Warm Warm Warm Weather

Pearlie's funeral happened to be on one of the warmest days of the year so far. This was fitting as she hated being cold and would bumfle herself up in as many layers as possible. My reading was difficult to do. The sadness kind of hit me when I got up to read about her and I felt my voice start to crumple. I managed to compose myself and was able to finish the tribute.

The awesome weather continued for the next few days. I stayed at mum's on Wednesday night and all day Thursday. The girls were out and they entertained us with their childlike imaginations. We painted for a while and then played a game on the trampoline that was called "Go Mad and Crazy". This involved me bouncing around like a loon with arms and legs flailing all over the place while I shouted "Everything's all mad and crazy". The girls joined in until we'd all fall in a heap laughing our heads off.

Friday was even warmer and when I cam home from work I discovered Ziggy hadn't been well. He'd had a few accidents on the floor, seemingly, from both ends and I was a bit concerned about taking him out for a long walk. I hooked up with Z and her brood and we drove to the river path so all the dogs could have a dip in the water to cool them down. Ziggy ran around with Maya and didn't seem the slightest bit unwell. I came home from work yesterday afternoon and the flatmate told me Ziggy had had another wee accident in the morning. He seemed ok and I took him for a walk around Portglenone forest with someone who owns an American Akita. Ziggy and the Akita had a great game of chase and dipped themselves in the water. I went out to Nellybert's after and Ziggy spent the next four hours playing with Jess. My mum looked at him and said "I thought you said Ziggy wasn't well."

This morning I have watched him out in the backyard and he's had more bouts of diarrhea and vomiting. I don't know if it's been the heat, or something he ate, but even when he's not well he just wants all the fun there is to be had. He's resting now for the first time in days. Meka is also not a hundred per cent. She has started to grow another mammory tumour, this time on her side. I don't think I will put her through another big operation as she is in the final stage of her life. Rats only live until there about 3 years old and Meka is two and a half. By the time the lump grows to a size where it's starting to affect her she will be dying of old age anyway. That will be the last little ratty I keep for a while. This morning I had her up on the sofa with Ziggy and I. She lay in below my dressing gown and came out every once in a while to sniff Ziggy.

A Sweet Goodbye

Pearlie Blue passed away on Sunday, peacefully at home with Bert holding her hand. She'd had a tough couple of days but, thankfully, she didn't suffer unnnecessarily. Everything happened so quick. I hadn't been out to visit during the week as I had no transport but when I phoned on Saturday mum told me she wasn't good. I spent the afternoon with her. She was weak and tired but she still asked me if I'd had a driving lesson. When I kissed her goodbye I prepared myself for it being the last kiss, although, some part of me thought that I would see her the next day because she had always been such a fighter. Her last words to me were "Thankyou". It was a sweet goodbye.

Obviously I feel sad, but not for myself, for Bert. And Bert feels sad because he loved her like all children love their parents. Despite the sadness we all recognise that she was ready to go. Though her mind was as sharp as a tack her body had been failing for quite some time. She had coped long enough with the inability to stimulate her mind as much as she'd wanted because of physical restraints.

Of course, death always makes me philosophical about life. The more funerals I attend the more I understand why we carry out these rituals, because, in understanding death, we appreciate how to celebrate life. I have to say, I probably always had a bit of a morbid fascination with death from a young age, only in the sense that I thought about it often and was always curious as to what happened after death. Since I didn't buy into the whole heaven concept, it seemed like there were only a few other possibilites really. I guess what I'm angling at here is that I didn't think I'd really be so affected by Pearlie's death and that's just dumb because death makes everyone think about life. No matter how many times it happens.

I want to get back to the point I made about Pearlie being 'ready to go'. That's something that not everyone has. Over the years I have watched the clock ticking by and felt like I should be doing so many things, so quickly, all at once, before time runs out. That's self-inflcited pressure. Pressure I neither want, nor need. I certainly have no regrets about my past so why should I have expectations about the future? I think I really understand the concept of 'living in the moment' now. That's not to say that I will be a master at this practice. Our mind's thought processes are so ingrained to our way of being that we can only try as much as we can to change the habits of our thinking. What I'm trying to convey here is that I'm ready to go. I don't want, or plan to die but, if I was one of the many few who died before their 'time' I would leave this earth knowing that I lived my life the way I wanted to and I experienced all that I could possibly experience, and, to feel that way is pretty liberating.

