Stone cold sober

I'm concerned.

No, scrap that, 'concerned' is too flimsy a word, I'm looking for a word that encompasses absolute panic.

I'm freaking out, that's probably a better phrase.

Why?

Vodka doesn't work.

When vodka doesn't work, you know you've got problems.

I suppose I should explain. 

My friend visited this weekend from Norway. It was great to catch up with her, and it was strange because it felt like she'd never been away, we seemed to slot back into our old roles like nothing had changed. That in itself was worrying. That sounds horrible I know, but it's not meant like that, what I mean is, it's been two and a half years, and nothing has changed. Now do you see why it's worrying?!

My friend has travelled and lived in Australia for a year, I haven't done much other than get my heart broken and decide I want to live in Turkey. I suppose you could say that's progress, at least I made a decision, and getting your heart broken is life experience, right?

So anyway, not much had changed. We went out for a drink, one drink turned into three pitchers, and before you know it, Nicky was a tad bit drunk. Yes, I know, it's easily done. However, this was a kind of drunk I hadn't experienced before, and to be honest, I didn't like it one tiny little iota.

I sloped off around 10pm (shameful, I know) feeling like someone had deflated all the helium out of my little balloon. It was like the world's biggest downer. I got the bus home, there I sat, all sorry for myself, bundled up in my coat and scarf, tears in my eyes, and an old man took pity on me and asked if I was okay.

What did I say?

'Fine, thank you'?

Nooooo.

'I don't knoooooowwwwww' was my wailing reply. 

The poor man looked like he'd wished he'd never asked and went back to reading his newspaper.

I have never felt more like I didn't belong, like I wasn't where I was meant to be, and like I was missing something.

It was horrible.

The worrying thing about all this is that I figured I feel so bad when I leave Marmaris/Turkey because I don't have much of a social life here, other than going to zumba and talking to my friends on the phone all night. If we're talking about going out on Saturday nights, well I just don't do it, because a) it's too cold, b) it's too expensive, and c) it's crap.

But anyway, I thought maybe a social life was the answer to my prayers. Turns out, it's not. Vodka is not my friend, going out makes me feel worse, and spending money means I have less to go to Turkey with. I've just got to make peace with the fact that I'm pulled to this place for a reason.

So what am I supposed to do? Be miserable for 46 weeks out of 52?

So I have been proactive, and developed a plan. Every girl should have a plan.

Give me a year, a healthy dose of luck (fingers crossed), and things will be looking much, much better, and I'll be situated in a much more easternly direction.

In the meantime, I'll be giving vodka a very wide berth indeed, because I was this close to grabbing an empty bottle, sitting in my PJs, and singing 'Allllll byyyyy myyyysellllllfff' a-la Bridget Jones, and that, dear readers, is never a good look, even for Renee Zellweger.

Technical gremlins ...

Life as I know it has ceased to exist ....

My iPhone has died.

It's a disaster on the same scale as the great Wispa shortage of 2008.

What's more worrying is that I actually felt a huge wave of panic when it dawned on me that I was going to be without that valuable lump of plastic for a few days. Seriously, I'm talking a million thoughts running through my head in way too short a space of time, like 'ohmygodwhatifsuchandsuchcalls' - the lack of space indicates that I didn't breathe either.

I've calmed down now, sort of.

Fingers crossed by 7pm on Saturday I'll once again be in possession of my hypothetical left arm, and life will once again be filled with mobile Viber, Facebook and Whatsapp. Phew.

It has got me thinking though, maybe it's just me and really I'm overthinking this completely, but the mass panic I felt for a split second is quite worrying. I mean, what did we do before mobile phones and social networking? We actually spoke to people face to face, do we do that much nowadays?

I suppose I'm at a bit of a disadvantage as a lot of the people I "speak" to on a daily basis aren't in face to face distance, be it a nearby town or halfway across Europe, so for that I have a good excuse, but my reaction was a tad extreme in hindsight. My first thought was that it would be sod's law that in the couple of days I was incommunicable, a message I've been waiting for beyond hope for a month now would appear and get lost in the ether of broken phones. It's not gonna happen, but it would be just my bloody luck for it to happen right at that moment.

I'm ever hopeful, you can't ever accuse me of pessimism.

So now I've stopped hyperventilating, I can concentrate, albeit with a slightly shaky hand thanks to going cold turkey from my beautiful sparkly, pink, phone, on my upcoming weekend. This weekend I will actually have a life. Yes, one of those things that everyone else seems to have but I only find occasionally. I think they call it a social life, but I can't be sure because it evades me somewhat.

