My choices

So after a down-the-drain interview that never happened, partly due to the school, my choices that led me there haven't been the best according to some. Apparently my life is to be lived by other people and not me, though I am pretty sure it is me doing the actual walking.

Take my desicison to apply for a new job as an example; most responses were of the following nature "that's great" or "good, see the world. You are too young to settle". Now that was nice to hear,  however, once they learn of where I want to work,it's a whole other story for instance take my job opportunity in Kuwait, the following reasons for me not to work there were due to the fact there is no alcohol.  No alcohol.  That's right. I'm pretty sure I'm going to Kuwait to teach, and not to be a party animal. The second reason was that it's very close to Saudi Arabia.  Now I know my geography isn't particularly great, but I'm certain that the UAE borders Saudi too. Pitiful excuses. It seems as though where ever I go to work no one shall be happy. It is my life. If I want to work in Saudi I will, if I want to visit Afghanistan I will. It is of my choice, not yours. I can tell you one hang for definite though - it shall be a long long time before I live back in the UK again.

University Stories and Poems Part 1: Two Minds to Die

Two Minds to Die

I couldn’t save him.  And no miracle could ever change that.

**********************************

Jethro was one of those men; loud and obnoxious. No matter how many times a woman would try to put him in his place, he had a counter-argument ready at hand: “There’s no place for a woman in today’s society. It would be better if they just stayed out of sight and out of mind”.  The gentlemen, and that term was used loosely, of the 21st Century had not changed at all. They were still derogatory towards women, still finding faults at every possible chance, belittling them in front of other men.  Looking at Jethro, at the age of thirty-nine running his deceased father’s business, one would think that he would settle down with a suitable woman, but no.  This man standing at six foot four with dark short hair  groomed into a sleek style and a very fanciful taste in designers had no time for women. Even though his sparkling green eyes caused many to swoon in his presence, he regarded them as the worst of the worst, and after only one thing in life – a man’s soul. Once they possessed that target, the men might as well lose  their ability to live a successful life. Love and women make a man weak.

To the outside world, Jethro would have appeared to have been a hater of women all his life, but there was one exception; one that only his father and mother knew of. His relationship with his parents, when alive, was strained at the best of times; his father ignoring his existence, focusing mainly on the family business. The only time his father spoke was to discuss Jethro’s future.  His mother wasn’t exactly the maternal type unless you counted the marks made from leather on his back and the purplish stains on his body.  What haunted his mother to treat her own blood that way; no-one would ever know. More importantly, Jethro would never receive this closure to help him move on with his life. 

Things began to look up for Jethro when his parents reached the end of their time. The economy grew and so did his wealth. This was the beginning of the Aston Martin DB5’s as well as the chauffeured Rolls Royce, freshly pressed suits, well polished shoes with a gold plated Rolex attached to his wrist. He was living to accumulate his wealth.  Nothing could ever get in his way of luxury.  He held the world in his scrooge-like hands.  
Tonight, like any other, Jethro found himself sitting in his usual spot at the local gentleman's club, surrounded by people he barely liked. “There is nothing better in a man’s world then spending your riches on such fine products” he stated with a puff of smoke escaping his thinned out lips, a recently lit cigarette held between two fingers with ash ready to collapse onto the white linen covered table.  “Such lovely sweetness of these paper notes.” he went on to say. The endless talking about status and wealth made many of his acquaintances groan with displeasure, save for the ones who were on the same wavelength as dear Jethro. Those were the individuals who made his ego grew substantially larger, so much that the world seemed smaller than possible. 
 “I agree, though there is one thing I love perhaps that little bit more…” an associate said.
 “Do not say what I think you are about to say young man!” Jethro quickly interrupted with a clear complaint. “If you say the words my woman you are not man enough to be here.” This did not phase the fellow associate, instead he declared the words Jethro always wanted to avoid “My woman made me who I am today” he said gulping the malt whiskey down his throat.  It was possible to see the glare from Jethro’s eyes from the other side of the room.  A look which many had been on the receiving end of plenty of times. 
“Don’t spout such nonsense in my room. This goes to anyone and everyone. Women are nothing to us. Yes they may provide an heir to carry on our name and wealth, the latter being important, but the women themselves are useless. If you wish to talk about that irresponsible species then leave.”  He declared and found himself sat alone in what would seem as a library, the walls being covered in old mahogany bookcases, the rich fragrance of ink and paper as well as the itching of dust. He leaned back into the darkened leather Chester Armchair, and gazed up towards the ceiling. What had he become? A man so repulsed by the female gender, but it was no use in thinking.  It only led to more outrageous thoughts. If he carried on the way he was going, he would turn into one himself and that was no good. He didn’t need anyone.  He was a solitary person and it would always be that way.

