It's About Time

All those times I slept for 10+ hours at night, I smugly banked them. I knew one day that I would be thankful. I didn't need to see the Great Eclipse of 2000 and whenever. I am also grateful for the fact that I have not wiled hours away watching things like Grease and the LOFT trilogy, or anything else that is deemed as a "must see". I will, however, spend the length of time it takes to watch a film trawling the internet looking for the most obscure/disturbing/enlightening film I can find only to realise that I have no time to wetch it.

But time is such an illusion and so the waste of it is purely subjective. The ways in which I have chosen to "waste" time have been:

Waiting - mostly for transport. I have been also known to wait for lost luggage, technicians, treehouses and soulmates
Sleeping - for me, the nectar of the Gods, the one true escape from reality
Befriending animals - from potentially rabid dogs in Thailand to wee tired and hungry wasps called Julien...One for all and all for One
Getting to Know Myself - not exactly a waste of time but a lot of time has been devoted to it and sometimes the process of getting to know oneself involves a whole lot of nothing in particular, or waiting for transport.

Time, and our use of it, really is matter of perspective. Some people don't have time to wait in queues, or talk to random strangers in the street. Some people think time is money. Time is a construct and it has been constructed to keep us within the regimented timetables ascribed to us by someone else. This is why bosses say "You're on my time now". When I worked in Thailand, they operated in Thai Time, meaning things would get done but only after food had been consumed, naps were taken and it was remembered whatever it was that needed to be done in the first place.

Time is a matter of consequence, and some believe that matter can travel through time. But that's a tricky buisness to be involved in and one that I may or may not get round to blogging about.

GCDCs Debut

I feel like today is a lucky day for me. I had looked forward to the year 2016 because my fascination with the number 216 made me hopeful that it would be a good year for me. It wasn't that awesome but it wasn't bloody awful either. I think the general consensus, however, is that 2016 has been a pretty shitty year all around the world. Oh, and the only reason this year wasn't bloody awful is because I moved back home at just the right time. I said to moms that I really didn't think I would have coped living in the flat, struggling with everything on my own.

I have been much too drained to keep up any kind of online presence. I have one more week of mentalness and then a relaxing 3 day break to look forward to. I've almost made it. This is the very pinnacle of surfing the blowhole. Last week I hit a brick wall. Everything seemed bleak. The week before that I overthought myself into a frenzy that I think too much to become a counsellor. You can think yourself round in circles like a dog chasing it's tail. Just as fruitless though a lot less fun. And with confidence in tatters as usual I mustered another little last ounce of strength. I used it to sing a few songs at Uncle T's open mic night. Gus helped. He helped a lot by playing the wrong chords which resulted in us laughing which kinda made people interested. We played to a small but friendly and supportive crowd who were full of compliments afterwards.

Almost just as exciting as that, and a big part of the reason why I feel today is a lucky day, my new Irish passport arrived which means I can think about getting a small break away somewhere. It's great being so easily pleased :)

Boy Child Wonder Dog

I came home today to discover that Ziggy has been writing a draft for the Palace:

A DAY IN THE LIFE....ZIGGY THE BOY CHILD WONDER DOG

Hannah wakes up for work super early. She faffs around downstairs then she comes back up to do her hair. This is when I retreat beneath the blankets. I don't like the stuff she sprays in her hair. She doesn't do it every morning but I am like Pavlov's dog and as soon as I see her sitting in the 'getting ready' spot I dive under. I sleep until I hear Granny getting up. I stir but I decide it's still too early. When I hear Bert getting up I know the day is beginning. I go downstairs. Granny lets me and the other dogs out. She sometimes shouts "Ev" as she does this. Since granny and I are highly attuned I know this is short for "Everybody out!".

I do my buisness and then wait at the door for someone to let me in. I go for my second snooze of the day, sometimes on the sofa, sometimes back in bed. Visitors may come and I am compelled to bark and greet them excitedly. Eventually, Hannah comes home. I get very excited to see her and a little cross at all the others dogs crowding round her. I am also reminded, when Hannah arrives, that I have much coveted rawhide sticks that my BFF Gus brought round. I go into territorial mode. I may bark and worry at things below the sofa just to let Hannah know that she has been missed by me and I have all this awesome stuff to show her how well I can chew and guard and so on, so forth and suchlike.

