Dog Blog

Oh dogs. Dogs, dogs, dogs, DOGS! I love them. There is no doubt about it, they make life worth living. I will tell you who all these fine beasts are. Danny was our first family dog. He's the handsome black and white fellow getting a playful nip from Polly. Bert was Danny's main man. They went everywhere together. Bert was quite the social butterfly and Danny followed suit. I have met people who have recognised Danny from parties that he attended. Polly arrived a few years after Danny. They were friendly. Too friendly. They had a litter of pups. Polly, unfortunately, got run over and died in her prime. Danny lived to the ripe old age of 15.

Rosie was a resuce dog. We got her when we still had Danny. Rose was a mongrel but she had the features of a collie. She was as odd as tea when she came to us but she was a sweet, sweet dog. She took fits during thunder storms and she liked to play the social outcast but she adored her family. She was Queen of the scunger dogs. She started to run the fields and she took Danny wirh her even though he was too old and done for it. When Danny died we had a vacancy for another dog that needed rescuing. Along came Paddy, a dead ringer for Danny. Paddy was not very bright and easily led. He took to the fields along with Rosie and the two of them caused Mum and Bert manny a fretful evening. At the time, Salt Face and I lived in Ballymena and we'd take Rosie and Paddy for walks all over the country so they wouldn't have energy for scunging. Paddy was a dote. He wasn't the cleverest of dogs but he made up for it in a lot of ways.

Bonnie the german shepherd came to us by chance. It was lucky for her that she did. Bonnie, to me, was always a background dog but over the years I couldn't help but grow fond of her. She was mum's dog for sure. She wasn't a van dog that went everywhere with Bert. We never really knew what age she was but we had her for at least eight years. She saw many a dog and cat come and go and she was always the most tolerant, gentle and patient animal that we ever had the pleasure to know. Rosie died on the road. She was getting old though and she wouldn't have liked to suffered from old age complaints. So we were left with Paddy and Bonnie. Being used to three dogs mum decided to get Judy. She was a pup when we got her and we weren't used to puppies. I watched her grow in my arms. And, boy, did she grow. I will always have a soft spot for Judy. She was an abundance of cuteness and joy when Paddy and Bonnie had grown old and tired.

For a brief time we had four dogs. Charlie was found in the middle of a storm and he was in bad shape. This is where it all gets a bit hazy. I think Paddy died first. Of old age. Though we got the vet out to make it as dignified as possible for him. Then Charlie got run over on the road. He was always a live wire but I think he was getting closer to realising the security he had around him. That left Bonnie and Judy. Jess (the cutester with the half smile) and her sisters and brother were all rescued from a farmer who threatened to put them in a sack and drown them. He probably knew that if he said this to the right person they'd make sure each and every one of the pups was homed. And they were. Bonnie died, not long after Jess arrived, of old age.

Then along came Ziggy. My little prince who tamed me:

"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."

How I Spent My Wednesday Night

On Wednesday night a friend and I headed up to Belfast for an Audio Play. I'd never been to one before and didn't really know what to expect. It was a very interesting experience but, because it was all down to sound it's probably gonna be very hard for me to write about it and do it justice. It's the kind of thing you have to experience for yourself. But I can give you the gist of it. The whole idea behind it was to give you a sense of "what the fuck is going on here?" We walked in a few minutes late so we were already a little unsure of what was going on. As i sat down in the darkened room I looked around me. There were massive speakers set up all over the room. The floor was a metal grid which you could peer down to see some kind of cement basement. This made me think of the hospital scene from Jacob's Ladder in which Tim Robbins is wheeled through various disturbing scenes. He looks above him and there is a metal grid in which horribly disfigured mental patients peer at him and scream. I think it was this movie that gave me a taste for strange and disturbing films. So after looking around the room I realised that there was nothing in particular to look at so I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sounds that came from the speakers.

There were three separate plays broken only by a moment of silence that was deafening. There was dialogue all of them. In the first play someone died as a result from getting stranded up a mountain or a boat. I think. As I missed the first few moments of this one I kind of had to assume this was happening. A long with the dialogue were background noises of the wind howling. A woman was sobbing. Then all of a sudden a woman from the audience stood up and walked out of the room. At first I wondered if she was just finding the whole experience too intense but I then realised that she was the only visible actor in the play.

The second play was about a radio talk show. It was based around the issues of "the fleg" and I picked up on influences from A Clockwork Orange as they talked about a government programme that had been put in place to "cure" people's anger. This came with a lot of distorted background noise and at one point the sound (intentionally, I think) of the radio show talkers became fainter as if there was a technological fault.

The last one was the most intense. It was the inner dialogue of a girl who suffered with obsessive compulsive thoughts. I found this very evocative and powerful. It didn't have a happy ending. She poured boiling water from a kettle over her face. The experience as a whole was brilliant. Afterwards we drank wine and told the producers and writers what we thought. They were encouraged by the feedback. We found out then that the lady who walked out was meant to make the audience question if she was part of the act. It was all very cleverly constructed and enjoyable. Who knew there were such treats for the ears and mind?

What I Need

I was just about to write a list of all the things I need when I realised that pens are actually something that I need and, without them, I cannot write a list. I have two pens and they both ran out last night when I was doing some homework. This is my list:

Pens - how could I have let it get to the stage where I only had two pens and they both ran out? I have a cheek calling myself a writer.

Work shoes - Ziggy chewed the current ones

Bag - Ziggy chewed the current one

Haircut - In my secondary shcool days I wore a fringe that came half way down my face. It suited me that way. I liked the Sonic Youth song Goo "She looks through her hair like she doesn't care". But now I'm no longer a teenager and I bump into things when my fringe gets long.

Bathroom floor - Ziggy chewed the current one

Well, as you can see there's a lot of money to be spent. Money I don't quite have yet but hopefully the next month will sort that out. I stumbled upon this short video a while ago and regretted not bookmarking the page. It took me a while to find it again but I think it's well worth a share.

Sofa Club

The first rule of Sofa Club is, we don't talk about Sofa Club. The second rule of Sofa Club is, we don't chew holes and make dens in the sofa. Hmmm, I wonder how long that will last? So here I am sitting on the my first ever bought sofa. I bought it second hand of course. Who buys a brand new sofa at £500 a pop when they've a rat and a dog to contend with? An utter fool, that's who. Meka was confined to her cage all day so she wouldn't accidentally get sent to the dump in the old sofa. She wouldn't last two minutes out there. All the wild rats would be laughing at her big fat belly and flawless ears.

The weather has been rather awesome this week. I've sent Ziggy out to Cullybackey. It's a mortal sin to keep a dog cooped up on such a nice day. I miss him when he's not here but he continues to be a complete skitter, pretty much, all day long. The routine is, I come home I take him for a block walk so he can pee. I come home, have coffee, get changed, check mail, then take him out for his proper walk along the river. The rest of the evening is spent with Ziggy strutting about the house looking for things to bark at and trying to fight/wrestle/hump me when I'm doing chores or trying to do something on the computer. He only plays with his toys when I play with him. If I do anything other than show him some form of attention he tries to chew all the things he knows he's not allowed to chew. Like wires and guitar straps. Basically, he's a little shit. But he's my little shit.

So that's an update on the pets and sofa. In other news, work has been horrendous. I'm on day two of a sugar detox because I was in danger of OD'ing. I've been exhausted and feeling very fractious. Numerous annoying things have not helped the matter, Power NI, you in particular have bugged the fuck out of me. I was a bit heartbroken at knocking over several trays of raspberries. Of all the things to coup raspberries are the worst because they come in flimsy punnets with detachable lids. I'm pretty sure that very nearly could have been my Falling Down moment. I think I preferred my Trainspotting moment It's just as well the sun's been shining.

I Got The Eye Of The Tiger

It seems my Sunday morning rant was just like a zit that needed to be squeezed. And I do feel better for squeezing it. As a result of releasing all that toxic poison I am now in a position to be proactive and sort the stuff out that I've been avoiding this past wee while. The first thing I did was place an advert for a new flatmate. I have someone coming to view it next week so that leads me to the next couple of things that need sorted. The bathroom floor that Ziggy kindly destroyed and the sofa that Meka kindly destroyed. I have my eyes on a new suite and the floor should be easily enough replaced.

I spent the morning with my youngest niece and oh how we laughed! It's been a tough couple of months but I am feeling much more like the girl I used to be and that, in itself, is a great feeling. When I have help with the rent I'll be able to afford driving lessons again. I'll be able to afford the odd night out with friends. The weight off my shoulders will allow me to focus on the things I want to achieve, like getting Freddy and the Fox illustrated, playing more guitar, hanging out with people who make me smile. The past few months have been all about survival. I survived. I'm ready to start living again. I'm ready to start spreading joy and happiness all around me, for it's so much nicer to make people laugh. And it's nice to know that I've dealt with things accordingly.

It's a well known fact that, despite my otherwise fantastic taste in music, I sometimes let the odd pop song into my life. I was called Britney by a friend at uni for years because I admitted to liking <i>Baby One More Time</i>. I sheepishly admitted to my dad in 1997 that I liked <i>Wannabe</i> be the Spice Girls. He sheepishly admmitted to me that he also kinda liked it. Now I'm going to share the current pop song that makes me red faced to admit I like but I don't care. You're gonna hear me ROOOAAARRR!