**********************************

The antique ornament isolated in the corner of the library chimed a loud brass sound of midnight.  Where had the time gone to? It was only a few hours ago when Jethro was sipping the harsh liquor burning his throat as it went down. He tried to focus his blurry eyes on something inanimate, and it became apparent that he could not hold his liquor any more.  That was only explanation he could think of. “Hang on” the confused words echoed in the room. “How on earth did that appear here?” He fixed on an offending piece of material on a small polished chair. He pushed himself of his seat, and headed towards it, his black potent shoes tapping against the laminated wood.  One look and he felt bile rise up his throat. There resting, was a scarf. A women’s scarf.  A woman’s paisley patterned scarf.

**********************************

The next few days contained very little happenings, and so Jethro spent his time holed up in his charming office, counting the golden coins and demeaning anyone that dared to interrupt him. Though on a particular Monday, Jethro was blissfully unaware that his life was not as it seemed. Removing himself from his cluttered desk, Jethro decided it was time to leave his hiding place and head out to the headquarters; the young gentleman’s club where no doubt a few females would somehow be there, on the prowl looking for their next victim.  Putting the scarf incident behind him, though he still never unearthed the mystery as to where it came from, he stomped into the coat room and stopped suddenly.  Next to his tailor-made Russian coat, was a red jacket, which looked awfully like a young woman's. “Maybe that darn woman-lover brought her here and left it by mistake.” But all he could think was; he hadn’t seen any female here at all. Grabbing the item of clothing, he walked into the lounge area, lit a warm chestnut fire, and threw the jacket into the flames. Watching it turn to ashes, he hoped it would be the last of the craziness.  He walked out the door into the front porch facing the bitter cold in his face, asked aloud “Is this a coincidence or just some weird turn of events?” and blew the thought into the wind.

Upon entering the social gathering in the club, many heads turned to speculate Jethro. He could see it in their stares; He finally graces us with his presence, I see, or I wonder if he drinks himself into a stupor and acts all egotistical.  Why should he change who he was.  It was better to speak the truth, no matter how harsh than to lie all the way through one’s life.  Advancing towards the barman, the room rumbled with a “make mine a double scotch.” that way his presence would be known to everyone and there was no need to queue. 

“Finally giving up on your denial of a woman?” a scrawny brunette said beside him. Jethro gave her a wariy glance. He had no idea what to make of that statement. “Remember me? It's Adrianna” she continued. He looked at her as though she was speaking double-dutch. What sane woman would talk to him?  
 “Go away I have no time for such witch behaviour from you.” He finally answered and began to turn away from her. 
“Look mister, I don’t care what your problem is with me, but you clearly have woman troubles. Carrying a pair of French knickers in their pocket is not something a man like you would normally do in a place like this.” Jethro abruptly turned round and faced her. “Oh you’ve finally want to talk to me now. All this time I have taken a back stage approach to you, trying to help you sort out your problems. I have heard all about you. I have tried to remain on the fence, but now this you misogynistic evil man.!” He tried to search her face for something, unsure of what it was, but something. Maybe someone had set her up to annoy him, or to cause a scene perhaps. He opened his mouth to give a retort but she beat him to it “Don’t you dare say a word.” Her finger pointed at him and an angry look took over her “First you walk into this place like you own it; secondly you emotionally abuse us women, especially me, when all I have done is defend you.” in the midst of the next phrase her voice took a softer approach which surprised the hell out of him “I know what your past has been like, and I admire your strength, but to act the way you do towards women and then parade around your dirty laundry, or should I say hers, I feel sorry for you I really do.” And with that he exploded. 