Then Hannah goes upstairs to study. I go for my third snooze of the day. She works real hard with frequent breaks to talk to me and tell me she loves and how handsome I am. I sigh contentedly. Dinner comes a few hours later and I like to hang out with Granny in the kitchen for an hour just in case I get a treat. Granny doesn't even make me do tricks for them.

I often go to bed with Hannah but I may be up and down like a yoyo. Things that will stir me are; the clattering of pots and pans - this could potentially mean Granny is cooking, visitors calling - it's like a game of "who's it going to be?" and it pretty much doesn't matter who it's going to be because I'll get some kind of pat on the head. I forgot to mention, I have taken to going out in the evening and barking incessantly for at least 20 minutes. It just feels good to let the whole countryside know that I'm here and I've got all this rawhide and nobody's getting any!

Yes I'm Going to Cry

I re-sat my theory test on Wednesday as it had expired. I passed so that was a relief. I recorded 2 sessions with 2 different clients and that was also a relief as I have a deadline for that piece of work looming. So When I went to sleep on Wednesday night my body and mind must have relaxed and I fell into such a deep sleep that I slept through 3 alarms. I made it into work on time but I was drained. A work colleague told me I looked awful and I went to the toilets and cried. This has been a problem for me for a while. Crying when I really don't want to be. Hence; no more tears on the floor for the girl who lives in her coat.

It seemed to be correlating with my monthly howl at the moon cycle so I went on the pill to see if I could fool my body into thinking it was pregnant. I tried it out for a month and it made me feel worse in the long run. The trial and error rule applies to everything and I'm left now with the option of just accepting I'm going to be a big weepy, emotional wet blanket for at least one day of the month. So what! Yes I am going to cry because that bull looked so happy when it was freed, yes I'm going to cry when I spend all day looking at babies and am reminded that I don't have any, yes, I'm going to cry when I think about how much I love Ziggy, yes I'm going to cry when one of the bad girls from the Bad Girls Club is crying. I'm going to cry when I feel like crying and I'm going to stop trying to control these emotions that are embarassing and cumbersome.

And while I let those emotions flow freely within me and without me, then there is room for the happiness to flow within me and without me. Moms is sorting her computing room out this week so we can light fires and make it cosy. I need to seek out the beauty and joys of winter because they are there just the same as the cold and darkness.

Stars

I am pleased and a little surprised to report that the coursework is going ok. There's still a month until deadlines and I've made a good dent. Surely no last minute panic and annoyance. I will, of course, leave the referencing 'til the last day, about 10 minutes before it's due to be handed in, just so I can inflict some uneccesary stress on my heart. Just so it feels like I've really accomplished something.

In my first year at uni I took an elective module called 'Stars'. It was about famous people, actors and suchlike. The essay was a critique of a stars perfromance in a movie and I chose to do it on Courtney Love's role in The People Vs Larry Flynt. To be perfectly honest, I was out of my depth. I just liked her but I hadn't a damned notion about her acting abilities. It was a 3000 word essay and it caused me pull my hair out and curse the tutor who took the class. I handed it in the day I was flying back home for Christmas. It was a mess but it was done. I then complained about the ridiculous word count to a fellow student in the union about half an hour later. He informed me that the essay was only meant to be 1000 words. The tutor probably wouldn't even mark it.

I ran to the admissions desk and asked for my essay back. I sat in the union and scribbled out paragraph after paragraph. The sweet and kind Dirt Bird offered to retype it for me and hand it in on my behalf. Disaster was avoided. After Christmas I went to collect my work. I was amazed to see one of the best marks I have ever received for an assignment. The tutors comments started off "Hannah, I liked your essay!" So, when it came to editing out all the waffle I actually had some good thoughts. Which was to question how much Courtney Love was actually "acting" in the movie and how much she was just playing herself. I don't care. I'm glad she's not my mum but I still think she's cool.

5 Dogs and a Me

I'm in the company of 5 dogs. Only one is really content. That would be Zigatron and that's because he's the only one who has his owner here. Judy Pudding was distraught yesterday when she realised Bert wouldn't be taking her to Sligo. She was so distraught she had to sleep on my head last night. Jess is less distraught. Ever since I moved in she has been trying to 'claim' me. She reckoned we would automatically bond over being the youngest sibling. It hasn't quite worked out that way as Ziggy is very territorial over his bedroom and Jess is only permitted occasionally to lie on the bed with us. Last night was one such night. So while Judy lay on my head, Jess lay right beside Judy, on top of the pillows. I had to push Judy out of the way so Ziggy could come under the blankets for his morning cuddle.