The funeral is tomorrow. Pearlie had a small family and only two blood relatives remain. But she had an extended family that include an assortment of different people. People who care very much for Bert and who are proud of him for looking after his mother 'til the very end. His father would have been so proud.

Ziggy's Thing

The flatmate and I have quite a few things in common but the main thing is we both love Ziggy. When the flatmate comes home and Ziggy doesn't run to the door to greet him his first question is "Where's Ziggy?" I was chatting the other day about how Ziggy's life was much more mundane before he moved in and the flatmate said "Yeah, Ziggy was telling me all about it" to which I replied, "Oh, is that right, what kind of things has he been saying?". The flatmate answered, "Well, he told me he had to go to bed at eight o'clock every night". I said, "Yeah, well, he wasn't lying, he did have to go to bed at eight every night", and then I added "You know Ziggy's been telling me some stuff about you too."

I enjoy pretending that a dog has a voice and can talk to humans. Brian the dog is my favourite character in Family Guy for the simple fact he's a dog that does human things but still gets scared of the hoover and can't help wag his tail when he gets praise. It's silly, I know, but it amuses me.

Ziggy has so many different toys. These include; a ball, a squeaker, a tugger, a teddy, a bone and a donut. I have run out of names for his various toys so the latest one i got him has been named his 'thing'. He also has a rubber wibbly wobbly thing that he never plays with because I haven't given it a name yet. Meka likes that particular toy since the rubber is nice for her to chew. The only time Ziggy shows interest in this toy is when I put it in Meka's cage. Opening Meka's cage door is one of Ziggy's new tricks. He does it all the more because he knows he's not supposed to.

Everything is going rather swimmingly at the minute. I am definitely learning not to stress out so much and I'm enjoying this zen-like state of being. It's funny to think how I thought I was so happy last year. On the surface it did seem like everything was going my way but there was still a fragility about my state of being. I find life so poignant sometimes. I am back riding the waves, only this time they aren't waves of sadness but waves of excitement.

Brain Drops Keep Falling On My Head

I joined the rest of the world and got a smart phone. I was paying £15 a month and using the kind of phone where young people ask "What is that contraption you're holding up against your ear?" I might as well pay £12.50 a month and have the kind of phone that can do everything except make perfect toast. I've had it for two days already and I've hardly used it. This is because I had a couple of days before my phone number was switched over to the new sim card. The guy on the phone told me that I would lose any unused credit I had on the phone. I had £10 of credit to use up, which I did by calling a few people. I then realised I had £20 worth of O2 rewards so I redeemed some of if it in vouchers and some of it in more credit which I also used up last night calling some more folk. I felt super smug about making sure that every single penny was spent.

But all this chat about phones and money is boring. Tomorrow I have a day out in Belfast planned with Nelly and my lovely nieces. This Saturday is the 12th day here in Norn Iron (of course it's the 12th day everywhere else in the world but they don't seem to get as excited as the boyos here do). So I'm off on Saturday for a rare treat and Ziggy and I will be heading to the countryside to get away from all the banging, and tooting and whistling and piping and cheering, and shouting and general noise. Out in Cullybackey we will only have to put up with the hooting of Bert's clarinet and the occasional barge from Nelly when a dog runs over her plants.

I took a trip up to Boots chemist this afternoon and got ear drops, eye drops and Pearl Drops (whitening toothpaste). I have had a slight blockage in one of my ears that has been interfering with playing guitar and singing. I wanted the eye drops because I want my eyes to look brighter and I figure putting a ween o' drops into them is easier than clarying a tonne of makeup on them. The toothpaste will probably do very little to whiten my teeth but I got it on clearance so I feel like I got a bragain and that is just as uplifting as having white teeth. Also, I am a mere 60 points away from having enough to get one of my favourite (also one of the most expensive) perfumes. How a girl as scruffy as myself could end up having a taste for exquisite perfume I don't know. I guess I'm hoping to meet a blind man with a keen sense of smell.