 “What right have you to say such ridiculous things about me?  I have not been with any woman and nor will I ever. You wonder why I called you a witch. Well here is the answer” A loud scoff came from behind him, the room had suddenly gone quiet. But he didn’t care he just kept on going. “You women think you know everything when all you do is cause heartbreak, and you just get in the way. What business do you think you are to me? Nothing. Now I don’t care how you know my past but suggesting I have been frolicking around is nonsense. Now move out of my sight before I say something I would never regret.” He could feel his face going beet red and instead of Adelaide, or whatever her name was, moving away from him, she approached him with determination on her face, reached out towards his coat, and somehow pulled a pair of scanty red underwear from his pocket. He finally remembered what she had said “carrying French knickers in their pocket” French knickers? And with that bombshell he snarled towards those listening and left the club.

On returning home, he bid his chauffeur goodnight, thinking of French knickers, a red coat and paisley scarf. Had he been cavorting and simply forgot? Maybe it was the scotch. However he soon disregarded that reason straightaway and strode in the direction of his drinking cabinet, and poured himself a double on the rocks.

**********************************

The next morning, his head gave the impression that he had one too many.  He couldn’t even remember climbing in to bed. He searched his memories for some inclination of what happened.   A few moments passed as he laid in his bed, when unexpectedly, just like someone had switched on a light in his head, everything came rushing back; the confrontation with Adrianna, the double at the club, the doubles in the lounge, sitting in front of the fire and then nothing. Blank. His hand rubbed at his forehead to relieve the tension. In the corner of his eye he noticed his arm wasn’t bare like it normally would be when he went to sleep. In its place was a pale lemony coloured sleeve, the type you would see a woman wear as a nightgown. He slowly lifted up his velvet duvet and peeked downwards. It was definitely a nightgown. Jethro froze in place. Each of the random items he had found in what he thought was a safe home, were his. He quickly jumped out his bed, ripped the nightwear from his skin like it was burning him. Burning him like plastic in a fire.  Not caring about the only attire he was wearing at the moment, being his underwear, he rushed through the house like a madman searching for other women’s clothing. “I’m a...” the word became lodged in his throat. Woman. “I dress in those.” He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. To be fair, he did not even want to know? Motionless, he walked to the harbour in his home; the cabinet.  He took a crystallised glass, and poured himself one final glass of scotch.

**********************************

Dear Miss A. Chase,

I regret to inform you that the inquest for Mr Jethro Shaffer’s death was again ruled for suicide.  The evidence left is sufficient to support this. I have checked his previous medical records for any mental health issues or depression and it was apparent that his schizophrenia was left untreated. As the records are confidential to the patient I cannot say anything further. If you need any help getting any closure for the victim’s recent departure...

I couldn’t read any more.  A tear fell from my eyes, landing softly onto the letter. I was too late to save him. I, Adrianna, who took no drivel from men, let Jethro slip away. I let him feel alone, like he couldn’t turn to anyone.  I promised his father I would try. Even though they weren’t that close, his father still cared. Maybe I was too young to understand what he was asking at the time. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. The truth was; he would never listen.

29.08.2013

This was the day that would forever change my life.

I didn’t get much sleep the night before – which is quite normal when you are anxious for the upcoming events. I woke up on the Thursday roughly about six am feeling fine. Getting dressed, finishing off my packing, making sure I had everything and still my stomach was fine. Things were looking good.

My uncle decided he was driving my mother, grandfather and I to the airport. This was the first time we had a sort of outing together in a family; what a time to do it. The journey to Newcastle International was pleasant enough. The family laughing and chatting away to each other, getting lost even when using the Sat Nav, everything was great.

