Viva La Diva

I am no stranger to a dance floor, a few (no need for specifics here) glasses of wine and generally going out gallivanting and tarting around in my favourite wardrobe gems.

These last few months I really feel I have come out of myself - and whilst I know I am beginning to be known for my party girl antics I do not necessarily feel it's a bad thing. I manage to keep on top of my responsibilities and whilst spending 5 days a week in college and both days at the weekend working I don't particularly think I should feel any guilt in going out and partying (frequently).

For me the biggest (and best) part about going out is getting ready - or rather creating the outfit. Staying true to my mantra of "every day is fancy dress dah-ling" nights out on are just an added incentive to push this just that little bit further. Call it attention seeking if you will but I like to create a reaction when I go out - my appearance is a huge expression of self and I'm very fortunate in that I can display my biggest passion on my personage and communicate that about myself. I like to be slightly over the top in a sense that is almost self deprecating expressing my playful qualities.
This Saturday I rather took this to another level, in the usual head to toe 40's pin up styling, customary sunglasses in a dark nightclub and a recently addition of a black lace fan I then decided it would be a rather good idea to get someone to write (in permanent marker no less) "Viva La Diva" across my chest. I am a camera whore - there is no point in me denying this and so felt the marker pen brandish made a lovely little addition to the monotony of drunken pictures.

It's a shame some people don't understand my sense of humour. When I came back home and mentioned my antics on Facebook (as one often does slightly intoxicated). I got a message from a friend who said she'd happened across a Twitter post of an acquaintance of hers reading "Just seen someone with Viva La Diva written across her tits - aka I have an STI". Well I found that quite simply charming. Despite frequenting places that are supposedly "alternative" I then quickly came to realise that even though my eccentricities may be more accepted (tolerated) in certain genres of institution there are always going to be those who don't quite get it - or feel the need to mock in order to get one up. Personally I feel that was an expression of insecurity on his part- he knew what he couldn't touch *bats eyelashes and pouts*.

... I feel next week I shall go out with "Fuck You Jonno" written across my "tits" instead.

Home Cooking

My kitchen ceiling happens to have collapsed and now sporadically leaks water from the bathroom above on to the floor. It was a joyous and rapturous discovery.

I often feel guilty about the very litle amount of time I seem to make for my family - it certainly isn't for lack of wanting to see them, just one of the downsides to having 7 days of 7 occupied with unavoidable commitments. One day leads into another and before I know it - bang - I hadn't actually been back to visit them since Christmas. So it came as a nice excuse did having my ceiling explode to move home, however briefly, and spend time with them.

Whilst I lived here permanently I couldn't wait to get out - every last little thing became an irritant; I could not wait to have my own space, the freedom to do what I pleased, eat what and when I felt like (ditto consume vast amounts of alcohol) and generally not have to be answerable to anyone but myself. Once I moved out to Fashionista Towers that liberty was amazing but a few months down the line the realities of being responsible did hit home a little more, bills do not pay themselves, food does not buy itself and when houses being to fall apart (quite literally) it takes a lot of swearing at landlords to get it sorted pronto. The grass is always greener as they say.

I had been feeling rather stressed of late, my new home is beautiful and I love my life and lifestyle very much but sometimes it can all be a bit too much of a good thing. Giving two nights of my week for having to sacrifice the space to do the things I can't do back at my Dad's (ie. go out drinking midweek, smoking inside, playing loud music, eating as much or as little as I want, being able to be completely alone if I felt like it etc) has certainly been a fair trade for the constant laughter I have exhibited since I arrived, the enjoyment of food made for me that that hadn't been prepared in either a toaster/ kettle/ microwave and wasn't consumed straight out of the packaging, the washing up being kept on top of, a working bathroom and being surrounded constantly by people that love and appreciate me.

I miss home in many ways. Last night I felt like I had instantly shaved years off my life, curled up at 8.30pm in bed with my sister wearing out sized pjs, eating mini eggs, watching a teen movie, being brought a cup of tea and being asked what time I wanted waking up in the morning and being given my bus fare. It was rather blissful.