So, today, I'm all about the head and giving it some TLC. My feet also need a bit of attention but, fortunately, I can keep them well hidden whereas my head is there for all to see. The only kind of 'drops' I didn't get were brain drops. Maybe I don't need them now that I have a smart phone!

The Photo Update

The sun's been shining, Ziggy got neutered, there were walks in the park, days with the girls, driving lessons started, and the odd whiskey or two drank. I've been busy enjoying life. Here's some pics:


Ziggy shows Alfie who's Boss


Bert partakes in a spot of tree surgery


The girls paddling


Ziggy's new bud


Pigeons


Ziggy after his op


Ziggy has learnt how to open Meka's cage door and steals her food


Fun in the field


Ziggy's piggies


Our dog walk


Ziggy's whirlpool

The Emotional Update

So the past few weeks have been nice. The weather's been nice. I had a week off from work, which was nice. it's also been a mixture of activity and relaxing and things changing and staying the same. I guess what i'm trying to say is, it's been life. The past few weeks have been life. I have been contemplating giving up blogging for a variety of reasons. Part of me feels like it has served it's purpose. It's an account of my memories, experiences, love and learning that's been going on for 10 years now and I wonder if it's exhausted. Or if I just feel frustrated because I can't write what my heart wants me to write even though so few people read it. I don't know. I don't know how I feel about it.

What I do know is that I have invested a lot of time and energy into everything in my life, this blog included. I'm not sure I want to give it up just yet. I happened to google something the other day and the only relevant thing that came up was a blog post. I read it and thought to myself, 'Wow, this girl sounds so much like me'. It wasn't until I read another couple of posts that I realised this girl was me. It was a blog I'd started to write years ago when I was so full of frustration about my life and I did not want to taint the Palace with negativity. There were only about 5 or 6 posts in total. Clearly I had decided that I was going to focus on the positives in my life rather than the negatives. But my life was so negative then and I needed that outlet for a short time. I have tainted this blog now but it has been a welcome stain. My broken heart is on the table. I have been armed with a scalpel, for quite some time, dissecting it.

I continue to feel very jaded about the world and my place in it. Everywhere I look people are having babies and I just don't think they even know what babies are. Humans continue to be greedy, selfish, angry and thoughtless. I see no end to it. They are completely unaware of the world around them. They live in their own bubbles that they never want to leave because why would they leave? They have everything they need. Food, drugs to self-medicate, entertainment. But all of these, especially the food, is like what the powers that be use to control their people. Religion is no longer the opium of the masses. It is has been replaced with food, drugs and pop culture.

I also continue to feel hopeful and excited about what the rest of my life has to offer. Fuck everyone else. Let them drudge around this world only half living. I continue to search for my own small piece of happiness and I realise that, while I'm doing that, I have already got my own small piece of happiness. My life is progressing just the way I want it to with nothing holding me back. And as always, no matter what thoughts are going through my head, I continue to be positive towards everyone and try, above all else, to make them smile.

Dogs and Their Pets

Ziggy would like to share a few words on the human/canine relationship:

When a dog is born they are assigned a pet human. This is the only thing that doesn’t make sense to me. Dogs have no real choice about which human is assigned to them. It seems to be luck of the draw. And then, of course, there are some dogs that don’t get this privilege of a pet human. I feel kinda sorry for those dogs.

Dogs are very important and they need their pet humans to be really obedient. I often find with my pet Hannah that she is quite stubborn and strong willed. I found her easier to control when I was a puppy and she was kind of drunk on cuteness. We often have a battle of wills and sometimes I win and sometimes she wins.

My work is very important. I look after the house when Hannah is out doing silly human things. I must do this in case intruders break in and steal the house and Hannah and I have to live on the streets. She seems to recognise this as an important task as she always shows me lots of praise when she comes back home to find that I’ve done an excellent job at keeping intruders away.

Humans need plenty of exercise and stimulation and it is also my job to keep my pet Hannah motivated and make sure she gets out for plenty of walks. I do find that she can be lazy at times so I really have to pester her to get up off her lazy arse. When we are out and about I like to catch up with old friends and make acquaintances with new ones. Mostly I am just sussing everything out and making sure that it’s safe for Hannah. Sometimes she meets some of her friends too but their interactions with each other are oftentimes dull. It’s nice when they pat me on the head though.

