Friday, 29 June 2012

The mad old cat woman

When I wash the dishes, I like to use a sponge. Normal cloths just don't do it for me and they don't feel like they get all the bits off.

There's a problem with my sponge love. There's another little person in my life that loves sponges.

We put the sponges high so she can't find them, but she does. We hide them in cupboards so she can't find them, but she does. We put them under stuff so she can't find them, but she does. And then this happens....

You might not be able to see the carnage that she causes in this photo, but in my house tiny bits of sponge EVERYWHERE is the norm.  She rips it up with such energy, that I believe she is truly threatened by the sponge.

She isn't stupid, though. She plays fetch and understands Welsh. She's sensitive enough not to eat birds, instead she eats the seeds in bird feeders.

The history of my cat, Sati, is a troubled one. I found her on my way to the gym early one Sunday morning. She was ten weeks old, shaking, she had cuts on her face and a plastic band around her neck, which was supposed to be a collar.

I knew immediately that she was probably traumatised and suffering from abandonment issues. Han says that I anthropomorphise too much and treat her like a human too much, but I'm telling you now she communicates to me and I know.

When I had my tarot cards read once I honestly thought it would say that I'm an emotional wreck, albeit a keen humanitarian who is going to live abroad and save the world and get married to a funny, sensitive, slightly eccentric traveller. However it said I was 'at one' with animals. The group I was with all laughed and so did I. It was like they were telling me I was Dr Doolittle when I wanted to be Mother Theresa.

Anyway, it turns out I can talk to my cat. And I love her so much, yeah she's a little needy, but as I keep saying she's got abandonment issues and she can get a bit insecure.

She's so affectionate and loving, its amazing. She gets in to bed to have a cuddle and she leaps onto my shoulders and head butts my head. She's got the best pink nose and massive paws and she's the best little girl in the world.

When I got up this morning I decided I was going to write a long blog post that made up for the last few days of not blogging, but then on my way into work we had a car accident and I can't really concentrate because I think I've got an injury. So I'm going to go and pick up my cat and go to the hospital, because she wouldn't want to not be with me at a time of trouble.

Here are some more pictures so you can see how amazing she is and how obsessed with her I am.

Monday, 25 June 2012

Serious Lucy revelation number 1.

I have OCD.

Not the kind of OCD that everyone says they have when they feel uncomfortable leaving lights on or doors ajar.

Not superstitious and moderate ritualistic behaviour.

I have full blown, severe, diagnosed and medicated OCD.

I have seen psychotherapists, psychiatrists and doctors for almost 12 years, now and I have been medicated for almost as long.

Writing this blog is a kind of therapy, I think. I'm not secretive about it, but banging on to someone at a party when you're trying to have a beer is boring. I don't talk about it often at all, really.

I met my friend's girlfriend, (now wife), for the first time a few years ago and it was the first time in my life I'd met someone with OCD as severe as mine. I get really sick of people saying 'Oh and me...' when I mention having OCD, and complaining that sometimes they can't go to bed without putting their picture frames straight or washing their hands thoroughly. Everyone has a ritual, its really, really normal - but this lovely girl actually really did have the anxiety disorder as it is medically defined.

So do I.

The other reason that I don't often talk about it, aside from it being a mood killer, is because talking about it really sets my crazy behaviours off. I get a bit more twitchy and ritualish when it comes up in conversation, which it does from time to time. I took my mum out for a cup of coffee today and she was telling me this story about some guy on the telly that had OCD and I immediately felt my heart speed up and my breath get a little fluttery.

I can rationalise everything. The best psycho doc that I ever saw was amazed at how rational and reasonable I was when I talk about it. In short, it stems from the fact that at a very early age I was sensitive and quite forward thinking. I was aware of the problems in the world before I was aware of who the Mister Men were.

I also learned very quickly that anything can happen at any time and  we're not necessarily prepared for it. This lesson is common to everyone in life and is normally learned at a nice pace, through conversation, mistakes, experience and instinct. I kinda followed that formula, but with a series of traumas that happened in really quick succession and shocked me. My brain and it's chemicals got all out of sync and imbalanced. I felt out of control. I felt that I couldn't control anything that happened in the world and I couldn't ever stop the bad things happening even if I wished and hoped until my head popped.

