I think anyone who reads me, or used to read me, will know that I have not made much effort to post updated blogs in a long time.
I wish I could say its because my life has just been so heavenly that I have not felt the need to update things as often. In fact its simply just down to hours in a day, and just not having as much time to fit everything in.
Well that I have decided to change!!
I have decided that I do want to start my blog again, and bring it back bigger and better than it ever was before. But sadly I can no longer do this here with blogger.com. I decided to open up a new one on a new service, and start afresh, this time doing everything as correctly as possible, and in general just being a better blogger.
So I invite all of my readers, whomever, and wherever you are to read my blog here:
http://theunclassified.blog.com/
I also wanted to say thank you all so very much for being with me all the way through, and I hope I get to still see you all in my new blog. You have all been great, and thank you all for the memories and the comments.
It's strange but as I was preparing to write down my goodbye to you, a song from the Muppets just kept repeating itself in my head. The song was a bit sad and melancholic, but the lyrics seem appropriate here.
'Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye.'
Goodbye Blogger, I will miss you!!
Sunday 1 April 2012
Tuesday 15 February 2011
My Very Best Carrie Bradshaw Impression
Since being back I have tried following my dreams in a completely fulfilling and worthwhile way. Unless you ignore the subtext of most things I post then you know that my dream is to be a writer. So I started writing for a Gay Online Magazine.
I kind of got into it by accident, but I feel so lucky to have the opportunity. I have mainly been writing opinion pieces, but I love doing it.
I can't quite describe the feeling of seeing something I wrote appear on the website, with my name attached to it. The only word that comes to mind, is joy. So simple yet so deeply profound.
Before I knew it I found myself tapping away at my computer constantly tossing around ideas for what to write. I also find myself drifting to other websites trying to pick up new ways of writing, and extending my vocabulary to stay engaging to readers.
It was from this that I found myself offered with another writing job at another online magazine. I'm not going to reveal too many details since I'm still working out the details but needless to say I am thrilled beyond belief.
Anyway to all my readers please google So So Gay, it's supported by some really great writers, and I promised them I would shamelessly plug the site!!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I kind of got into it by accident, but I feel so lucky to have the opportunity. I have mainly been writing opinion pieces, but I love doing it.
I can't quite describe the feeling of seeing something I wrote appear on the website, with my name attached to it. The only word that comes to mind, is joy. So simple yet so deeply profound.
Before I knew it I found myself tapping away at my computer constantly tossing around ideas for what to write. I also find myself drifting to other websites trying to pick up new ways of writing, and extending my vocabulary to stay engaging to readers.
It was from this that I found myself offered with another writing job at another online magazine. I'm not going to reveal too many details since I'm still working out the details but needless to say I am thrilled beyond belief.
Anyway to all my readers please google So So Gay, it's supported by some really great writers, and I promised them I would shamelessly plug the site!!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday 1 February 2011
New Year, Old Feelings
It's a brand new year and I have had a fair few adventures already. I went to Gran Canaria just after new years and since I got back to work I have been doing pretty well there too. Also if you have been following my twitter feed then you also know I have been writing for Sosogay.org, a great online website for gay guys.
Really it's been the fulfilment of a dream. My work is progressing. My dreams are growing, and even my appetite for adventure has gone from 0 to 60 in no time.
But then, He, came back into my life.
The last time I wrote about him I called him Fitty. He is an ex boyfriend and an occasional lover. I wrote that I was a little worried that he might start to have feelings for me and ruin our casual relationship, or worse, or budding friendship. Well it turns out I called it right on the money, the boy has feelings for me.
My first feeling when he told me was something akin to nausea. As though I had been punched in the stomach, so deep was the shock of his admission. He told me over the phone and I lost a good 3 minutes to total speechlessness. I couldn't quite will myself to speak, and all the while my heart began to *thrum* like an expertly plucked guitar string. I felt it spread and echo through me, that old and familiar chord. That aching almost pulsing and hungry gnawing in my chest. I willed with all my might to banish it so I could focus and fumble awkwardly through the rest of the conversation.
I wanted to beat myself with a stick. Worse I wanted to beat myself with...... a very big stick. I forgave Fitty for my heartbreak, but even so I am wary about the consequences of giving my heart to someone who broke it before. I could still remember clearly that night when we split up. The sound of his crying broke my heart like shattered glass, and that awful sobbing sound that ripped free from my own chest, was like the stuff of nightmares. There was fighting, and crying, then running out into the cold dark night and crumbling and curling in the shade of a worn and twisted tree, almost catatonic with my tears.
