A Confession at 22:17

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(Drawing courtesy of my Sister – it is a diagram of my current life status.)

So I have realised that lately I have been neglecting my writing duties. Since running off to Canada for a holiday (Ooh la dee dah, yes, yes I know, how unfortunate for me right? Well anyway…) I have been unable to get my head back into writing slog mode. It’s been almost three months since my last blog post… what kind of writer am I? I have been focusing all my attention on applying for jobs that I have put my writing on the back burner, priorities eh?

What kind of woman am I? Why am I seemingly incapable of multitasking? Do other women have this issue or am I defunct? Have I been living in my boyfriend’s clothes a bit too long? Have I become another supermarket drone?

Dear God I hope not.  That is a fate worse than death.

No I think I am just fed up. These past two years I’ve been living at home but it’s just felt like I’m in bits and pieces. One weekend I am a writer, the next a girlfriend or an advisor to a friend or the big sister that needs to comfort the beast (that means sister for those that didn’t know) or I am the party animal who only occasionally remembers how to have fun.  I have been hurling myself from one side of the country to the other, from one pit stop to another and I’ve forgotten how to be whole.

(Ha, wait a minute, that just shows how amazingly multitasked I actually am. Who else but a woman could be all those roles at once? YES I AM NOT GROWING A PENIS! Although… It does look like I am losing what little boobs I already had… *weeps* (I blame that particular dilemma on all the running and exercise I have been doing lately – see folks losing weight isn’t always a great idea. Take heeeeeeeeed!) Lord how many confessions are you going to make today? …. Ok, let’s get back to what I was originally moaning about, shall we?)

I’m fed up of being in the pit stop already. I want to drive, not be under surveillance or testing. I want to be out there on the race track able to compete. I want to be up to standard.

For the past two years I have felt like I have been missing a tyre, a light or a gear. That I’m not up to speed with the people I left University with. They’ve gone shooting off into their careers and I am floundering behind wondering why I’ve stalled.

I’ve realised I am fed up of living 198 miles away from my boyfriend, being unsuccessful and a failure in the eyes of my peers and my annoying cousins. I’m fed up of grieving for the loss of my University years and thinking that those were THE best days of my life – because I really hope they are not, I want there to be better days ahead for me or at least for them to be equally as amazing.

I’m fed up of being pessimistic. I’m fed up of taking the easy road. It’s so easy to slip into the pity pot, it’s so easy to mooch on the sofa and complain about how nothing is going well for me.

I mean, come on, what was I expecting?

I tell you what I was thinking – I was naively under the impression that something good would happen to me as soon as I got back from Canada. I thought that a job would fall into my lap. That it would pack my bags for me, magically transport my ass up to London and move me into a decent flat with my boyfriend.  It’s been nearly two months since I’ve been back and I’ve had one measly interview.

Why do I put my expectations up so high? It’s as if I want to fail, it’s as if I enjoy tripping myself up.

It was never going to happen like that so why am I making myself feel so crummy about the whole thing; it’s not as if I am the only person in the world suffering from the same problem.

How self-centred… get over yourself! Get some bloody positivity inside of you for pity sake. This is why my writing has been in the back seat lately, I’ve been focusing on getting out of Devon so much that I almost forgot my blog existed.  It wasn’t until this weekend that it was pulled back into the front lines.

So, this brings me to why I have written this particular post.

I don’t want to be in bits anymore, and having a pen name is just another piece to deal with.

This other persona of myself is stealing all the good bits that I have done this past year – this blog got me back into writing and has given me confidence. So why let another name take my glory? Why let someone else steal the limelight?

Maybe this is my race track, this is the one I should be focusing on instead and maybe I am the one putting myself in the pit stop? This pen name is holding me back and why?

Because I am too cowardly to put my own name to my writing? LAME. PATHETIC. JUVENILE.

Again what kind of writer am I? Yes it was fun to begin with but now it’s time to grow a pair.

So here it is confession number 6 – I am Hannah Jamieson and this is my blog.

I don’t pretend to think that I am any good but I certainly enjoy what I do. Call me Hannah, call me Alexandra I don’t really care, just in my head it matters that we are one of the same. It’s just one less role deal with.

Ta.

 

Now see, wasn’t that easy? Funny thing is only the people who read my blog regularly will probably see this, so I guess it wheedles out the ones who are deserved enough to know my true identity.

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A Confession at 14:19

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I have been extremely girly this week. In fact I’ve been rather ‘anti-feminist’ for the past year… why? How? You ask? Well since I am in Devon, where not much really happens because I am severely lacking in friends and have been working part-time for a company that needs not my intellect, I have found time to dwell on frivolous thoughts. Spanning from the outrageously neurotic, where I truly believe my friends hate me, to the profound, sensible thoughts about the future and of…

MY wedding.

Yes, that’s right I think about MY wedding…

Because it’s going to be AWESOME!!!! And my Bandicoot has no idea what I have been cooking up for us… I have thought of all the things we like and have thrown them together in a cauldron of confetti and champagne. Imagine Pokemon, Cream Teas, Cougar Town, Thomas the Tank Engine, Life of Pi, 12 Angry men and John Wayne all meshed together at a National Trust property… ahhh what an idea… haha don’t worry it’s not really that crazy… or is it?

So you guys are engaged?

WHY GOOD HEAVENS… NO! Silly, I’m just a day dreamer. I sometimes imagine I am actually marrying Hugh Jackman… Captain America or the cookie monster… ahum… because well, I don’t really have the money to pay for this wedding, yet, and we’ve agreed to not get engaged until we can. That way I won’t have to be a fiancé for decades… I want to be a fiancé for as little time as possible… just seems like purgatory otherwise.

