Eggs in a Basket

Do you ever get the feeling that you want to just let go and run screaming at the top of your lungs down the road, up the hill, across a bridge or wherever it is that you can run to?

I do.

This year has been tumultuous to say the least. I've covered a lot of distance (not in geographical miles, but in life miles) this year. But in the process, I think I've lost a little bit of myself somewhere along the way. Just the other day, I was on the tube to work and out of nowhere, a thought popped into my head. A thought that I would look back upon this year as the year that I lost my innocence.

Ok it's not as traumatic and boo-hoo as it sounds. What I mean is I've just dealt with way too many life changing situations, decisions and moral dilemmas this year. I've been let down by people really close to me. I've had moments of intense vulnerability and for the first time this year, I've found myself alone, truly alone, in dealing with them. For the first time I haven't had a single person to turn and talk to. And this is mainly to do with the fact that I felt like the situation was mine alone to deal with.

Call me strange, but this is a new experience for me. I pride myself on having a strong support network, one that has stood me in stead in worse times.

But this time, I put my heart, soul and faith into one person - the emotional equivalent of putting all my eggs in one basket - and was let down. Rather badly. Trust was shaken, heart was chipped etc etc. So yeah, it was bad.

And so now the question remains for me to ask myself - can I teach myself to trust this basket (no that wasn't a typo) again? Can I put all my eggs (love, faith, trust, happiness, strength) into this basket again?
I think it takes a certain amount of old world naivete, of blue eyed innocence to trust like that.
And I just need to make up my mind and my heart if I can.

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On a different note, I updated my iPhone 4 software yesterday after my sister's insistent nagging. And I muttered and moaned my way through all 58 mins of the software update. But what's this? My 14 month old phone feels like a brand new one. It's snazzier, sharper and more gizmo -ey and I've fallen in love with it all over again.

Perhaps there's a life lesson in that.
I'll leave it for my heart to figure it out.

Blueberries and Oranges

Life is a patchwork of moments. Happy moments. Sad ones. Angry, frustrating, gut-wrenching, despairing ones.
And then there are those unassuming moments, fleeting but beautiful - they creep up on you, work themselves under your skin, wind into your hair,  grab you by the throat, take your breath away and touch your soul - visceral, animal, alive.

We have a new intern K at work and she is such a character that I find myself increasingly fascinated by her and her stories and her life. She reminds me a lot of myself at her age - ambitious, motivated and yet naive and enthusiastic.
Anyway, this post isn't about her but something she said a couple of days ago.

K decided she thinks I'm a blueberry. Yes, a blueberry. You know, the fruit.
Considering she just threw this at me while I was in the middle of a complicated excel sheet, I was a bit blindsided. Recovering my composure, I wondered if it was even worth my time to ask her what exactly she meant. Before I could make up my mind, she announced that she thought R, my boyfriend, whom she had met very recently, was an orange.
Now that completely threw me off course.

Because you see, blueberries and oranges don't go together.
Have you ever heard of a blueberry and orange smoothie? A healthy orange and blueberry salad? No.
Oranges are fresh, zesty and pack a punch. Blueberries are mellow, flavourful and squishy.
So, they don't go together. 

Clearly I was reading too much into one offhand remark and yet, I couldn't get it out of my head.

We've always been different, Him and I. We work differently but we always work together. And yet, K's offhand remark seemed to stir up some unpleasant thoughts. Were our differences so distinct and our personalities so individual so as to make us seem incompatible?

On the train back home that evening with R , I sat sulking, trying to talk some sense into myself. And when that didn't work (which to be honest, it never does), I turned to R and said, ' Do you think blueberries and oranges go together?'
To his credit, his face didn't register any surprise, nor did he show any inclination to move very far away from this very crazy woman. He heard me out as I expounded upon my oranges-and-blueberries-don't-go-together theory in great detail and with all the gravitas of recounting a major life issue.

I ended dramatically with ' So, have you EVER heard of a blueberry and orange smoothie?'
And he said ' But maybe that's what the world has been waiting for.'

And there it was. Perspective and Poetry all rolled into one moment.

I don't know how he does it.