Sunday Morning Catharsis

The earlier days of this blog were much more carefree. Or so it would have seemed to the reader. Behind the silliness and humour lurked a lot of confusion and sadness. It was never exposed because I didn't want to expose it. I buried it deep inside and always gave myself something to look forward to. Like travelling. You can only hide behind these things for so long. You can only hide behind words for so long. Then you're words say to you "I will not let you use me as a tool for denial and pretence. If you can not use your words for their intended purpose then you will not use them at all. Speak the truth no matter how much it hurts."

So I took a break from blogging because I wanted to speak the truth and it did hurt but I weasn't ready to share it with the world. Then a whole lot of stuff happened at once and it was a mixture of intense beauty and bitter craziness and I got swpet along on a tidalwave of emotional mess. Not my mess, other people's. And that annoyed the fuck out of me. More than anything. That other people, with their issues and insceurites and power struggles, could leak into my life and try to suck me dry. I have no time for bitter, angry people. I have no time for lazy, selfish people. I have no time for obsessive, demented people. They can all fuck off out of my life and suck the energy from someone else.

I have no time for liars. Or people who think they are above everyone else. I have no time for thoughtless people, or people who chase money and riches. I have no time for people who look at me and don't look inside me, past the exterior. I have no time for people who try to change me, or mould me into what they think I should be. I am me. I am just me. And if you open your ears and listen to me you will learn. You will learn not to box me up or try to define me. You will learn not to place expectations on me. If you open your ears and listen to me you will learn that I did not need a saviour. I needed a friend. I was not put on this earth just to play a role in the Act of Your Life.

Of course I'm talking about my ex boyfriend. And the anger in my words aren't so much directed towards him as directed towards myself. For letting him come into my life and upset it so much. I am disappointed that I did not see what was happening to me. How I was being controlled. Especially when I thought I had leanrt that lesson a long time ago. People are clever though, and there are many different ways someone can try to control you. Manipulation takes many forms. Despite getting myself involved with manipulators, I don't see them as bad people. Just people who feel they have some form of entitlement. Confused people who never ask the questions, "Why am I behaving like this? Why is this so important to me? Why can't I just let people be who they are? Why do I have to control everything around me?"

I can't change these people just as much as they can't change me so it's better if they are not in my life. I don't want to change them. They are responsible for themselves. But I am glad that I'm not one of these people. And I'm glad I can be open and honest about how I feel. I'm not scared of anything now. I'm not scared to be who I am. I'm not running away, or burying my head in the sand. I'm dealing with each and every one of these emotions and learning. Learning how to stay true to myself.

Challenge Hannah

I quickly got over the bathroom incident. I think Ziggy was trying to tell me to decorate the room. He's good that way. I can feel spring in the air and it makes me smile. I was thinking I might write a letter to Channel 4 suggesting they do a Challenge Anneka type show that Ziggy and I could host. I want to be paid for having adventures and doing treasure hunts and flying in helicopters and doing it all really fast because there's only an hour slot. I think, with all the tripe on TV these days, there's an actual possibility they'll take me seriously. The only thing is my bum might not be big enough. I could always stuff padding down there so it dutifully knocks into the camera when I'm overcoming obstacles.

Ziggy Does A Bieber In The Bathroom

I finished work a couple of hours early today and wasn't sure how I was going to put the afternoon in. I took Ziggy his quick walk rond the block to relieve himself and bumped into my sister and niece. My niece was going to gymnastics so I thought I'd tag along. I took Ziggy for his proper walk and then left him back home before calling round to my sister's. Ziggy is not used to me going out and leaving him unless it's in the morning. He accpets that he has to spend that part of the day by himself but, otherwise, I try to fit my life around him as much as possible. This is good of course. I am a responsible dog owner. But lately I've realised that I have to live my own life a bit more and not restrict myself to dog friendly activities.

So I left Ziggy behind. I gave him the run of the house for a change rather than being confined to the one room. I thought it would make it easier for him. I came home two and a half hours later to the sound of whimpering. He had let himeslf into the bathroom but couldn't get out again. I opened the door and was met with complete chaos. He'd completely ripped up and chewed the lino flooring, he'd pulled towels all round him, tore up the toilet paper and managed to bring down the plastic side of the bath (which was poorly designed anyway). So that's the last time he gets the run of the house. I called him a bad boy and phoned my mum in tears. I was angry but I knew it wasn't his fault. When I got off the phone I went to find him to let him know I wasn't cross. He was hiding behind the sofa. He refused to come out at first. Which is strange because he's never been punished harshly for anything. He seemed to know that he'd done a really bold thing. But he was trapped and frustrated in the bathroom. He came out from behind the sofa with some coaxing and now he's lying on the sofa beside me.

The mess looks bad and I have to go clean it now. Mum thought Ziggy had died because I was so upeset. So, from her point of view it could have been a lot worse. Things could always be a lot worse.

I Drink, Therefore I Am....Drunk

I was chatting to the taxi driver who left me home today about the kind of work I enjoy doing. We both agreed there was no way we'd want to be cooped up in an office with the same ten work colleagues for years doing the same thing day in and day out. I was saying how there tends to be a bad atmosphere created in such places with office gossip and politics. People like to moan and complain and this has a negative impact on everyone who works there. I told the taxi driver "Misery loves company". He had never heard this saying before despite being at least 20 years older than me. He liked it. He kept repeating it. Then I told him he'd be more aware of that now. How people who are always complaining and bad mouthing tend to stick together and the people who are happy and positive tend to stick together. This melted his head a wee bit. He liked the saying but he didn't want to thnk too much about it. I laughed as I got out his car and joked about what else he might talk about with his customers today. He laughed and said he'd be better sticking to football.

People don't like to think too much. And, whatever they can do to stop themselves thinking, they will. TV, junk food, addictions are all tools to drown out that voice in our head. As always, I believe in balance. Being someone who thinks too much I am aware how it can be a bad thing. But to not think at all, well, that just makes you dumb, in every sense of the word. I did find this on the internet yesterday and it did make me smile and so I'd like to share it because it's silly and I'd rather be silly at the minute than thinking all the time:

Thinking

It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then -- to loosen up. Inevitably, though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker. I began to think alone -- "to relax," I told myself -- but I knew it wasn't true.

Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time. That was when things began to sour at home. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother's.

I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don't mix, but I couldn't stop myself. I began to avoid friends at lunch time so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are doing here?"

One day the boss called me in. He said, "Listen, I like you, and it \hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you'll have to find another job."

This gave me a lot to think about.

I came home early after my conversation with the boss. "Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking ..." "I know you've been thinking," she said, "and I want a divorce!"

"But Honey, surely it's not that serious."

"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as college professors, and college professors don't make any money, so if you keep on thinking, we won't have any money!"

"That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently. She exploded in tears of rage and frustration, but I was in no mood to deal with the emotional drama.

"I'm going to the library," I snarled as I stomped out the door. I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with NPR on the radio and ran up to the big glass doors... They didn't open. The library was closed. To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night.

As I sank to the ground, clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. "Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker's Anonymous poster. Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting.

At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was "Porky's." Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting. I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home.
Life just seemed ... easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking. I think the road to recovery is nearly complete for me. Today, I registered to vote Republican.

I'll never forget my Thai friends who told me "Don't think too much". I thought they were telling me not to drink too much but they preferred me to drink a lot and not think so much. Also, some people get a bit carried away with the "I think, therefore I am" philosophy. If you think you're brilliant that does not necessarily mean you are brilliant. A new motto should read "I think, and then I act accordingly, therefore I am"

At Least There's Ice Cream

I'm pretty sucked dry at the minute. I'm not exactly what I'm sucked dry of. Words maybe. I had a few days off. I spent Friday evening with The Dogparents. T and I went to a session. I can't explain too well what this session was but it did give us a good giggle. Last night I was in child land with my nieces. It's a wonderful place to be. My younger niece likes to make us laugh by telling us a joke. This involves her saying "a joke" and we all roar with laughter. My older niece thinks that if she spoons a big blob of pink icing sugar out of the cup and turns round so she isn't facing me, I won't know that she's eating it. The classic ostrich syndrome of burying your head in the sand. If I can't see you, you can't see me.

So I'm watching TV and this dude has just said "Jane's advice to me was to be more.....something, or other, I wasn't really listening. But I'll take it on board. Starting from tomorrow". Obviously it was an extremely educational programme I was watching (Come Dine With Me).

I really have nothing to write about. I do, however, have Haagen Dazs ice cream so it's not all bad.

The Tree House

It's taken me a long time to be able to talk about the tree house. The project that I was so excited about last summer. I have to be comical about this. I'm referring to it as The Summer Of Magic because everything just felt so great. Excitement was in the air. A lot of hard work and love went into making that tree house. And every branch on every tree had grown perfectly to accomodate it's design. It's like the trees always knew there'd be a house there one day.

I was so proud of it. I took thousands of photos. I loved the way everyone bonded over building it. It represented what was important to me. A community working together to create something. It's been kinda hard lately not to look on it with sadness in my heart.