I wanted to find a way to articulate all of these feelings to the man on the other end of the phone, but he thwarted me with a few well chosen and heart felt words of his own.
"I am sorry, I know I fucked up before. But that was then, and I want to make everything up to you. Please say you will let me. Please say you will give me another chance!"
He asked me out for 1 date, to see how we feel. I said yes.
Before you judge me dear readers I ask you, what would be worse, a second chance to get your heart broken? Or a whole life lived and sometimes wondering what might of been if I had of been willing to explore the chance. If it doesn't work out, then I will always have my friend and lover still there,if it does....... Well that's a bridge to cross if and when I find it.
I sign off with a very speedy apology. I'm sorry I took so long to get another post online. Rest assured it won't be this long ever again.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Really it's been the fulfilment of a dream. My work is progressing. My dreams are growing, and even my appetite for adventure has gone from 0 to 60 in no time.
But then, He, came back into my life.
The last time I wrote about him I called him Fitty. He is an ex boyfriend and an occasional lover. I wrote that I was a little worried that he might start to have feelings for me and ruin our casual relationship, or worse, or budding friendship. Well it turns out I called it right on the money, the boy has feelings for me.
My first feeling when he told me was something akin to nausea. As though I had been punched in the stomach, so deep was the shock of his admission. He told me over the phone and I lost a good 3 minutes to total speechlessness. I couldn't quite will myself to speak, and all the while my heart began to *thrum* like an expertly plucked guitar string. I felt it spread and echo through me, that old and familiar chord. That aching almost pulsing and hungry gnawing in my chest. I willed with all my might to banish it so I could focus and fumble awkwardly through the rest of the conversation.
I wanted to beat myself with a stick. Worse I wanted to beat myself with...... a very big stick. I forgave Fitty for my heartbreak, but even so I am wary about the consequences of giving my heart to someone who broke it before. I could still remember clearly that night when we split up. The sound of his crying broke my heart like shattered glass, and that awful sobbing sound that ripped free from my own chest, was like the stuff of nightmares. There was fighting, and crying, then running out into the cold dark night and crumbling and curling in the shade of a worn and twisted tree, almost catatonic with my tears.
I wanted to find a way to articulate all of these feelings to the man on the other end of the phone, but he thwarted me with a few well chosen and heart felt words of his own.
"I am sorry, I know I fucked up before. But that was then, and I want to make everything up to you. Please say you will let me. Please say you will give me another chance!"
He asked me out for 1 date, to see how we feel. I said yes.
Before you judge me dear readers I ask you, what would be worse, a second chance to get your heart broken? Or a whole life lived and sometimes wondering what might of been if I had of been willing to explore the chance. If it doesn't work out, then I will always have my friend and lover still there,if it does....... Well that's a bridge to cross if and when I find it.
I sign off with a very speedy apology. I'm sorry I took so long to get another post online. Rest assured it won't be this long ever again.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday 19 December 2010
Memory Lane
The date is not set in stone, but it looks like I will be moving out in a matter of weeks. The house is nearly finished and I am just waiting for the final inspections to take place and then I will be out of my parents house..... at last.
However, as I sit and start to box up my life again I am beginning to feel the weight of the change beginning to settle in. I'm going to be paying a mortgage, I'm going to be paying bills, i am even going to have a tumble dryer. In a sick way I feel like an adult for the first time since I moved back home, and suddenly all my memories are more vivid and powerful than ever.
I'm in the middle right now of clearing out and throwing out all of my unwanted things and boxing up the stuff I want to keep and move over to the new house. However, its become a bit of an emotional minefield, with every other item throwing up another set of memories, good and bad.
This morning while I was clearing out my wardrobe I found my old school sports bag. It packed with two pairs of jeans and some shirts and a battered pair of trainers. I remembered I packed it at 16 when I tried to run away from home after yet another row with my mother, I never left but it was never unpacked. Right next to it was a bottle of vodka, emptied when I drank every night to get over the pain of first love. When I looked at my bookcase I still saw a glass rose he gave me for our first valentines together, it has the word "Forever" carved into the base, sadly the relationship didn't last quite as long. In the bed side cabinets I found my old black and white mobile I got after pestering my parents for nearly a month, then the coloured one I got to replace it about a year later. Old Christmas cards from my grandparents, who are now almost all gone, were tucked in the drawer under my bed, often never read once I extracted the money from them.