Shortly afterwards, we were there. It started to rain. The rain appeared as soon as we hit the airport and I took that as an omen for what was going to happen; a bad omen. Since I had checked in online and printed out my boarding pass already it seemed like everything was going my way. My checked/cabin luggage weighed under the limit, my visa passed through ok and soon enough I received my flight ticket. Seat 26C on board the Emirates aircraft – a seat I had chosen myself.

I said goodbyes to my family just before the security check, making sure I didn’t cry in front of the family. I’m quite positive that if I cried, I would back out and head home. Getting my passport ready, I could feel my heart starting to beat out of my chest. It would appear that my nerves had finally arrived. Even the Security officer had noticed on my ‘flushed’ appearance.  I explained that I hadn’t flown in five years and in return I received a sympathetic look. This was where my bad luck decided to shine.

Reaching the luggage control, I placed my items into the given trays. I even made sure that my laptop was screened separately, my coat pockets were empty and my jewellery was removed. Time for the scanner, and of course it decided to beep as I walked through. All I could think of was fabulous. All I heard after was ‘please remove your shoes and watch’. Watch. Of course I left my watch on. Five minutes later the female officer had decided I had been frisked enough and let me through and it was time to collect my belongings. I quickly tried to repack my cabin bag squeezing everything in, and then I realised ‘where was my phone at?’  I searched through my bag, my pockets and to no avail it wasn’t there. Luckily a security officer had found it still in the tray that someone else had put back.

Finally, after a shaky start, I headed through to the departure section of the airport. I found my flight on the screens dotted around and saw that I had plenty of time to relax, to chill out. I headed towards an empty seat and munched on the sandwiches I had made earlier that day. As much as I wanted to feel relaxed, my mind simply wouldn’t let me. My hands were all shaky and sweaty. My stomach all twisted and knotted. My heart exploding in my chest was the final straw. I headed round to the entrance of the departure gates and rang my mum. I had five minutes to go and even she wasn’t enough of a comfort to me.

Flight EK036 to Dubai is now boarding at gate 26.

Making my way down the stairs, my nerves were reaching an all-time high. Alone, scared, nervous – not a good combination. Then a tear escaped. Not now. Please don’t cry in front of all these people I told myself.  After what felt like a long moment in time, my seat number was called. This was it; time to get on that plane. As soon as I hit the fresh air, more tears made their way down my cheek. I wanted to run back inside. Did I have to fly? I hated flying to begin with, but when flying with family it was almost easier. Here I had no-one and I was to be sat beside two strangers. I finally made it up the wobbly steps to the plane and to my seat; the tears had finally subsided. For how long though? I tried to focus on the screen in front of me, and even that seemed to mock me. Since technology had improved, the aircraft designers thought that they would install cameras around the outside of the plane so the passengers could watch the world pass by.

13.35 and it was time to take off. Well soon as the plane was moved into position on the runway, I broke down. I quietly cried into my scarf trying to disguise my emotions. It must have been more obvious than I thought as one air hostess tried to give me a reassuring smile from the other side of the plane, and one male cabin crew put his hand on my shoulder and asked ‘Are you okay honey’. I simply nodded my head. It was all I could manage without screaming ‘get me off this plane!’

Newcastle airport started to speed past as the plan made its way up in the air. My stomach dropped as I realised there was no going back now. The stranger next to me patted my on the arm and said ‘it’s okay, you will be fine’.  I explained the situation I was in and suddenly I felt fine. Sure the nervousness of flying was there, but every word the lady next to me had said reassured me.

Seven hours had finally gone by and it was time to land. I didn’t cry much on the way back down to the ground, but as the wheels hit the runaway I panicked. I remember all the previous landings I had ever been a part of but not once was there a screech of the wheels hitting the tarmac and the plane swaying to one side. You could actually feel the plane tip slightly as the pilot tried to steady its balance.  I would be grateful when my feet would feel the ground again.