However I know that much longer and the sugar coated idealistic view would wear off and the arguments over who's left damp towels about/ eaten the last yogurt/ not emptied the dishwasher/ used or stolen such a thing/ forgotten to feed the pets/ not sorted the washing out/ lost the remote etc would be back in full force and we'd generally very quickly get on each others nerves (as all normal functional families do). I like being answerable to myself because I do respect my father too much to just go off doing what I pleased living under his roof and my independence means a great deal to me.
I don't believe that now and again going back to this child like state is a bad thing - we all need parenting from time to time and I feel very blessed that I have here as an escapism - it's a beautiful and much treasured resource in my life and I know I am very lucky to have them to turn to.

They tried to make me go to rehab and I said .. "yeah alright then".

It's been a while.

Time spent away in such a beautiful setting in the Lakes was just what the doctor ordered (and in terms of my leg quite literally). It felt rather odd actually because it was the first time in my 21 years of life that I was to be spending such a long amount of time on my own with people I had never met before. It has worked wonders for my hip- I went in bent and twisted leaning heavily on a crutch (incorrectly used) and two weeks later I walked out straightened out with just a walking stick (on the correct side) and feeling a hell of a lot stronger and replenished. I met some absolutely fantastic people from all different backgrounds and each with their unique story and we shared many many hilarious moments - particularly our group of four being labelled as the rebels, pulling ridiculous practical jokes and inflicting and recieving a wicked amount of teasing (or in my case just being a constant recipient haha).

My original intention was to keep up writing daily whilst spending time in rehabilitation, but almost instantly after I arrived I realised this wasn't really going to be feasible, time was going to be constructed to intensely focused on my health and well being... I felt suddenly well and truly catapulted out of the daily charade that is my usual life and literally left stripped down to just me, myself and I. It didn't sit too well at first.

It felt completely alien to stop life - suddenly I went from being a full time student with a weekend job, busy social life, wardrobe styling/ modelling work, constantly on some creative project, fitting in therapy appointments and enthusiast of my hobbies to just being - Ruby in a room. I spent the first hour I go there not knowing what the hell to do with myself - I unpacked and rearranged my room, hobbled around the grounds, chain smoked and got really rather restless by tea time. It was very difficult to ignore all the things that somewhat had got suppressed in my head by having such a crammed life and throughout the week they did seem to come up to the surface - but the absolute beauty of that was that in there I had the time and space to address things, take time to think things through, cry if I wanted and not have to worry about having to pull myself together because of some commitment I had to attend or address in the very close future. I feel I healed on many levels and although the transformation might not have been so clear to everyone else I have myself felt a massive shift - it is quite amazing what a short vacation from life can do - even if you didn't feel there was anything particularly wrong in the first place.

It gave me a lot of food for thought and I had to look a lot at the way I had been living my life - or rather the conversations I was having in my head that caused me to behave in certain ways. It did make me face up to what I had potentially done to my body as a result of my eating disorder and was the final push I think to believe that it was time to put all that firmly behind me. I had time to process and to forgive myself and coming home that process continued. I've found it difficult to write because my head has been very much in a whirlwind and trying to settle through this transition. I discharged myself fully and finally from the eating disorders service just last week and I feel proud to be closing that chapter on my life.

So here I am - refreshed and revitalised, healed and hopeful, back and blogging :)

Smile And The World Smiles With You

You know when you're in one of those "lets experiment with the world and people" moods (no? okay .. just me then that gets that haha). Well I was today, it hits me mostly when I'm going somewhere and will be spending a significant amount of time waiting around or on public transport.

Now I know my appearance in itself often generates a reaction when I go out - I'll either be pointed and laughed at or someone will very kindly let me know how I look nice; so those reactions are interesting in themselves when reading people but I like to push the button a little further in sometimes.

I love getting on trains even if it is to bloody Nelson to see my dietician to be lectured about milk decomposition for the 4 millionth time (...rant off). The journey is about an hour long on account of the fact the route is a stopping route calling at every station along the line but rather than be irritated by the lack of fluidity to the journey I like these changes - as it refreshes the calibre of persons to observe nice and frequently. On each ride I like that there are the "regulars"; always students wearing hoodies and thier iPod on texting away, the suits having what appear to be important phone calls and sat with on leg on the opposite knee revealing Simpsons socks that you so know some relative bought him for Christmas, the young harrassed mother with a toddler in a pram with a chocolate smeared mouth and another youngster playing hell running up and down the carriage and then the mixtures.