The only thing in my life that I could control was my movements, my behaviours and my rituals. Therefore my crazy brain overcompensates for the feeling of being out of control by uber controlling my lifestyle behaviours, movements and thoughts. Make sense?

The other added bonus is that there's a piece of our brains in the very front of our heads in the centre. It's small and looks like a sausage. Mine is slightly twisted, which causes a lot of these thought processes to happen.

I've got a twisted sausage.

One of the biggest mistakes I have made in my reaction to my mental health issues is to minimise or internalise my rituals. A lot of people with severe OCD have really obvious behaviours, but I didn't want to look like I had a mental health problem, so all my rituals are basically hidden. They do, however, dominate my life just as much as if my rituals were extravagent and big.

I can't tell you how exhausting that is.

Every breath is counted. Every word is carefully chosen. Every movement of my tongue when I talk, of my eyes from the minute I'm awake, of my fingers and my toes - is considered and controlled. What I touch, how I read, how I type, what I say, how I eat and drink, how I walk - everything, everything has a correct way.

If I do it wrong, I'm f**king screwed. That means I have to repeat the wrong way and the right way alternately 8 times until it feels ok.

Hannah noticed a few years ago that my fingers move funny. She also wondered why I pause a lot when I talk. I didn't think those were noticeable things. Anyway, she knows why now and she absolutely takes the p**s out of me. Which is amazing. That's the best, best, bestest way to deal with it.

I am trying exposure therapy at the moment. Riding high with anxiety by not adhering to ritual until the heart rate has no choice but to come down. It works for the most part, but when I'm stressed, tired or a bit out of sorts it doesn't really do the trick.

But I'm totally learning and coping and happy. Although it might seem hard to believe after this blog, I'm a perfectly normal, functioning human being.

Albeit with a twisted sausage.


Sunday, 24 June 2012

Africa and Asterixi

Is two and a half weeks before too early to start packing for a trip?

When I normally go away, it's a bit last minute and slightly chaotic. I have to get my mum and dad, boyfriend, friends and pretty much everyone in my life to run through the checklist. This is how the conversations normally go...

Me and Mum

'Have you got knickers?'
'Of course I've got knickers, mum.'
'Have you got socks?'
'Of course I've got socks.
'Have you got bras?'
'Of course I've got bras.'
'Have you got your toothbrush?
'Yes, of course'.
'Something to read on the plane?'

Me and Dad

'Have you got clothes?'
'Yes, Dad, of course I've got clothes.'
' can't think of anything else. Why don't you ask your mother?'

Me and Mike

'Just do a body scan. Have you got everything you need for your head? Have you got everything you need for you neck? Have you got everything you need for your shoulders..........' etc
'MIKE!! WHEN ARE YOU GONNA ASK ME ABOUT KNICKERS AND TICKETS??!! Everyone starts with knickers and tickets - what the f**k is wrong with you, (scream, huff, start sobbing) I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm just a little stressed right now....'

I suppose I get a little paranoid because when I went to Mongolia I was uber organised. I had my compass in case I got lost in the wilderness, and for the same purpose I had one of those foil blankets that help you when you get hypothermia, ('cos that happens in Mongolia, obvs). I had my medical kit, my washing line, guidebooks etc. Just not my tickets or my passport.

I travel a lot, which I love. I've been to quite a few places in Africa and I've lived there for a little bit. The SAFE Foundation support projects in a few African countries and I'm really lucky to get to be there relatively often. So why do I feel so scared about working in Zambia this time?

I think it's because I normally travel with one of the other charity directors when I go away. This trip, though is completely on my own, which I haven't done for over ten years. The last time I travelled on my own was the one time I got myself into trouble. I think I'll save the story for another post, but the point of this one is that I feel scared.

The other reason is because I really, really, really want to be good at the job and I'm not the most confident girl at times.

