A Little Bit Sucky

Do you know what sucks? Seeing a dog get hit by a car. Do you know what sucks even more? Feeling partly responsible because the other dog saw Ziggy across the road and ran for him. The dog was an alsation. It was stroking about outside on the street and when it saw Ziggy it bounded for him. The car wasn't going overly fast but it still hit the dog with enough force to send it flying through the air. The alsation quickly jumped up and ran back to it's house. The owners hadn't witnessed it and I was concerned the dog was more hurt than it looked. I checked on the guy driving the car and asked him if he was ok. He was a young fella about 17 and he said he was ok. He asked if the car was ok. I said the licence plate was a bit cracked but it was fine apart from that. He said he knew that was a really horrible thing to ask but I got the impression he was probably driving someone else's car. I told him he should go and let the owners know that he'd hit their dog in case the alsation was more hurt than it seemed. I would have done it myself only I didn't think it was a good idea going in with Ziggy. I told the dude I'd wait with his car. He came back a few moments later and he said the dog was in the house and the owner thought it seemed ok but they would take it to the vet's anyway. I really do hope the dog will be alright. If he hadn't seen Ziggy he wouldn't have ran across the road.

The day has been grand otherwise. I would have felt much worse if the dog had been killed right on the spot. But it wasn't so I shall put it out of my head. Ziggy has decided that he'll do the "play dead" and "roll over" tricks for me as long as it's on soft carpet. It really seems like he's making an extra special effort as he approaches his first birthday. Ziggy shares his birthday with Sunshine. Moonshine's birthday is the following day so tomorrow night is party night. Normally Ziggy would be present for such occasions but I have decided that I would be wise to send him out to mum's, come home from work and have a nap so that I'm not looking for bed come midnight.

I have an interview on Monday for the next stage of the counselling course. I've been dreaming lately about a holiday but between driving and course funding I'm probably gonna have to wait about three years before I can even afford to renew my passport. It's a good job I have all those memories of holidays before and a cunning ability to convince myself I'm in a different country. Today, I think I'll go to Ecuador.

Summer Scoop

I have been working on my papergirl project. This is just a first draft so it might get revised a time or two before I submit it. I use Yankee candles to make my flat smell nice and my favourite flavour* at the minute is called 'summer scoop'. It made me think of K and so I wrote this to get a bit of sadness worked out of my system. I've also included some photos of Ziggy to balance it all out and make this a bittersweet blog post. Thank dog for gods!



I was submerged in my skin, feeling myself rot and decay and peel away, ‘til my core was exposed, all swollen and tender, all soft and raw. And in this fragile state he came to charm and disarm me, possibly harm me, but my heart was exposed, all swollen and tender, all soft and raw. He built me this gorgeous house in the trees, with heart shaped leaves and the bees who could see, I was stung before, I was swollen and tender, all soft and raw. So I jumped through his hoop, got caught in the loop, fell in love with a summer scoop. And my core was exposed, my heart and soul juxtaposed thought this was gold, I thought this was treasure, thought this was forever. So I said goodbye to my summer scoop, danced to the beat of my own distant drum, my freedom was gold, my thoughts were my own, this was my treasure. This is forever.

The New Seating Arrangement

Just at the minute I have an inability to write. I don't know why. I think it's because I'm holding myself back from what I really want to say. Despite my attempts to always be open and honest there's just some things best left. So I hand my blog over to Ziggy to see if he's got much so say for himself:

Oh boys, oh boys, I just don't know what to be at with myself. Y'see, Hannah and her flatmate got rid of that big stupid TV, which was ok, I didn't mind because sometimes I saw things on the TV that annoyed me and I could never get at them, but Hannah didn't like the big empty space it left so she put my favourite armchair their in it's place. She seemed to know that this would upset me but she didn't care. I used to love sitting on that armchair looking out the window. I especially liked to bark at all the other dogs I seen. So life's been tough this past few days. I can stand at the top of the stairs and look out that window but all I ever see are a few birds. So I bark at them. Then Hannah tells me not to. And now I can't get in behind the sofa and hide and scratch and carry on. The whole living room's changed and I don't like it. I asked Meka what she thought and she said she didn't give a flying f**k. So I did a whole pile of naughty things just to get back at Hannah. Nothing really bad, I've just generally been a bit more pesky than usual. I hoped that she might reconsider the seating arrangement so I could just go back to looking out the window and barking. Think I'll just keep being naughty until she does

Well, looks like Ziggy did have something he wanted to get off his chest. I do feel very guilty about taking his chair by the window away but I was glad to get rid of the big stupid TV.

