I have been sat in my house in Blackpool now for nearly 3 days straight, apparently playing hostage to such things as swollen glands (throat, armpits and pelvis) and the dreaded half term. The thing about half term is, I love the time to myself I really do, I love the way I can sleep in without feeling like I should be doing something “productive” like attending University. But University, oh yes, they didn’t call it half term, very cleverly named “research week”. Wonderful. So sat in bed, with a sore throat, rumbling tummy and a mischievous puppy swinging around my neck, my mind is literally going into overdrive about EVERYTHING. Oh, and I have “research” to do, for my “research week”. Mega.
I’m desperately trying to be fabulous and amazing.
Reality? I’m sat here with my now 11th hot chocolate of the past 2 days watching the box set of Sex and the City; I’m on Season 4 and its only Tuesday. I’ve had a hair mask on my hair for 2 days, so it looks greasy, but will look nourished and shiny once I’ve washed it off. I’ve eaten Rick Wallers bodyweight 10 times over, driven all the way across Blackpool just for a KFC, walked to Sainsburys because I ran out of desirable food in the house, fed Frank so much that he was sick in his sleep, shaved my legs, drank 4 pints of Cravendale full fat milk, cut up magazines, done 2 assignments and not even unpacked from my weekend in Scunthorpe. And thought. A lot.
I say thinking about everything, the phrase used very loosely, although he is everything to me, so yes, I have been thinking about my very own everything. Luke. Love is what makes the world go round, right? Or so we were lead to believe when we were naive teenage girls anyway. Truth is, things never actually go like that do they, things are never easy and if it wasn't for love, would the world stop spinning and things would come to a standstill? Would time become a mass that all single people not in love with a “life long partner” would fall into until they found someone in there who would help them spring right back out again.
I've almost forgotten what it feels like to be alone, he makes me feel so sheltered and protected like I don’t need to be alone, and that I never will be again, I’ve forgotten what its like to not have someone there who would move heaven and earth for you, who would travel 150miles across the countryside on a (cold) Autumn night "just because we wanted to see each other". Is this a bad thing? The reliance, is it bad, does it mean I can and will never be able to do anything for myself ever again? God knows, but surely some of the world’s most famous people are a "duo"? Dolce and Gabbana, Ben and Jerry's, Laurel and Hardy.
I live by myself in Blackpool on weekdays right and apart from when Luke is here I do things on my own. I have a puppy whom I look after on my own on weekdays, I walk him alone, I pick up his poop on my own, the lot. I clean my house on my own, I do the dishes on my own, and heck I even do my own laundry. So surely I should be classed as an independent woman, all be it an independent weekday woman. But by the weekend after I’ve been independent all week, its ok for me to need someone, its ok to want to fall into the little "nook" on his shoulder when we sleep and its ok for me to ring him on a weekday night just because I need someone to be there.
I don't care that I’m not self-dependant, I don't need to be. I like having him there, I like him to share the worries, I like him to hold me in his arms on a cold night... And when things get hard, I like him to kiss me and tell me everything will be ok.
