Dry Spell


Readers, I am frustrated…

I have neglected my blogs for too long, for different reasons.

I have had a very challenging year or two, and it has most definitely impacted on my ability to get my thoughts straight in my mind, never mind getting them down in any coherent form that comes close to anything I would subject my followers to. (FYI: there is absolutely no guarantee that todays post will be any better, but my frustration and need to connect once again has overridden my internal quality control monitor.)

Health issues, both physical and mental, have plagued me and at several times have beaten me down to a point where some days getting dressed or showered has been a triumph. I am trying some new approaches which I hope will help me feel better and, fighting my realistic/fatalistic streak every day, I remind myself of the rewards to be gained from the changes, rather than dwell on how difficult they are to carry out. I have even, my lovely readers, made a chart that is stuck on my fridge! How very “self helpy” can you get?!

There have been days of wonderful positivity where I have wanted nothing more than to open my MacBook and write about all the good things I have in my life – a husband who is also my best friend, who knows all my darkest, ugliest secrets and loves me anyway, who makes me laugh til I cry, two beautiful dogs that bring me so much joy, a secure home to live in, enough money to always go to the ATM and not feel anxious, a garden built by myself and the OH which is peaceful and soul enriching to sit in… but I have not done so for fear of almost cursing my good fortune.

As for my fiction blog and my amateur photography, well, I have simply been feeling about as inspired as a used teabag. Walking used to be my therapy; ideas would come to me as I wandered through town, watching people and places, but I haven’t been out of the house much at all for quite a while, again for several reasons. Part of my new approach is to change this but it is proving more challenging than I thought it would be.

I read writing memes such as #Wicked Wednesday and #Kink of the Week but am left empty and frustrated at my complete writers block. I have entered the wonderful #Sinful Sunday, but only for the prompt weeks as I find right now I really need a push to produce anything.

Given my physical and mental health, I must admit that feeling sexy or sexual has been totally at the bottom of my list for a while now, which given that I am supposedly, (or at least, I once was), a sex blogger, is unhelpful to say the least.

I know it is a long process – lord, I have lived through 40-odd years of the fucking process. It is such a challenge to not get exhausted by it, by the fact that it never seems to have an end date in sight. They, whoever they are, say it’s not the destination that matters but the journey… easy to say when there is a sense that there is any realistic sense of ever reaching the destination, or when the journey is not constantly interrupted by obstacles and diversions. The OH, who I love more than anything, also has more than his fair share of stress and worry and believe me the only thing worse than one depressive is putting two together! He too had a run of bad luck healthwise this past year which has added to the stress and sense of fatigue.

I am hoping that by getting these, not so coherent, thoughts down today it will spur me on to return to writing.

I have found that blogging can be a two faced beast: recording how I feel can result in me reinforcing those feelings, and this is where the risk lies, depending on whether the feelings are positive or self-destructive.

Today I am feeling… ok. I have taken to playing positive music very loudly and it does help, although I am not sure the neighbours would agree.

Today is Friday and the weekend lies ahead and we plan on some serious rest time but I am hoping we will also get out walking, maybe even with my camera, maybe even lunch out.

As for writing… well, I will continue to look at prompts and memes and just hope that my voice comes back to me, (and as a certain quite dreadful writer puts it, “my inner goddess” finds her “salsa moves” again).

I feel a bit of a half person without her.

💋

Copyright, 2017, k1kat.com

All rights reserved.

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Kat’s Eye #84 – “Bleech”


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I saw this discarded shopping list in the wine aisle of my local supermarket. I love finding things like this and getting a tiny insight into someone else’s life. It’s a bit similar to my love of peeping at what people have in their shopping trolleys.

The word-nerd in me is slightly irritated by the misspelling of bleach!

💋

Copyright, 2017, k1kat.com

All rights reserved.

Still Here!


You may have, (or, more likely may not have), noticed my absence of late. Today is the first day I have felt able to open my beloved Mac Book Pro and type again.

