Leaving on a Jet Plane

Don't know if I'll be back again....

Quite possibly this very one

Because the world might end with me on the other side of it.....

Or I might totally freak out on the plane and gnaw someone's face off for breathing too loudly or try to climb out of the window because "I can't fucking breathe in here..."

Or I might get in trouble in Dubai International Airport for looking a bit shifty or for trying to leave it when I don't have a Visa and I really don't want to leave it anyway, I just can't navigate my way around well signposted and brightly lit areas because scheduling anxiety makes me incapable of behaving like a rational adult and turns me in to a gibbering child...

Or I might get abducted by Morlocks, land eels or sky sharks... and forced to live as a slave before slowly earning the respect and admiration of my fellow slaves, rising up in a brilliant and successful coup to over throw the evil dictator, whereupon they will make me their queen ..... you don't know... it could happen!

So in case any of these things happen - I just wanted to say:-

"It's been emotional"

and

"So long and thanks for all the fish"




Obviously if none of these increasingly outlandish happenings actually occur, I'll just see you all soon.

Hope you all have a good Christmas (or festive celebration of your choice).


Jittery Pixie out

x

In the Seachange Nothing is Safe

I was struck recently with the memory of a survey I took a few years ago, in which I was asked to name the 5 albums that I considered to be most formative in my musical development.  As far as I recall these were as follows:-

• Nevermind - Nirvana
• Pablo Honey - Radiohead
• Superunknown - Soundgarden
• Meloncollie and the Infinite Sadness - Smashing Pumpkins
• Number 5 was either Smash by Offspring, Without you I'm Nothing by Placebo or Dookie by Greenday 

The Pixie aged 17 ...to date... now that I think about it

Aside from reminding me that I spent the majority of my A-Level years looking like a cross between Brian Molko, Justine Frischmann and that Brett chap from Suede (androgyny was very in during the late 90s - really it was), it also brought in to stark realisation that I am still far more of a grungy miserablist than perhaps I had realised.  Aside from my brief stint as a 'bit of a goth' (I'm still a little bit in love with Robert Smith) I have never really moved away from my love of this type of music - and I don't think it's all nostalgia.  My musical tastes may have varied and broadened but in times of self reflection, self doubt and self loathing I return to the staple misery mongers of old and often find them strangely uplifting. 

I was asked this week to 'put something happy on' [the stereo] whilst hosting a night of nerdery and I was shocked to find myself at a loss.... I couldn't think of anything happy that the Sideburns and I had in our not insubstantial CD collection... nothing... in the end I went with some fairly high octane electronica... not 'happy' per se but not soul crushingly miserable either.... I was complained at for that too because it was 'just noise' - the philistines!  Eventually I plugged in my laptop and we settled in to slaying evil beasts with an 80s pop soundtrack to time our axe swings to.

I think I am, by nature something of a melancholy soul.  A new study recently discovered that this is not an unusual trait.  Apparently those of us who are a bit creative are also a bit mental - and writers are the worst... awesome!  I do so love when new and exciting studies show what the majority of the population already instinctively knew to be true!  To grossly misquote a very wise man 'happiness is the enemy of creativity.'  We habitual sad sacks spend our time in the grips of crippling ennui, longing for a sense of peace, a happiness and contentment that we can only imagine  - it's what drives our creativity.  If by some miracle of providence we stumble upon that happiness, we lament the loss of our creative source, spiralling into an uncomfortable despondency, pulled away from the familiar friend we find in creeping despair.  It is the inevitable conundrum of the perpetually miserable wordsmith.

