I’m having internet issues. Hell I’m having life issues.
In can’t get anything to post properly, although that’s not a problem as yet again I find myself struggling for content. I can’t comment on anything without multiple attempts, swear words and thinly hidden threats. (If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, do not worry for my safety but instead spare a thought for my poor computer which will be sat on the ground in pieces having been thrown out the window!)
I feel lots. I can’t make rational sense of my thoughts, so no surprise I am struggling to get them out on here. I don’t know what to write. I don’t know what I want to write. Do I even want to write?
This blog was started at what I thought would be an interesting stage of my life. I don’t know if I have previously explained the thought behind “25 castles on 25 clouds” but when thinking of the title I knew I wanted something about looking forward, dreaming big, experiencing life and so I picked up a thesaurus to see if I could come up with an unusual and interesting word and there written was ‘Castles on Clouds’.
I liked it, and it appealed even more because my favourite musical is Les Miserables and I loved that the title meant everything I wanted to but at the same point linked to my likes. It felt like it was mean to be and so Castles on Clouds was born. I signed up to wordpress. Set up a dedicated googlemail account. Chose the passwords for these accounts. And promptly locked myself out of both.
After multiple attempts, threats and perhaps a splash of bad language I decided that changing the name was my only other option and so I picked the number 25. I would like to say something deep about the reason I chose 25 – but it just was the first number that came to me and I liked how it sounded.
This blog. My blog was supposed to document the most excited moments of my life. I had just moved in with the guy of my dreams and we were starting our lives together. We had discussed children. Argued over furniture and I thought we’d planned a future together. I had a rough idea of what I was going to write about. Although never admitted out loud I had more the 25 dreams and this was going to be the place I was going to document them all. And in total honest I was hoping I would become one of those lucky few who can make a living while blogging so that I could stay home with BD, then stay home with my children during their early years. I had it all planned.
The very suddenly the rug was pulled out from under me. Suddenly I have no funny posts about relationships, or family life. Hell with the house keeping me so busyI don’t even see BD enough to write something good about him.
This weekend I had to go back to my house to remove the furniture I had left with the ex when I moved out. There has been no point in removing it before now as I had no where to store it. Now I realise we have to go through the bedding, sheets, towels that we bought together and decide who gets what. I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to do this. I don’t want our relationship to have come down to arguing over towels or from whose house the duvet in the spare room came from (FYI mine, and I am getting it back!)
Suddenly I feel lost. The dreams I have held so close to me for the last 4 years are now a distant memory. I feel stuck. Stagnant. I don’t know where I am going or what I am doing and it is now affecting every part of my life. I am miserable going to work. I feel undervalued and worthless. People ask each other about their weekend, yet no one seems to ask me. I will inquire about peoples evenings yet no one asks me about how my house is getting on.
I keep telling myself that I am just going through a change. That it will all come out
alright better in the end.
But today I don’t feel like that. Today I am sick of dealing with arsey workmen. I am sick of feeling hurt. I am sick of forcing myself to feel nothing because the hurt is too much.
I’ve lost my castles, maybe they sunk into the clouds who knows. Right here right now – who cares?!