But, you know what? It's still a damn fine tree house and it's about time I celebrated that again. And what better way to celebrate than a party. An official tree house warming party. Woo Hoo!

In Rod We Trust

I didn't really know what version of this to share as there are so many. I decided on this one by Mary Black because I like the Indian folk music sound mixed with the Celtic folk sound. This song has powerful memories for me. My mum used to sing it. And that's the reason why I'm honouring it now. A few years ago I would turn my nose up at my mum's offers for me to hang out with her and her friends. It wasn't that I didn't like them but I just felt that I should be hanging out with people my own age.

Well, I have to say that my mum and stepdad have worked very hard in building their network of fantastic people around them. They have done it through kindness, generosity and love. In this past couple of months, when I haven't been rightly at myself, my mum has been my rock. And I know better than anyone, it hasn't been easy for her. Nellybert, as a team, are ace. Bert for the practical support and mum for the emotional support. Nellybert's closest friends have also been there to help out in any way they could. The Indian head massage from TMC was devine and the ongoing support of MM is giving me a sense of hope.

I think one of the best things I could do at the minute is surround myself with music. I have given up trying to reach out to my peers. Kids these days just can't commit themselves to anything. I have been practising the guitar a lot lately and I'm craving some musical interaction. Time I got in with the Tuesday night crew again. I used to participate when it was a bunch of amateurs but now Bert plays with pros so it's a wee bit more daunting. But, if I can travel to S.America by myself, teach Thai students English without any training whatsoever and throw caution to the wind by telling a boy I like him, well, I think I can play a song or two in front of some musicians.

*The title to this post is another one of Nellybert's dearest friends. He and TMC are dogparents to Judy and Jess (and Ziggy now too).

This Is What A Hoor-Cat Looks Like

This is a tale of a ginger cat,
A cat who was big, and oh so fat!
And he met, one day with a rat, who was late,
For a date, with a mate, a friend he called 'Fate'
The cat, who was quick, and oh so slick,
Pounced on the rat, who was taken aback.
The cat it fled, with his prize in his jaws,
The rat could do nothing but hold up his paws,
And pray to the good, that he wouldn't be food,
That he'd meet for his date with his friend called 'Fate'.
The rat closed its eyes and squeaked out 'please',
The cat was tickled and suddenly sneezed,
And lo and behold, the rat was released,
From the jaws of that terrible, fat, ginger beast.
The rat he did run as fast as he could,
Ran deep into the dark, dark woods,
Where he thought he was safe, from the cat and it's claws,
And these terrible things with their terrible jaws.
But down from the sky, swooped a bird that could fight,
The rat stood no chance and gave up its plight,
In the mouth of the bird, the rat took flight,
Way up in the sky, oh, what a sight.
And a little girl watched, as she walked down the street,
Watched the bird in the sky and saw the rat's little feet,
She yelled out loud as a train went by,
And it frightened the bird that was up in the sky,
It let out a squawk and the rat fell through the air,
Thankfully, though, the girl's aunty was there,
She caught the wee rat and took her back home,
Where the rat would be safe to run free and roam,
A place that was fun , no birds and no cats,
But best of all, a place with more rats!

The Things My Dog Can do

I used to leave BBC Radio 4 on in the mornings when I went to work so Ziggy wouldn't be startled by all the noises of the outside world and start barking. I haven't done that in a while now but I defineitly think it's helped Ziggy learn the English language.

I know most dogs are clever. And I know that owners have a tendency (just as parents do) to think that their dog is the most intelligent being on the planet. Ok, so the truth is, I haven't much else to write about so I'm pretending that my dog's cleverness is far more significant than is actually deemed necessary. I don't care.

THE THINGS MY DOG CAN DO:

1. Sit! I have to start off with the more unimpressive things to build up momentum.

2. Give his paw. Though he's not keen on this. I understand. I don't like giving my paw either. Or holding hands with boys.

3. Lie down. Sometimes I get him to do this when he's being naughty just so he remembers that it's much nicer to get praise than be shouted at. It hasn't really worked so far.

4. Roll over. Ziggy KNOWS how to do this but he just thinks it's far too much effort. He used to at least try but now he puts his head down and refuses to make eye contact.

5. Stand on his hind legs and pirouette like a ballet dancer. I don't really have a proper command for this yet as he just did it one day and now keeps on doing it because he knows I love it and he'll get a treat.

6. Tell the difference between his various toys. Everything's lying on the floor and I ask Ziggy to get his tugger/squeaker/teddy or ball. He knows exactly which one is which. Though the tugger and teddy are his favourites.

7. He knows exactly what house my sister's dogs live at and he scratches at the door even if we're just walking past to get home.

8. He knows the names of his two most favourite bitchers in the world. JUDY and JESS. When I say their names he goes frantic running to the door.

He's only 8 months old so I reckon by the time he's two we should be seeing him on the big screen. I seriously think it's time that Joesph Gordon Levitt took on a role in a film where he needs a trusty animal side kick. Let it never be said that I didn't have hopes and aspirations.

Doing The Doggy Paddle

On Saturday night I went out to the pub and, of course, Ziggy came with me. Had the crowd been a bit more sedate we would have stayed longer but when drunk girls are screeching "Awwww.....gizza a wee go!" and they're talking about holding your puppy it's time to leave. Really, I should have left Ziggy at home because the whole point was for me to go out and see my friends. I did see them but very little chatting was done as everyone was too busy cooing over Ziggy. This didn't ail me in the slightest. I feel proud as punch about my dog so a compliment his way is a compliment my way.

In the morning I woke up to a beautiful, bright day. I took Ziggy for his walk earlier than usual and because it was so nice we stayed out a bit longer than we usually do. I sat down on a bench by the riverside and all of a sudden this strange feeling came over me. I can't be sure but I think it was something akin to happiness. Or, at least, the closest I could be. All of a sudden the day ahead looked like something to be enjoyed rather than "got through". I even got excited about what I would have for dinner. And to think, if the sun had been shining this whole time maybe it wouldn't have felt so bad.

The rest of the day was constructive. I tidied the flat. I had a bath and then Ziggy had a bath. I ate better than I have in months. I watched bloopers of Philip Schofield and Holly Willoughby laughing their heads off on live TV. They are the least professional presenters in the world but they are a joy to watch because they aren't pretending. They're just being themselves and enjoying it. I always liked Philip Schofield anyway.

I have been playing guitar and listening to music again. Maybe one of these days I'll have a good dance. January is over now and February's gonna go in a flash too. Each day is a day closer to spring. If yesterday is an example of the good a mild, sunny day can do me then bring it on. But, y'know, I can't let the weather take all the credit. Things are getting better. I rode the fuck out of that wave. And now I'm gonna do the doggy paddle.

216 Reasons Why Numbers Suck

Give me the alphabet and I see beautiful bright colours. Give me a list of numbers and I see chaos and nonsense. I never liked numbers. Never liked maths. Thought time was a bullshit concept put in place to regiment us. Couldn't understand why people liked referring to numbers so much. Why numbers were so important. I had an ex boyfriend who believed he was being haunted by the number 22. I scoffed at the idea.

When I came back from Thailand I worked in an office 'til the boss was too big an asshole for me to put up with. I started a new job in a clothes shop just before Christmas. They had decided to open a smaller shop for ladieswear in the same shopping centre. It survived over Christmas but afterwards they turned it into a bit of an outlet shop. I was the only one that didn't mind working there. So, it was taken for granted that I would always work there. I had help and company the odd time but not very often. The shop survived for months getting rid of all the stock that couldn't be shifted in any of the other stores. The shop's store number was 216. The longer I worked there by myself the more I hated the shop. The number 216 started to pop up, reminding me of my loathing for my job.

Then I remembered that when I was teaching in Thailand my favourite class were 2/16. Unlike the other classes I saw them more than once a week and built up a relationship with them. They were very cute. And sometimes naughty. So the number 216 kept popping up in my life but I had a positive thing to relate it to, as well as a negative thing. I do look atthe clock several times a day but you can be guaranteed that when it's 20:16, 21:06 or 02:16 I will instinctively look up to see the time.

There is a game I play on the computer called Mah Jong. It's like a Chinese tile game where you match pairs. I was playing this for a long time and could never completely clear the board, though often got close, when I realised that if I did clear the board the score would 216. This made me chuckle and not long after I decided that if I cleared the board, scoring 216, I would do something. I don't like to say what but two weeks after I decided this I was lying in bed one night and without any warning I cleared the board on the game. I'd got my 216 score. Though I didn't feel ready to do the thing I said I would do. The next day I didn't need to do anything. The thing I told myself I would do just happened.

Needless to say this made me very intrigued about the number 216. It's strange how this number figured in my life for almost 5 years before I thought to see if it had any meaning. Wikipedia helped me out on this one. A quick search shows that the number 216 has associations with the Devil. And to think I didn't believe in him!

Warning: Explicit Language (yay!)

