I can't see you, when I want to, where I am now. With our old lives left behind us, we are new, now.

Something I did last night, left me feeling really shitty.
My ex is an aspiring artist. I've always loved her work, she really grew in the time I knew her. And she used to post pictures of her works on a photo website.
Well, last night I wanted to look at....well, I was just curious. I just wondered how she was getting on with it and if she'd posted some pictures of her latest stuff.
She has.
They're all looking great!
But I couldn't just stick to the latest stuff could I?. Ohhh noooo! I browsed back. I didn't look at too may other pictures, but I guess it didn't matter. I felt a terrible surge of familiarity, because, well I guess because they were ones that she did when we were together. That surge felt all kinds of wrong.
So last night, and most of today, I've been feeling like some kind of stalker! Like I've sneakily invaded her personal space. Like I've just been 'checking up' on her. None of that could be further from the truth. I just wanted to see how her art studies were going. And I feel weak having to repeat that statement, as if I'm lying or trying to cover something up. I'm not.
I feel terribly guilty.

We are a lullaby, an everlasting song. Taken as prisoners to a place where we belong.

So, I have a new girlfriend.

She brushed in on my life towards the end of last year. I found her attractive, smart, genuine and most importantly; a little kooky.
Her lovely dark hair, sometimes up, sometimes down, pinned, tied.... Her elaborate use of make up, her quirky dress sense and her body language all drew me in. Each time I saw her, I found something else about her to love.
I love the way she tells her stories. She has a wonderful imagination. And OMFG the way she pronounces certain words....so damned sexy.
An amazing voice.

I know, I know!
I'm dreaming, right?
Well, sometimes it's ok to dream.

Even her name is horny.
My new, imaginary, no chance in fucking hell so she gets to go on the 'list of 5'* girlfriend:
Paloma Faith.

Paloma Faith "Play On"

See you in August, Paloma. x

*The 'list of 5' being that list of five people who it's 'ok' to secretly love and fantasise about, because they are people who you have as much chance shagging as the pope has of getting a blowjob and posting a video of it on Facefuck**. Namely, no chance in fucking hell. So yeah, it's ok to have naughty thoughts about them.

**Mind you, stranger things have happened. I mean who ever thought there would be a day everybody in the whole world could see Britney Spears's lady garden on the internet.

Woke up this morning and hoped for a dream. But reality sat next to me and forced me to believe.

Ha!
Never gonna make that mistake again!

You have a supernatural flair. Push me further than I dare. Play on, play on, play on. So play on for me.

You left those photos on the table.
So, since you've been gone, I've been glancing through them again.
Random snapshots of your life.
Your obsession with Axl Rose is quite laughable though.
For me it was Prince. Maybe that's where I went wrong.

I feel the urge to write on the back of one of them; "Remember me?"
But there's no pen to hand.
So maybe I'll whisper it to you in the wind.
One day when you least expect it.

That lip gloss looks amazing on you.
But better on me.
And although you beat me hands down with your style, your eyelashes, your skin tone....
My pubes are much shorter than yours.

It's like voodoo, I've lost all my control. I look in to you, you make me rock and roll.

I'm fasting today.
And probably tomorrow.
I feel podgy. Bloated.
I think I'm on.

Theres a man on the corner, selling dozens of bones.

I wonder, is there a guy equivalent to a spinster? Or is a spinster a non gender thing anyway?
I mean....can I be a guy, who ends up alone, with embarassing Tesco receipts and a house full of cats?
To be honest, it doesn't sound a bad idea to me at all.

There's this horrible assumption, that people who are alone after reaching a certain age, well, there must be something 'wrong' with them. It's a totally unfair assumption. It's an ugly blanket statement. It's a little like saying that once people get married, their sex lives wither away.
I am, however, broken.
Well, maybe not so much broken, but certainly a mis-build. A 'second'. A defective. So I guess I'm quite happy to be labelled as 'there must be something wrong with this guy'. Because I can't deny it.

I crave my own space. My own time.
Being with another person is wonderful, of course. It's silly to think otherwise.
I do need me time though. It's essential.
I'm desperately in need of some me time right now.

Frustration is hanging in the air. I think I might have to throw one out, just to relieve some tension.

Nope, somehow the blogger page just isn't cutting the mustard with me.

And why has the redesigned Blogger post widget not kept the spellchecker?! Soooo frustrating. Some people really relied on that (read me!), and who knows how people cope when they do the obligatory drunken posts! It's crazy, I tell thee!

It's unfortunate that when we feel a storm. We can roll ourselves over when we're uncomfortable.

I have nine posts drafted, but I still can't push the publish button. On any of them.

Yep, my thoughts are once again tangled.
But what I do know, is that Glee is just the best thing on TV at the moment. Oh, apart from Lost. Ah, and True Blood, The Vampire Diaries, Caprica, Weeds, Dexter and Flash Forward. It is a pure stroke of genius though.

Shutter Island is one of the best movies I've seen in the last, oh I dunno, ten years.

I think I need a break. A holiday. Something.
Difference that's gonna be significant enough to push me over this small hurdle.

Oh, you took me from my bubble, knowing my defense was weak. And you sat there and you listened anytime I chose to speak.

Dear Manager,

You're so mono-tone....so empty of emotion....I simply can't read you at all. Put that aside for one minute. Irrespective of your body language and tone, would it kill you to pat me on the back, just once. It fucks me off that even though you know I'm doing a good job, even though my performance is much better than average, even though I put in more time and effort than anybody else on our team, you still can't find it in yourself to say "well done". Instead, you seem to think that push, push, pushing me is gonna make me perform even better.
Well, guess what? It wont.
And it's doing nothing but pissing me off and grinding me down.
So, I say this to you dear Manager...."Give me a fucking break!"

Yours,
bedshaped x

Yes, shall we take a spin again in business. This time is fixed, lets sweeten our facilities.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Is there anybody who might be able to help me figure out how to change the pink links for my timestamp and comments into black, or a different colour. 
Pink is so not this blog.


Anybody?
Hello?


Echo....echo.....co....co.....co.....o....o....

It took all the man in me, to be the dog you wanted me to be.

So, some of the line up for V Festival has been announced today.
Goldfrapp is worth the £155 alone.

I don't have the money for it. I wouldn't want to go and be the 'odd one out', which is what I would be, assessing my current situation. I have no tent. I'm not sure they would like me to have that particular weekend off work. I'm probably 'past it' in regards to the captive age bracket. I am no longer regarded as 'cool' by my friends and family. Biffy Clyro aren't on the bill....yet.

So many things going against me.
And the only thing is driving me, is that I will once again be in my Church.

Music is my love....my regret....my memories....my passion....my all.....