In training for this trip, the representatives at the training organisation, (Emerging World - who are amazing) told us that while we are away we are 'an ambassador for the Welsh Government'. This makes me feel really proud, but also incredibly nervous. And its also the reason I've been using asterix's in my swear words instead of typing them all.

What's the plural of asterix?

Anyway, the assignment fits in to the Welsh Government's 'Wales Africa Framwork'. So, basically is part of Wales's contribution to International Development in Sub Saharan Africa. Which must be important, because I've suddenly started using loads of capitals.
I was selected for the assignment based on my experience of being a Director of a charity and managing an NGO. Based on my last seven posts - who out there can fricking believe that I manage an NGO? No - nor me.

So my brief in Zambia is to redesign certain strategies that deal with rural women's land rights on behalf of an advocacy and lobbying alliance that are the go between between small communities and the Zambian authorities. I've been told by everyone involved that my brief will almost certainly change when I'm there, and so I shouldn't get too hooked on the idea of the job.


The assigment is not a long one. In total I'll be away for just under three months, but that's still time to spin out, f**k up and miss people.

You may have realised by now that I love people. That means that I miss them and even if it is only a matter of months, I still miss them. I'll miss Hannah more than I can say because she's the other half of me and ever since the egg split I can't really do without her for long periods of time.

I'll miss the rest of my family and my blokey, who I will worry about when I'm away.

I'll miss my cat

I'll even miss Jorben and Arthursrealm in my alliance chatroom on Kingdoms of Camelot, Battle for the North. I can hear Hannah laughing out loud at this last sentence, but I'm not ashamed of my love of that game. I think I'll save the justification for my playing for another post, but the point is that I can imagine myself feeling quite isolated at times.

I think over the next few posts, you might hear about my nerves a bit more. Feel free to comment and tell me I'm being stupid. In fact, I formally invite more comments while I'm away. I think it will make me feel more in touch with people.

Oh my God - look how long this post is! Can I stop now?

Friday, 22 June 2012

Love, hate and everything in between

One of my favourite memories in all the whole world was when Hannah, (twin) fell over outside the New Theatre after we were on Britain's Got Talent. We were walking towards the pedestrian crossing and talking and I looked away for a nano second to press the crossing button. When I looked back she was spread-eagled on the floor trying to get up. Like a really clumsy elephantesque bambi, who kept slipping around. I couldn't help her because I was in stitches. Keeled over laughing until it hurt.

I just wish people could see what I saw so they can share the funniest moment in history with me.

I have this thought often. I have so many experiences that I have loved, so many stories I want to tell, so many pictures in my head that I want to share. But you never really can, can you? Unless someone was there with you, they will never see what you see or feel what you feel. This is a thought that frustrates me. I find myself sometimes speaking so much about something, but saying absolutely nothing. Never quite getting my point or my story across.

My boyfriend is absolutely amazing with words. He's so descriptive and articulate. He tells stories and relays experiences with an absolutely captivating energy. I love it. I just wish I had that skill - to pick the words I want and that really encapsulate the memory or the feeling that I'm trying to express. Instead of rambling on and saying the same thing over and over again, but also saying nothing in particular. Lots of people tell me to 'skip to the end' when I'm speaking. Should I be offended, or is it constructive criticism? Some people even roll their eyes. I don't know how to take this, because on one hand I feel slighted and unlistened to, and on the other hand if I was listening to me, I would have definately tuned out at about the same time they did, probably before.

I also feel like this with the love that I have for people. Especially my family. I love them so much, but those words don't say it. I'll say it all the time and it never feels like I'm getting any closer to telling them how much I love them. I think that actions speak louder than words, but then when I hug them so hard it just hurts them.

What's a bit scary about me is that it doesn't take much for me to feel extremely negative about things and people, either. I admit that I never hate my family, ever, ever, ever. It makes me feel funny even putting the words 'hate' and 'family' together in a sentence. But sometimes, if someone is mean to someone in my family, I hate them. Doesn't matter what they've done, who's right, who's wrong, I don't need to have listened to them, I don't need the full story, I just hate them.