It has been raining here in Norn Iron nearly everyday. It's like one old man said to another "That's a c**t of a day for nothin'"
I want to dedicate this post to swearing. Not that it's big and not that it's clever but oh, how satisfying it can be. My dear sweet mum has a terribly foul mouth. As youngsters our ears were constantly bleeding. We were well reared enough to know that even though mum was allowed to swear like a trooper, we weren't. My sister Katkins found it hard to hold her tongue, however, and she would often slip up.

When we moved to the country side we were excited about all the wildlife we would see. Apart from the odd rabbit (mostly dead ones that the cat brought home) we rarely saw anything exciting. Then, one day, we were looking out the window and we say a ginger beast skulking along the edge of the field. Katkins shouted out "A fox, a fox! A fucking fox!" Turned out just to be a cat though. She also told mum to "F**k up" once and the look of horror on her face when she realised what she had said was priceless. And then there was the time that we sat down to our Christmas dinner and mum, sarcastically, suggested we say grace to which Katkins bellowed out "F**k Me Dead".

One summer's afternoon when I was about six or seven and my eldest sister was 14 or 15 I announced my boredom. Z suggested I compile a list of all the bad words I knew. Which was most of them. I thought this was great fun, especially when Z taught me a few new ones. That was the day I learned the word C**t.

Many year's ago when we had our dog Danny mum decided to write his diary. He had a very busy life which revolved mostly around his love of chocolate and hen and his hatred for what he called the hoor-cats. Mum went to S.Africa for a holiday for three weeks and Z and I kept up Dan's Diary for her. Danny, amongst other things, was a very foul mouthed dog. And, boy, did he hate them hoor-cats.

Freedom vs Control

"Freedom isn't the absence of commitments, but the ability to choose - and to commit yourself to what is best for you"

I am drawn to this quote by Paulo Coelho time and time again. I guess it's because freedom is important to me. And maybe I'm only really understanding now what it means to be free. I have felt free many times before. I am good at feeling free. I actively seek out things that make me feel free.

Control is not conducive to freedom. To want to be in control all the time is time consuming and exhausting. I am probably the complete opposite of a control freak. My life just seems to happen. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Ultimately, I believe in balance. So I probably should take more control over some aspects of my life.

So, because freedom and contol were on my mind I decided to do some research. I came across an article on Psychology Today. It mentioned James Redfield, author of The Celestine Phrophecy, and his suggestion that attempting to control another person's behaviour is a type of neurosis, based on childhood feelings of powerlessness. He referred to four different strategies in attempting to manipulate someone's behaviour; The Interrogator, The Intimidator, The Aloof and The Poor Me. The interrogator is constantly questioning and criticising the beahviour of others, making them feel uneasy about themselves. The Intimadator uses force or violence to scare others into submission. The Aloof is distant and detached, speaking rarely and only in vague or cryptic ways. The Poor Me is always complaining about feeling unwell or sick, to make others feel guilty for asking them to do anything.

According to Don Miguel Ruiz, a truly free person is someone who is not affected by either the neurotic or normal attempts of others to regulate his or her behaviour. In order to do this we must not "take anything personally". It goes without saying, of course, that a truly free person will not feel the need to control or regulate anyone else's behaviour.

So, when someone asks me to commit myself to something and I say no, I'm not saying no to commitments, I'm just choosing to commit myself to what is right for me.

Hortence

Today I took Ziggy for a walk in the park for a change of routine. I also did some housework for a change of routine. I'm now trying to figure it out if it made me feel better or not.

In my last job there was a customer who took a shine to me. Her real name is a secret but I'll call her Hortence, just because it's a crazy name. This lady had been coming to the shop long before I had been working there. Prevoius members of staff found her hard work. People can be when it comes to photos. Especially when they are important to them.

Hortence was crying out for a bit of patience and kindness. As soon as she was shown this she started coming in twice a week. She started a project of getting old family photos scanned. She had several albums and each Friday she would come in and pick out variuos photos out of particular albums. I had to write extensive lists. She would then come in on a Saturday to pick her albums up. She had no coherent pattern to which photos she was getting scanned each week, and, after a few months I had scanned every single photo from every single album. I'm not sure why she didn't just get me to do that in the first place but she seemed to enjoy doing it the way she was doing it. This went on for months. She kept chatting about the project coming to an end but it never happened. When she'd ran out of albums she moved on to loose photos. When she ran out of those she moved on to scrap books she had kept of old newspaper cuttings. When she ran out of those she moved on to old religious pamphlets she had picked up from church and bookmarks with religious proverbs on them.

Her project went on for over a year. At times I got frustrated with having the burden of serving Hortence and being the only one who knew what was going on with her order. She didn't like being served by anyone else. It kept me busy though, not only scanning her photos but fixing up all the little cracks and marks on them. And her photos were interesting. When I left she dropped in a couple of envelopes for me. I called in to get them and there was a card in each envelope. One to say 'Thankyou' and the other to say 'Good luck on your new job'. Inside one card was a photo of her and her husband. Inside the other card were some religious blessings. She has got used to me not being there anymore and, as far as I know, her project is still going on.

Good Luck Dodgin' Them Bullets Boy

Amy: Hi John, just ignore me if I'm being nosey but it came up on my newsfeed on facebook something you wrote on Noon's wall. Am I the Amy that you were supposedly meant to have kidnapped? Who the hell has Noon been talking to? All a bit mental.

John: Hey, no not at all, thanks for writing. That message from her really span me out. Not sure what the hell she was going on about. Maybe you could write to her and tell her I didn't do that please. I did, however, not pay the bike money but you remember why. Bloody gangster rip off merchants. I plan on going back over there with some mates in October so I don't want to get shot. Anyway, how have you been? Long time no hear. John x

Amy: I just sent her a message saying you didn't kidnap me. Crazy though. I do remember the whole bike incident. I'm sure you'll be fine going back. I'm just working away in a cushty office number, saving money to do more travelling. Hope You don't get shot when you go back in October ;)

Amy: Hey John. Not sure what to do. Kieth told Noon that something happened between us and now she wants to know if it's true. She says she doesn't care (but I think she's pissed off). The ball's in your court on that one but I don't want to ignore her so I have to tell her something. Fucking Kieth!

John: Oh crapola. Right, well, you could just say Kieth got confused or something and we didn't. If you don't mind. I was planning on seeing her when I go over there so don't want to piss her off. Everyone's going to want to shoot me.

Amy: Yeah, probably better if I tell her nothing happened. Fucking Kieth. I love him but fucksakes where's his code of honour? Anyway, good luck dodgin' them bullets boy!

John: Yes, I will be emailing him. Thanks. Your discretion is very much appreciated. I'll let you know how I get on. If I don't get shot.

My Best Friend

It is great for Ziggy to be at my mum's. It's doggy heaven there. The problem is, now he knows how great life can be he just wants that all the time. I have pointed out before how Ziggy is very much like his owner. He is also very senstive, like me. When I am feeling bad, Ziggy feels bad. This creates a vicious circle as I start feeling guilty for kepping Ziggy with me when we both know that his life could be awesome all the time. I feel worse. Ziggy feels worse. He lives for his walk around the river path. He settles in the evening when I start to settle and relax before bed. But while I'm in the throes of despair so is he.

So I had to ask myself was it better that Ziggy go live with mum permanently? A couple of days ago it seemed like I might not have any choice. It breaks my heart to deprive this fine young beast of all the pleasure that life has to offer him. He's young and virile. My mood at the minute is probably more suited to an old, sleepy dog. I have been pondering it over and over and neither options were looking good. If I let Ziggy go it would be another loss for me to cope with. As guilty as I feel I do take pleasure in him being around. He's the one good thing in my life at the minute.

Last night we both went out to mum's to stay. It warmed my heart to see Ziggy so happy and comfortable out there. Ziggy picked up on me feeling more at ease and when he wasn't playing with the other dogs he was lying close to me. It made me think that, as much as it's not ideal having a dog living in a small flat in the town, if I'm happy, he's happy. The wee darling doesn't have the capacity to know that he could live in the country all the time. It doesn't bother him as much as it bothers me.

Hopefully getting a flatmate will change the dynamics. Ziggy will have a bit more going on his life. I won't feel guilty for going out for a couple of hours to see friends. My life will get better and Ziggy's life will get better. I won't be stressed and Ziggy won't be stressed. Until that happens I have to focus on not feeling guilty that Ziggy's here with me. He loves me. I'm his mummy.

Pickled Willies

Finding a little bit of inner peace doesn't magically make everything ok but it does make things better. I know I must be feeling better because I am overwhelmed by love for Ziggy. He's been staying at my mum's while I work a couple of night shifts and I miss him. I can't wait to see his wee ginger face tomorrow and he'll be getting a bath as I just phoned my mum to see how he's doing and she said "The very best. He's covered in shite."

Night shift has been fine. Sometimes I forget how much I hate routine and it does me good to get out of it. I enjoy getting stuck into physical work. Also, stacking the shelves gave me a proper chance to look at all the products. I was working the foreign food aisle and was amazed at the sheer amount of pickled willies and things they have in jars.

This doesn't happen very often but I have a real urge to get lost in a film. A nice film, not the strange films I usually watch. I actually have one that my good friend Mels bought me for Christmas. It's called Beasts of the Southern Wild. I think Ziggy would enjoy it too though he might do a bit of hootin' and hollerin' at the TV as he's well aware when there's beasts on the telly. Right, I suppose I better get ready for work. I wish I was getting ready for bed.