This does then rather beg the question of whether we are miserable because we are creative or creative because we are miserable - could we be happy if we were less creative?  If our imaginations could not take us to strange and magical places, would they be less inclined to take us to dark and foreboding ones?  If we were less creative, less able to imagine, would we even understand the meaning of happiness?  Gosh, I seem to have gone a bit 'Brave New World' here... how delightfully dystopian of me :)

My source of misery and despair is internal, my source of happiness and joy is external - there is an almighty conflict raging within this little Pixie on a daily basis.  These last few weeks however, while internally teetering on the brink of complete despondency, despair and dare I say it even a touch of depression, my external sources of comfort and delight have heard my internal cries and come to my aid.  The love that I have felt in this time, however disgraceful my behaviour may have been, the tenderness and true sweetness of my perfect and wonderful friends  has pushed me back on the right footing and may even be beginning to rub off on my internal conflict - just a little bit.

I am not ready to give up being creative, I shall always be a touch melancholy - existential crises fuel me - but I shall be eternally grateful for the people around me who make me feel worthy of being loved.

Thank you.

Pixie out
x

Never sleeping for want of Eating....

Reason notwithstanding the universe appears to be continuing on its merry way, oblivious to the fact that I am a pathetic dribbling mess of rubbish... the bastard!

The Pixie is a Sad Panda

Actually I'm pretty much ok at the moment, but  I do so enjoy a good drama - and being angry at the universe.

The lovely Mr Ben leaving for foreign and sinister lands has seen me weeping like a hungry, angry baby at his mother - who gave me a cuddle and plied me with wine and his father - who mostly stayed out of my way until the following morning when he asked me if I was feeling better... which I was.. .well played Mr Brooks Sr., well played.

Most importantly however, I managed to get the classic Han / Leia line in... in the airport through streaming tears and stricken grief .. .that's how awesome I am:-

Ben: "I love you"
Pixie: "I know"  *sniffle - blub*
Ben: "That's my girl!"

Yes I know it's the wrong scene, but the look on her face is how I felt
internally having just pulled off something really cool!

Since his departure, I have been taken out for wine and Thai food, consumed a whole bunch of gin and coffee with Ms Cat - who managed to have the perfect balance of sympathy, planning awesome things to do to occupy my time and telling me I was being a little bit pathetic; we also managed to run in to a man who was once described by the Cat's new housemates as a "smack head"  - turns out, not far off the mark... still it was interesting!  I have also had a variety of text messages from people asking how I'm doing and inviting me out for drinkums/roleplaying/tea/painting - I'm fine thank you everyone - and always happy to go for drinkums... and that other stuff... you have my number.. .so call me, maybe! (Blergh... I can't believe I just went there... I feel so dirty)

In other news, the Droning Land Slug is bludgeoning her way in to my fragile psyche again with her lard dripping, ham fisted, banana chewing with her mouth open, hidebound, bigoted, lacking in perspective or joy, slurping her yoghurt like she's some kind of food hoover, usual manner of oblivious stupidity.  I've only been back at work two days... oh dear!

Charity set up is going very very slowly... but going at least - so that's good... we're hoping to have things in place by January ... I honestly think nothing of significance is going to happen until next summer.... it's all just taking soooo long... stoopid paper work!

I also managed to scare a child so much on my way to work yesterday that he fell off his bicycle.  That's gotta be some kind of super power or something right?!?!?

Child Scaring, Better than I thought I'd be Pixie Out
x

...but You don't Really Care for Music, do You?

My mind is blown

I finally got around to watching Terrence Malik's latest cinematic offering - "The Tree of Life" last night.

For quite literally 20 minutes I was rendered speechless.

After that I could just about form words but was unable to structure them in a coherent manner.

The world around me had lost all meaning.  I was gripped by an overwhelming sense of ennui.  I was not left feeling peaceful by this film, as it had been suggested I might, quite the contrary in fact.  I was left feeling like a meaningless spec in an unfathomably vast ocean of other meaningless specs - but I was kind of ok with that.  It was really more resignation than peace.

Words are insufficient when attempting to describe this film - I could do it nothing more than a grave disservice.  Suffice to say, I know that I spent two hours of my life last night involved in something truly special.