As much as Hannah can be hard work at times I wouldn’t change her for the world. I’ve seen some dogs whose pet humans are so unruly that they must keep them on a lead at all times, even when there’s no traffic about. I am glad I have my pet under control. The only really, really annoying thing she does is interfere with my work when I’m barking at all the intruders trying to break in. She doesn’t understand that if I don’t keep my guard at all times we could be living on the streets.

Free Bird

So today was rather eventful in my little old life. I had my driving theory test and I passed. I'm not there yet but I'm half way there. I also finished my course, handed in my portfolio, passed my exam and recieved my certificate for the Level Two Counselling Skills. We had all grown fond of each ohter and it was sad to say goodbye. The tutor asked us to participate in one last creative learning task and that was to bring an object from nature to class with us. She told us to spend a bit of time choosing our object and letting ourselves be drawn to something. I would have liked to have gone out to Cullybackey to pick my object and I would have been spoilt for choice. It would also have been nice to meditate on the moment and use all my senses to help me feel drawn to something. As it was I was rushing around and I only had my backyard and down the street to find my object from nature. I looked in my backyard and was immediately uninspired. I went down the street and walked to the little bit of greenery behind the fire station. I saw a feather on the ground and I knew straight away that it was perfect.

When we presented our objects in class the tutor told us to work in pairs and describe the object but use the word 'I' instead of 'it'. She told us to describe it physically and talk about what it's function was and what purpose it aspired to. Interestingly, everyone else in the class had chosen some kind of plant or flower. I was the odd one out. When I described the feather I said it was "long and thin" which is kind of like me but that it was also very strong. It's function was to keep the bird warm, dry and protected and to help them fly. When I saw the feather on the ground I knew I was drawn to it because it represented being as a free as a bird. The feather also functions as an old fashioned pen and I love to write. With pens. I would write with feathers but ink is very messy.

So all in all it's been a good day. I now have a summer of Thursdays free and that can only mean one thing. I get to spend more time with my darling nieces. The two little ones who never fail to put a smile on my face.

Putting Humpty Together Again

I guess my readers (all 5 of them) are eagerly waiting to hear about the progress of my toenail. Well, what an experience it’s been! Only I could view it as such because that’s how my brain works. I managed to keep the half nail attached for a couple of days with plasters. I woke up one morning and the nail had fallen off. I was glad because I could see the nail that was left and there was a bit more of it than I had thought. But the soft nail bed was exposed and this made me feel just as grossed out as when I wasn’t sure what was lurking underneath the dead nail.

That first night I went to bed and had a struggle getting to sleep. I tossed and I turned. No matter what I did I was acutely aware of the fact that my toe nail was missing. I whimpered. I tossed and turned some more. I prayed to god that I would never EVER be tortured and have my nails removed because this was unbearable. Even the air irritated it. It wasn’t actually painful, just very, very uncomfortable. My toe felt nervy and raw and sensitive. The next day I woke up and felt fine. I went to work and by the end of the day I was aware of that horrible nervy sensation again. I put in another restless night trying to drift off to sleep but being kept awake by a sickening feeling. By the third night I had my toe bandaged up my Nurse Nelly and since then it’s been unproblematic. It must have grown enough for me to feel like it’s not so exposed and tender now.

I love analogies and last year, at the beginning of my course, we had a class that was about ‘body dialogue’. This is the idea that our bodies are telling us everything we need to know if we just listen to it. We did an exercise in class and we talked about certain parts of the body and how they felt. What would that part of the body say if it could speak? I recall that day having a twitch in my eye and I said it felt restless and twitchy, like there was a little man with a fishing rod who had hooked my eye and was constantly tugging on it. I pondered it at the time but now I wonder if that little man with the fishing rod was trying to get me to look in the direction he thought I should be looking.

The physical discomfort of my big toe matched the emotional discomfort I went through at Christmas. For some reason I like it when this happens. It’s like the physical aspect of it is a sign that it’s working its way out of your system. You are truly healing. I can’t attribute all the pain I felt at Christmas to my ex-boyfriend. I had a whole lot of other hurt I needed to get out of my system before he even came along. I suspect he did too. But it’s ok because I’m training to be a counsellor and as someone once said “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again but we can because we’re counsellors”.