Roy and, my uncle's dog, Jack slept downstairs, guarding the house, which was just as well as one of the doors lay open all night. It is no wonder everyone wanted to huddle. As it turns out Jack is a real good boy. He didn't get an overly warm welcome from Jess or Judy but the boys are sticking together. Of course Jack will be pleased to see his mummy and daddy tomorrow but he's a good wee farm dog who's out at every opportunity but doesn't get lost and worry me.

Tonught, I suppose, is music night. Gus and I have been jamming the past few weeks and Bert even joined us on the Clarinet last week. The GCDC's live on!

Rugguts

I feel stuck in between a place of having nothing to write about and everything to write about and so I will deliver it in bitesize chunks that may or may not make much sense to anyone else but me.

I knowingly killed a creature for the first time in many, many years. I like the Buddhist concept of not killing bugs and things but I was having a moment of feeling like the whole world was a big steaming jobby, and what good was trying to be caring all the time really doing me anyway?, so I swatted a bluebottle that was buzzing around my bedroom a few nights ago. I have several things to say about this. I only did after spending what seemed like an eternity trying to usher it out the window. Ziggy looked at me like I was a hypocrite because of all the times I've told him not to play rough with spiders. He then ate the fly the following evening. Also, it was completely in vain for I felt like an evil person and the fly came back to haunt me anyway. It's still here and I shan't be killing it again even though it buzzed in my ear as if to say "murderer"

I have come to the realisation that I, perhaps, love Ziggy too much after incessantly worrying that he was missing the town. I took him on the train for a walk to his old stomping ground. I am vaguely aware that I'm projecting my own feelings onto him. Do I miss the town? Yes. Do I regret coming home? No. What I miss isn't going anywhere. It's all available in the future when I have saved up some money to enjoy it. But I do love Ziggy so and wonder how I will travel for 3 months without him. Maybe I will only go away for 2 and a half months and spend 2 weeks on a roadtrip with Ziggy.

I have been going through a process of trying to rebalance and reconcile my internal and external worlds. My mum has been patiently helping me. I think the psychodynamics module has made me look even deeper within myself and I've started to allow feelings that were previously repressed. This came as a bit of a shock to me as I thought I had my shit together. And I do for the most part. It's about taking the facade away though and realising that I do not have to constantly be my 'ideal' self. It's goddamn exhausting. I can be her when I feel like it and a pissy, moany bitch the rest of the time. Neither one of those states of being defines who I really am.

I'm not sure that there's much else. I'm trying to stay on top of course work. I guess that's why I'm blogging. I dream of holidays everyday. I dream of, once again, surfing the blowhole. I dream and I work and I wait and I tick and I tock like a clock. And, mostly, life is good.

I've Done My Time

No more tears on the floor,
For the girl who lived in her coat,
She set sail yesterday.
On her little wooden boat,
She cast her wings to the waves,
Said, "This freedom ain't nothing but slavery",
She don't need this halo,
She's getting drunk on apathy,
She drinks the bottle 'til it's dry,
And then she fills it right back up,
She said, "My cup it runneth over",
"I filled it up with all my dust"
The sun it goes down on the East side,
It rises up in the North,
This boat is headed homeward bound,
It's letting nature run it's course,
And she said, "I packed my bags and they are empty like me",
"But that don't matter cause I got everything I need"
"The sun will shine now I can see",
"I've done my time now I am free"

The Healing Power of Dance

Ziggy and I went for a walk down the back lane and through the woods. It was most pleasant. We came upon some magpie feathers on the ground. The remnants of a kill. We were not sad for we understand all about the circle of death. I'm now sitting in my bed. Just checked emails and facebook. Checked out stumbleupon but not really in the mood for surfing the net. I decided to cuddle Ziggy. He let out a few of his cute little grumbling noises and I buried my face into his hairy back. I sniffed him. "Hmmmm," I thought, "Ziggy smells like the woods". But something was amiss. I sniffed him again and all of a sudden got a flashback of him rolling around in the magpie feathers. I recoiled. I am no longer cuddling Ziggy. And, just in case I have some random blow in reader, Ziggy is a dog :)

It's been another busy week but I feel it's been productive. Some shit got sorted and some other shit did not. The other shit can wait. The highlight of my week was an expedition with my nieces. E told me she had the cold but only half a cold. M had the rest of it. E had given it to her. By accident.

