This weekend I've been waiting for. Counting down to.
The weekend where I get to hang out with some of my favourite girls. Blogging girls if you want to call them that.
Although nowadays, I prefer them to be called friends. Real friends.
Actually, let me rephrase that, bloody awesome friends.
The type of friends who I can potter about in my knickers with (pretty sure I always do that anyway), the kind of friends who don't judge you for your actions, the type of friends who just laugh along with your stupidity, the type of friends who agree when you decide that you'd rather stay in and drink wine than go out and the type of friends who you know, are the right type of friend you want, you need.

If there is one thing I will always take away with me from blogging, it's meeting some like-minded, motivated, inspirational and wonderful people who have made such an impact on my life, for the better. Who I can't imagine not having in my life, for late night chats, fun email exchanges and cherished memories with.
These girls who I met, are some of the nicest people I know.
They just get me. And I get them.
And there is nothing I enjoy more, than planning weekends full of wine, pyjamas, cake and cups of tea and endless chat about everything, with these people. And even though are lives completely vary and we have different interests, we all still just work. Together.
Blogging, I thank you.
For giving me awesome friends for life.

Now, if you could, please hurry up 4pm. I have a bag of wine to pack, a car to drive with Taylor Swift for company, and a food filled fun weekend planned with said girls.
I heard that there'll be gluten free cake to. These girls know the way to my heart.
I've always been insecure, and have talked openly about it. And I know that I'm not the only one.
Actually, everyone has insecurities, and it's just how we choose to deal with them.
When I was at school, I let them show. People could tell that I was insecure.
As I got older, I still felt insecure, but I never mentioned it. I kind of hid it in a way.
And now?
I've started confronting my insecurites. Almost telling people about them, so that we can "get that awkward part out of the way". Like let them know what I'm insecure about.
I don't know why though.
In my head, I feel as though telling someone that I have hairy arms, makes them less likely to go home and be like "urgh, did you SEE her hairy arms?".
I think that by telling them, they know that I am aware of it. So we move on from it.
When actually, chances are, people probably couldn't really give a SHIT about my arms.
Like, why would they?
They have other things to be doing in their lives.
I am not a big deal.
Neither are my hairy arms, or my wobbly bum, or the fact that my thighs stick out a little too much, or that if I wear my hair up, I'll think that I look like a boy.
But to me, those insecurities are a big deal.
I can't help but wonder if I'll ever shake them off. Do they stick with you? Do you still wonder how you look when you're in your dressing gown of a care home? Do you take your insecurities to the grave?
Or as we get older, do we kind of, get on with it. Get over them..

I've had people say that they find it odd that someone who can 'take photos and put them on the internet', can be so insecure. That surely you're confident.
Because you know, we put pictures of ourselves up. So that must mean we really feel good about ourselves.
But they're wrong. Far from wrong.
What they forget to realise is that we too, take 900 photos, to pick them to pieces individually and only decide that three are appropriate (even if your nose definitely still does look slightly bigger in the second one). They forget that actually, we are still hiding behind our computer screens and by us putting a picture out there maybe makes us feel a little better.
Because everyone wants to be complimented.
Everyone wants to feel good.
But sometimes, compliments don't mean anything. Because those insecurities will just never ever disappear.
Sadly. I think.

Take my breasticles. They're not hideous, I guess they're just like any other.
BUT, saying that, I have spent years and years thinking that something wasn't right about them. I would put off being naked infront of anyone, because, if I didn't want to see my breasts, why would anyone else?
And then one morning, I was in a hotel room with my work colleague (who I've only known since late last year, yet somehow we feel like we've known each other for years), and her nipple was showing. So she showed me hers.
It was just a normal nipple. I made my comment. And then I did something I'd never done before.
I asked her if she wanted to see mine.
And I showed her.
And I had never shown any girl friend my boobs before.
Nope, I was always that one who tried to tactfully remove my bra whilst putting on my bikini top. That was me. Hiding away these things on my chest, these little boobs and nipples that I've been given. And won't be going anywhere.
But that morning, I just thought,
I'm showing her. And actually, I felt no different. She wasn't sick. She didn't book a doctors appointment for me. She didn't flinch. Nope, she just looked, nodded and we carried on our day.
And just like that I realised that these thoughts in my head are sometimes stupid.
My body is not hideous.
I am a size 8-10 with curves. And a fairly large ass.
And most of the time I'm OK with that. I'm OK with my dress size, I'm OK with my thighs touching, I'm OK with having small boobs, I'M OK with having a waist, and I'm OK with my bum being a little bigger than my frame.
I can change my dress size, I can make my thighs not touch when I open my legs, I can get larger boobs and I can sort my ass into shape.
But what I struggle to deal with, is the things that cannot be fixed.
I cannot change the hair on my arms.
I cannot stop thinking that I look like a guy with my hair up.
I cannot get rid of my scars on the backs of my knees.
I cannot change my face or my thick hair.
And I cannot change the bullies in the past.
What I can change, is the way I look at myself. I think I knock myself down about the things I cannot change, because I simply know that they are there forever. I have a reason to dislike them.
But we are all given these bodies, we have all been created individually, and we should all love our self.
And I can sit here and type that.
But do I actually do that myself?
I'm not too sure I do.