How Were We Made?

Not so long ago I wrote a post on the number 216. It was a very light hearted post because I was feeling so shitty at the time I had to be jovial whenever I could. But it seems the number won't leave me alone and there's a whole lot of "significance" behind it. When this number started to crop up in my life 5 years ago I thought it was odd but never gave it any real serious thought. A lot of people have numbers that keep figuring in their lives so that part is not unusual. Now, I find it hard to write with a hundred per cent enthusiasm about a subject that has always seemed airy fairy and wishy washy to me. In the past year, through events in my life and learning that I've done I've come to appreciate all kinds of theories and philosophies about life. The event of seeing numbers repeatedly in life are said to be the result of angels communicating with us. It seems to be their message is a simple one, just to let us know they are there. I have my struggles with religion and the concepts of heavenly creatures and so, five years ago, I would have called this utter pish posh. But, like I said, life is teaching me not to scoff at things just because they don't fit into my idea of what is right. When I was younger I felt it was more important to place my faith in myself and the people around me. The 'concrete' beings that I could physically know and touch. As I get older I realise that as concrete as we might be nothing lasts forever. So I looked beyond the physical and delved into the spiritual.

I didn't explain the number 216 very well in the last post. The reason being is that I don't know how to explain it. My brain understands what I'm reading about it but I can't express it in my own words because a lot of it boils down to maths and I just don't get maths. What I can do is provide links. The first one is good old wikipedia. This one's for the real maths buffs. The second one shows that the number 216 is, in fact, well known. Clearly someone has had the same thought as myself and queried if the number 216 has any significance. Of course, everything I read about it has to do with maths or religion, two of my most hated subjects. I wasn't going to even mention it again except that I was looking through a magazine, a strange magazine that my flatmate got, and there was an advert at the back for a book by William Neil called How We Were Made: A book of revelations. The illustration shows the number 666 and a hand pointing downwards to the number 216 in a circle with wings. I thought this required further investigation.

This dude William Neil seems to have devoted an awful lot of time to the number 216. It's actually kind of boring and I guess you have to be really into numbers to be interested in such stuff. All the same, I'll have to check the book out just to see what it's all about. I am kinda worried though as I think he might be one of these David Icke types. At least his name was mentioned on this site. I wish I was being haunted by a far less notorious number. In all seriousness though, it is just a number, though, according to google the world's going to end in 2016. Hmmmm, like we haven't heard that one before. Still, better make sure this next couple of years are extra special good ones. Just in case ;)

Papergirl Belfast

Today I had one of those 'senior' moments like when someone is looking for their glasses and they're already wearing them. I was walking Ziggy down the street and I momentarily panicked that I'd forgot his lead, which was, of course, attached to his collar and in my hand.

Ziggy gets called a whole lot of names. The list is extensive and includes; Ziggers, Chief Ziggum, Sir Zigalot, Zigalo, Ziglet, Ziglerthene (my mum's name for him), Zigstar, Wee Man, Wee Dude and Wee Shit. Basically, I'll call him anything, anything but The Zig. The way I see it he has to earn that title and he is far too young and cocky to appreciate it yet. Like Paulo and his sword, Ziggy needs to know what to do with a title like that before he can own it with honour and pride. It has been noted by fellow dog walkers that Ziggy walks around like he is King of the River Path Walk. I encourage all their dogs to put Ziggy in his place.

A few days ago I felt like all my energy had been zapped from me. I guess I was only just getting over the Whisky Flu and I'd been out gallivanting most nights so a bit of exhaustion was inevitable. It felt more than that though, like I'd surrendered something of myself that I was't quite ready to surrender. My body told me everything that I needed to know. It was just a matter of listening to it. I rested for an hour on Friday night before heading round to see Sunshine and Moonshine. It was the most satisfying rest in which I hung out somewhere in between reality and dreams. It was very peaceful and when I came to I was re-energised and feeling good (like Nina Simone good).

The lovely Shiny girls told me about an interesting creative project called Papergirl Belfast. People are encouraged to write, draw or create something that can be rolled up and put in a tube for people on bikes to randomly distribute to the members of the public. Such a brilliant idea I have to be a part of it!

