole fuck ton of good points, but y’know, I’m kinda tired of hurting so I’mma just end it now and spare us all the inevitable hideous heartache.” It sounds like chicken shit, but you know deep down part of it makes sense.

I should learn to deal. Sometimes, I should probably learn to man up. Grow a pair. Toughen up. (Be more like a bloke? Umm…) Stop clinging so desperately onto the incredibly wonderful, heart-soaring, grinning from ear to ear like a mental loon moments and look at the shit that is coming at the same time. Open my eyes and be real. But sometimes I just can’t decide on that balance. Or I can’t see it. Or I can’t figure it out.

Or I can’t admit to being too chicken shit to admit what might be staring me in the face.

Living The Dream. Ur doin it wrong.

This morning.

This isn’t another one of those “WAAHHHHHHHHH WHY CAN’T I DO ANYTHING RIGHT” posts (well, it is, but heavily disguised), but lately, I seriously question what the fuck I’m doing.

My job, as a photographer, is questioned every single day. Every. Single. Day. And not just once a day, but pretty much every time I inhale. And I breathe a lot, so you know, it kinda adds up. As soon as I declared myself a professional photographer, just over a year ago (that transition was scarier than giving birth), it became my dream. You know how everyone has a dream, right? Rock star? Astronaut? Gynaecologist? Mine was (is) to be a fully fledged professional wedding photographer. Shortly after 2nd shooting my first wedding back in 2010, I started dreaming about weddings. Like, full on, proper dreaming about them. Dreaming about landing the most amazing photos from weddings of all shapes and sizes.

So I decided to have a fucking good stab at living the dream.

And my god, it’s not easy. Of COURSE it’s not easy. I never said it would be. No one did.

But sometimes I wonder if I’m living the dream, but doing it all very wrong. I am a wedding photographer. I am. But am I actually now living in that dreamworld and not actually bringing it to reality? Am I missing some humongous trick to make it to reality? Why, just out of curiosity, does it feel like I’m living my dream, but…something just isn’t quite right?

I think maybe it feels like I’m deluding myself. Like, I am living the dream, but it’s not a dream that can successfully be brought into The Real World. I know in my dream that wedding photography is all glitz and glam, and in the real world, it’s ball aching slog making everything stay together without some questionable stitching (thus, not falling apart at the seams).

So is that the problem? Am I living the dream in a state of reality? Am I living the dream at all? Am I a teensy bit deluded?

Answers on a postcard.

In Search of Perfection

I’m a sap. Despite my colourful mouth and sometimes hard as nails attitude (that’s my defence mechanism, I swear to God), I’m actually quite a sap. It comes from wearing that bastard heart of mine on my sleeve.

I wish I would’t, it becomes a right pain in the, er, heart.

A while ago I posted about becoming good friends with people, and searching for the right friend, and other soppy hit like that. Over the last 4 years or so, I’ve made plenty of new friends, which is wonderful. I’ve made some awesome friends, people who I think, quite frankly, are totally kick-ass. I’ve also lost friends, which has made me really sad. Drifted apart, changed circles (damn you social media networking bastarding shit), fallen out…it’s all taught me a lot of things.

Annoyingly, it’s mostly taught me stuff about myself. I hate the sort of friend I am. I jump in with both feet first, far too much enthusiasm, full of beans…and all that shit. I don’t expect it in return, that’s for sure. I know I’m a freak when it comes to things like this. But I do wish I’d stop it. I wish I’d stop trying to be perfect for people, stop trying to find that perfection in myself. Because it’s breaking my heart.

I very often wish I would stop getting so close to people; I wish I’d stop baring my soul directly and just leave it to the outpourings of crap here on this blog. Sometimes I wonder if my blatant (and sometimes terrifying) honesty would just piss off, and I could become the world’s most awesome liar. I wish I could be blazé; not really give quite so much of a shit.

I wish I could stop being so damn clingy. Stop being so fussy.

I always envy those who have laid back friendships, much as I envy those who can have such intense friendships and not feel guilty. How do they do that? How do they have (a) friend(s) whom they’ve known for eons and forever remain close without so much as a blip? Every time I find myself getting close to someone, I want to run, because I know it’s only a matter of time before I do something to make it all go hideously wrong.

Bah. Maybe one day I’ll win the lottery and just buy all my friends. I’m sure that would be easier on the soul.

And then Gordon Ramsay came along and made everything horny again.

You know how I wrote a while back about the beauty of the John Lewis ad? Well…

Gordon Ramsay did a spoof version. And it’s hilarious. I’d say Google It, but unfortunately I can only find this:

Damn you Channel 4.

Now, anyone who has known me long enough, knows of my stalker addiction knicker wetting love of admiration of cookery skills for mild love of Gordon Ramsay. I absolutely LOVE this advert, I found it fucking hilarious. The Mr and I were all confused when it first started, wondering if John Lewis had tried to out-do themselves by creating a sequel (please don’t, John Lewis, I can tell you now it would not be a good idea).

I, personally, would love to have Gordon Ramsay boss me around in the kitchen (maybe while I flounder around with a big piece of meat Christmas ham), and obviously, I started tweeting about it.

And then this happened.

To say I damn near wet myself is an understatement. But yes, there may have been a moment or two taken to refresh my knickers.

Obviously.

The Mr and I both have crushes on Mr Ramsay; he, a healthy man-crush; me, a dirty, fuck-me-sideways, say-my-name-and-make-me-call-you-daddy, I-want-to-hump-you-senseless kind of girl crush. In a pair of FMBs.

I still stand my ground about what I said, re Gordon Ramsay. “He’s going to make sure he does the job properly. And then will want to do it again, just to be sure. And then, probably again, just to prove a point.” You know it’s true, right?

And then, as if to prove my point, the fucking awesome Kat of 3 Bedroom Bungalow tweeted this.

As if I wasn’t laughing hard enough, The Mr then suggested I “slap him with a piece of bacon”. Cue “laughing til I nearly puked” and The Mr reduced to hiccups.

Needless to say, Mr Ramsay hasn’t tweeted me yet (mind you, the real heckling hasn’t started yet, though I’m hoping to not go down the same route as #TweetMeStephenFry). Maybe I should tweet him while wearing an awesome push-up bra, super cleavage and maybe a photo of my arse.

Win.

I Love Cbeebies.

Truth be told, I actually love the Cbeebies presenters.

That’s a lie.

I love Sid Sloane. In fact, I “heart” Sidney Sloane.

I <3 Sidney Sloane.

I wasn’t even hopped up on painkillers, but on Thursday night I had a dream that Sid and I were fighting in battle. With weird Samurai Dungeons and Dragons style crystal studded ninja axes. They were pretty cool.

Anyway, I nearly beheaded Sid by accident, and I was OBVIOUSLY mortified. So by way of apology, we decided to make out. Only, I’ve just had a tooth extracted, haven’t I? So making out would be REALLY gross, right?

So I gave him a back rub instead.

FYI Turns out Sid has a lovely back. Who knew?

Anyway, I admitted on twitter that I fancy Sid Sloane. And I’d give him a back rub ANY DAY. I wouldn’t even charge him for it. However, I’m wondering if I should tell him I’m not a celebrity stalker.

Funnily enough, Sid hasn’t accepted my friend request on yet. I think it’s because I asked not to tell him , but it turns out .

I reckon he did it because .

You and me Sid, you and me. Everyone just watch this space.