The Indigo Adult: Part Two

I hate labels so therefore it seems kind of odd that I would embrace the label of an "Indigo Adult". The thing is, I don't see it as a label. Labels are constructed to make things easier. We like to attach labels to people because we think it will make us understand them better. Labels have associations and connotations that are, for the large part, negative. But this isn't a label that I have had placed on me. It's a label that I have actively sought out (when I say actively sought out, I mean, I listened to my soul and it guided me to this) and it's a something that I embrace. Because the comfort and security it offers me is necessary for me at the minute.

Let me tell you about my journey. When I was a child I knew I was fundamentally different from all the other children. Though this didn't stop the want and need to fit in. One of the first things I challeged in life was the idea that God existed. I have since thought about different views of God but the notion I was rejecting was that of Catholicism. This was only because it was the only God I'd heard of. What I didn't like about the whole idea was that if I believed God existed I would then have to believe that the Devil existed. I didn't like the sound of this Devil chap and so I rejected him. I refused to live in fear of him. I was quite prepared to give God a chance, seeing as he was the "good" one but my peers all told me that if I believed in one I had to believe in the other. So I became a non believer. In some ways this worked out ok as my mum didn't want us growing up with religion rammed down our throats. In other ways, it further isolated me from my peers.

I rebelled at secondary school in much more normal ways. I died my hair green/blue/pink, I got my face pierced, I listened to music that elders (except my parents) disapproved of. I found my niche for a while. There were others like me who didn't fit in with the rest of socirty. Didn't want to fit in. At university I studied Sociology. This confirmed all my beliefs that EVERYTHING was a social construct designed and put into place to control us. This further developed my need for the world to be a better place. I spent my teens and 20's in a blur of experience. At times I thought only about where I was and who I was with. These were truly happy, liberating times. At other times I thought about myself and asked mysdelf why, even when I was doing all this awesome stuff, did I still feel so empty inside.

But it was none of this that made me question my place in the world so much. It was always, always, through my relationships with people that made me wonder what I was meant to be doing. It was in the dark times when I didn't feel good enough that I dipped into my psyche and wondered why I felt so out of sync with the rest of the world. I didn't understand any of it. I wrote poetry, I read Paulo Coelho, I saw the beauty in things but I couldn't share my joy with anyone.

As I approached 30 the frustration grew and grew. I wondered what had I done with my life? Where did it go. In my head I was ready to settle down and have a family but my soul still felt so restless it was too scared to take that plunge. It was during this time that I really delved deep into myself. The depression that I had tried to ignore throughout my whole life finally took a grip of me. It was kind of like it was saying "Look girl, you are going to feel like this whether you run away or not. You might as well just ride it out and get it out of your system". So I did. I had counselling, anti-depressants and family to help me through it. I also started to put the feelers out. I researched spirituality. It's such a vast arena that there is always going to be so much that you don't identify with. But, you don't focus on that. You focus on the parts that speak to you and make your soul shiver with excitement.

Paulo Coelho has been one of the most influential figures in my life. He is the one that introduced me to a God that was different from the God in the eyes of Christianity that I was brought up with. I still find it hard talking about God though. It's just a name, a label, but the associations are strong. When I was going through difficult times I didn't want to pray to God. Instead I turned my music up full blast, danced 'til it felt so good and then I projected all this good energy and feeling out to the people I loved and cared about. This is the beauty. It's so personal we can honour and celebrate whatever way we see fit.

But, for sure, the biggest challenge in my life has been understanding my depression. Even when I've been running away from it it's been there, lurking in the background and keeping me back. This is why I'm so ready to embrace being an Indigo Adult (although this isn't a personality you can choose) because it is the first thing that has made me realise why I feel the way I do. My rejection of professional help in the past has been a result of me knowing that this depression is something that runs deeper than a chemical imbalance. Yes, those things are real and can cause depression but, for me, I'd rather try out a different way of living before i resort back to numbing myself from the world. Counselling is different. No matter whether you are slightly depressed or chronically depressed, talking is therapeutic. Talking to someone who will not judge you no matter what you tell them is how we learn to love and accept ourselves.

I'm still working things out for myself. That will never stop. I don't mind. I enjoy thinking deeply and I have faith in myself. I know my struggles are not over. There will always be hurdles but every year of my life I am learning and growing and while I continue to do that I will always be ok. I have things to work towards. Aspirations and hopes for the future. For the first time ever I am sure of myself and my place in the world.

The Indigo Adult: Part One

There was a reason I named this blog The Palace Of Heavenly Pleasure and that's because I wanted it to be a place of hope and laughter, not a brothel like the book it was named after. Thankfully it's not much like a brothel although you may hear the odd mention of mud wrestling. I also know for a fact that, since I named a post "Dogs Doing It Doggy Style", I get a lot of hits from perverts hoping to find something raunchy. I bet they are are rather disappointed when they realise they have stumbled upon my blog which, at times, is a lot more sad and serious than sexy.

This time last year I was starting to come into my own. I was in the middle of a bout of depression but I was writing through it and, most importantly, getting to know my self. My true, authentic self. It was a cathartic experience. I looked at all the struggles in my life, why I had them, what way they made me react, the running away I did from myself in order to escape these struggles or forget them. I can't stress enough what that writing did for me. It gave me a new lease of life. Hope for the future. I wanted to share my story but couldn't cope with the fact that that's all it was. My story. Crucial to me but not so important to anybody else.

That didn't matter though. I'd got a lot out of my system and I learned to take a lot of pressure off myself. I was more content. I felt I had good energy around me. Things got better. At times I felt it hard to trust that things were actually better. I found it hard to fully succumb to the security that was supposedly offered to me. I found it hard to let go of the independence I had fought so hard to gain over the years.

Fear destroys everything. Truth creates beauty. The fact that my world seemed to come crashing down around me just before Christmas was not just to do with the end of my relationship. Of course, it was a big part of it, but I was dealing with the sadness of facing the possibility that I didn't really know myself that well after all. That all the hard work I had put into facing my demons had been for nothing. I felt that my heart and soul had lied to me and that I could never trust them again.

This is how I've been feeling for just over a month. Possibly longer because I was sensitive to the subtleties in the air and things were rarely straightforward or easy. Far from it. Yesterday I went to the library to leave some books back. I toyed with the idea of getting some more but then decided there probably wouldn't be anything of interest anyway. But while I was there I took a quick look. I ended up taking some books for the sake of it. One of those books was called "Indigo Adults". I have no idea how this book managed to make it into the small pile of ones I would take home but I'm really glad it did.

Having spent most of my life feeling "different" from everyone else (when I say different I mean DIFFERENT) I struggled to find my place in the world. I did a lot of drifting. I'm really not good at explaining the theory and history of Indigo adults but when I went through the list of associated traits I felt as though the book was written especially for me. This is how most Indigos feel when they read it. This link will provide all the relevant information for anyone who's interested in finding out more.

To me, this is life changing. Because for the first time I feel like someone gets me. I don't feel so alone although I've spent so much time feeling alone that I know it's nothing to fear really. It gives me hope that I can find my kindred spirits because this really is one of the most important things in my life. Of course I want to meet the man of my dreams but I don't want to rely on just one person for my emotional needs to be met. I want a community of people. So, now I know that they are out there, the Alexander Supertramp's and the Kurt Cobain's of the world, all I have to do is find them and connect with them. Before they die tragically, because it seems to be a curse of the indigo soul to struggle so much with the way of the world that they live reckless lives. Always nice to end on a cheerful note ;)

Freedom

“Freedom continues to be the thing I prize most in the world. Of course, this has led me to drink wines I did not like, to do things I should not have done and which I will not do again; it has left scars on my body and on my soul, it has meant hurting certain people, although I have since asked their forgiveness, when I realized that I could do absolutely anything except force another person to follow me in my madness, in my lust for life. I don’t regret the painful times; I bear my scars like medals. I know that freedom has a high price, as high as that of slavery; the only difference is that you pay with pleasure and a smile, even when that smile is dimmed by tears.”

- Paulo Coelho, The Zahir

“Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused.”

- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Love exists. I know it does, I've felt it, I still feel it. I feel it every day. Loves grows and changes. Love plunges a knife in your heart and it comforts you in a way that makes you feel like you're back in your mother's womb. It's an all encompassing feeling of safety, security and protection with your every need being met. It's perfection. It's also a burden, a shackle, holding you down and keeping you back. Or it can wrap it's hands around your throat and choke you until you can't breathe. Sometimes, it can be all of these things all at once and that's the confusing thing. I've stopped trying to make sense of it. Love has made me act irrationally but how can you rationalise something that is so abstract? My tortured soul has given up asking my head why it must feel this way. I believe that I must reconnect with my intuition and let it guide me where I need to go. I know that I have to be proactive in some matters in life but why force the rest?