Skipping ahead a few minutes of getting lost, I made my way towards passport control. Half an hour later it was my turn for my passport to be checked. Due to the nature of my eye-sight I have to wear glasses, but it was clear this was inappropriate for me to do at this moment in time. To make sure the person in the passport was definitely me, I had to remove the glasses and have my face run a smart facial recognition programme. The officer stamped my visa and my passport and I was on my way. Just as I entered terminal 5 at baggage claim, I saw my suitcase make its way around the carousel. The timing couldn’t be any more perfect.  And as luck would have it, the bad luck came flying through.

I had been told previously that a member of staff would be collecting me from the airport, but what they had failed to mention was where he/she would be meeting me exactly. Well after two hours of searching, crying, stressing and panicking I found my name amongst the crowd. The person definitely was not happy to see me. ‘Two hours I wait for you’. I just apologised and said I got lost. What more could I do. Turn back the time? The journey from Dubai International to my accommodation was unpleasant and scary. The driver was a maniac – swerving on the roads, nearly swiping the sides of other cars and driving with no hands sometimes. I sure felt like my time was up and I was to die on the roads of the UAE.

Ninety minutes later I had arrived at Madar School Accommodation. It was 4am before I reached room 116. I was happy just to have a bed at that moment in time. Locking the door behind and dumping my suitcase in the middle of the floor, I collapsed on the bed. That was enough for one night.

Analyse that Raunchy Dream

So I'm going to give a shot at analysing my dream just because I'm sick of dreaming about this guy. Here's the dream:

There's me and this  member of staff from one of my jobs, lets call him Bill. See I sort of like Bill but it is a well know fact that me and Bill will not work out. I start having this same dream about Bill, we are at work when I randomly start calling him abusive names. Then all of a sudden Bill grabs me at the waist and starts to tickle me, confusing much? But that's not it, the dream takes a sudden turn and we end up practically doing it at work. Yet we appear to be invisible to others, as customers and other members of staff just walk right past us. I mean the sex is just pure lust, however he is very attentitive and loveable, almost showing me a side of him that I never see at work.

And here is the analysis:

Chances are this dream is as simple as a good-old fashioned attraction to your boss. Yes, you most likely want to have sex with him. And whether or not you make this dream a reality is up to you and your boss. Although I would advise exercising extreme caution before proceeding ahead with any kind of involvement with him (for all of the obvious reasons).
All real logistics aside, in the case of sex dreams, I would ask, “Why are you having sex with this person specifically and what might they represent?” Sometimes in dreams we are getting it on with someone we find sexy in real life, but oftentimes it’s with someone we are not attracted to in the least. Sex is a merger of bodies and identities. So what qualities about your boss might you want to inhabit more in your own life and career? Power? Success? Leadership? For example, I had a friend who was complaining about a particularly repulsive string of sex dreams about her boss, who she hates. After exploring the dreams some more, she realized that the dreams were really about how the two of them had opposite work styles that complemented each other. Once she got passed disliking him so much, she realized that they made a good team and was, of course, totally relieved when the sex dreams stopped.
The frequency and intensity of these dreams indicate that they may also be a commentary about how passion, drive, and desire manifest themselves in your life. I don’t know what you do for a living or how fulfilled you feel by it, but the fact that you are having reoccurring dreams about having sex with your boss makes me think you have an extreme attitude about work. Either you feel “orgasmic” about it or you wish you did. And how does your work life compare to your home life? Is it equally fulfilling? How are they unbalanced?
A word of advice: If you can see past your actual sexual desire for your boss to the essence of your attraction to him, there will be a valuable message waiting for you.



So hopefully these sex dreams will disappear if I look past the sex part right? Let's fricking hope so!

10 Things I Hate about You

I hate the way you talk to me,
And the way you cut your hair...

So here is my list:

1. I hate that you the way you dress
2. I hate the way you smile
3. I hate that you're always depressed/angry
4. I hate that you have no goal in life
5. I hate that you give no passion
6. I hate that you lied to me
7. I hate the fact you never turned me on (yes I faked it)
8. I hate the way you live your life
9. I hate the way you didn't attempt to see me
10. I hate everything about you.
    