Hannah can't believe that my head does what it does. I never act on the burning desire to exact revenge on anyone who has even looked at my family in the wrong way, but it sits with me for a while before I can let it go.

Someone said to me the other day, 'you're quite reactive, aren't you' and without even thinking about it I said, 'I'M NOT F**KING REACTIVE!!!!'. that moment, I kinda had an insight about myself.

So this post is called 'Love, hate and everything in between', but in truth in my head there is relatively little in between. I have been learning lately that I have to mellow. I have to chill out and relax and not be so vicious in my protectiveness of the people that I love. Its a hard process for me and I have lost friends in the process of trying and failing to loosen up a bit.

I'm very intolerant. I'm very impatient and I'm very defensive. But I tell myself at least I know these things now and I can work on them. And I think for the most part that people and the world are so amazing, I need not worry about the bad side of me coming out too often. Just don't f**k with my family.

I don't know if this next bit is a pointless exercise or not, but these are a few photographs that are my most cherished memories. You might not get them, but the time they were taken were life changing, character shaping, joyous moments of lovingness in my life. And they make me smile.

Thursday, 21 June 2012

Birds and bees

When we got our first office, last November, I viewed it with my friend and business mentor, Ian (charming, a bit posh, soft inside, professional) and one of the first things I noticed was that there were lots of blue and great tits that lived in the bushes outside. This excited me because I'm an unashamed twitcher. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it means birdwatcher. I used to be embarrassed about that, but now I don't care.

This is the view from my office. 

I was on holiday in Portugal with an old boyfriend once and as we were walking around a market we heard a familiar voice behind us speaking English. We turned around and there he was.....Bill Oddie. My absolute hero. The problem was, that the boyfriend, (who is still my friend) is a real cool kid. Just naturally cool - he loves cool music and cool clothes, cool things to do and has cool friends. I remember feeling really excited at the fact that there was Bill Oddie standing in front of me, but having to suppress the screams that come with being star struck because it would make me seem so very uncool in front of the very cool boyfriend.

Anyway, it turns out that Bill Oddie is a knob. He was really rude and it put me off twitching for a little while. Fully back on it now, though after three recent events.

The first is discovering EcoExplore, a company in Cardiff that is run by a group of very clever, (and cool) conservationists and animal lovers that set up tours for people to experience their local nature.

The second is finding an office that provides ample birdwatching space.

The third is when Math, (brother in law, amazing, funny, cool but not too cool that I can only talk about cool things with him), took me up to the Newport Wetlands last month and I felt like weeping the whole time. There were Shelducks, Pochards, Greenfinches and so many more things to get excited about. It made me wonder whether twitching was so called because you watch things that twitch or because when you see something exciting you get all twitchy. I do, anyway. Going in the hide was the best bit, and looking through my new binoculars. The best, BEST bit was the fact that Math didn't laugh at me.

It feels liberating to be able to admit to all the things that I like to do now that I'm not so young and I don't have to care about being cool. Like, I have always been a rambler. Walking is a real big thing for me and I have always done it. Tried a bit of Nordic walking, too, which was fun. We used to have rambling club, about four or five years ago and it was pretty much a secret in case it wasn't cool enough to talk about with other groups of friends. Now everyone is doing it. I know plenty of people who walk or have joined rambling clubs. So I can talk about it without having to pretend that I go home and smoke drugs after a ramble.

I'm now really aware of the fact that the title of this post is called 'Birds and bees', but that I haven't mentioned bees. I do love them, and I'm concerned about their protection, but I can't really talk about them as I can do with birds. I don't even know if you have species of bees? Are they all the same or do you have different breeds? Can you breed bees? Do they all sting? Are any of their stings poisonous or deadly? I really couldn't tell you.

