peaks and troughs

In a panic and a fluster,

she hastily makes the call.

The voice on the other end reassures her...

offers some simple advice.

The conversation ends and she tries to take control,

another phone call and appointment,

a cup of coffee and a muffin...

things appear calmer. For now.

Torn by location she drifts in between homes,

questioning the benefits in both.

Testing friendships make things hard,

non-comitted men can make it unbearable.

And so she finds herself this way.

Torn not just by location,

but by of making the difficult decisions.

The tumultuous journey she's on,

will no doubt tether out,

but the ride is a difficult one to watch.

The phone calls and advice,

the postcards and patience,

can seem so irrelevant when so far away.

Torn to protect her from the journey,

or let her experience the peaks or troughs,

I just want her to be ok.

north hampton nothingness

one of the many clocks chime and the house murmers in agreement.

the fire burning slowly, begins to gradually fade and the night lights create a path down the hallway.

creeping inside, content after a hearty meal and sufficient few bottles of wine, we giggle towards our bedrooms.

whispering stories of the night and plans for tomorrow, Charlie and I part our ways.

turning back the covers and ready for bed, I smile as a hot water bottle greets me.

new Irish family have a way of making you feel as if you belong...treated as one of their own.

a lie in for the morning, i rise to the smell of fresh coffee.

we watch the final of the aussie open like tiny children under heavy covers.

chattering incessantly... we even managed to have porridge in bed for breakfast.

no time restrains or deadlines our only rule for the weekend.

a road trip through the countryside,

another little pub meal and i feel like a small town woman.

despite the looming monday blues, we explore fields and little castles like we have no concerns.

only on the trivia playing train trip does our 'north hampton nothingness' seems like an exotic vacation.

we depart off the tube,

always sad to see another weekend end too quickly.

a weekend of winding down truly feels like a country retreat.

angela's irish home made bread,

vincent's lasagna with meat,

john's irish sayings and accent making me laugh

and charlies priceless companionship...

i imprint this moment in my mind,

reminding myself how blessed i am to be here and know this woman as my friend.

not so bad

They cajole around me, some towering above and others linking with my arm.

'Are you teaching us miss?' they ask with anticipation and a cheeky grin.

'Nah guys I'm sorry... I've even got a free so you know that I'd love to.'

'Oh nah miss, she's got no sense of umour!!'

'I'm sorry... you just go and behave. Try and have fun yeah'.

They start 'acting to cry', thinking it will persuade me.

And although I laugh, I secretly feel for them and wish I was going with them.

As a class, they start gently pushing me along with them towards the hall.

Laughing and chatting about them 'taking ova'.

These year 9's were once the hardest to teach, often ending with me walking out and feeling like I'd accomplished nothing.

They'd challenge me with their attitudes and madness - only wanting to play games and muck around.

Over time it changed, only ever so slightly but noticeable for me.

From pure hatred of the subject and the teacher, to coming to class and sometimes listening.

Chaos still reigned but it was organised and somewhat controlled.

A year later and the rapport has been strengthened again - all because of a change of teacher.

Now they realise that 'miss wasn't so bad yea?!'

I see them now in the atrium or hall, mostly the stairways where they are slowly making their way to class.

On the off chance when I teach them, be it history or maths, we have a laugh and an understanding that we're alright.

They now make me laugh and smile, like I have a place in this school.

That I have, despite the madness, made a difference in some students' life.

Bless this vivaciously manic, yet wonderfully kind group of people.

waiting for you

could i wait for you, for them to approve your time on leave?

the thought of having to wait any longer seems like an impossible task.

yesterday, when my head was in the cloud of hope,

i felt so relieved - i knew that it would soon be over.

now the doubt and lingering question lies...

would i wait for you?

if it takes six months, it wouldn't be fair on either of us.

but say this is the case and we say that we'll part..

that wouldn't change the ache i have for you.

sure i'd go out and look, but when my heart is elsewhere...

it's hard to imagine being with someone else.

i know that there would be others, for both of us i guess.

but the want would occur in a meaningless way.

a substitution for you, a replacement of me.

thoughts that make me feel helpless and sick.

is this really something i have to consider?

we say we'll figure it out, if or when it happens.

but i don't even want it to be an option.

so i send you another message,

saying that i miss you... that i want you.

hoping you're reading the subtext and know what i am really saying.

a lost seagull

They glide effortlessly above the water,

the wind carrying their wings.

With no direction in mind,

they simply float...

for hours just existing above us.

I watch from my cosy bed and feel calmed,

something so graceful and freeing about them -

ignoring the fact that they are really just seagulls...

one's that have clearly lost their way.

The wind whistles through the gap in the window,

and makes the glass panel shudder.

I have no desire to face the outside world,

overcast and gloomy a standard morning welcome.

Beneath the covers and at a friends house,

there is no urgency for our day.

Recovering from wines of last night,

we will talk aimlessly about everything - no direction to our thoughts.

Enjoying in being,

relishing in the ease of our friendship...

there is no need to 'perform'.

Just pottering along and going where the wind takes us -

anywhere, so long as you've got your friend for the journey.

doubt

doubt in yourself is natural, everyone feels it at some point.

yet the damage it does is lasting, and often hard to shake.

doubt in my creative ability prevents me from publishing my play.

doubt in my teaching skills makes me question my career.

doubt in myself means i give no-one credit for wanting to be with me.

so i can see all this clear on paper and know that it is rubbish,

yet i can't shake it from my thoughts.

sometimes more prevalent then others, i need to create the doubt with itself.

turn it on itself like a virus until it's eaten away...

and all that remains is the feeling of it being there.

i need to not allow it to penetrate my personality and make me question myself.

'Handle with Care'

I am a giant nerd, and love nothing more than a good book.

So when choosing this one, a reliable author outweighed the melancholy subject.

However, just finishing it now, I feel extremely disappointed and angry.

Is it the topic I found so confronting? A mother who wishes she aborted her child due to a medical issue?

Is it that I feel it is a bit too close to home. Not medically of course, but a mother not 'wanting' her child.

Is it the memories of the court case I had resurfacing?

The children being dragged through it all and seeing their parents in a different light.

Maybe the broken family that happens way too often these days.

The thought terrifies me of the same thing happening one day to my unborn children.

Or is it simply because the author makes you struggle through the whole thing, feeling helpless for this little angle - and then kills her off anyway because of something completely random and unexpected.

Needless to say, I feel annoyed and frustrated after 500 pages.

Not a waste of time or read, but certainly enough not to pick up the same 'reliable author' for a little while.

Just to restore my faith in my favourite thing to do.