Mentoring

Today i met with the person who has been allocated the duty of mentoring me.

I find it so hard to write now, but i've no idea why. It's like the thoughts just don't flow as easily from my brain..it's as though i have to stop and think, pause, to write what i want. And it completely ruins the rhythm as when i stop to think i get bored [blessed with a very short attention span which i utilise to its maximum potential during periods of relaxation] and end up doing some other form of online activity, usually, inevitably, facebook.

It is becoming rather an irritating factor, an obstacle to blogging. I have no problem writing inane boring bollocks which has no bearing in reality, so perhaps the problem is not that i am unable to write, that i have writers block [if such a phrase can even be applied to a situation in which i write soley about and for myself] but that i can not express fully what is happening in my life. Or, perhaps, that on a subliminal level, i don't want to.

As i have already realised [be patient, i am young] writing about something makes it real, in the same way talking does..writing is just perhaps a more direct way of addressing issues within your life. Perhaps i find it difficult to write about what i've been doing because i want it to remain in a world without critical analysis, which is inevitably what will occur if it discussed here.

When asked, during our hour long conversation, by my [a significant usage of a possesive descriptor] Mentor, what i thought about the whole thing that is happening with ND i became fidgety and spoke about not wanting to think about things, to analyse things. Because if you analyse them they become real, and you are no longer in a warm, secure bubble in which anything beautiful and fantastic can happen. You're in the cold harsh reality of the 'Real World' in which bad things happen, people get raped and murdered and you can be so, so sad.

I suppose what i'm thinking is that blogging has always been, for me, a release of very negative feelings of self hatred and extreme sadness and now that perhaps i'm not sad, or let me phrase that better, perhaps now i'm happy, a rather large element of the release that i used to gain from bloggging has been removed.

I knew that when i made the resolution to re-start, well, i knew i was happier but that some things in my life still caused me much pain, and maybe re-starting was directed at adressing those issues in some form of tangible form. Now..i still need to get my Fathers adress, but i have written a very angry, very..well, the letter was designed to make him cry. So, if there is a word for that, then that is the word i choose. But along with it i will send the story i wrote, about Fairies and understanding. So it's not just going to be BAM in your face you cunt for a face yellow belly, it's going to be BAM in your face you cunt faced yellow belly cry and have this story to let your tears drip onto.

The meeting with my Mentor felt slightly futile, for the first half an hour we went around in circles discussing confidentiality and didn't really get to a concrete conclusion as to when or under what circustances it would be broken..she asked if i could just accept that there perhaps wouldn't be one..she essentially asked me to trust her. I sat there and thought about it, for going on 10 seconds, which is a long lapse in conversation. Eventually i said yes, as i knew that if i didn't that would be the end, there would be no point in continuing. She said something, confirming what i said i presume [as my memory fails here] and i replied "Well, it's either that or i walk out the door." It sounds harsh but i don't think the tone in which i said it was, it was rather a statement of the thought process i had used to come to the conclusion that i did. An explaination.

I suppose it was a good meeting, it was functional, and went as well as first meetings can.

ND is now in Italy, i am joining him on Tuesday. I'm quite looking forward to it actually. It's going to certainly be an adventure.

There was a woman flyering outside the Union who i thought looked very interesting as i observed her from the safety of the cash point. She had a massive stack, at least 20cm tall, of flyers for a night which i plan on going to, hosted by the same people who did a night at the same place in January which was amazing. Seriously, mind blowingly, amazing. So i went over, and asked if there were any early bird tickets left, as they are only £15. The details are slightly fuzzy but in the end, i walked away with her number and she had mine to text me about early bird tickets. I didn't need hers, but somehow i'd got it..and also sensed a vibe of attraction. Obviously i'd spoken to her because i thought she was fit, but i didn't know if she'd think the same. On the off chance, and given that i'd somehow got her number, i thought i'd ask if she wanted to go for lunch or something at the weekend. So i did. She replied saying she was going to spain but that she'd definately want to after she returned.

How brilliant.

I asked someone out. I feel well proud of myself. She's a bit short though, as in, 5 foot 2 short. 10 inches shorter than me. And, the icing on the cake, she said yes.