I will not encourage anyone to watch this film for fear that were they not as overwhelmed by it as I, that I would have somehow cheapened it.  But it would be wonderful to have other people to gape open mouthed with (there is no real way of discussing this film) in wonder.

I will never need to watch another film again. 

I think not only have I ruined cinema for myself, but also my entire take on reality - I'm going to have to go and have a bit of a sit down and think about my life.



Awestruck Pixie Out

Ch ch ch ch ch ch check it out

I have made a new blog - despite yesterday's protestations to the contrary, after some discussion with the ever wonderful Captain Sideburns, it turns out a specialist interest-ish blog is not beyond my grasp...

It is here.

Go look at it.

Pixie Out

Real Men Hunt in Packs

I have been somewhat neglecting my poisonous pondering duties, of this I am acutely aware.  There is however, excellent reason for this... mostly I have been pondering the possibility of a specialist interest blog - in a vain attempt to move away from just being spectacularly self indulgent and hoping to write about something that people who do not actually know me might be interested in reading...

This has caused great inner turmoil for the Pixie. 

It turns out that any passing semblance to a specialist interest that I have is most definitely covered by far more qualified, talented and taller people than I.  My knowledge is simply not expansive enough to write about poetry or music.  I don't watch enough movies anymore to qualify for a film blog.  I considered comics and general geekery, but realised that this is an area the blogsphere is rather inundated with already.  I'm dangerously underqualified to write about mental health or therapy with any real weight behind my glib commentary.  I'm not funny enough to write a comedy blog.  I don't regularly practice any kind of witchery or general hippiness that much anymore, so am a wee bit out of the loop on that one.  I am, it transpires, quite distinctly average... how terribly dreary of me.

So, unfortunately, this means that you will have to continue to be subjected to my self indulgent ramblings every once in a while, combining a number of my distinctly average specialist interests with the dull sound of me whining and intermittently screaming... poor you.

Now then, where was I.....

Ah yes. 

Euro 2012....

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Up until fairly recently I had managed to live my entire adult life free of men who like football - ah those were the halcyon days... (they weren't really I'm just saying that for dramatic effect) 

However, it seems I now find myself living with two of them.

During Euro 2012.  (probably - I think that's what it's called)

I can't escape it.  It's everywhere.  It's on all the time.  There is advertising for it everywhere.  Even when it's not actually happening live or on the TV, it is still being talked about.  Drooling, over-entitled knuckledraggers are being fawned over and vilified in equal measure - as if they some how matter. GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH... it just makes me so cross!

AND THERE IS NO ESCAPE!!!!!!!

In other, less nightmarish news:-

We spent the Jubilee weekend with the lovely Mr Ben's parents - which was lovely.  We watched a lot of telly all about how brilliant the Queen is, interspersed with news reports about the telly we'd just watched about how brilliant the Queen is, interspersed with eating and drinking lots and talking about how brilliant the Queen is because we got to be doing all of that on a Monday and a Tuesday, when we should really have been at work - but the Queen is brilliant so we had 2 days off instead... yey Queen!

I also read a squawking article by Jan Moir (by accident - Ben's Mum is a secret Daily Mail reader) - about how women who cry at work are weak and should have their testicles removed or something... I glazed over after the red mist descended and I had to go and have a cup of tea and a calm down and talk a bit more about how brilliant the Queen is.

The ever smashing Miss Laura has asked me to be a bridesmaid in her upcoming nuptials, when she will become Mrs Matt (I've never even been near a concentration camp) Smith... ain't that just grand?!?!?  Once we can get around finding matching dresses that will suit a slender size 8 and a boobilicious size 12, I believe my main task for the event will be to stop the Bride from freaking the fuck out and hosing the attending guests down in a hail of bullets... or at least plying her with the appropriate amount of booze to calm her, but not so much that pole dancing around the elderly relatives seems like a good idea... phew, I feel I may have my work cut out!!!