I have been in a positive mood all day so today's testing of people came very simply in the form of smiling a big warm smile at the people who's eye I managed to catch. I like to connect with people that do look a bit wrapped up in their own worlds or I'm sensing stressed or worried vibes from to see if they react to my bit of warmth. And it does tend to be a very split reaction - people either look away awkwardly like "okay.. I'll just avoid this manic looking ginger chick" *shuffle shuffle* or they do smile back - and that gives me a lovely inner glow. I actually said to one girl at one point (as she had been rather aggressive looking so I felt the need to reinforce that I wasn't some weirdo and therefore she didn't smash my face in) that it was so nice when someone smiled back and after that for the remainder of her time on the train she carried a little half smile and smiled at me fully when we looked at each other.

I also happen to be a fan of knitting on the train and a dear friend of mine and I have a little giggle about me being Nana Ruby, beady eyed watching over people over her knitting haha - and I can't deny it's true. Like I do at work with customers when I am on the checkout I like to make up little stories about them, their names, occupations, where they're going and then try to tune strongly into their auric field to see about their energies and weigh them up generally. I suppose this could be classed as being a bit stalkerish but they never know and I find that it is rather enriching soul food absorbing people.

Implosion

It's been a day of life organising - well it was after 11:30am after I'd spent about 45 minutes deciding which hat to wear just to drop some forms off at the estate agents.

Today has been dedicated to the art of packing - and a bloody art form it is too. I am now currently lead in bed in a room that is absolutely littered with bits of shit and overflowing boxes - the job still is only half done. My half of the flat in my head suddenly merged from being a wonderful fashionista paradise into a giant over clothed jigsaw. Trying to fit the explosion of millions of bits of my life paraphernalia into just a few boxes was a rather more arduous task than I had first anticipated. Still, I got into the swing of things and rather amused myself thinking that not many people when they move house would have an entire box just labelled "hats and feather boas".

The strangest thing now though is going to bed and looking at my empty walls. I do have rather a fetish for postcards and images cut out from everywhere and every bedroom I've had since I was 15 have been covered in this way and my walls now just look naked. I'll go to sleep without the eyes of Vivienne Westwood looking down on me, my pregnant ladies are sleeping, feather boas, fairy lights and baby birds are now stuffed into boxes having been removed from my mirror. Instead I shall drift off tonight surrounded by drawing pin holes and remaining blu-tak stains (the landlord is going to love that...). The room has been stripped void of my personality and it really doesn't feel anything like my home anymore.

I'm enjoying this transition of packing in some ways though because it's making the move feel closer and closer. I've moved many times in the past few years and so it's been difficult to feel settled anywhere but I have good feelings about my new residence and I think I will finally feel at home there so that's made this packing process much less painful (though my joints disagree). I'm so excited about it all, the vibes in the new house are just so wonderful (as I said in my previous blog and as I'm packing the memories of this place up and looking forward to getting the bits of me out of these boxes again and having them dress a much lovelier space.

Sylvia Says:

"I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but chosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one... by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet". -Sylvia Plath

Solitaire Revisited

I don't know whether you would call it chance, co-incidence or possibly even fate but I was reading through my old journals and things earlier and just so happened to come across my Solitaire poem. I have it written on my wall anyway but it was just nice to see it sitting there loosely scrawled in my diary from when I was just 17 and then I noticed date it was written - 24/1/06 - four years ago exactly today.

The ideology of cards and the associated games and gambling symbolise a lot to me. I take their forms as a representation about many of my beliefs in and about life, which is why I had the suits tattooed down my spine. I feel that life is a game and we're all dealt a hand - it's how we choose to play it that determines our destiny. It's all about chance but with a touch of skill.

The Solitaire poem was very much about the internal battle in my head - specifically relating to my relationship with anorexia but I've held on to it because it's true of many of the internal dialogues in my head that have been less than harmonious...

Solitaire from 24/01/06:

Your cards all lie in taunting piles,
So you strike a deal with the joker,
But she only wants to steal your diamonds,
Whilst she claims to teach you poker.
Her magic tricks deceive you,
She knows every rule and cheat,
Her hand will play inside your heart,
But she's the queen - she can't be beat,
She'll take your dreams and shuffle them,
And drive spades into your skin,
So you'll raise your bet and gamble harder,
But it's too late - you'll never win.
She'll bruise and break you with her club,
Then convince you that it's fair,
You can beg and plead for game over,
But you were always playing Solitaire.