I have been facing some tough challenges, health and personal, the details of which I will not bore you with right now, but suffice to say they have been enough to have seen me retreat into myself in order to get through the past couple of months.

The lovely OH bought me this last month as part of my birthday stash and it makes me smile to think of how very well he knows me.

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This morning is the first time I have plucked up the courage to make a few notes in it about what is on my batshit-crazed-hamster-in-a-wheel-mind, and it surprised me by actually helping.

I will be getting some news on Thursday that will hopefully be good, but even if it is not, I think I will be ok. I have *Himself, who has been a tower of strength, and some very lovely friends who have reached out and offered support over the past while.

I feel the urge and need to write again, to be part of the blogging community and to rebuild much-valued links and relationships here. I do not have anything of great insight or creativity to share just yet, but I am hopeful that this first wee toe-dipping today is the start of KittyKat coming back to the blogosphere that I have missed so much.

Love y’all!

Ciao!

* no, not god! I am not a believer in magic; I refer to the OH here.

💋

Copyright, 2016, k1kat.com

All rights reserved

Is It Just Me?


I am sitting at my kitchen counter waiting for a man to arrive to repair and service my alarm system.

“So Kat, we are pretty accustomed to your tendency to share your mundane life but really, why are you telling us this?” I hear you ask.

Here’s why.

I am nervous. I hate the idea of a man I don’t know being in my house while I am alone here. I hate that I feel this way. I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate that it even enters my head that he could do me harm.

I hate that I wish my husband was here. He is an amazingly supportive man who always does his best to be home when we have any people in doing work on the house. This means he either takes a day off work or arranges to work from home. Today he simply couldn’t and that is totally fine with me. What I actually hate is that he feels he has to arrange to be here with me so much; that he knows how nervous and scared I feel when I am alone.

I put it to twitter asking why I am nervous and got a response from a male friend that it was ‘Stranger Danger’.

True.

And, sadly, stranger danger awareness is a very real and necessary thing, but here is the rub…

Would a man ever feel as vulnerable in the same position?

Is this sexist? Or is it simply a reflection of fact?

Perhaps men do feel nervous or scared when strangers come to their homes.

Perhaps many of the women who read my blog will roll their eyes, shake their heads and think, “Kat, get a grip!”. Perhaps a lot of them never feel the same as I do. Perhaps they think I am being a total wimp.

Hell, I think I am being a total wimp!

Of course it is highly unlikely that this poor, innocent until proven otherwise, man will have any malicious intent towards me. He is coming to do a job, get in and get out and get paid. It is pretty ridiculous that I am worried about being alone with him.

Ridiculous, but real.

So tell me – is it just me?

Ciao!

💋

Copyright, 2016, k1kat.com

All rights reserved.

Word For Wednesday (W4W) #68


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Play along here!

This week’s word is

Ennui

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How I have been feeling and some explanation as to why my W4W is a day late!

I need distraction. I need stimulation. I need to be busy.

I need to not be so fucking meh!

Someone shake me? Slap me? Give me a kick up the arse!

I will try, my lovely friends, to remove my own head from where it is lodged far up my rectum soon and revert to being a cheerful, productive blogger… I really will try.

Peace out.

*drops the mike…

Ciao!

💋

Copyright, 2016, k1kat.com

All rights reserved.

Things I would love to be but I’m not…


Musical

I love music. I love dancing. I love to sing.

I am no Adele, but I can hold a note, in so far as I haven’t yet caused the OH to deliberately smash the car into a wall whilst driving to escape my singing along to Spotify.

I went to a secondary school that prided itself on its choir and musicality. I remember sitting through musicianship class completely bewildered, as my fellow students seemed to just naturally grasp the difference between a crochet and a quaver and effortlessly read sheet music. I never learned to play any instrument, not counting the obligatory “The Gypsy Rover” on the tin whistle that all Irish primary school children were forced to learn.