I also seem to find myself embroiled in charity work again... or rather - the creation of a charity.  I'm not really sure how it happened - I wasn't even drunk.  Initially the whole thing seemed like a jolly good plan and I was terribly flattered to have been asked to be involved in the inception of what seems like a brilliant charity aimed at raising the confidence levels of younguns.... and let's face it, who couldn't have done with a bit more confidence at school?!?!?
So brilliant idea - totally behind it - working with people I know, admire, respect and adore - love it - really good opportunity etc. I've been designing art work for marketing campaigns, coming up with logos and playing around with branding, found an accountant who is willing to be a Trustee and do our accounts - all in the space of about 2 weeks.... when I first told Ben about it, he said 'that sounds terrifying'... and I was all like 'nah.. it'll be fine... we'll be aces'....

Yup... had our first meeting as a group on Sunday ... totally terrified now. 

There is a highly strong possibility that I am way in over my head.... At some point I will be discovered as a fraud and a charlatan once again and booted out of this Utopian society of creative minds and do-gooders... until then however, I shall work my little pixie socks off to make it work.

I'm also passing the inbetween worrying about other stuff times by worrying about the future...stoopid future... stoopid being happy and wanting more of the happy stuff and actually being in a position to achieve it at some point... Gaaah!
My mind may explode.... or I may fall victim to Eduardo Monteaz this very weekend in some kind of Agatha Christie-esque plot.

Either way, at least I won't have to watch any more football!


Quivery Pixie Out
x

You Were Always On My Mind

It's that one day of the year again when pretty much everyone in the western world is made to feel awkward....

This... this right here is exactly what is happening to the lovely Mr Ben and I...


Actually, I'm rather looking forward to my jar of hammers when I get home... less the removing of my hand from my face, however.

I am not in the least a super pro girly valentine kind of a gal, with the squealing and the wailing and the impossibly high expectations of the opposite sex's ability to read minds and have Hollywood ideals of what romance should be, which inevitably all end in crushing disappointment.

Nor am I the bleak cynical hater who waxes lyrical about the commercialisation of romance and how we're all saps for buying into the ridiculous charade. Why do we need one enforced day per year to express our feelings for another soul?

Well we don't.

Or at least, we shouldn't.

As offensive as it may seem and however much it may stick in your craw, perhaps we do. Perhaps we do need greetings card companies and wine makers, florists and chocolatiers and over-priced jewellers to treat us like idiot children and spoon feed us this mush...

Just think about it for a moment.

Do any of us actually take the time to tell the people we care about how much they mean to us? Do we tell them as much as we could? As much as we should?

As much as they need to hear it?

So what if we're reminded to express our feelings once a year by an industry with alterior motives. So what?

We could all do with a little more love in our lives... a little more kindness... a little less psuedo intellectual cynacism. Being intelligent doesn't mean sacrificing joy.

I'm not just talking about your spouse or your partner or your illicit lover, but your fellow man. The girl in the typing pool who always stocks up the biscuits. The man at No. 42 whose pristine automobile you admire every weekend as he's out there washing it. Everyone who you'd miss if they weren't around. Everyone who ever touched you. Everyone who holds a place in your heart, every hand you've reached out for. Everyone who makes the horrid drudge of daily life a little more bearable. Go hug them, smile at them, thank them, whatever - just let them know.

I'm not saying that you should rush out and buy your wife diamonds - but remember to tell her how much you love her, or that you still get a flutter when you watch her walk away... not because Hallmark told you to, but because you mean it... and you want her to know.

Yes, it's sad that this day has come to represent corporate greed and that any gesture or display of affection offered on this day is tinged with the bile of obligation - but if it weren't for this day, when would you next find the time to show someone how much you care?

If you are one of those people who tell those you love that you do so regularly, then good for you... you are one of the few people who can legitimately sit atop their high horse today and shout cynical anti capitalist diatribe at the rest of us as we panic and complain.