I'm finidng it very hard blogging at the minute. I don't want to just stop writing because I feel sad but I do miss that girl who wrote about silly things. The girl who got excited about treasure hunts and tree houses. The girl who loves dogs and music. I know I am still that girl but I am carrying a weight on my shoulders that's making it hard for me to laugh. But, when I think about things logically, really, I had a lucky escape. At least the weight I carry on my shoulders is my own heavy heart and not someone else's.

The Dancing Juggler Howling At The Moon

I've been listening to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros for about a year now. They are awesome. And totally up my street with their hippie vibes and indie folk music. They are a music collective from California (one of the few states in the U.S. I'd consider visiting) with Edward Sharpe as the lead singer. I watched a video of them performing live for a Canadian radio station and I concocted this idea in my head that they might be a cult. Edward Sharpe does have the look of Jesus about him. So I wondered if he cracked the whip to make all these really talented musicians write songs that he could take the credit for. According to Google I'm not alone in thinking this but I have since decided that if other people think they are a cult they are probably not.

Cult or not, they make fantastic music. A couple of days ago I made myself listen to some new songs. I hadn't listened to music for weeks and it's such a healer. So I found this song called "LIfe Is Hard" by Edward Sharpe's cult. It sent shivers down my spine and it kinda reminded me that life was never meant to be easy. At least, maybe, for certain types of people. Being aware of the intense beauty and magic in the world means being more susceptible to the pain we can experience.

I can see now how my course is helping me. The other day I could hear my inner critic (probably the ram) telling me I was completely useless and no good. I let it go on for a while and then I remembered I had a wolf inside me that could help. So I told the ram to f___ off and the wolf and I howled at the moon. It made me smile and I stopped thinking I was a bad person. Because things are shitty enough for me at the minute without letting my inner critic going off on one.

I did a bit of soul cleansing as well which involved removing items out of my flat that have no purpose here. There's always stuff left over. And it doesn't mean anything. It just sits there gathering dust and taking up space in a world that's already much too cluttered. I'm definitely feeling a bit calmer and more hopeful. So, Yay! And also, I don't care if Edward Sharpe is a cult leader, I want to join them and be a dancing juggler.

The Highly Sensitive Person

It's so difficult to pull myself out of this dark pit of doom at the minute. I had to send Ziggy off to mum's yesterday because why should he have to live in misery too? I'm finding it very hard to settle my mind but I have found a release in watching episodes of Neighbours from 2005 on youtube. This reminds me of simpler times. When Karl and Susan's relationship was more important than my own. They weren't simpler times though. I was in a shitty relationship and Neighbours was one of the things we used to watch when we weren't fighting. Looking back, there were no simpler times. Things were tough all through my 20's. Adolescence was brutal and I seemed to spend most of my childhood in a heightened state of unease. I came across a book from the library about Highly Sensitive People. I have always known I was overly sensitive but I didn't know there had been research into such a type of person.

Reading up on it helped me understand myself a little better. No amount of medication or therapy is going to change the way I am biologically made up. I have to be more aware of what I can tolerate and what I can't. Being highly sensitive does not necessarily mean you are an introvert, though being shy is a trait. I'm a bit of a balance between introvert and extravert. As a child I was extremely shy. As an adult I have been through experiences that have helped me overcome my shyness. Highly senstive people pick up in subtleties in the air. They are particulalry sensitive to people's moods. That's why I find work so hard to deal with because I am soaking up everyone's bad feeling. I also can't cope with other people fighting. I just want to run away and hide from it all.

The mistake I've been making is trying to harden myself, or cure myself of being sensitive. It's who I am and I should celebrate it. I should pay more attention to those subtleties in the air instead of assuming that I am imagining them. Like I said before, the main thing is being aware of what I can tolerate and what I can't. So here's a wee list:

1. People who talk incessantly - some people just keep on talking and talking and not being silent long enough to give someone else the chance of talking. This drives me crazy. Especially as, more often than not, what they are saying is drivel. In my head I am going out of my mind and silently screaming shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. I come away from these people feeling completely drained.

2. Crowds - why there ever had to be so many people in the world I don't know. I just hate people pushing and shoving and smelling bad. Everything happens so slowly and you're forced to spend longer than you want to with these people who might as well be animals. You might as well be stuck in a herd of cows waiting to go to the slaughterhouse. Is that a bit dramatic? On the other hand, if I'm having a party I want the whole house to be filled. So crowds are ok if I get to choose who's in them.

3. Children's needs - I remember so vividly what it feels like to be a child and I'm at my best when I'm around them. This is on the list as a positive of course. Children are amazing. I never used to care much for them but now I listen to every word they say. They make you laugh and they make you think and they are just amazing creatures being themselves because they haven't yet realised that they can be anything but themselves.

I'm exhausted now. Making lists is tiring work. I wish I could just shut my brain off but that's another trait of being highly sensitive. I have a rich inner life. I get absorbed in my thoughts too easily. One leads to another. The thoughts aren't always good and I have a tendency to over analyse things. But within that rich inner life lurks my creativity and my appreciation of nature and beauty. And that's what I have to keep focusing on.

Some Good Ideas

I can get fixated on ideas sometimes. Especially if I think it's a good idea. And, from my experience, if you talk about something enough, eventually, it will happen. And so happened the tree house. This makes me want to complie a list of things I would like to eventually happen just by talking about them enough. Also, my mum will be proud of me for making a list. She likes it when I be like her. Here it is:

1. Mud Wrestling - Mud is brilliant, wrestling is fun so mud wrestling must be brilliant fun! I asked the manager of our student's union if we could have a mud wrestling night but he said health and safety wouldn't allow it. Spoil sports.

2. Music Night - I just want some folks meeting up and jamming the odd time. Music + friends = :) happy soul.

3. Freddy and the Fox Illustrator - I know so many arty people but it's just not happened yet. I keep waiting for some kind of divine intervention whilst doodling terrible pictures of foxes that look like anteaters.

4. Giving up smoking - kind of a dull and self explanatory one really but it's gonna happen very soon.

5. Driving Miss Hannah - No more excuses now that I've got my licence renewed. Except that it's the very last thing on my mind at the minute.

It's not a bad list because they are all very possible. I just have to keep talking about them. Especially the mud wrestling!

Nothing Matters

Sometimes I skirt around the issue a lot. I struggle with wanting to be completely open and honest about everything but I’m always holding something back. I have been honest about my feelings but I haven’t explained why. It’s nothing special. It happens to everyone. But maybe just not in the same way. So, fuck it, in order to completely process the hurt and do what helps me the most, which is write, I have to just bite the bullet. I was in a relationship. I thought I’d met my soul mate. This wasn’t just a fanciful notion I had. I’d thought very deeply about finding my soul mate. I searched deep within myself so that I’d know when to recognise that person when they came into my life.

It turns out my soul mate was a mirage. I won’t go into details about anything because it’s only important to me. Nobody else cares. But the reason I’m writing about it is because when one of my relationships ends, something symbolically dies at the same time. And that is like some kind of proof that the relationship is well and truly dead. When Jakers and I split up Rocky the rat passed away. This time it is my laptop that has died.

I was actually feeling far too miserable anyway to be truly devastated that my laptop was irreparable. But, all my writing and photos were on it. I never backed anything up. Part of me wanted to feel like this was the worst thing that had ever happened in my life. All the work I had put into writing my book. All the photos and memories I had created. I knew how much it sucked but I couldn’t be bothered feeling annoyed about it. I’d write more. I’d take more photos. It didn’t matter.

Today I have been thinking deeply. As it turns out, Jakers, who is awesome with computers, has managed to save my work, although the laptop is most definitely goosed. Had I lost everything I could have, but probably wouldn’t have, turned it into the biggest possible disaster known to mankind. And it would have been, to me. But I realised that no one else would give an actual flying fuck. Not really. They’d nod their head in some kind of empathy but they’d think no more about it. This makes me realise that everything I care about is only really important to me. For some strange reason, this comforts me. It's like freeing myself from the feeling that anything matters. Nothing matters.

The Things That Soothe My Soul

Yesterday,after work, I made myself do the thing that I most hate to do. Grocery shopping. I figured that, if I really was serious about gaining some weight, I would have to have some food in the cupboards. This is basic logic. As I looked down at the contents of my trolley I realised that I wasn't so much concerned about my own diet as making sure there were plenty of nice things for my pet rat to nibble on. As it happens Meka is already as fat as a fool.

I was riding a great big wave of annoyance all through Christmas and I couldn't even muster the will to blog a happy christmas post. Everything was a steaming pile of bullshit. It's now less bullshitty but there's still a little bit of a lingering bullshit smell in the air. It's a good job I have Yankee Candles. I remember a time when scented candles and brasso were all I needed to soothe my soul. I also rememeber a time when a 20p mix up would have done the trick. And the best days of my life were the days when all I had to do was put my thumb in my mouth and everything was ok.

Despite my christmas being not great, even though my dear sweet mum tried her very best to make it nice for me, I did console myself with the fact that Ziggy loved his little holiday in the countryside. Every time the door opened he was out like a shot doing doggy type things. By the time I took him home on Boxing night he was fit for nothing. I love it when my wee puppy is soooo tired. He looks like an angel as opposed to a cheeky, rascally devil dog.