My friend is visiting from Norway so I will be venturing out of the house and not returning until after curfew on not one, but two nights. Yes, I know, I'm a rebel. I also fully intend to get completely trollied on overpriced vodka, simply because I can. Yes, I know, I don't drink in this country, I save that gem for getting high-pitched in Turkey, but I ain't going easternly for another 8 weeks and this girl needs to be numb, forget, and to feel good for a few hours at least. There's been a few too many tears lately for my liking, it's time to smile a little, for one weekend at least - before I go back to being friend-less because everyone from the 'Shire has abandoned me. 

Happy days.

For the love of Marmaris

It's taken me well over a week to write this, because had I done it before now, you'd all have got the violins out, been borderline suicidal and would never have read anything I wrote ever again.

That is not the way to keep readers, and the guilt of lost lives would have consumed me forever.

So I thought it wise to wait.

I've been back from Marmaris for a week now; the urge to jump on a plane and go straight back is not abating any, in fact if anything it's getting worse by the hour. If I wait until the end of September, as per plan, it will be a miracle on the scale of Phil Mitchell staying off vodka. I've got to try though, thanks to the cost of flying being horrendous at the moment. There's a good argument for befriending a pilot here, but unfortunately I don't have any pilots on my Facebook list.

I love Marmaris.

I'll shout it out from the rooftops if I have to. I thought I'd fallen out of love with it, I wasn't even that fussed about going in the end - but a day or so into the holiday and I remembered it all, in glorious technicolour. And now I'm stuck with the memory and I'm not there anymore.

Sniffle, sniffle.

Cue violin time.

I will be there for longer soon, give it a while to get myself sorted and I'm there. At least this trip has taught me what I want all over again, and reminded me of the perils of settling - which is exactly what I was starting to do. Heaven forbid. I had visions of a rocking chair, golf-course and cats. Shudder at the thought.

Marmaris is the best and worst of humanity all rolled into one, yet for some reason I forgive it's bad bits and fall head over heels with the good bits every time. That's true love for you, right there. Who needs a man?! Five years and still going strong.

Speaking of men, this was the first trip back to the scene of the crime since it all went pear-shaped. It was weird, I'll admit, and I refused to go into the ex's bar (thankfully he was in Alanya, and not lurking behind a palm tree waiting to ambush me and drag me back to the darkness, with his questionable eyebrows), completely out of protest, which is just as well because it's been taken over and it looked, quite frankly, pants. So instead I found a new one, bar that is, before everyone jumps to the completely wrong conclusion.

Is that a tan?!

I had a ball. I had fun, I partied, I did everything the ex didn't allow me to do. I met some new friends, who I miss now I'm back, but will see again really soon. I actually had a proper holiday without rules. I missed him, and I shed a few tears, but I found closure and that chapter is complete.

Time to write some new ones.

Speaking of writing, I seriously regretting not taking my netbook, as inspiration hit in the biggest way whilst sat on a sun-lounger with a strawberry dacquiri in my hand. It could have been the alcohol but I took it upon myself to find paper and pen. Chaos insued. Turns out it's not easy to buy paper and a pen in high-season Marmaris. In the end I managed to convince a bemused-looking shop-keeper to give me some of his printer paper in return for me buying a pen for twice the price. I sat on the balcony, full of Efes, and wrote my little heart out. I wrote a letter to the universe, let's hope it listened. Time will tell.

My summer romance - Mr Efes

See, Marmaris might be bad for me in many, many ways, but in terms of inspiration, it's highly beneficial - in fact, I think it should be on prescription, I'd have a bestseller in months. If only. Writing is my future though, it helps me empty my head of crap and make sense of it, it distracts me from reality, and who knows where it might lead. If I can combine the place I love and the thing I love, I'll be a happy bunny, albeit a slightly borderline alcoholic bunny, thanks to the influence of Efes.

I'm deliberately not giving you a blow by blow account of the whole 16 days because it literally involved a lot of madness and, again, Efes, which is never a bad thing, but makes for really boring reading. There was the usual Marmaris politics, fights, drama and confusion - it wouldn't be Marmaris without it, but it all came good in the end. As per the way it always goes when I'm in that part of the world, the full moon had blood on it, and that night was, predictably, fight night. Turns out lightening does indeed strike twice. Or even three times in this case. They say Cancerians are ruled by the moon, I think I'm a complete case study to prove that correct.

The sun sets on Marmaris part 1 ...

I didn't have any commandments to protect me from the madness this time, because anyone who read them last time will know that I broke every single one of them in about four days. It was, quite frankly, a shameful effort, so I didn't bother this time. It's for the best, because I'd probably have broken them within two. I blame the Efes.

I always blame the Efes.

And the moon.

So first installment over, successfully survived - just. Only question is, how long will it be until part 2? Bets are on ...