In Dreams

I might as well rename my blog The Palace Of Heavenly Ziggy. I don't mind admitting that I haven't a while lot else to write about at the minute. In the weeks leading up to Ziggy's birthday I kept telling him that he was going to be a big boy and he'd have to start behaving a little more responsibly. It actually seems to have worked. He hasn't miraculously turned into the most well behaved dog overnight but we are getting there. For example, last night he was barking out the window at nothing. He probably heard a leaf rustling in the wind. I had a stern conversation with him. It went like this: Now Ziggy, you're going out to see your GRANNY tomorrow, and to see JUDY and JESS but you have to be a GOOD boy, or you won't get to see GRANNY. NO more barking out the window and being BAD or you will GO TO BED and you won't see GRANNY. Ziggy listened to this with his head cocking from left to right. He sighed and lay down and went to sleep. Of course, all Ziggy heard was GRANNY JUDY JESS GOOD GRANNY NO BAD GO TO BED GRANNY but he understood what I was saying to him.

And, seemingly, he had a great day flying about with Fly, a dog that does exactly what it says on the tin. Which is fly. Ziggy barely had enough energy to eat a few mouthfuls of his dinner before conking out on the sofa again. I haven't told him yet but I phoned the vet today and booked him in for his change of life operation. As soon as I got off the phone I felt guilty. I seem to recall feeling much less guilty about Rocky getting his balls chopped. I suppose the thought of dozens of unwanted baby rats eased my conscience a bit. Ziggy has made further progress in that he can now "play dead" on command. He has also rolled over a few times for me as when he was playing dead he figured he was half way there and he might as well please me. The wee dude's lying flat out on his back, snoring at the minute. I've been thinking about doggy dreams recently and wondering if they have very boring dreams that involve chasing balls or do they have crazy epic dreams that they are chasing a rabbit with a duck's head and they follow it into a burrow that leads through twisty tunnels and eventually brings them out in a butcher's shop where cat's are their servants and humans are their playthings and the hottest bitches are in town smelling of fox dung and calf shit? I'm going for the latter. I'd like to think dogs can have crazy dreams too. The way Ziggy's eyelids and paws are twitching at the minute would suggest that he's having a good time whatever he's doing.

It's My Party And I'll Huff If I Want To

So it was Ziggy's birthday and he started the day off at his granny's house where he had runs and chases and a birthday boke. When he got home I gave him the birthday presents from the flatmate and me. He then posed (very reluctantly) for a millisecond just so I could get this reminder of his very special day. Of course, typical Ziggy had to show his displeasure by huffing. I went to the birthday girls' party on Saturday night. I missed the stripper but was there for the pineapple hunt, which, unbeknownst to me consisted of two pineapples that were doing the rounds. We toasted Sunshine and Moonshine with zambuca soaked pineapple and sangria. It was a lovely night.

But the real action in my life all lies in my big toe. Before Christmas I dropped heavy crates on my toe. It started to grow out black. Eventually white nail started to grow and i have been patiently waiting for the black to grow out. Disaster struck the other night. It is half way up and the nail has started to come away. This happened on Sunday night. I felt queasy about it but I stuck a plaster over the nail to keep it attached for now. I went to work on Monday and thought about my nail only briefly at times. I went to my interview (which went ok I think so fingers crossed!)and afterwards I stopped in at the podiatrist. They were fully booked. I went home and took Ziggy for a walk. All of a sudden I became very aware of a senstaion in my big toe. Not sore, but nervy and a bit unpleasant. I soldiered on with the walk and came home and phoned my mum who reassured me that my toe probably wouldn't fall off. It didn;t stop me worrying about infection. I made some cheese and crackers with branston pickle (I had this same snack the night before because I've been too lazy to get groceries) and after a couple of bites I got a really strange taste in my mouth like metal but really bitter. I drank some water and took another bite. Again, that tangy, metallic taste. I checked the date of the branston pickle. It was fine. Besides, I'd had it the night before. I couldn't finish the rest as my stomach was turned. I had unfounded suspicions that this was related to my toenail. Somehow. I then felt cold and weak. So cold. It hadn't been an unpleasant day but I was shivery. This was probably the infection setting in, I told myself. I went to bed and I could feel my cheeks burning. My big toe felt warm and unpleasant. I shuffled around trying to get comfortable. I told myself it would be fine in the morning. And it was. I got to work in lively spirits but after an hour I started to feel drained. I felt like I was wading through mud all day and I felt a tightness in my chest.