So maybe I'm going to make a pledge to myself.
To know that even though my insecurities won't disappear overnight (or twenty), I should instead focus on the good things about myself.  The things that make me as a person, the person I am today. The things that other people tell me about myself. The things that I do to make someone happy. The things I say that help decide my future. And the things that make up who I am. That sets me apart from everyone else.
That makes me, me.
Because I know I'm not a bad person. I'm actually alright. I may not have a photogenic face, a pretty smile, an envious body or the perfect hair. I may not be laying in a bed of money, have fancy holidays, live with a hot guy and have hoards of friends.
But I am good at making people laugh.
I am a good friend. A friend that will care for people more than they ever realise.
I am spontaneous. I'm up for new challenges.
I'm fun to be around.
I'm kind. And humble.
I wear clothes that suit my body. That make people talk.
I make the best of any situation.
And I appreciate everything in life with little money that I live off.
I'm me.
And I'll never be anybody else.

And maybe it's only now that I've realised, accepted who I am, and that with every flaw comes beauty too. I guess it's like anything in life.
It takes work. And with a bit of love and water, we can all grow.

"It's not who you are that holds you back. It's who you think you're not.."
Last weekend one of my favourites, Kimba came to visit and we had the nicest weekend catching up on all things life, eating tasty food and plenty of avocado, drinking lots of tea and relaxing in bed, pottering about town and debating new purchases and enjoying the Summery taste of a good fruity Pimms. I love it when friends come to visit. I'm currently working a plan on how to kidnap them. One step at a time
I can sit for hours and talk about how much I love my place. Because I really really do. It has become my own little sanctuary, the place where I feel the most content, where I love to invite people in, where I enjoy talking about, and the place that I feel is me. Truly me.
I love the calmness of it all, the simplicity (hell yeah, I'm simple!), how inviting it always feels to guests and how fresh and light it seems, even on the miserable of days. There is not a day that goes by, where I don't feel grateful to have found this little haven. The place that has made me remember who I am (whether that's cheesy or not, whatever), and showed me that everyone deserves to be happy.
I've been pretty busy these last few weeks, so it was nice to have a lazy evening in bed this week where I boiled the kettle, filled up the treats jar, turned off the lights and curled up with Runkle watching the last of the trashy TV (boo to no more trash...). I love keeping busy, but it's nice to have a night off where you can reflect on life and take time for yourself.
There is not a morning that doesn't go by where this fur ball totters up to my head and snuggles down beside me. I'm fairly sure that Runkle loves nothing more than sitting on top of me rather than next to me, purring away with his head tilted up by my shoulder, looking into my eyes. Yes. He totally does that. But I wouldn't have it any other way, except maybe if he didn't leave so much fur on my pillow..
After a spontaneous trip to Warwick Castle this weekend, I've decided that I quite like Warwick Castle. Especially on a beautiful day like it was. And even though my little legs may have hurt the following morning from the never ending staircases, and the beautiful gardens to potter about in, I wouldn't have changed it one bit.
Although, I don't think I'd live in a castle myself. There was too many red walls and carpets. And probably spiders.
I'm a fan of quotes (as you can tell from my numerous frames around the house) and find that many of them are so true. These last four weeks have felt like the real beginning again, and I can completely say that I feel really good in myself (bar the days when I've eaten too much and I have to sit in just my pants and vest.. but you know, that's cool..). Stressing less about everything in life is so important, and instead I took the approach to just go with the flow (albeit a few unsure moments) and not question things. Because everything happens for a reason, and if something's really poop? Just deal with it how you want to deal with it, even if it means ignoring it. And if something's really good? Just embrace that really good moment. Enjoy it. Don't doubt it.
So that's what I'm doing.