I had a night to myself last Saturday. I indulged in the healing the power of dance. Sunday was a fun day with the girls so I started the week off in good stead. This was well needed after a few rocky days in which I was taking on the problems of the whole world. Silly world. Having problems.

Now I'm on the ocuntdown to a week's holiday from work. Yeehaaa!

In A Nutshell

The bar that I drink in, the one where everyone knows my dog's name, will never be the same after one of the brothers who ran it died at the weekend. As one of my friends said, this was the bar where the misfits could go and not be looked at funny or judged. We went there because we knew we'd have a good time and not run into trouble. We went there because the people who owned it liked us, even cared for us. And we cared for them. We went there because the craic was mighty and there was always a friendly face. And if you didn't know the unfamiliar faces you always knew them by the end of the night. Of course, we'll still go there as long as it stays open but it will always feel a little emptier.

I found myself in receipt of a £500 bank refund. This was from over 10 years ago when they charged me extorniate interest on a student overdraft. I had been advised not to close the account by a fellow blogger. They said it would cost the bank for me to keep the account open with a couple of pounds in it. This was awesome advice for if I had closed the account I wouldn't have got the refund.

Apparently Nasa have now decided that there is a 13th zodiac sign. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Not because I am overly attached to my starsign or believe that it's gospel truth but more so because it is NASA who have decided this and, well, if that's what them dudes are spending all their money on that's just dumb. I've always believed that humans should really try and understand the earth and soil beneath their feet before trying to figure out the whole universe.

I'm feeling a bit like the warrior spirit is in me at the minute though I'm not entirely certain how to channel that. Normally it's through words but they haven't been coming to me so easily of late. I suppose a big part of my moving back home was to regroup and refocus. I wanted to disconnect for a bit. Now I find myself more than ever craving those deep, meaningful connections. But moving home has provided me with an opportunity to shed some old skin and decorate the blank canvas whatever way I want. Because, I am a work in progress and I have time and space to think about what way I want to nurture my passion and creativity. So that's the bad news, good news, stupid news and the tiny little fragment of my heart.

Staghorn Stan and Watermelon Wine

A friend was asking how things were with me and I replied, "Busy. Busy, busy, busy" and I was informed that this is what the Bokonists whisper when they think about how complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is. I haven't read the book by Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle, and I'm not 100 per cent sure what a Bokonist actually is but such things are merely matters of consequence.

I have been meaning to update my blog for days. I keep signing in and then my mind goes blank. What have I really got to say for myself? I started back at tech. I have completed 54 hours of counselling. Just another 96 left to go. Work has been exhausting. I have spoken to about 300 people in the space of two weeks. I had no idea how sheltered my life actually was living in the town with only Ziggy and the Bad Girls for company. My guitar is feeling neglected. Song writing? What's that? Although I do have a working title called Staghorn Stan the Robber Man. He steals people's Staghorns. He also drinks watermelon wine and I'm a little bit jealous of him for that alone.

The tiredness I feel at the minute is probably going to be temporary. This is a time of readjustment and settling in to a new routine. Ziggy seems to have settled remarkably well. He still sneaks up to my room when I'm at work for an afternoon snooze.

This is the point where I struggle with a blog post. I'm too tired to think of a nice tidy ending. I'm aware I'm writing for the sake of it. I have excitement in me with regards to starting 3rd year but I'm too exhausted to express it. And maybe even thinking about the year ahead fuels my exhaustion more. It's probably wise to take one day at a time. 'Til I get a bit more used to this 'adulting' thing which I've never really been any good at. Hopefully the next post will have a bit more punch.

The Last Hurrah

One of the main reasons I decided to move back home was because I was suffering major flatmate burnout. Gus and I had a huge row one weekend, one that we will no doubt laugh hysterically about in the not too distant future, and I decided it wasn't such a good idea us living together. Of course people said "told ya so" but I have a tendency not to heed the advice of others. So after all that debating about what to do with the bonus I received from work I ended up using it to live a solitary, carefree month by myself. It was awesome but at the back of my mind I still had the niggling worry about who the next flatmate was. I then had a flurry of interest in the room and every single person was unsuitable. So I thought, as I often do in these situations; What Would Jesus Do? He'd go back and live with Mary and Joesph, or in my case, Mary and Bert.