So yes that’s my dreadful little secret… I’ve even made a scrap book of all my ideas… from stationary, dresses and table decorations… but not the cake. THAT IS ALREADY SORTED!

I’d share some of my ideas with you but I have this fear that whatever I plan will be copied by my cousin. A girl who, for some reason, seems to know all the things I want and copies them without even realising… its infuriating. It’s like we have a mental connection; whatever I ooh and ahh at she will inevitably have, even if we are in different counties and I have her in my restricted section on Facebook… If she has anything the same as me I go berserk and if I find that she has copied any of my wedding ideas I will die.

I will rip her cake apart. I will claw at her dress. I will go all primeval on her guests and then I will look at my scrap book with hopeless longing.

That’s not petty is it?  

Or perhaps if I state my ideas now it’ll be proof that I thought of them first…

No that won’t matter to her… she’s not compassionate enough to understand…

OK it is super petty… but living with this mimic has led me to this irrational need to be different from her. I have done so much to escape this clone. My hair has suffered from all the times I have had to dye it a different colour when I’ve noticed she’s had the same hair cut as me. It’s like trying to run away from your own shadow, your own mirror image; its hard work. Trying to be different is hard work and at times I have never felt myself or natural all because she can’t get her own image.

To me my wedding is a sacred concern, a precious delusion that I will protect with the maternal instinct of a lioness; defending her cub.

If she gets a cake made by Choccywoccydoodah I will kill her.

A Confession at 17:21

My writing has always been a rather haphazard and unstructured affair; and this blog is proving to be no different. The main reason I started it was to motivate myself into writing something regularly. So subject matters may overlap. I may be making pointless posts or indulging in my own egotistical opinions but at least I am typing. I am typing whatever pops into my head so of course it won’t be exceptionally coherent nor pieces of extraordinary literature – it simply reflects what I am pondering at that very instant (and I ponder many things).

 
So anyway I decided I had better explain myself.

 
And I also wanted to explain why I have named myself ‘Alexandra Neon’. I think I managed to skirt around that topic a bit too easily in my first post. It was a carefully thought decision and I’d like to share the process of how this name came together.

 

Alexandra:

 
I have always wanted to be called Alexandra.

 
Firstly; it was one of those names that sounded awfully au courant and primordial to me. I was insanely jealous of a friend of mine who had this name and it made me despise my own for a long time. I have, however, come to love the name I was given and I now look at this name with a waning sense of nostalgic envy. So it seemed only fitting to give my alter-ego the name I had wanted for so long.

 
Secondly; our family had to move about a lot when I was younger, following my Dad’s job wherever it had to take him and at one point I had moved to three different schools within three years. Not only were we following my Dad but something was following me too… and that was Egypt. Yes Egypt. Let me explain, you see at each of these three schools there would always be a big history project and each time I moved they’d always be studying the ancient world and, specifically in my case, it was ancient Egypt. I loved it. I found their Gods and Goddesses memorising and I enjoyed being the one in the class who knew the most about them. Alexandra, to me, resembled this ancient world and I was positive for a long time that I was a reincarnated Pharaoh and that my name had been ‘Alexandra’.

 
That would’ve been so cool… no?

 
Well… In my mind it was.

 
Neon:

 
Now this one doesn’t hold much explanation it just popped up and seemed the brightest idea at the time.

 
Brightest… get it?

 
I find neon to be an interesting word and not only does it sound playful its colours and forms can be equally lively. I find these pliable tubes of electrifying colours beautiful and arresting, I imagine myself holding them, bending them into shapes and words and then running with them so that a stream of light follows me wherever I go.

 

These luminescent bulbs can burst with personality. They can at times look trampy and tacky; these are usually the ones you find flickering in broken down shop windows and shady back alleys of the red light district. They can look artistically ostentatious in a gallery which only the avant-garde can see and can give humour to a place which otherwise finds such qualities to be lacking.

 
They, much like humans, can be individual and that is what I admire about them. I see my personality as these lights and imagine the colours and shapes dancing around with vibrant abandon.

 
They also last much longer than glow sticks…

 
So why not choose a word that encompasses so much variety and animation? Why not by jingo? So there it is. That is how my alternative name came to be. Nothing fancy – just built from the foundations of a sinful nature and from a childlike fascination with things that glow.

A Confession at 13:50

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I had planned on doing what people usually do when they create a blog; to say hi in an excited manor, to begin with a brief description as to why I had decided to start this blog and to apologise in advance if it descends into ramblings of nothing in particular, but, instead I am going to begin with a confession.

My Name is not Alexandra Neon. I am beginning my writing career in the most cowardly way possible – under a pseudonym. I believe my identity is rather precious and in a world where there are trolls who plunder the internet and where faceless people who steal identities run rampant I find it instinctive to protect my ‘self’.

So yes I am a cowardly writer, I am going to hide behind my alter ego and spout my opinions and musings without fear of reproach. I am not out to hurt or insult anyone just to give (hopefully) a comical viewpoint on things I do not understand. Personally I would love to have people help me understand the things I am ignorant of – I am afterall just an ordinary person with just as many misinformed ideas as the next. So if injury or insult is caused from my ramblings please let me know! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

So yes anyway, for now I am Alexandra Neon; a girl with a block fringe and a slightly bent nose who just wants to see how this writing malarky goes in the real world with an actual audience. With a tentative finger I shall now press the finish button.