Tag Archives: being alone

Baking

25 Oct

Cat-Baking

I’m great at baking. I’m great at cooking too. Another two reasons I am astounded to not be married, and to not even have a boyfriend.

The thing is, after the Pizza of Doom, I kind of gave up on both. I used to bake for my ex a lot. He always referred to the time I first made him red velvet cupcakes as “a significant moment in our relationship”. It was. It was the night we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend. After he asked me. After only four dates. Still bitter? Who me? Anyway, I’m sure there is some deep-rooted psychological reason, but ever since the break up I cannot get red velvet cake to come out the right colour. So I gave up. I have nobody to bake for. There was no pleasure to be had in creating beautiful things in my kitchen. I just stopped doing it. And on the cooking front, well, is there anything sadder than some 32-year-old spinster cooking for herself?

I actually did start cooking again after last winter saw me chalk up around 57 colds and viruses. It was time to reintroduce vegetables. I still eat toast most nights. Or kids’ ready meals. But, sure, I’ll make meals and freeze them in pathetic little single portions for when I get in from work at night.

Baking, though, remained untouched. Somehow it’s a much more emotional thing. It’s a “nice to have” a “nice to do”. It’s love, presented in sugar, eggs and flour. And I’ve been losing weight, so the last thing I need is a batch of brownies and nobody to share them with.

Very recently I began baking again. I made a gingerbread brownie thing for a friend, and then took the remains into work for my colleagues. I gave some to Irish Two. Everyone loved them. And I really enjoyed baking them.

I find Saturdays tough at the moment. I invariably end up in tears at some point. And that pain, that deep deep pain, hits me in the chest towards the end of the day. Yet Saturdays are also my favourite days, because I go swimming and take my favourite yoga class. Today I got a mani pedi and chose bright orange polish that reminds me it’s autumn.

And then I came home and baked. Just for me. To make my flat warm, and let my living room well up with the smell of spices and sweetness, and to have something delicious to eat after my homemade autumn stew.

What’s my point? I’m wondering the same thing as I type this.

I guess it’s that, when life isn’t how you want it to be it’s all to easy to deny yourself niceness. It’s all to easy to ask, “Why bother?”. Why bother dressing up when you have nobody to dress up for? Why bother cooking when it’s just you? Why bother going for a pedicure when only the yoga people at yoga class see your toes? Why bother caring?

Well, buddies, you should bother, for this simple reason: a little bit of sweetness can change any situation. Not a lot. Just a pinch.

Advertisements

The crazy hours

23 Apr

crazy-cat

I love coming home from work in the evenings. I love kicking my shoes off, putting on pyjamas, microwaving a kids’ meal, and spending quality time with my TV.

I look forward to it all day.

And yet, these are my crazy hours.

Because when everything else stops, the bit of my brain obsessed with the ex and my absolute terror re being alone forever wakes up.

And taunts me.

So every night I go to bed and find my pillow soaked from tears as I’m falling asleep. But when I wake up in the morning I don’t want to go to work at get all busy and distracted. I want to lie in my bed. It’s so comfy. Mmmm.

I go to work, and count the hours until I can go home and relax. Yet it’s not unusual for me to get home, put my key in the door, and start crying before I even get into the building.

I don’t have a point tonight or even a message.

I think I’m just a bit nuts.

But it’s been a hell of a nine months.

Aren’t I entitled to be crazy?

Home again alone again

21 Mar

 

 

tumblr_mg103if1nx1r67k03o1_500-1

I just got home from Paris.

To my lovely, warm, tidy flat. My empty flat.

I’m exhausted. The start of the week was busy. Yesterday I was on the go from 7am. When we got to Paris it was a quick turnaround then on to our Paris office to do pitch run throughs. We ate out with our French colleague. Ohhhh the French eat late. And up early today to practice. The pitch ran two hours late. It went well. We drank wine. We ate cheese. Train home. (With no wifi – sort it out, Eurostar.) Phew.

I decided to be lazy and get a taxi from the station rather than face the tube, overland train and ten-minute walk back to my flat. And in the taxi, as I was wiping away sleep from my eyes and trying to find my wallet in my bag and remember where I live, I couldn’t help but feel it would be nice to come home to someone.

How perfect it would be to walk through the door to a cuddle. And someone to tell about my trip. And maybe some peanutbutter and jam on toast. Mmm peanutbutter.

You know what? This is the whole deal with my life right now: it’s good. I have a great career. I have my own flat. My friends are fabulous cats. Family are nuts but I love them. And I am grateful, believe me.  I know how incredibly lucky I am. But I feel so sad that I have nobody to share this life with.

Equally, when I’m away and all my colleagues grab ten minutes to Skype their other halves, I feel like I’m missing something.

I guess I just need to hope that some lucky hot piece of ass out there is missing me.

Even though he hasn’t met me yet.

Bonjour, Paris

13 Mar

Pont-des-Arts-Paris-France-Love-Locks-photo-by-Jonathan-Savoie_1200

Well, I’m working late again. Dealing with some kind of video edit catastrophe. I’ve had to cancel dinner with two lovely friends. I feel pretty sorry for myself right now.

But I did get some happier news earlier. Work-related, of course. There is little else in my life right now.

I’m going to Paris for two days next week to pitch for a new account.

Ahhh, Paris in springtime.

Where honeymooners kiss on the banks of the Seine. And wander through the streets hand-in-hand. And gaze upon each other over coq-au-vin and bottles of vin. And declare their love unbreakable by locking padlocks to the Pont des Arts.

Only I could be going there with colleagues. To pitch for a marketing account. For an engineering firm.

Wow.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited. Travelling with work is one of my favourite things about work. A trip abroad makes all those days in London in an office with no windows (true story) worthwhile.

I’m just moaning because I’m bitter. It’s what I do these days.

Going to Paris sans petit ami means unlimited time to myself in Sephora on the Champs-Elysées.

I win.