To this day I would love to play guitar but my lack of musical confidence inhibits me. I don’t think I have the ‘ear’ for it. How would I know if I am in tune or not? My brother in law tried to teach me a basic chord on his acoustic but my tiny hands couldn’t span the neck. Maybe I need a child size one?

My other dream is to get proper singing lessons, learn how to control my breath and all that jazz. I actually contacted an instructor who told me her timetable was full. A silly part of me felt rejected, as if she could somehow sense I would be a hopeless student and I never followed up on it.

So, my singing stays in the kitchen, (sorry neighbours!), car, (sorry OH!), and shower, which provides marvelous acoustics!

Don’t expect to see me headlining at Wembly any day soon.

Graceful

I am, and have always been, that girl with the messy hair. I can spend time, money and effort perfecting my hair and still look as if I had just been dragged through a bush backwards. I see other women who look stylish, put together, groomed and grown up and then there’s me… the awkward tomboy, scruffy little sister with the smudged mascara and flyaway hair.

It is one reason I dress as I do, mainly in jeans, tee-shirts and converse sneakers. If I try to dress like a grown-ass woman I feel and look ridiculous, like a little girl trying on her mom’s clothes and heels. I am naturally clumsy. I can fall over my own foot, walk into walls and trip on my own shadow, so walking in heels would fall under the pedestrian equivalent of drunk driving. I would be a danger to myself and others.

Patient

If I am teaching something I can have endless patience. I enjoy the challenge of finding ways to make a subject make sense to a person. I love helping someone get to that place where the idea clicks. That is fun in my opinion.

But if it comes to waiting for a person to arrive or a thing or start, I am the worst! I value punctuality and consider it rude to be late or to faff about wasting time when you have somewhere to be. The OH is very guilty of this. We agree to leave the house, I put on my shoes and coat and stand by the door while he, taking his sweet time, mooches around finding his wallet, keys etc, then announces he needs to fix his hair and disappears upstairs, leaving me ready to go at the door. Usually, a good 10 minutes will pass before we actually leave the house. I never learn. I always get ready and wait. It is an endless, hopeless cycle.

(He insists it is never 10 minutes. He says 30 seconds. A bit like cock size in reverse right?)

Weirdly, I can wait in line, even if someone cuts in front of me, with perfect Zenlike calm…

Assertive

When it comes to standing up for other people I will do so with ferocious passion. When it comes to standing up for me… I crawl away like a timid mouse, terrified of causing a scene or creating a confrontation.

I am not sure where this comes from. Maybe it is a reflection of my sense of self worth, maybe I don’t feel I am worth standing up for. I tend to say nothing, to put up with being put down.

It is not good, I know this. I know I should defend myself as much as I would a friend or loved one. This is something I will continue to work on.

A good sleeper

I have never been a good sleeper. My sister can fall asleep any time, anywhere and I envy her.

I am Princess and the Pea level fussy… I require total darkness, total silence, the ‘just right’ temperature, blah blah blah. I have an incredibly expensive, NASA style mattress which I adore; it is like lying on a bed of clouds. I only use high thread count Egyptian cotton bedding. I have blackout blinds and ear plugs, (a futile attempt to drown out his snoring). I have tried different bedtimes, hot milk, relaxation exercises, herbal remedies.

Sleep evades me. Sleep is my enemy. The bags under my eyes have bags. I have resigned myself to a life of sleepless nights, curled on the sofa under a blanket, watching strange nighttime TV. Such is life…

A flirt

I would love to be a… wait… exactly who the fuck am I trying to kid here?

I popped out of my mother with a shimmy and winked at the OBGYN.

I flirt with my own reflection.

I flirt with men, women, babies, dogs… I am powerless to resist the urge to flirt.

It’s fun. It makes everyone feel good.

Hey, how you doin??????

Ciao!

💋

Copyright, 2016, k1kat.com

All rights reserved.