But first, I'm shouting from the rooftops that I got the all clear from my recent smear test.
Here's to the vagina being private for six months.
I'll definitely be drinking to THAT!
Because writing this last year has taught me that everyone does these things. And it also helps me justify why my dishes are piling up, and that it's OK to not hang my new clothes up just yet.
Hey, it's OK... Again.

When you still don't know where you're heading with life. It really doesn't always matter.
To sit in just your knickers and vest and eat five ice cream's in one sitting. It's totally fine.
When all you talk about is your cat. Because he's your housemate - and does things that really do need sharing.
To pretend you have plans to your friends in the evening, so you can really just go home, pop on your pyjamas and curl up in bed with a film, ignoring all incoming messages.
If you don't wash up for a few days and instead pile it 'neatly'. Because that's still being tidy?
To type a huge email at work with your boss thinking that you're contacting a customer, when really you're telling the girls all about your weekend. Monday's need making better.
When you can't remember who you told what to, and get excited every single time you re-mention it.
To smile sweetly at the checkout lady in the supermarket and upon her puzzled look, mention that 'yes, this food shop is for my family of three'. Nope. It's all for me.
When your daybed gets so filled up with clothes that your rail just becomes an empty rail for the week.
To eat the same dinner for four days running. Yes. All the sweet potato and butternut squash.
To not have all the money in the world. Life can still definitely be enjoyed.
When you pretend you're listening to someone but actually you're just wondering what your cat is up to right now.
Crying to your mama like you're a child still. Because sometimes you miss living at home.
Wearing matching sexy (sometimes uncomfortable) underwear everyday, when you're single, because you worry you may get hit by a bus. And the doctor could be cute. And you don't want to miss an opportunity.
To not be OK. But equally, it's totally OK to be OK too.
And to smile at everyone.
Unless you've got chocolate in between your teeth. Then smile like you're constipated.
Actually, maybe just wave.

Unless your alright-looking neighbour already thinks you're a fruit loop. Then don't wave either.

Hi. My name is Katy. And I take too many pictures of my cat.
Because I like cats.
I really like cats.
Especially my cat. He is all kinds of fun. Even if he spends a lot of time sneaking into my bed.
I simply can't get enough of his little face. That head tilt when something catches his attention and his ears prick up like it must be important.  He spends a lot of his time on the stairs, racing up and down till he tires himself out and needs a break. That's until he catches something, that's not really there, moving.
We spend a lot of time together curling up under the duvet and blanket. Considering its just the two of us, it means there's plenty of room in the bed for us plus a family of four (OK maybe two more at a push) however Runkle always wants to be sitting right next to me. Actually right on top of me. Basically on my face.
Mornings are a struggle to get out of bed as it is, so it doesn't help when it's three minutes after my last alarm, that he decides he wants to get under the duvet and snuggle. Why do they do that as though they KNOW that you're leaving for the day?! It's so difficult to get up when I'd rather squidge next to him.
I love watching Runkle pad on his throw, and the cushions, and the bedding, oh and sometimes my arm and face. It's a sign of contentment, and that makes me feel content knowing he enjoys it here. And look at that little curled up ball of fluff with his big droopy belly and those ears flopped down. TOO cute.
Playtime tends to be around bedtime. Or 4am. Because I mean, when else is the best time to throw the noisy chicken and the catnipped fish onto the bed and fight it like he's saving the world?! Sometimes I'll head to bed and find Mr chicken or even the aubergine under the covers, or maybe find his moose lurking in the bath tub...
There is nothing quite like coming home and being greeted by his little face sitting on the telephone table waiting so patiently. That look in his eye, as though I am his world, and he cannot wait to spend the evening with me, and how he fusses around my leg showing me that he has my trust.
When all along, I know he just wants some food.
And maybe someone to throw his toys down the stairs for him.
But secretly, I think he does think I'm his world. And that he likes my company.
And yes, I am officially a cat lady.
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