I gave in my month's notice on the flat and then I really enjoyed my time alone. Well, for about 3 weeks, and then I felt that I had O.D'd a little watching the Bad Girls Club and I was, in fact, wanting to revert back to 'bad girl' tendencies and get drunk on Tequila and suchlike, and so on and so forth. I was tired of my own company. Ready to live communally again. As it happens, Nellybert's social life is far more prolific than my own and there's always a hive of activity but the option of solitude if needed.

But, alas, after 3 weeks I got a week off work and then I created my own hive of activity. Dirt Bird joined Nelly, the dogs, and I in Fanad and we had a wonderful time chilling, chatting and childhooding, which is a made-up word to make this sentence sound more punchy but basically means getting in touch with our inner child. We saw a Lookout Cow which we saluted and we mostly ate, cheese, bread and foosted fruit.

Thursday was my last night in the flat and the bad girl within me could not be contained. Jakers had been round picking some stuff up from me and I tempted him to join Ziggy and I for a drink at the pub. As always, everyone remembered Ziggy but wasn't quite sure who I was. It's always the nights you least expect it that turn out the best. We played guitar and chatted until the early hours of the morning and then it was Moving Day which went by smoothly enough considering my fragile state of being. The Super Duper Lovely Mels came to hang out and her mum took us to Mount Stewart the next day. Ziggy tried to take on a hissing swan with young cygnets. This would be Ziggy the dog who goes to pubs, listens to BBC Radio 4 and, quite frankly, should know better.

So that's what I've been at. Now here's a photo of a lily I was particularly endeared by :)

Unexplained Bleeding From The Ears

One thing's for sure and that is I've been sleeping better at night. I'm guessing because I've eliminated a large amount of stress out of my life. That said, I did wake up out of my sleep last night and needed to go to the toilet. I switched the lights on in my bedroom and hallway to see where I was going but, for some reason, I was spooked. I've lived on my own before and I'm just not that easily scared in anymore. I'm so uneasily scared that when something does startle me and my heart races, I really like it. Because I know that I'm alive.

When I was a little girl I was scared of the dark. I could only sleep with the light on and when I woke up in darkness I hated it. I was also scared of sitting on the toilet seat as I imagined that a hand might come up and grab me and pull me down to the sewers. And I was petrified of mirrors. I did not dare to look into a mirror because I was convinced that something would move behind me, or my reflection would be an evil Hannah. The fear of mirrors came directly from movies I watched as a youngster. Cannibals I could handle, weird happenings in mirrors, I could not. Last night all three of these fears came back. My short trip to the toilet was an anxiety filled one. I imagined being pulled down into the faecal pit of doom. I didn't like turning the lights off behind me and letting the darkness catch up with me. I had to pass the mirror in the hall and I averted my eyes. I didn't look back once, just went straight back to the safety of bed where Zigatron would protect me. I was sleeping again within minutes, the residue of a thought on my mind; why was I so spooked?

It was much later today that I recalled the dream I was having just before I awoke. I was at work and it was announced over the tannoy that a body had been found at the front of the store. Then all the staff members were evacuated because they were going to have to quarantine the store. Epidemics play into one of my biggest fears. At least, I think I'm scared of them. I'm definitely fascinated by them and had been watching a show called Stranger Things last night and they were quarantining a research centre and I thought, "Yaaay! I love a good old 'outbreak' plotline, I hope there's some unexplained bleeding from the ears!" So I guess that's why I was dreaming about it.

I have to say, I actually kinda enjoyed feeling scared last night. I've had bad dreams before that have left me with an unsettled feeling all day long. They are dreams that also play into one of my biggest fears and that's when everyone hates me and they won't tell me why. I'm sure Freud would have a field day with that.

The Way Forward

I haven't managed to do much writing for the Writing Project. It is a work in progress though and probably won't be ready for publication until sometime in 2045 when I'm a crazy old rat lady. So why, pray tell, have I not been blogging? I have developed a terrible addicition to a reality TV show called The Bad Girls Club. The name says it all really. It's trash TV but I am convincing myself it's for the purposes of counselling training. And so it is, kinda. I might not always like what these girls do but I can understand why they behave "badly" and I know they come from a place of hurt. Reality TV has always been fascinating to me because people are fascinating.



