Wiggly Fingers

It's been a week of Red, White, Blue, Piss, shit, hospitals, felt pens on sofas, confusion, excellent dancing in the garden at 1am and many a tear shed. I'm not even going to try and make sense of it all, it was one of those weeks that just was; you know the kind, the ones your just glad are over and can't wait to get cracking on a new one. I guess that's the optimist in me, I'm not a dweller but I can see a procrastinator emerging in me as I get older. Procrastination and optimism; sounds like the perfect Lotty cocktail to me, I'll have a double please.

So I've no idea what this blog is about, it's early again, I can hear the clock ticking like nails down a black board, everyone in the house is sleeping, twitter is asleep, I'm guessing therefore the whole world is really, I'm sure that's not paranoia.
It's been a funny old week, I remember as a child waking up early on Saturday mornings and being filled with excitement of not having to go to school and awaiting Going Live coming on. As a 35 year old woman, I now enjoy the peace and quiet, tip toe around like I'm walking on egg shells made of glass so as not to wake the beasts that are my kids and start wondering when Saturday kitchen comes on so I can drool, over the food, not James Martin, alright well maybe a bit, ok a lot. Actually sod the food I'll just eat my cheerios and mark James's hair and clothes...shut up lotty.

I realised this week something I already knew, there's a Lottyism if ever I heard one! I have an affliction a terrible affliction for being honest, for me being me and for speaking from my mind and my heart always I'm not one of those people that say 'I'm just being honest' and then goes onto making a bitching comment, I'm talking about talking from my heart, my emotions ooze out of me, every minute of every day and it leaves me open like a flapping book in the wind, open to the elements and tea stains.
I'm like it in real life but as you know on twitter too, if I'm happy, sad, upset everyone around me knows it. Funny thing is though if I'm sad I go quiet, I never let that show until the almighty force that is twitter came along. That's the place I allow myself to be sad, if I do I almost don't want anyone to respond to it because I feel bad for being a miserable cow but the kindness of twitter is as precious to me as an eye lash I have to make a wish from. Hence my thinking around twitter (are you making notes this is gripping stuff.) Still after all this time I forget, or fool myself that people read what I'm writing and I just write it for me. I love that, pure indulgence it's something I'm not used too. Its like getting up and thinking just about yourself and doing what ever YOU want. It's seems like a long long time ago since I did that, actually it is, that's the deal with being a parent isn't it. You get very small moments of just being you but Christ they're as precious as sunshine in December and you appreciate them all the more. It's made slightly more restricted as I'm a carer too, a job I got by recommendation from life for being a daughter; I've not seen the job description yet or my aims and objectives so I just turn up for work and see what it throws at me. I've tried to book annual leave but the calendar is full, however I'm nothing but a trier so every now and again I take a moment to look out the window or cruise the Internet to find some train tickets or a holiday cottage I could escape too for a few days. I'm Lotty and I'm a tough old stickler of a bird so I'll book my annual leave, even if its a day. I'm rambling now which is a sure sign my brain has woken up and I'm aware of what I'm writing, which is never how my blogs work. I feel something, I let me fingers wiggle on the iPad and it flows like a cream being poured over strawberries at Wimbledon.

So I'll hold the calories on the cream for now and save them for wine tonight or maybe I'll wait and see what James temps me with this morning, either a nice piece of salmon or a rather nice checked shirt. Is it me or is a man in a checked or stripy shirt just made ultra sexy. Hold on, I'm doing it again, fucking James Martin; bring back Phillip and Sarah, times were much simpler then but not as fruitful that's for sure. I wouldn't change a thing.


Thanks for reading my wiggly fingers people of twitter, your a select bunch of people who are the only ones that are party to my wiggly fingers, well you and finger mouse but let's go there eh.

Xxxxxx