Writing At Night💗[16-11-23]
🤍Magic🎧🍷Confessional🍷Musings🎧🤍
If you like your newsletters without politics or preconceptions or seeking a break from the norm you may have just found your new hangout
Dear Chasers💗
I’m sitting here in my dark orange room with one bright white spotlight like an indoor moon shining over me, just enough so I can see my keyboard on this old Chromebook. I’ve just made a Sports Direct mug of tea using five teabags (if you know you know) it’s a cup big enough that, if I were to spill it we’d need more than a mop to clean it up, the flat would be evacuated due to all the flooding! It’s massive anyway and I hate tea, I’m drinking tea because it’s decaff ;-) and that’s all I am allowed at midnight.
My partner sets the boundaries that I won’t set for myself. He knows that if I was left to my own devices I would be typing late throughout the entire night and still be awake with the birds singing in the morning - every night. A regular person might be able to do that and get away with it, he says, but not me with my illness and natural short temper (which only rears its ugly head when I am tired) it makes for an easier life, for all affected, if I don’t stay up at night, writing or working on other creative endeavours.
This doesn’t sit right with me and I always push for more time on the clock. Tonight the beloved rule-maker is sleeping off ten cans of Stella Artois and trusts me to get to bed by 2:00 am. Which, as promised, I will try and do but for the most part I am enjoying the peace and quiet and have been procrastinating since ten oclock tonight, getting ready to get started on this newsletter.
I’ve already dated it for 16 November 2023 in advance. Well, it was 11:45 pm so not too much in advance. I am trying to spend just two hours straight typing and hopefully produce something worth you reading in that time. Mostly, I love to reach out to my Chasers without a thought in my mind, or a care in the world and hope that you’ll all understand. If I set out with a plan it never works out and even if it does get past the barely-there filtering process or what’s shit or not.
If, by any chance, it does get published/sent out, I won’t be too pleased with the result because, I don’t like my manufactured writing. I like to adapt stream of consciousness. Its my forte if ever I had one. It’s where I feel most at home. See, I planned to go to bed at 2:00 am and already I have automatically sneaked two regular teabags into the cup with the decaff. This is a sign that I wish to stay awake longer, adding caffeine to my brew.
I had to wait to tell you this because my partner gets a copy of this newsletter and he skims the first couple of paragraphs, tells me he’s read it and congratulates me on my ‘hard work’ with a whopping great big compliment like “yeh, its alright”. It’s like you (if female) or your wife dressing up to the hilt in a gorgeous dress, hair done, make up, shoes, bag (whatever other stuff looks good) and asking how do I look. To be told “yeh, you look fine”.
It works in my favour this lack of enthusiasm in my writing and anything I do, as long as I’m happy he is I guess. We are far from perfect as you already know from my ranting in that paid secret section on another post I wrote. I kind of regret writing all that now. I don’t do well to write when I’m angry or hungry haha!
Excuse me, I just tried to swat a small flying object while it sat still against the wall after it had kept batting into my face without me being able to see it. I missed it. Now, I am worrying that it may come back with a vengeance and bite me next time! I’ve lost my train of though now. Time for a quick cigarette I think.
I will tell you this much here already. I am not about to start telling you any short endless stories of things I’ve done or said or that’s happened to me. Not this time. This night is just me sitting here shooting the shit with you while I can. I just don’t want you to invest your time in reading this waiting for the point or anything. Even if I were to give you anecdotes and stuff, I never manage to make any sense or a firm point haha! I’m pretty useless at that.
They say to be a good writer you have to be a good storyteller, well that’s not me and being good is not what I’m about either. I just want to write stuff. Some days I have something more to say than the usual overused phrases between the two of us lovers here:
“It’s freezing isn’t it?”
“What’s to eat, for dinner, tea, lunch, breakfast, now!”
“STOP SHOUTING”
“I Love You…”
The last one is adorable but we say it so often that people must think we’re chatting rhubarb. That we’re making it up. That we don’t mean it. The strange thing is that we do. I was talking about this stuff a little bit on The Daily Chase latest newsletter from Tuesday 14.11.23 mostly about the sex situation how we love each other and what we have is quite magical but I have sacrificed the magic sex element and I didn’t mention this exactly but I think we both are missing something in the sexual chemistry department but we LOVE EACH OTHER ENOUGH to realise that we can live without everything being perfect. So that’s why I’m mentioning it here (again! if you’ve already read the post).
We met under strange circumstances. Nothing remarkable. We were neighbours first. I won’t regale you with our love story as its full of twists and turns and toxicity and volatile behaviours. It was magical and we fell in love without actually expecting it. It was actually like falling. We couldn’t control it. I tried to control myself and once I knew that I was in love, I did everything I could to cling on to it.
He saved my life literally. I could get into it and it would be an interesting story but I am still wary of sharing it while I am this shit at writing. I want to give it the right voice when my writing improves. You’d think at age 41 I’d have some sort of grip on it by now wouldn’t you.
I’m not a natural writer yet all I do have is my natural ability to work with. I left school age 11. I went back and did the bare minimum to get me into work. Did occupational stuff to assist me with my career as a legal secretary, never anything like creative writing or poetry or English literature. I have the education level of a ten year old.
My years of experience hasn’t served me too well, in that I forget everything. I’ve written about this before, that fucking flying object which is a mosquito I think, has just tapped me again in the face, this subject is boring me and pissing me off again. Cigarette break again.