There has been a rather exciting development in my life. I've made the decision to move out of my flat and back home to the Dreen. The past four years have been incredibly unstable, challenging, rewarding and beautiful. It has been an absolute roller coaster with many, many ups and downs and all the way rounds. The wind has knocked me off my surfboard, I've clung on to the edge by my fingertips and I've sailed in the calmest seas of tranquility. I've broke down, cruised and crashed. I picked myself back up and brushed the desert off my hands. And my decision doesn't mean that I won't face troubled waters again but it will enrich the quality of my life for this stage of the journey. And it gives me back a little bit of control over my destiny. I was stuck for a long time. Still progressing in a lot of ways but stuck in a life that was stagnant. All because of money really.

I'm heading into the future with excitement and hope and a desire to wake up each day with a purpose; be happy, smile, work hard, stop and smell the roses, love, grow, be. Finish the final year of my course, get 150 hours, graduate. Learn to drive, save money, go travelling again. I only plan to go for 3 months and Ziggy will have been living at mum's for a while by then so it shouldn't be as big a shock to his system. I need something to look forward to and I can't think of anything better than the prospect of going away. My heart is warmed because Ziggy's life will be so much better too. He'll never be on his own when I'm at work, he can run and exercise all day long, eat calf shit, chase cats and run wild and free through the fields. Things are on the up!

Still Dreamin'

I've started a new writing project. Because, y'see, I haven't given up on my dream of one day becoming a published writer. At this stage of the game I think it mught be a more realistic dream than becoming a rock star. I'm not entirely throwing that notion out of the window either though.

The palace has been looking a bit drab of late so here's some pictures of dogs and a video of me singing about being broken.

My Analogy

Imagine the whole world was a human body. Every part of that body, every organ, every limb, every cell, represented the people of the world. Mostly the body is working together to keep itself healthy, but there are parts of that body that don't function so well. Say, for example, the little finger on the left hand of the body wasn't quite right. There was something wrong with that little finger and it wasn't fully connected to the rest of the body. It was made up of 'bad' cells. And one night when the body is sleeping the little finger of the left hand attacks the ring finger beside it. So the rest of the body suffers the loss of it's ring finger because of the actions of the little finger. What does the rest of the body do? It gets rid of the little finger because it doesn't trust it to not damage other parts of the body. What was disconnected from the body due to, let's say, a 'glitch' becomes fully disconnected from the body because it was amputated because of the fear of further risk. And a body can survive without the little finger on the left hand. And it can also survive the loss of it's ring finger.

Let's say though, that when that little finger was disconnected from the rest of the body it just withered away to nothing. It rotted and decayed until eventually there was nothing left. That's pretty much what happens to things like that. But do the 'bad' cells just wither and rot and decay until they too disappear? Probably not. Because those 'bad' cells are part of the body as a whole, not just the little finger. So the finger is gone but the 'bad' cells just find a new part of the body to reside in. They go to the big toe on the right foot. The same thing happens and the body is now missing two fingers from the left hand and two toes from the right foot. All of a sudden the body doesn't trust itself. Where organs used to work together for the greater good they now fend for themselves and trust no other parts of the body as they may contain traces of the 'bad' cells. But they don't work so well on their own. They were designed to work together. The whole biological system of the body is in chaos. Limbs are amputated until the body is immobile. Eventually everything fails, with the heart the last to give up.

How can the body prevent this from happening? How can the body cut out the 'bad' cells without becoming completely disconnected from itself? How do we stop the little finger from starting all this nonsense. I guess I don't know anything for sure but maybe the little finger felt disconnected for a reason. Did the rest of the body stop to think about what that reason may be, or did it act quickly and impulsively out of fear and a necessity for self-preservation? Did it do a good job of preserving itself? Did it believe that the little finger would surely act again and so it was better off amputated? Did it ever stop to think that, since it was the same body, connected to the same heart, that maybe it was just as responsible for the actions of the little finger as the little finger was? Or did it find blame and fear easier to comprehend than compassion and understanding?

So the body is the world, and each organ and limb are the people in the world and they are all connected, except some don't feel or understand that connection so we get rid of them because we think they're going to poison and spoil eveything. Except that the 'bad' cells are part of the body as a whole, not just specific limbs and organs. And when things get tough, complicated or scary, instead of trying to understand where these 'bad' cells came from we try to eradicate them by any means necessary, until eventually the whole system collapses, because we don't know how to understand or look after ourselves. Not really. We don't see that we are all just one big body connected to one big heart and, one day, if we don't try to start listening and understand each other, that heart will stop beating.