It's amazing how the mind works. And how illness can escalate and how you can actually make yourself sick by thinking about it. I know I'll be fine. Though I felt sick in the bath because I was thinking about the water seeping under the nail (I get this same queasiness when I see wtaer sitting in my belly button. I feel like it's gonna seep into my body and drown me). I was lucky enough to capture this shot of Meka and Ziggy the other day. They are rather fond of each other though it's rare for Ziggy to be patient enough to let Meka come to him. I think it's a very sweet photo.

A Little Bit Sucky

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

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

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

Summer Scoop

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



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

The New Seating Arrangement

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

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

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

How Were We Made?

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

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

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

Papergirl Belfast

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

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

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

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

The Pilgrimage

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

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

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

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

The Art Of Procrastination

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

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

Sitting On The Wall

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

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

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

Some Postmen Are Not Awesome

From this:

To this:

Hooray for my new camera lense. I am slowly but surely ticking everything off the list that I needed to sort out. New sofa and bathroom lino - check, new flatmate - check, new lense - check, working tax credits - check, counselling course application - check. There's still the driving test and illustrations for Freddy and the Fox but, other than that I'm keeping on top of everything. Work's going well these days too. There's a woman that works the night shift and she calls me "wee smiley face". But why wouldn't I have a smiley face? I have these two wonderful girls to run through the fields with.

Oh, and they must have changed my postman and the new one is not so awesome. He posted a letter from the TV licensing people. I never wanted a TV and did very well without one for a year. The last flatmate brought with him a (I've just measured it) 41" TV and left it here because it was obviously too heavy for him to take with him when he moved out. It's horrendous. But I do watch it (less so since I got that letter). So, if anyone wants a ridiculously large TV with glass stand they are perfectly welcome to it.

Postmen Are Awesome

Today I got a letter to say that I am entitiled to working tax credits. I have probably been entitiled to them for years but never really knew about them. This is the way they want it. This means I can get Ziggy booked in for his ball chopping because it will be considerably cheaper. Of course, now that it's a reality I feel a bit sorry for him. He will know the vet has taken something away from him. He won't know why and he will probably blame me.

I took him to Granny Nelly's on Monday. I got a taxi out and as we drove into Cullybackey I saw Judy and Jess's GodParent's, the Mc Sprollies, driving in the opposite direction. Jess was stood with her two front paws on the dashboard, skellying out the window. I felt bad for Ziggy as he adores Judy and Jess and when they go out with Mc Sprollies they are often gone for a few hours. I took Ziggy a walk down the back lane, through the field and back up through the woods. He loved it. When we returned back at the yard Jess' sister's Pip and Tiegan were there with there owner. Hurrah, thought Ziggy, two fine young bitchers to play with, but no, for Pip and Tiegan are dirty devil scunging dogs and their owner must have one of them on a leash at all times otherwise they'd be off through the woods.

Shortly after, another of Jess' siblings turned up with his owner. Rex was much more fun for Ziggy and they spent a happy afternoon taking it in turns to hump each other. Rex's owner Swisser noticed some trees missing from the hen run. She asked Bert had he cut them down. He had. Swisser was not amused. Why had he cut down the lovely trees? Bert scrunched his face up. he knew there was a reason why but he just couldn't quite remember it. Bert's memory eludes him when under pressure. He says it lets more light in to the run. I explain to Swisser that the hens needed more vitamin D. Swisser would not be appeased. Pip and Tiegan's owner offers a very valid point about how it was a good thing to cut down the trees to enable more things to grow. Pippy pap, says Swisser. Mum tells her Pip and Tiegan's owner used to work in forest conservation and he is, in fact, quite knowledgable about such things. "I don't care" Swisser huffs.

I have just had a phonecall from mum to say that my camera lens has arrived. That's two good things the postman has brought me today. I don't know why dogs hate them so much. I think they're awesome.