But for the rest of the population, go hug someone.

Lord knows we could all do with a little more human contact... just to remind us that the world does not have to be a bleak and unforgiving wasteland void of emotion and joy (even if you are too smart to fall for the commercial trickery).

Go rejoice in some love.

Cupid Pixie Out
xxx

PS. Awesome birthday last weekend - despite many of the group being ice bound - my friends and ever so wonderful boyfriend took the time to tell me that they loved me... by getting me drunk and buying me awesome presents :)

PPS. I had a dream last night about a baby hedgehog trying to have sex with my leg... it was very strange

Cause I'm a Liar, Yeah I'm a Liar!

Well hello there, intrepid adventurer -

I too have been off adventuring - hence the lack of time to write ... I say lack of time, what I really mean is 'crippling Minesweeper addiction.'

I know....

I know....

*shame face*


Anyway - in stuff that's been going on around me despite my little problem (I can totally quit any time I want)... We bought new mice. Barton, Megatron and Dave.

Dave's dead.

Barton is a warrior poet and philosopher king... as you would expect with such a name.

Megatron is a souless, red eyed, evil doer.
He killed Dave.
Ben doesn't believe me - he thinks Dave died because he would habitually urinate in his own food and throw himself off tall things... but I know the truth ... I'm watching you Megatron... I'm watching you... you and your cute wiggly nose...

Also - boy mice are smelly and throw their food all over the place and never make their own bed... much like boy people, as it turns out.

Ben is now not going to Germany in April (yey!)... but probably Canada in October (boo!.. and also yey!.. dammit!)... so I have a little longer to get around the whole 'being a total fruit cake' thing... and I've found myself a counsellor who seems like a decent and not at all afraid of me sort of a chap... which is wonderful. I've had counsellors in the past who have cried at me... this did not go well... apparently plumbing the depths of the Pixie's mind is not for the faint of heart.

My Mother managed to break her spine over the festive period... which was terribly clever of her.

We're convinced it's because she's after a bionic one now... to go with her bionic shoulder and bionic knee... they can rebuild her... better..faster... more capable of walking without falling over... any of these things would suit me fine if it means I don't get any more painicked phone calls from my little brother at 8.30 am on a Saturday after a heavy session the night before and a hangover that is gaining independent movement and rational thought....

I still don't think I've thanked the sideburned one enough for getting out of bed at that ungodly hour, driving to 'Nam, then to Bath, then waiting around in the hospital for hours, then driving back to 'Nam, then cleaning up 'Mommy Vomit' then driving back home, all without batting an eye lid and still managing to crack jokes and make my brother and I feel much better about the whole thing... you legend you...

Thank you for being so good to me... and my crippled and ginger family.

Actual Christmas was lovely - cheating at boardgames, consuming everything edible in sight - you know, the usual. New Year also was a delightfully drunken and well dressed affair - still totally chuffed with the lovely vintage number I managed to pick up in a charity shop the day before... go me!

So now I'm back at work - it's January and as such it's supposed to be awful and overtime-y and no holiday-y ... because I work for an accountant and it's Tax Return time...

(Make sure you get yours in people... lest the Tax Man Cometh).

It's really not all that bad at all (so far) I just have actual work to do for a change - instead of sitting on my arse doing four fifths of fuck all. The worst part is the incessant negativity, food hoover noises and inane jabber I'm subjected to on a daily basis... it makes me want to kill.... violently...and with fire...

Still on the plus side, I'm now BFF's with Henry Rollins and have immediately shot up in the cool ratings of most everyone I know (who knows who he is) by like... 1,000,000,000% ... or something... I'm now THAT cool! Ah. aging hardcore kids are so easy to impress... it's really barely a challenge at all!!!!

Also - it's my birthday soon... you should buy me a present... I'm delightful... this should be rewarded... also ... I like presents! :)

Not allowed to celebrate her birthday properly because it's in sodding January Pixie Out

xxx