Milestones

The weekend pleased me. I accomplished everything I wanted to whilst remaining in a relaxed, zen-like state of mind. The chicken was cooked and it has fed Ziggy and I for several days now. I finished Life of Pi last night and I'm trying to decide whether I should finish off Shantaram, another half read book, or start on the Stephen King one lent to me by Bilrus. I am erring more on the side of Stephen King right now. I read a lot of his novels when I was younger (much younger, perhaps, maybe too young) and there's a familiarity in his style of writing. I am feeling nostalgic and want the comfort of familiarity. I dreamt last night of the cast of New Girl. I had watched all 5 seasons back to back and felt a little hollow when it was over. So hollow, in fact, that I then trawled youtube for blooopers, interviews and anything involving those actors that had become like a family to me. This is maybe why I haven't watched TV shows in so long. I get horribly attached. Let's not forget the rollercoaster ride that was Karl and Susan Kennedy's marriage in Neighbours. I became too involved. I cared too much. I cursed the evil Isobel.

I reached my 30 hour target last week for the counselling course. It was a tremendous feeling. To think that I was on the verge of giving up in April. To think that I, while holding the metaphorical gun to my head, nearly pulled the trigger. Training to be a counsellor is not an easy feat. Due to the nature of emotional complexities it requires you to look deep within yourself. We're not always prepared for what we might find. We can lull ourselves into a false sense of security by thinking that we have got our shit together but, as when peeling an onion, we discover that there are layers upon layers of 'stuff' that rears it's ugly head just as we feel we've accomplished something.

I also passed my exam and coursework. Not exactly with flying colours but considering how much tougher it's all been this year I am happy with my results. Just one more assessment to hand in and that's me going into 3rd year with the rest of the crew. And while I feel relief and happiness there is also a large dollop of mental exhaustion thrown in for good measure. I'll be glad when this course is behind me. Though the training never really ends. The liklihood of me walking straight into a job when I graduate is slim. I50 hours is required to complete the course but 450 hours must be completed before I can become accredited by the BACP and this is what most employers will be asking for. If only I could count all the many hours I have clocked up counselling friends and work colleagues!

Roastin' Roosters

Since I got back into reading I have been mostly finishing books that I started a long time ago and lost interest in. One of them was a book by Anneliese Mackinstosh called Any Other Mouth. It was a charmingly transparent collection of short stories about the author's strange and beautiful coming of age memories. I identified very much with the author for her unashamed honesty. I'm now reading Life of Pi which I started before I went to Thailand several years ago. It just didn't grip me. I kept trying sporadically but all I could ever manage was about 3 pages every few years. It's meant to be a fantastic book so I've decided to persist this time and now that I've got to the stage where Pi is stranded on the lifeboat with a tiger I'm getting more into it.

Tonight I have a lovely evening planned. It involves bathing Ziggy because he is in dire need of one. It also involves playing guitar and starting a new jigsaw. It might involve watching some kind of comedy show like New Girl or Arrested Development. Today I bought a whole chicken. Unfortunately not a pet. One that goes in the oven. I am 34 years old and I've never roasted a chicken. Or a rooster. I felt like it was time to make that transition into adulthood. I also bought a bag of spinach and have eaten a handful of it raw. It was rather displeasing but I need green stuff in my diet.

The GCDCs have collapsed again. There's a whole back story that is completely insignificant to anyone but me but it's for the best right at this moment of time. I told one of my mates in work and he said he was going to make a meme. This meme would say "One Direction Have Split Up" and people looking mildly disinterested, then, "The GCDC's Have Split Up" and crowds of folk wailing and crying. Y'see, it was more fun for me to tell people that I was in a band than actually being in the band. What started off as a tongue-in-cheek joke became a reality. The GCDC's should have stayed in the Museum of Good Ideas.

Having said that it was an interesting learning experience for me. It spurred me on to be more creative and it gave me confidence in my singing and playing. The boys were always really encouraging and supportive and it truly is something special to hear other people playing along to your song. I most certainly haven't given up on music, that's for sure.

Letting Go

I don't want this to be a long blog post but I'm not sure I can do it in under 500 words. My nieces and I performed a symbolic ritual on Thursday. The reason being that I felt it was very much time to let go of some stuff. The stuff I was letting go of was years of emotional baggage but I had something physical to represent the baggage. A dried out rose head given to me about 18 years ago by an ex boyfriend called Will in the hope that he could woo me back.