The other thing that I'm really aware of is that I said yesterday that I was going to talk about how I believe that myself and my twin experience quantum entaglement in the real world every day. However, I'm not. It's the kind of thing that I have to double check with some science websites that I've said the right thing before I publish it because I don't want to look stupid. Looking uncool is fine these days, but looking stupid, I still haven't been able to accept yet. Maybe I'll leave the science post until I've got some more time to research and rip of some intelligent sentences from a journal or a PhD paper.

So, Pretty cool things.


Wednesday, 20 June 2012

Back to emotions

The last time I blogged was about a week ago and I couldn't really get emotional because I was with company in a van going to a festival.

I didn't have an internet connection for a week while I was there, and that's loads of time to store up and dwell on the range of emotions that festival life can conjur up. So, we might be in for a long and crazy post today.....

I had loads of thoughts at the festival while I was painting people's faces, making tea or coffee and talking about development. Most of my thoughts were questions about how people could get so mashed up on drug cocktails and still have a good time. The other thoughts were sort of centred around how ugly gurning is and how stale alcohol stinks, but in a nostalgic way that reminds me of being places I shouldn't have been as an underage clubber.

I also felt old. I did get I.D'd in Asda buying alcohol for the festival, which made me nearly cry with joy, but apart from that the whole experience just made me feel like a stern parent that couldn't control the 5,000 stupid kids that were there.

However, the people that I went with are lush. I frickin' love The SAFE Foundation - if you don't know it, that's the charity I run with my friends, and we were at this festival with a stall that raises a few pennies for the charity as well as doing development education workshops. In this case, people were too messy to concentrate on development, so it was mainly painting psychadelic stuff on people's cheeks. We do a few festivals every year, but this was the first time we worked a trance/dance festival, and it might not have really been our thing. But the friends I was with, who double up as colleagues when we need to impress funders and important people, were good company.

My friend/trustee Abi was working there, too and, although she doesn't know this, she was full of lessons for me to learn through my observation of her general attitude towards life. She's positive and carefree about loads of stuff and it made me really happy. She was really chatty to everyone, even if they were gurning and dribbling, and she didn't judge anyone. It made me take notice of the way I judge people, even though I'm in a job where I actively design and deliver programmes that tell people the dangers of negative stereotyping. Several times this week, actually no - almost all the time this week, I just wanted to tell people to f**k off and stop pretending to be a cool hippy when you're actually probably from a North London middle class family with a house in the country and a horse. Abi just listened to everyone and responded perfectly, evenly and with consideration every time.

I say the words 'judgements' or 'stigma' every day. Those concepts are so intrinsic in my job, but I forget to sometimes check in with myself about when they affect me personally. I do judge people, we all do, but I listen well and I will always take individual conversations and experiences of someone else as the basis of my opinion instead of judging them on appearances, other people's opnions or really short experiences that don't tell me anything. Except with drugs. Its nuts and I can't explain it, but in the past I have always had the association of drugs with people who don't care about anything or who are on self destruct. I seem to have worked on every other judgement I have except that one - it sticks sometimes.

There was a guy there who was obsessed with expanding his consciousness. Boooooring. I had to listen to him for 45 minutes bang on about all the trips he's done in South Africa and other places and how they have affected his ability to connect with the universe and the trees and the fish and the goats and the stars and the clouds and the shrubbery and the...F**K OFF!! But I have to admit he wasn't a man on self destruct. He was really keen and eager to develop himself and be 'at one' with whatever he identified with. His trigger and his means to do this was acid. Convenient. Or maybe true?

Anyway the point is that he wasn't a drop-out or a bum or a middle class North Londoner and so my immediate judgements were wrong. And I have no choice but to learn from that. Abi clearly already has because she was as patient with one person as she was with the next.

That's it. I think. Not too long or crazy. I think tomorrow I'm going to go even more deep and tell you about the things that keep happening with me and Hannah (twin) and how I attribute some physical synchronisities with quantum mechanics and atomic energy.

Bye for now.


Wednesday, 13 June 2012


Today I'm not going to write about feelings.

Occasionally they bore me, so I figure they'll probably bore other people, too.