WE WANDER FROM ROOM TO ROOM LOOKING FOR THE DIAMOND NECKLACE THAT IS ALREADY AROUND OUR NECKS - RUMI
I often get caught up in magical thinking, magical love affairs with muses of all walks of life, I fall in love with people who I haven’t met and don’t even know. I had a muse that was the longest I have kept an interest in a person of such qualities. This particular muse took my mind away from wandering back to my first love.
I used to write my first love an email every Christmas or every once in a while to see if they fancied closure and being ‘friends’. It was a fruitless exercise. They had closure the twenty odd years ago when I left or they left.
When my world was smashed to pieces. When I became a paranoid schizophrenic and wandered into the world of loneliness, drinking, drugs (alone not recreational - there’s a difference) and eventually suicide twice. I guess that’s the heavy stuff for when I grow up and become a better writer. My Dad wrote a memoir and all the stuff he didn’t wish to talk about he put into a K.I.S.A.M.O box. He intended to write another memoir opening up the box but died before it came to life. That’s a weird way to put it I know.
KEEP IT SAFE AND MOVE ON - K.I.S.A.M.O
I guess I have my own kisamo box too now, only hopefully I won’t wait too long to open it up. I mean, I don’t drink (for reasons) but give me a bottle of whiskey and I’m sure I’ll spill the beans. I can’t write when I drink red wine (I told you I don’t drink but now and again like once every sporadic six months or so I might open a bottle of cheap red shit). I get tired and sleepy, horny and frustrated, hungry and bored. My mind goes blank. Unlike, my ex-muse. Not a real ex, just the muse I lost due to self sabotage and the fact that they weren’t acknowledging my kindness. I mean for fucks sake dude, I liked all his videos, I played them over and over so he’d get more ad revenue, I wrote to him a few times.
Nah, he was cool enough just not as kind towards me as I wanted. He didn’t say or do anything wrong. I just happened to feel shit around him. I was falling into an obsession. This guy lives somewhere on the other side of the fucking world right enough. Might as well been on Mars for as much as I’d ever be near by. I just wished he had have been a bit more.. something.. friendly I guess. I don’t know. It’s hard to ask the muse you’re stalking to be nice to you when you’re coming across as a crazy stalking, over infatuated girlfriend, weirdo, bubbly-always-happy person. The bubbly-always-happy wasn’t just a front but most miserabilists find that stuff kind of spooky and fake. I wasn’t fake.
Unless, delusional is considered fake. Lets just say I was faux in love because I believed I was really in love. You can love and be in love. I love my partner and loved my muse. I wanted both to be real but while I was busy grafting on the muse, I paid less and less attention to the actual love in front of me here at home. Then late at night, when the muse hadn’t amused me in any way, I would watch my partner sleeping and think about how hurt he would be if he knew I was throwing my love away on some prick from the internet.
If he knew that whilst I wasn’t giving him no attention, I was hanging on every single word some dude said in a generic video on his channel. I was trying to piece together some tangible thing to say this guy was appreciative of my interest. Waiting for proof this guy knew I existed. This guy is an amazing creative and I know that since I fucked him off (that’s refused to allow myself to watch his channel anymore and don’t leave comments) that he is much more oblivious to me and probably happier for it.
I just subscribed to him again anyway but this time just for the music. I want magic and it’s right here at home. I am an obsessive person. I like to obsess. I am trying to obsess over writing but it’s difficult when I can actually SEE and not delude myself, that everything I write is, let’s be honest. Pretty dumb, boring and shit. I am a lonely creative. In that my partner is a gamer through and through. He is logical and doesn’t have a creative urge in his body. The most creative he gets is cooking in the kitchen and chatting deep shit when we’re on cocaine. I love him.
He is the sanest person I have ever met and I love that balance in my life because I am the craziest person I have ever met. Yet, he is the absolute social animal and I am the socially awkward creature who would prefer to hide behind the couch when a knock comes to our front door or the phone rings. I like to stay home.
He stays home too but anywhere he does go people adore him. Not just because or his gorgeously good looking appearance (again I am polar opposite - I look like even my mother wouldn’t love my face!) he is stunning to look at. People love his charisma. I have the sort of charisma equivalent to a big red brick flying through a closed window on Christmas Eve. I am happy with being disliked. I don’t have to like anyone or try to like people that way. I am not a people person. Unless, I am obsessing.
I like to write to people, like here now, this public thing. Just from my armchair or my wobbly desk chair or sometimes from my bed. I call the bedroom the room of doom because that’s where we go sit whenever we are angry or depressed, we sleep there but the magic happens anywhere but in there. I think its magic how we still love each other after all these years. We compliment each other’s flaws. For want of a better cliche - his demons dance with mine. See, I wish I could write something so beautiful as that line.
It’s 1:50 am and I can hear him snoring but stirring. I’m still considering breaking the rules and my promise to go to bed at 2:00 am I have ten minutes to decide. I wish that I could think of something nice to write to end this night of musings with you. I really do. We have been through thick and thin together my partner and I …… he just shouted me - like clockwork. I guess my fate has been decided. It was nice to just talk tonight and get something out there in the world about my inner life. For me now its bedtime.
Thank you for reading me! Big Warm HUGS xxx💗
chaseydelaney7@gmail.com