The Pilgrimage

There are a few Arts I'm trying to master at the minute like how to make my life a little less like a sopa opera. I have attracted drama for years now. I don't want it but it finds me as soon as I decide to go out and be sociable with people. it's nothing major and nothing I can't handle but it's certainly made me question what the hell I'm doing to avoid a somewhat, normal, peaceful life. I think I've figured it out this time round. I feel for people too much. I care about them too much. I want everyone to be free and happy. I can't detach myself from other people's pain and it's something I need to learn how to do if I want to become a counsellor.

I am a sponge and I soak everything up. Having learnt a major lesson this year in how to take control of my life, I now have to learn what to do with that control. I don't want to care so much for people that when their world get's rocked mine does too. I don't want to be afraid of other people's feelings. I can't be. It doesn't help me. Yesterday I made myself finish The Pigrimage by Paulo Coelho. It was less enjoyable to read than many of his books and just as I'd got to the last 40 pages I gave up. It's been sitting in my room gathering dust for a while now. I began to wonder if there was significance in me being unable to finish it at that particular time. Maybe I would only be able to finish the book when I was ready for the lesson. I decided that yesterday I needed to finsih it. The wisdom that I was waiting for was in the first paragraph.

The story is about Paulo doing a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in search of his sword. He does not know where he will find it and his guide, Petrus, tries to teach him exercises and meditations as a way to look within himself for the answers. It is not until Paulo realises that he has been so obsessed with the end result he has failed to even think about what he will do with his sword when he gets it. He suddenly realises he will not be able to find his sword until he, first, knows what to do with it.

I still have a way to go on my journey, not that it will ever end, but I'm getting closer and closer to that feeling of authenticity. Perhaps, one day, I will go on my own pilgrimage.

The Art Of Procrastination

I am fixated on playng Rounders at the minute. I like it because it's neither a girl's game nor a boy's game. For those of you that don't know, Rounders is like the British version of Baseball, only much smaller and without the acclaim. A better game, by far, I would say. Millions of Americans may beg to differ though. I was never overly sporty at school. I was more spotty than sporty. I also went to the kind of school where sport was glorified. If you were the very best hockey or rugby player you could securely claim your place amongst the Jocks. If you didn't have brains to applaud at least you had brawn. I had brains but not the kind of malleable ones a school like that wanted you to have. I challenged my R.E. teacher on all kinds of controversial subjects like suicide and gay rights. He would become flustered and, while I had him engaged in such debates, there would be no learning from the Bible as outlined in the curriculum. It's really no wonder I failed the exam.

Today I'm indulging in a spot of procrastination. I'm off work and should be getting stuck into the housework but I am choosing to painfully squeeze out a blog post when I really have nothing to write about. That's how a true procrastinator operates. The thing that they choose to do instead of the thing that they should be doing is quite often pointless and irrelevant. But I'm trying to understand the Art of Procrastination. I am convinced there has to be some evolutionary reason as to why humans do it. Spiritual teachers tell us that procrastination is the enemy and, so far, I have been unable to disprove this. But I will continue on my quest to master the Art of Procrastination and when I figure it all out I will let you know. Eventually.

Sitting On The Wall

Last night I went out for a feed of food and a feed of whisky. It was, I guess, a date, sort of. I went to bed much later than I'm used to and much wobblier than I'm used to and then I felt like I was coming down with some kind of lurgi. I woke this morning feeling much like one feels after a feed of whisky and managed to convince myself that it was the effects of alcohol making me feel lurgied. I left the house at half twelve, bought a sandwich to eat and then headed up to meet my class mates before our exam. When I say exam it wasn't a difficult exam. Our tutor told us it wasn't rocket science and there was no need to revise. She was right. We all felt confident enough about it and afterwards I realised that I was most definitely coming down with a lurgi. I am the girl who never gets sick except for occasional bouts of pear picking porky flu and donkey flu. I believe this may be some kind of whisky flu.

When I was a child I rarely got sick. I had never experienced a flu until I was 20. And, to be fair, I don't think I've had proper flu since. Adults seem to think that because having a cold feels ten times worse than it did when they were a kid that it's flu. I just think adults are wusses.

Ziggy is back from an overnight stay at mum's. He's wrecked. Just how I like him to be. My friend N called round for us the other day and we took a walk in Broughshane. I walked out the door and N was sitting on the Twit's wall. So were the Twits. They weren't too pleased and glared at us. As soon as N stood up they stood up and walked down the street. I looked back to find Mr Twit standing watching us getting into the car. Glaring. I said to N, "You probably shouldn't sit on their wall."