There's another reason why I can't talk about feelings today- I'm en route to Glade festival, to work with my charity. I'm in a van with Chris, (lovely, hyperactive, practical, dog owner) and Caz (lovely, mellow, red hair, van owner). It isn't that people don't have feelings when they go to festivals, but the drive is a fun one and I havent got the right head on to go deep.

In the summer my charity tour around the festivals making money by facepainting, selling teas and coffees and raising awareness about world stuff by delivering workshops. It's fun, hard work and worthwhile, but at the same time I get a bit scared of all the fourteen year olds walking around on ketamine and pills.

Glade is a dancey one. Dance, electronica, folktronica and other genres people have made up on the spot for the brochures and the website. I found out today it's £180 a ticket. £180 A TICKET!!!! What?! Who pays that? To have an experience you won't remember because you're too f**cked up on class A's. Don't get it.

Having said that I am looking forward to it. It's the only festival I'm working this year because I'll be in Zambia for the rest of the summer. I'm looking forward to spending time with Caz and meeting new people. I'm looking forward to painting cocks on the faces of the people who annoy me and to not taking drugs.

I'm going to try and blog between the rush hours, but if I don't it's because I'm delivering first aid on a child with too many horse tranquillisers in it's system.

Wish me luck!

Tuesday, 12 June 2012

Ears and fingers

Every day, at some point, I take a minute to dwell on how lucky I am.

Sometimes I see blind people or people in wheelchairs and it overwhelms me that I was lucky enough to be born with all my faculties and functions. Albeit with an absolutely f***d up brain.

I'm terrified about losing my hearing and I'm terrified that one day I might accidently chop off my fingers when I'm trying to cook like a professional chef and dice the onions really quickly. Or that I'll lose them in another way that is perhaps more likely. Jam them in the car door or get them eaten by a German Shepherd. The dog, that is, not an actual German Shepherd. Or maybe have a terrible fall and break them beyond the point of repair.

There are two things that I do regularly that completely liberate me from my crazy thoughts. Two things that allow me to lose all the attachments I have to worldly concerns and really feel complete. Writing songs and dancing. They are also the only two things in life that I know I can do well. But you can't do them if you can't hear or if you haven't got any fingers. Well, you could write songs, I suppose, but not on a guitar or a piano. Anyway, the point is that I'm so frickin' lucky.

I also look at my friends and my family and just get blown away by how amazing they all are. If my friends are reading this, some of you may have caught me staring at you from time to time. That's not because I secretly fancy you. Or because I'm thinking of ways to kill you. It's because I appreciate you absolutely and I can't get my head around it. The staring is a by-product of not being able to comprehend it. You're all very special and I can't imagine what I've done to deserve such brilliant people in my life.

Every time I walk down the stairs I hope I don't fall. Sometimes the fear that I will stops me walking down the stairs for a minute or two until I can get myself together. And when the people I love walk away from me I have this crippling fear that I might not see them again. When I write songs and play guitar, I don't worry like that. And when I dance I don't think like that. There's an obvious solution to my crazy head woes, here. Go through life dancing and not walking down stairs or going near those crazy German Shepherds.

Eve, my colleague and friend, who is beautiful and gorgeous and has very quickly learned that she can tell me when I'm being a knob, told me the other day that I was an 'I love you slut'. I say it often to many people, and she's right. But I can honestly say that I don't take those words for granted. I love the people in my life very much and I will tell them when I am compelled to. I will tell people when they're being a dickhead, too, but mostly I just find things to love in people.

I'm not sure there is a moral or a point in this post. Maybe just a therapeutic admission of the way I think. And I don't know how to end it. So I'm just going to go now and not say anything else except I love you all. Especially my one follower and the person who is reading my blog from Iraq.


Monday, 11 June 2012

Blog Etiquette

I have come to the conclusion that I might need a little help to kick start my new life as a successful blogger.