Between my personal counselling and talks with my supervisor I began to see what that rose head represented. Will was an amazing guy, kind, sweet, funny and creative. But he had carried a sadness with him for many years. Before I had met him he had been addicted to heroin. During the relationship he became deeply depressed. I guess he was adjusting to life without his crutch. I guess I hoped that I could be his crutch. Having battled with depression myself I knew how fragile happiness could be sometimes. I realised that I was not going to make Will happy, he had to do it by himself. If you love something you give it away. I gave him away. I was young, fragile and I really didn't want to compromise my own mental well being. I knew I could easily fall into that deep, dark abyss in trying to rescue Will.

He really understood my intentions. That's why he wanted to woo me back. He wanted to go find his happiness and come back to me. That never happened though. For two reasons, the first being that I embarked upon a new relationship and the second reason being Will died of smoke inhalation in a house fire.

There were two things that went on for me after this. The first was an overwhelming sense of guilt. On top of the guilt I denied myself the opportunity to grieve for him properly because I just didn't feel I had any right to. So how did I channel these emotions? I made a pact with myself to never hurt anyone again. To never give up on anyone. It is no real surprise that I was alway attracted to the helping professions. Of course, it was in me anyway, but I suppose I felt I had to right a wrong.
I have come to the conclusion however, and it's taken me long enough, that I keep attracting this pattern of relationship. Not only that, when the relationship doesn't work out, which is all the time, I still want to be there for the person. I find it really hard to close the door because I'm scared the door will close forever and I'll be left wondering 'Did I do enough?' Having realised that I am creating all of this turmoil for myself I can no longer sit here blaming the universe for always breaking my heart. I break my own heart.

So, a mission was set upon by Marha, Evie, Ziggy, Jess and myself and we headed down to the woods. I explained to the girls what we were doing and why (I gave them the kid's edit). Evie was a little too young to really get it but Martha was not only very interested but very sweet and understanding. I explained to them that I wanted to crunch the rose head up into dust and then we'd all blow it up into the air while making a wish. They spent a little time holding the rose and looking at it. Martha panicked a little and told me she wanted me to keep the rose, even just for another week. I told her I understood why she wanted me to do that but I had already kept it for a long time and it was time to let it go. She worried that I might forget about Will. I showed her the rose and I said, "Sweetheart, Will isn't in this rose. I'll never forget him because Will is in here", and I placed my hand on my heart.

Then she asked me if some of the rose dust would make it's way to Wales where Will was buried. I told her it most definitely would because some would land on an insect and carry it to Wales. Then we discussed the wishes and I said it was always a good idea to make a wish for something that might actually happen. I used the example of wishing that a nice man would come into my life. After the ceremony Martha told me she had wished for something that might actually happen.

As it happened the rose didn't melt into dust like I thought and I was surprised by how strong and intact the petals still were after all this time. And I'm sure that one of those petals will find it's way to Wales.

The Beauty of Bees and Sacredness of Sleep

I'm trying to be a more consistent blogger. No real reason. Just 'cause. It may mean setting myself some kind of A-Z challenge. I haven't decided what yet. For now I'll just write about the countryside.

It's marching season in Norn Iron and often the parades march right past my flat sending Ziggy into convulsions of fear and rage. Frage. It's not pretty. Last night we opted for an evening of serenity out at the Dreen. As always I checked on the Bonsai trees. They are going through a growth spurt and it's nice to see them developing. The Ash's trunk is tiny yet solid. The Hawthorn's trunk is twisty and unusual.

Then Ziggy, Jess, Holly de Cat and I took a walk along the back lane. Holly likes to follow us on these expeditions but she also likes to pretend that she's stalking us like a sniper. Everytime I look back she stops in her tracks and sniffs a hedge. We approcahed the woods that were planted nearly 20 years ago. They are proper woods now. I remember helping Bert tramp down the long grass around the young saplings to give them a chance to grow. I helped create these woods and that was a nice feeling. There hadn't been rain in over a week and the sheugh's were as dry as a bone.

When we came back mum had noticed that there were hundreds of bumble bees bumbling around a tree with yellow flowers. I can't remember the name of the tree. My nieces could probably tell me. It felt almost magical to stand below that tree and feel the hum of the bees, buzzing happily as they filled their pollen sacs with sweetness. I also secretly wished one of them might sting me so I would know what that felt like. Will I go through my whole life not knowing what a bee sting feels like? Well, if this is all the problems the countryside is going to present me with then I can handle that.

The work bonus arrived and I am buying myself a new mattress because there comes a point in your life when sleep is just about one of the most sacred things there is.