I am even less enthused about the New Year as I was about Christmas. Last year I was feeling very stoical and wished everyone, not a happy new year, just a better one. It's the same again this year. Happiness is a state of being that's highly overrated. Better to aim for being content. And well rested. And without too many niggly pains. I may wish people a relaxing new year, or a carefree new year. Then again, I'll probably just go with the flow and wish everyone a happy new year after all.

Too Tired To Think

Today we got finished up in work. I think I was practically skipping out the door. It's been a tough week both in work and outside of work but I am full of cheer. Not Christmas cheer but cheer all the same. There has been one good thing about it all, and that is that work has been a bit like an obstacle course, in which I have had to climb over things, squeeze into minute gaps and balance myself in precarious positions. I do enjoy all that. What hasn't been fun is climbing and squeezing and balancing, only to realise that the thing you were looking for isn't there. That might actually be a metaphor for life.

So, over the next few days the plan is to eat and eat and eat. I can afford to put a bit of weight on. All that climbing and squeezing and balancing keeps you very fit. I am starting off tonight by going out to dinner with sosme work colleagues. And tomorrow I will be at O'Rawes, where I spend every Christmas Eve night singing Happy Birthday to Jesus with all my friends.

It's been another interesting year. This time last year someone asked me what I was doing with myself and I replied "I'm writing a book". This year I finished it and nearly got it published. I'm glad I didn't because I think it would have been exploitation. I'm gonna keep on writing and never totally give up on having my words read some day. My favourite author, Paulo Coelho, didn't publish his first book until late on in life.

My new licence arrived today. That means, when the Christmas thing is over, I can book my theory test. I aim to be driving by the middle of March, just before my birthday. Ziggy will eventually become like Snowy (Tin Tin's dog) and he will be a brave adventurer. I never really like Tin TIn. But I loved Snowy.

This post is a bit askew because complete exhaustion has kicked in. It's time for a nap to get me back into sync with the rest of the world. That'll be nice.

The Meaning Of Christmas

I'm wiped. Two more crazy days at work to go then I get a well deserved break. I'm ready for it. Today I have no energy to take Ziggy out for a proper walk so I'm shipping him off to mum's for the night so he can play with Jess and Judy. He should hopefully arrive back to me tomorrow completly shattered. I did take him for a walk to the shops and on the way back we bumped into a couple of little boys and their dad. The older of the two, who had hair the same colour as Ziggy's, bent down to pet him. The two boys chatted away to me for a minute and their dad told me they were all going to get their hair cut. They told me they had a wee dog too, called Archie. Then we said goodbye and the older boy and his dad walked on up the street while the younger boy hung back and said:

"And,and...do you know what?"

"What?"

"Sometimes," He said, his eyes twinkling at the opportunity to tell me something amazing, "Sometimes my dog gets wee bits of pooh stuck around his eyes!"

Then he ran off down the street so pleased with himself that he'd told me the most interesting thing in the world. And, you know what, it was, at least, the most interesting thing I'd heard all day. I also had a moment in work today that brightened it up for all the wrong reasons. A woman walked by and, following behind, was her 10 year old son. He was wearing sandy coloured trousers with a light blue shirt tucked in. He had blonde hair that was mid length and styled in a "do". As he walked behind his mother he held his hands up in a mock strangling motion and his face contorted in abhorrance. Clearly he had been brought up to understand the true meaning of Christmas.

Immersed In A Fickle World

She wakes up at 7:00 am. The alarm clock radio's playing 'Let It Be'. She peels herself out of bed and makes her way to the kitchen. After coffee and toast she takes a shower.

She gets out of the shower and dries her hair. She looks into the mirror and applies a thick layer of foundation to her face. She rubs it in evenly, taking great care to blend it in around her jaw line and the creases of her nose and chin. She smoothes it over with pressed powder.

She fishes inside her make-up bag wondering what colour eye shadow to wear. She chooses a dusty pink to compliment her blue eyes.

She takes her eye liner and applies it gently to the top and bottom of her eye lids. She brushes mascara lightly off her lashes, tainting them black. She uses gloss to colour her lips and, to finish, she powders her cheeks with blusher.

She grabs her handbag and house keys from the kitchen table. Taking one last glance in the mirror, she opens the door and walks down the garden path, through the gate...

At 7 O'clock his alarm goes off. He climbs out of bed and wakes himself up with a shower. He spends half an hour soaping, lathering and rinsing. Soaping, lathering and rinsing. Over and over again.

He gets out of the shower and puts his clothes on. He splashes aftershave on his neck and rubs gel through his hair.

He goes out to the front yard before breakfast. He washes his car. He spends half an hour soaping, lathering and rinsing. Soaping, lathering and rinsing. He waxes. He polishes and when he's finished he stands back admiring it.

He goes back into the house. He eats bacon and toast for breakfast. He puts on his jacket and picks up his car keys. He checks himself out in the mirror before walking out the door. He gets in the car and starts the engine...

She closes the garden gate behind her. She pulls out a compact mirror and her lip gloss. She reapplies a coating as she crosses the road...

He's driving at full speed. He glances down and notices a dirty mark on the passenger seat. He licks his thumb and rubs at it...

She doesn't see the car. He looks up and she appears from nowhere.

BAM!

She looked beautiful at the morgue. His car was still shiny but the massive dent on the bumper was a sickening reminder of the tragedy that took place that morning.

The Road Not Taken

When I was 19 a boyfriend and I decided to travel round Europe on the trains. We went to Amsterdam, Nuremberg, Salzburg, Innsbruck, Verona, Zurich, Strasbourg, Vianden and Lieden. We didn't do it in luxury. We did it on a budget that meant living in a tent for 5 weeks. At times it was fantastic but there was a lot to overshadow the experience too. It kept raining and our tent was not built for heavy downpours. The poles kept snapping and the water would flood into our tent. There were days going by when we were constantly cold and drenched. I had also never been in someone's company, 24/7. At certain points I had to throw a tantrum to get some time to myself. I can't blame the guy who I was with as all he wanted to do was keep me safe.

As the 5 weeks came to an end, despite the travelling not being as great as I had thought it would be, I didn't want to go home. My ex boyfriend (we split up in Strasbourg) had to go home as he was starting work experience. I thought about getting a job in Holland and staying a while longer. Somehow, through the use of internet cafes, which weren't all that great at the time, I managed to get in contact with a company to arrange work.

I met a guy at a train station in Lieden for a very informal interview (we didn't even go for coffee, he just gave me the address and contact number of the campsite I would stay at while I was working). It was in a very random place in Holland called Opperdoes and from there, a bus would take us all, each morning, to a tulip bulb factory where we worked sorting out bulbs. This involved standing on a conveyor belt feeling the bulbs as they went past and pulling out any bad ones from the pile. It was brain numbingly monotonous but I chatted with a fellow worker to put the time in. My ex boyfriend left after a couple of days and I walked him to the bus. It was raining as I walked back from waving goodbye to him. The rain had been my nemesis for the past 5 weeks but walking back to the campsite I felt the hugest weight lifting off my shoulders. I felt my adventure was really beginning.

I worked at the factory for 7 weeks. Long, gruelling shifts. There was a group of about nine of us. There were others who came for a while but it wasn't what they were expecting so they left early. It was a bit like Big Brother, all these people meeting up on a campsite to live closely and work closely for a certain period of time. It was brilliant. It was the experience I was looking for. It was the first time I ever saw shooting stars. I thought they were make believe. I got a new tent that kept the rain off. I made some interesting friends. I worked hard. I earned money. I had fun. I went back home with an immense feeling of pride in myself.

That was my first taste of travel. I knew I wanted more but when I went back home I fell into the same trap a lot of people do. Love. When I went travelling the next time it was so unplanned and unexpected that I couldn't have thrown myself any further into the deep end. I was 25 and a friend of mine just got a contract teaching English in Thailand. She suggested I do it too, despite not having a TEFL qualification. I had nothing to lose and it was an immense satisfaction handing in my notice at work. When I arrived in Thailand I was glad of the support and company of my good friend. But not even she could have prepared me for what I was about to embark upon. I was totally out of my depth. With absolutely no training in teaching, I was placed in a room full of 40 students, none of who could speak one word of English. Within a week I was ready for the hills. I had planned to work long enough to get the wages to go travelling without the pressure of working in a job I wasn't good at, or prepared for. But by the time I had my first wages i had found my groove. I stayed there for 6 months and only came back because of visa problems. It was the most profound adventure I've been on because of what I achieved there. My self confidence soared and I finally grew into the fun loving, confident, friendly person I always wanted to be.

Despite not wanting to come home I was happy enough to be there and could see that it had all happened for a reason. I carried the strength I had with me and I set about planning my next adventure. This took another few years. I lived at home to save money but I didn't deprive myself of a social life and good times either. It was a slow process saving money. I wanted enough that I could travel without working. I had experienced that already and while it was amazing I wanted a proper break to appreciate life. I received a kind gift from my step-grandmother. This spurred me on. I worked as many hours as I could. I took two jobs on towards the end. I had my tickets booked. I was going to do things properly this time and be organised and have some kind of loose plan.