In true Lucy style, I think I may have overthought it already and it hasn't even begun. I have already lost sleep worrying about how many times a day/week/decade I should blog? And who is really going to read it? Why am I doing it? Will people think I'm mental? Can I swear on my blog? In real life my language is pretty f**ked up, is it ok for that to translate onto a public page? Will children read this and get the wrong impression of me? What if I say something offensive to someone? Maybe I'll just end up inviting hate mail? Have I got interesting things to say? How can I avoid humblebragging? What if Adam Levine ends up reading it and not falling in love with me? Oh God...its all a massive risk...

Nevertheless that is how my brain works. Hannah, my twin, says to me often 'Oh my God, I'm so glad I'm me and not you' when I tell her how my head behaves. I don't blame her. Sometimes I try to convince myself that overactive neurons are the stuff of genius. Then I remember that I used to think olives came from the sea....

Despite my messy thoughts that happen regularly and rapidly, I am actually a pretty organised person. I would possibly even go as far as saying a control freak. And I'm perfectly happy to apply that side of myself to this blog. If I had the time I would make a spreadsheet to tell me when I should blog, what I should say, what the title should be and who my target audience is. I would colour code it into categories of blog posts. Perhaps I would have a little alarm set at specific times to tell me when its time to blog.

I'm nearly ready to start getting to the point of my blog. Perhaps even in the next post. I'm nearly ready to confront some of the skeletons in my closet and put them out there for all to see. To be honest and open and unashamed of myself in public. To be proud of myself for maybe the first time ever and to show people actually who I think I might be.

And so I think I've just answered some questions. I'm doing it for me. And it doesn't matter who sees it really. It's my therapy. It's my starting point for the next phase of myself. And even if Adam Levine doesn't fall in love with me after reading, that's ok. Kinda...

Jesus God, what am I talking about?

Sunday, 10 June 2012

Where it all began....

I'm not really a writer.

When I thought about starting to write a blog I went through several, very distinct reactionary phases to myself and this whole blog idea thing. They went like this;

1. Hahaha!
2. Nah
3. Hmmmmm, could it make me famous?
4. I can almost feel myself starting to be bothered.Sort of...
5. Go on then....(sigh, sit down, hunch shoulders, sulky face)

And so here I am. Writing a blog.

My friends will know that it isn't really me, but I must admit I'm having a bit of  life-changing period of time at the moment, and if I don't start getting these thoughts in my head out, then I think my mental faculties will start to deteriorate faster than they should.

There is another reason that now is the time to blog, too. I'm going to Zambia for a few months in July and I've kinda promised people that I would update them via the creative and wonderful world-wide web about what I'm doing, how I'm doing,why I'm doing what I'm doing and of course, who I'm doing, etc.(I'm just joking about that last bit, mummykins).

It's already been a bit of a struggle. I woke up this morning and said to my boyfriend, 'today is the day I'm actually going to start writing a blog' and he giggled and said, 'the problem with writing one is that you have to be bothered to write'. And he's right about that. I always go on these nuts travels with my job and take a journal thinking that my future grandkids are going to find excitement and intrigue in learning about their nan's exploits and experiences, but on average I reach the second entry and then start moaning about hand cramp and brain strain. In fact, the last trip I went on to Sierra Leone, I had to get my sister to write my diary for me. Then I couldn't be arsed to dictate, so I gave up on entry 3.

So all day I've been trying to think of a name for it. Its got to start somewhere, so me and Mike, the boy, started to try and think of a name to inspire and attract readers, family, friends. Oh and fans. So, today was full of 'what about...' and 'hey, what do you think of...'. We decided on some good names, all of which were unavailable. Now thats usually about when my motivation levels start to falter and I quit, but I made myself get through it, and settled on 'the universe according to Lucy'. The reason being, this isn't just my diary for when I go to Zambia. This whole life changing thing is provoking the opinionated side of me and I'm ready to get them all down on virtual paper.

So if anyone is interested, the blog entries that follow are my thoughts about the world, life, the universe, my head, other people, love, blah blah blah. I will be talking about my next expedition to Zambia a bit, too, but on my return, I hope to continue blogging my thoughts as a way of trying to keep up to date with my changes and communicate them to the people around me.

That, of course, is if I can be arsed....