All that glitters

So it's my birthday soon. Now I'm like a child when it comes to my birthday. I start getting excited a month in advance, and am in an almost hyperactive state of excitement the closer I get to the big day.

Yes, I know it's probably extremely naff to still care about birthdays but I can't help it. There are some things that are worth keeping that childlike wonderment about and for me it's birthdays. I love waking up with that innocent joyous knowledge that today, on your birthday, nothing can go wrong, the sense of tingly anticipation at the thought of all the little gifts and surprises your loved ones are surely secreting somewhere for you, that certainty that it's your day and it's special and whatever you really really wish for will be yours. In the words of Paulo Coelho, the universe will conspire =)

So in order to help the universe along, I start randomly dropping supremely broad hints about all the beautiful things out there that I'm just dying to have ('Oh that pink hairdryer? yes, yes it's so beautiful. *deep sigh* if only I could buy it!', 'That gorgeous red fur lined lampshade would so totally fit in my bedroom! Hmm, if only I could justify it. On a completely unrelated note, did you know it's my birthday next week?' ).

I also make random plans with long lost acquaintances (ex-colleagues, friends of friends etc) on and around my birthday, only to cancel/postpone last minute by pretending as if I had completely forgotten it was my birthday so unfortunately I have to cancel as I have other plans, but we MUST catch up soon to have birthday drinks etc etc... It's a Sneaky plan to surreptitiously let them know of my birthday see? So now they'll HAVE to call/text and wish me on birthday day and I can feel all glowy and special that they remembered. Plus, I get free birthday drinks (you say sad, I say resourceful)!

So yeah, I basically turn into a nutter roundabout this time!

And this year, I managed to achieve (what I thought) was the unachievable. I bought a sparkly dress for my birthday! Considering I've been wanting one for like forever, this is BIG! And I know it probably even more naff to want a sparkly dress than it is to get excited about birthdays but who cares?

I had been on the hunt for a dress for my birthday. This is fairly unusual for me because I rarely ever need to buy dresses for occasions, mainly because I'm such a shopaholic that I usually have ten dresses on the go, and am frantically scrambling to come up with events and occasions to wear them to. So I'm not really good at finding clothes on a need to have basis, especially since I also truly believe that the more you look for particular clothes, the more elusive they become(life lesson that).

Anyway, this year I found myself in the unusual position of having an event - my birthday party with a few of my closest friends - but NO dress. Panic not, I said to myself, this is London, one of the best places to shop in the world. Fashionistas all over the world swear by London's high street.Surely, there was something out there for me?

Apparently not.

Seemingly, London's high street turns into a sequin covered horror story this close to Christmas, with everything on offer being either glittery, sparkly, shiny or shimmery. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't hate glitter and sparkle. In fact, I love it. In a parallel universe, I would only wear shimmery dresses and sleep in a sequinned bed snuggling into my glitter covered duvet.

But it's really hard to find a dress that is beautiful, sophisticated and that glimmers with a radiant light rather that rupturing your eyeballs with its brashness. Every single sparkly dress I came across was either cut so short that you couldn't bend down without flashing everyone, or cut so deep that you were in constant danger of 'boob escape' or cut so tight that you had to basically hobble everywhere.

So there I was, rapidly losing hope and conjuring up wild ideas in my sequin addled state.
I could wear an old dress and pretend as if it was brand new and if anyone dared suggest they had seen it earlier, give them an icy glare and banish them from my facebook friends list? Social ostracism at it's worst.
Perhaps I could turn up in my pyjamas and be all 'darlliiings this is the height of fashion' (Prada did do pyjamas on the runway two years ago, you know? So I wouldn't be completely insane)

And then I saw it.. a sparkly dress that wasn't ..short, wasn't ... cut down to the navel and wasn't cut for an anorexic 10 year old. I could barely believe it. It was a grown up but glamorous sparkly dress. I almost had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't hallucinating in my glitter induced despairing state.

True, it wasn't the most fabulous dress out there and it didn't take my breath away but when I put it on, I felt .. happy AND (this is going to sound ridiculous) sparkly!

And so I bought it. A sparkly dress that makes me sparkle!

I have a feeling it's going to be a great birthday ;)