When did it all get so complicated?!

Hello stranger. It's been a while. How've you been?

I've had writer's block, that's my excuse. It's hideous. Especially when you're trying to write a book. I've had to force myself to try, and sitting in front of a laptop with a flashing cursur and nothing flowing is just ... eurgh. I'm surprised I've got any hair left, and don't get me started on the state of my lip with all the chewing. Thank god for Carmex is all I can say. Because of this I've been eating my body weight in chocolate and it seems my body in turn has decided it wasn't heavy enough to start with, so it figured it ought to make a bit more room. Joy. Yeah, the diet starts tomorrow.

I've also had my first rejection since I decided to start this writing thing seriously. It got to me for a bit actually, I don't like criticism - who does? I take it too personally, I'm a sensitive little flower - apparently it's something to do with the cancerian in me. But then I read something about writing and rejection going hand in hand, and I figured that hey, that must make me a writer, and isn't that what I wanted all along? So I am a rejected writer, officially. Raise your glasses. 

So what's been going on whilst my brain has lost it's ability to make me write? Erm, not a lot really.

Actually, that's a lie, I've had progress. Good, positive progress, and it's about bloody time too.

I think all those years reading Cosmo may finally have paid off, because yes, finally I am a strong, independent woman! Or something like that anyway.

I think it's something to do with age, which isn't a good realisation to have when you're five months off being 30. But anyway, remember the boy? My gorgeous, exotic but totally clueless when it comes to women, boy? Remember how he managed to almost snap me in two emotionally? Well, y'know what, it's true what they say about time being a healer. I think I'm okay. Sort of. Well, I'm getting there anyway. It still hurts, I still care, but it's fine. The true test will come in summer when I will have to be restrained by my friends and anyone else I come into contact with, and also avoid wine because if you know me at all, you'll know that wine makes me do bad, bad things. The last time I drank wine, I ended up belly dancing in front of a room full of strangers, wearing someone else's bra. Not one of my finest moments.

Being hurt and a tad bit heartbroken has made me realise what I do and don't deserve, and the way I should be treated. I guess I should thank him really, sort of anyway, because he's taught me my value. It's also taught me that next time, and let's face it, I'll get hurt again at some stage in my future, I will do it a little more quietly and not moan and groan, cry and snot on anyone that cares to listen. I got sick of hearing me, so I guess everyone else did. I apologise. Blame him, I do, for most things actually. I find it quite therapeutic.

Carrying on with the positive theme - I have a new obsession. Paying off debts. Yeah, I know, yawn. It's hideous but oh so fulfilling. This is because with every little thing I pay off, I take one step closer to where I want to be. And if that's not progress, then I don't know what is. I've got a few more steps to go, but I'm closer than I was a year ago. Aren't you proud?!

Despite all this debt paying, I've managed to have a little break in it and I've booked my first summer holiday of the year. How many are there going to be? Lord knows. There was only meant to be one last year, and look what happened there. But anyway, I have to wait a few months - boo. I figure I'll have earnt it by then though, what with all this being sensible lark - I intend to be anything but sensible when I jet off to the sun. Bring on the Efes. Let's not bring on a stamped all over heart though, eh?

But y'know what - tears, wailing, upset aside, I don't regret a second, it made me smile at the time. I'd do it all again ..... oh good lord, that doesn't bode well. You know what I mean though, right?

So anyway, mind away from a few thousand miles east (which it's not very often away from if I'm honest), I've come to the conclusion that when you hit 25 and move upwards (eeek), having a social life gets suddenly very complicated. This is something I've learnt lately.

I'm sure a few of you can appreciate what I'm saying here, that suddenly you reach a stage where most of your friends, if not all, are married, coupled up, sprogged up, about to be sprogged up, trying to be sprogged up, or somewhere other than where you are. I am at the stage where my friends are all of the above. This makes meeting up incredibly complicated. "Fancy a catch up" suddenly becomes a minefield of clashing commitments, childcare arrangements and checking with the fella. Before you know it, you're planning a drink four weeks in advance. What happened to spontaneity? A few years ago, "fancy a catch up" would usually end with meeting up about four hours later and working our way through the cocktail menu at Yates, whilst discussing the pros and cons of Rimmel's new nail varnish collection and what to do about that cute guy at the bar.

I miss spontaneity and I miss my girly nights out.

Damn you upcoming 30th, you're making me think about what has gone and passed, and making it incredibly hard to look at what is to come without thinking "oh my god, I should be (insert here) married/attached/travelling/living somewhere exotic/doing something exciting by now", and "oh my god, it's only 10 years til I'm 40!"

Oh good lord, someone pass me the wine ......