Childhood art projects that are little more than sketches, much loved and battered books, clothes I'll never wear again. I see the truth that most people seem to want to ignore. We as a species are emotional pack rats, and it's not just objects that clutter up our lives. Every item is a memory, every memory is a feeling, and every feeling still feels as deep, as painful and as beautiful as they were when we first felt them.
Is it any wonder that we can't bear to part with even the most mundane and awful things that fill up our cupboards and drawers.
I found one of my old school notebooks, half filled with my Law class notes, but mostly filled with doodles and badly drawn penises.... or is it peni for the plural. A shoe box filled with pictures and souvenirs from almost forgotten holidays, most of which in hated at the time. I found the suicide note my mother once wrote after a bad bout of whiskey induced depression. She survived but I kept it to remember how angry she made me, and I wouldn't ever think it was my fault.
After an hour of digging through my memories I decided it was best I stopped. There are only so many scars I can reopen before I need a break.
Not all of my memories are bad though sometimes those are the ones that stand out. I still have pictures of happy times with my ex who I'm lucky enough to still talk to. Old cloakroom tickets from amazing nights out with my uni mates. Ticket stubs from some of my favourite London shows. Everything comes back to me so easily the more I dig through.
It reminds me of the importance of my past in how it has shaped me so far. As I now move out and move on, I look forward to my future, and all the other opportunities to make more memories, good, bad, and both together.
However, as I sit and start to box up my life again I am beginning to feel the weight of the change beginning to settle in. I'm going to be paying a mortgage, I'm going to be paying bills, i am even going to have a tumble dryer. In a sick way I feel like an adult for the first time since I moved back home, and suddenly all my memories are more vivid and powerful than ever.
I'm in the middle right now of clearing out and throwing out all of my unwanted things and boxing up the stuff I want to keep and move over to the new house. However, its become a bit of an emotional minefield, with every other item throwing up another set of memories, good and bad.
This morning while I was clearing out my wardrobe I found my old school sports bag. It packed with two pairs of jeans and some shirts and a battered pair of trainers. I remembered I packed it at 16 when I tried to run away from home after yet another row with my mother, I never left but it was never unpacked. Right next to it was a bottle of vodka, emptied when I drank every night to get over the pain of first love. When I looked at my bookcase I still saw a glass rose he gave me for our first valentines together, it has the word "Forever" carved into the base, sadly the relationship didn't last quite as long. In the bed side cabinets I found my old black and white mobile I got after pestering my parents for nearly a month, then the coloured one I got to replace it about a year later. Old Christmas cards from my grandparents, who are now almost all gone, were tucked in the drawer under my bed, often never read once I extracted the money from them.
Childhood art projects that are little more than sketches, much loved and battered books, clothes I'll never wear again. I see the truth that most people seem to want to ignore. We as a species are emotional pack rats, and it's not just objects that clutter up our lives. Every item is a memory, every memory is a feeling, and every feeling still feels as deep, as painful and as beautiful as they were when we first felt them.
Is it any wonder that we can't bear to part with even the most mundane and awful things that fill up our cupboards and drawers.
I found one of my old school notebooks, half filled with my Law class notes, but mostly filled with doodles and badly drawn penises.... or is it peni for the plural. A shoe box filled with pictures and souvenirs from almost forgotten holidays, most of which in hated at the time. I found the suicide note my mother once wrote after a bad bout of whiskey induced depression. She survived but I kept it to remember how angry she made me, and I wouldn't ever think it was my fault.
After an hour of digging through my memories I decided it was best I stopped. There are only so many scars I can reopen before I need a break.
Not all of my memories are bad though sometimes those are the ones that stand out. I still have pictures of happy times with my ex who I'm lucky enough to still talk to. Old cloakroom tickets from amazing nights out with my uni mates. Ticket stubs from some of my favourite London shows. Everything comes back to me so easily the more I dig through.
It reminds me of the importance of my past in how it has shaped me so far. As I now move out and move on, I look forward to my future, and all the other opportunities to make more memories, good, bad, and both together.
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