Arguments.

ar·gu·ment/ˈärgyəmənt/
Noun:

1. An exchange of diverging or opposite views, typically a heated or angry one: "I've had an argument with my father".
    
2. A reason or set of reasons given with the aim of persuading others that an action or idea is right or wrong.

I have just had an argument with my neighbour. Her grandson thinks it hilarious to annoy me with his music. I for one could not care less that he plays music but what I do care is when I can hear it, the constant loud thudding of bass and the repetitive tune blasting through the walls. It isn't hard to consider the other person's feelings and play music at a decent level. Its not like I'm asking him to turn it off.

Oh and apparently I need to show some respect!. Me respect. I have respected the stupid little twat by not going to the police, council or my dad (yeah my dad is quite possibly the scariest man when angry). I have respected the kid when I have to be up for 6 am and he's decided to play music until 1/2 am. I even respected him by not saying anything to his Nana when he demolished the house when having an argument with his girlfriend at 12:43 am and decided to pretty much break down the front door of my house the next day when his Nana found out about his little antics.

Well that is it. I had enough. I sent an email to him explaining I would put in a formal complaint about his noise levels if he wasn't to show me some consideration. And then I stupidly told my dad about what I had done and what his reply was.
Big mistake.

My dad decided to have a go at my lovely neighbour Pat about her grandson. Now normally we can settle such disputes very easily but my dad just had to get involved and act like a big hard man (when in fact he's more of a dick). Poor neighbour won't even speak to my mam or me now. Thanks a lot. A good solid friendship has been spoilt because my dad couldn't leave things be.

In fact, he's still blabbering on about it downstairs right now.

One of those days....

Yes. One of those days it is. Were everything annoys me. From the little gasps of breathe coming from my mother's mouth, to the footsteps that make a mouse sound like an elephant. But it's not just the noise that is annoying me, it just the mere presence of people in the same vicinity as me. Knowing that some one is sharing the same oxygen as me, annoys me. Oh how even the word annoy is starting to annoy me. If only I had a remote control that a had a mute button, life would be perfect. Just block out all offending noises.

I wish I had a bubble were I could plop myself into, and hide myself away from the world. You would think I would lock myself in my room, oh how that would be nice. But that would require a lock and some heavy sound-proofing around the house. I'm at the point now were I cannot even name the mood I'm in. It's not anger, frustration or any other negative, its just there.

At least I can vent out to this piece of metal and not get annoyed. Then again....

The Deadly Curse

Eyes burn alight, ugly emotions hold a flicker

Of a fiery furnace. A sight one would not look into if they

Wish to escape from streaks of venom, hidden glamour –

Her cruel bewitching spell. A cold hearted stare to kill the prey,

Human to predator, the crouch became her.

Become the Part We Both Love to Hate

 

Me.

I like to be alone.

No one around.

No Sound.

Just me.

I like to be imaginative.

Live in a dream world.

My Own Place.

Just me.

You.

You spoilt this.

You are the man in my nightmares,

You are the haunting.

Just you.

You.

Are the knife in my veins.

The blackness in my soul.

The darkness of my mind.

Just you.

You.

Turn Love to Hate.

Pure to Black.

Life to Death

You.

Cause everything pain.

The evil within a smile.

Cause the innocence grief.

You

And me.

Are different 

The Burn

Curse you,

You immortal child -

You demon of life.

Damn you

To the unending of Hell;

And the beginning of pain.

Vex you,

You impetious life

With a heart of stone.

Blight you,

You little imp, you sprite

Of fire and ice.

You have the face of an Angel,

But the soul of hate.

Those that cant show warmth and joy to you,

Only show your reflection of pain.

The carcass of your face,

(Once was the skin of a saint)

Crumbles before your very eyes.

The Angle soon begins to fade.

No longer the Angel,

So pure not tainted.

Now becomes the demon -

Ill-spirited and evil