I was heading off on my own. Something I was happy to do because it was my adventure. I was approaching 30 and reckoned I was big enough and ugly enough to look after myself. The first month of my travels I spent very little time alone. I met with people I had fallen in with before in life. I met new people. I taught a sweet, gay French-Canadian guy to be brave and learn how to use the metro all by himself. I really had an amazing time. Mostly. At the time it was clouded. I didn't know this but it was clouded because I had so many expectations of what this experience would entail and it didn't always live up to that. And it was clouded because, essentially, I was on my own, and doesn't happiness only exist when shared? I found the days long. I struggled with relaxing all the time. I missed people back home.

I ended up creating this negativity around me that other people could pick up on. People that wanted to prey on someone who wasn't rightly at themselves. I felt uncomfortable at times and I felt vulnerable. The one thing I vowed I wouldn't be scared of, I became scared of. Fear is a terrible thing and it can be born out of lonliness. I had something ro prove to myself and, in a way, it back fired, but I can never take away the fact that I was brave enough to at least try.

All of it happened for a reason and I have duly learnt my lessons from each and every experience in life. And it is a joy to look back and have so many rich and fruitful memories to reflect back on. I have nothing to regret. And I have nothing to run away from.

Blasting Things

I was meant to blast things yesterday. Meaning that I was meant to get my driver's licence form posted. I didn't do it. But I did buy some Christmas presents. So today, this morning, I blasted things. I wrapped all the presents I had bought. I just ran out of sellotape before the very last present but I had some double sided sticky tape which done the job. I then went on facebook and messaged all the people I needed to to get their addresses. As if by magic, everyone replied just in time for me to leave the house and go to the post office. At the post office i got all my parcels sent off and.....I got my form posted off. The lady that served me said "There now, you've got all that sorted in one go". She did not realise that it really was an achievement for me. Every Christmas I leave posting of presents to the last minute and there is always someone who doesn't get their present until June or so. In fact, I still have a present from last year for an Aunt, that I haven't posted as I haven't got the right size envelope for. But I'm not going be plagued by Christmas past. It's all about the Christmas present.

I had my class today and, as always, it was a joy to be there. We did some learning about our internal and external frame of references with the use of some abstract art. I did some colouring in earlier. I was buying my nieces presents and I came across some felt tips that blend with each other to make different colours. They are rubbish. But it was nice to colour in anyway. I then met a friend for coffee before my class started.

Now I'm just going to sit back and wait for the rush to really begin. I start work at four in the morning the week before Christmas. Thankfully, I don't have much more shopping to do. This is the advantage of starting work at six and getting home at two. The shops are still open. I have never really had the spirit of Christmas but this year, I think, is going to be a good one. I have even bought my very first fake Christmas tree. Ziggy hasn't seen it yet but I'm pretty sure he's going to either pee on it or bark at it or try and pull all the tinsel off. And, knowing Ziggy, he'll probably do all three.

Learning From The Best

A few weeks ago I didn't mind sharing that I was feeling a little blue. So I suppose I shouldn't mind sharing the fact that I'm feeling great at the moment. This is all down to the quest for self awareness. The first thing I learnt when I started the counselling course was that, in order to be in a position to help others we must first, know ourselves. This quote sums it up perfectly: "Training for counselling is not just a matter of developiing a few new skills. It requires setting one's pyschological house in order, so that one knows who he is and where he is going".

Every week I am there without fail and learning so much about myself and about everything. I love the simplicity of the theory. Good counselling practice merely involves being with someone in a completely accepting and non-judgemental way. That is second nature to me. If a counsellor practices congruence, which means to be genuine, the client will know that the counsellor is coming from the right place in their heart and they will be more likely to trust and open up to them. This is wee buns. Be yourself, be empathic, be accepting, be open. But keep boundaries.

Of course, we can learn about ourselves from other people. We shouldn't put up resistance because most people are kind teachers if we let them be. Animals can also teach us about ourselves. And children are most definitely the best teachers we could ever have. Because they teach us what we already know but have forgotten.

The Little Shop Of Dog Lovers

I had a rare Sunday off work so I made sure to take full advantage of it. Saturday night I had drinks at my local. Ziggy stayed at home this time and it was a quiet enough night at the bar, but enjoyable all the same. On Sunday I lay in bed 'til 10 O'Clock. This doesn't sound like much of a lie in but it was five hours later than I normally have to get up so I wasn't complaining. We gathered Ziggy up and took him up to Belfast for the Continental Market. They hold it every Christmas and you can buy all kinds of strange and unusual things. The good folk of Norn Iron particularly enjoy eating weird burgers made of Kangaroo and Ostrich. I declined these meaty delights in favour of churros and fudge.

Then we stumbled upon a clothes shop I had been to once before. The shop itself is amazing. It's designed in a retro vintage fashion and has all these amazing quirky touches to it. The dressing rooms are all themed round the rooms of a house. So each cubicle has a load of old fashioned objects and utensils from a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, etc. I spent ages before looking at all the individual rooms. Ziggy was made to feel most welcome here. All the shop assistants cooed over him and one of them told us that all the members of staff are allowed to bring their dogs to work with them! And it wasn't just dogs they welcomed. Anyone could bring their pet shopping with them. One woman used to go in with a parrot sitting on her shoulder. I have never enjoyed shopping but if all shops were like this I think I could start to like it.

I got some lovely things from this shop but I also got a new bag from the market. It caught my eye because it had the HMV dog logo on it. It's made out of two records stitched together. It was a rastafarian guy who owned the stall and he insisted that I use the bag straight away and if anyone asked about it I was to tell them where I got it. One of the girls in the pet friendly shop had seen them at Camden Market and always regretted not getting one, so I told her where to go. We got chatting about the dog and she told me that the logo was a painting called His Master's Voice and that's where HMV got their name from. I later learned from Uncle Rod that the dog's name was Nipper.

Ziggy's favourite part of the day was when we went round to Nellybert's for dinner and he got to play with Jess. And there's always a spoiling to bbe had when Uncle Rod is there. His brother owns a pet shop so there is no shortage of tasty treats for the dogs. I still haven't sorted out my provisional driver's licence. It's turning into one of those annoying chores that I will put off forever. Tomorrow, I'll do it tomorrow.

Two Down, One To Go

This week has been productive. I made a couple of those phone calls that were on my 'to do' list. One of them was with regards to a noise complaint from Ziggy's barking. Ziggy is now left at 5:30 in the morning with BBC Radio 4 for company. He is probably much more up on his current affairs than I am but he chooses to keep his knowledge to himself. The other phonecall was with regards to my pesky neighbours. And that is all they are, pesky. But I have been worried that my lack of real annoyance will only spur them on more and so I reported the minor incidences in the (hopefully) unlikely event that it should escalate.

The other official call I have to make is about my provisional driver's licence. I've lost the paper document. In fact, I don't ever remember having the paper document and it would have been like me to have thrown it in the bin thinking I would never need it. I struggle with these mundane tasks. Most people would do everything in their power to speed up the process of them getting their full licence. I just bumble along at a snail's pace. I'd much rather be daydreaming, laughing and writing blog posts about not doing the things I should be doing.

Oh, and there's that dreaded looming presence of Christmas round the corner. Having worked in retail for the past far too many years I have found it impossible to do my own Christmas shopping. The last place I want to be is at the shops with people shoving and pushing and grunting and farting. Fact, when people are in crowds they are more likely to fart because there are more suspects. People really lose their manners at Christmas. So when it should be the season to be be jolly, most people are walking around with a face like thunder. And it just keeps happening every year.

Zig's Big Night Out

Despite my last entry having a slight air of doom and gloom about it, writing about meant I was able to get it out of my system and move on a lot quicker. Those periods in my blog when I haven't been wwriting have been times when I tried to hold my feelings in. It never did me any good.

Since then I have been really busy, which is how I like to be. I met with a friend on Tuesday. He is a relatively new friend who I met at work and who is also training to be a counsellor. I met with a friend on Wednesday as well. An old friend who knows me inside out. On Thursday morning I spent some quality time with myself and then I had a driving lesson and my course to attend. On Friday I met with my mum for lunch and then did some shopping. I shopped like a proper girl shops and it didn't annoy me too much. Though it was rather expensive.

Later I took Ziggy round to a friend's house and I drank a few ciders and Ziggy spilt a few ciders on their carpet (these friends are my kind of people who care not much for carpets and love dogs). We all went up to the pub, Ziggy included. I couldn't leave him at home as he'd already spent a few hours by himself when I was out shopping. It's a good job he's a sociable boy because he had plenty of people fussing over him.

On Saturday I had a relaxing morning and then went out again. I knew it was going to be a late one so Ziggy stayed at mum's house. He didn't pine for me once. Too busy playing with Jess and fighting with the cat, who is much bigger than he is. Now it's Monday and I'm back to work but I have a new, better contract and a spring in my step again. I am also vaguely aware that Christmas is around the corner and I have a flat that's been badly neglected of chores so as much as I'd love to just sit here, not moving, I think I better just keep on at it. I also have forms to fill in, phone calls to make, homework to do and, even though these things make me busy, they are exactly the things that I hate doing, and so I will probably procrastinate. Hence writing this blog.