Ziggy The Counsellor

During December, January and February I was depressed. No beating around the bush there. I was miserable. And not without reason too. During this same time Ziggy was a young,excitable pup. The combination didn't really work. Ziggy needed disciplined. I could barely muster the energy to discipline myself let alone a wild, unruly dog. When I did try to be stern with him he would sometimes look at me as much to say "Look ma, if you want me to do what I'm told you're gonna have to grow a set of balls! Say what you mean and mean what you say, isn't that what you're counselling tutor always tells you?" How on earth he knew what my tutor says is beyond me though I guess he could have been reading over my notes.

He was right though. Ziggy couldn't be disciplined by a meek and timid meercat. He needed a howling wolf to put him in his box. Having said that, I have grown more confident at disciplining him but this still doesn't make him a particularly obedient dog. It's the Lhasa Apso in him. They're determined, stubborn wee fuckers. The irony is, in order for Ziggy and I to have an harmonious relationship I will have to grow a set of balls while he will have to have his removed. Don't feel too sorry for him though because the flatmate was feeding him prawn crackers last night.

The Big issue

In the early days of my blog I chatted about a fellow called Pirate John. He was a longstanding friend of Salt Face's and I'd only met him once before when he invited us up to stay with him in Manchester. Salt Face, knowing I was a fan of treasure hunts, texted Pirate John to tell him he had to set one up for us. Pirate John went above and beyond the call of duty and we were treated to a hunt round the city for our treasure.

We received the first clue by text message when we were on the train from Stoke. We got off the train and wandered around trying to figure the clue out. Pirate John must have known there was a possibility we would struggle and so he sent us a treasure hunt fairy in the form of Hank who passed us on the street yelling at us and pointing at a billboard. behind the billboard was our first envelope and inside was our second clue along with a compass. We then followed the clues and used the compass until we came to the final clue which said "What's the Big Issue". We looked around us and spotted a guy selling the Big Issue. When we asked him what the big issue was he smiled and told us he'd been waiting for us but he wouldn't tell us the clue unless we bought a copy of his magazine. Then he told us our treasure was waiting in the pub down the road. When we arrived Pirate John and Hank the treasure hunt fairy were waiting for us with pints of beer.

I love impromptu happenings. Like the time a walk along the canal ended up at a hippy party on a rare breeds farm with ostriches and llamas and the time we jumped on a random bus and jumped off when we saw a funfair and we thought we were going to die on the waltzer. I'm so glad we didn't die on the waltzer.

Sunshine and Moonshine I Salute You

This post is dedicated to the lovely girls V and B. Sunshine and Moonshine. V is Sunshine because she's fair and golden and she radiates warmth. B is Moonshine because she's dark and mysterious and illuminates beauty. In truth, they both radiate warmth and illuminate beauty but, for the purpose of my blog they are Sunshine and Moonshine. I have only known these girls for a few months and on Saturday I realised how much in common I have with both of them. Sunshine loves JGL and hates numbers. Moonshine loves photography and salutes people. They are both writers. They love climbing trees and animals. They are children of the universe and they inspire me.

They also came into my life at a crucial point because I was feeling so jaded and let down. They reminded me that my kindred spirits are out there, and not so very far away. They restored my faith in the belief that everything is happening for a reason and happening the way that it is meant to. Not that I believe my whole life is mapped out in front of me and I am powerless to change it but, like Paulo Coelho says, all the signs are there, we just have to know how to look out for them.

I feel a strength in myself I have only felt once before in life. That was this time last year. But the strength that I had was new to me. I was a fledgling. The year's experience has made me complete a cycle. A cycle of learning what I want from my life and having the wisdom to achieve it. I don't know what K gained from being in my life the short time he was in it but I learnt how to stay with myself. Because it's easy to lose yourself and get caught up in what other people think is best. K came into my life just as I was figuring myself out. His domineering personality tried to take me over but, little did I know, the groundwork I had already done was enough for me to stick to the path I was on. I felt broken and bruised the whole time we were together. Outside influences were trying to smite my life. I am free now.

But that was then and this is now and one bad person has walked out of my life to make room for many, many more worthy souls. Sunshine and Moonshine are just the beginning of this. My quest continues to find as many of these heavenly creatures as I can find, build an ark, and set sail for a better life.

'Tis The Season To Be Jolly.....

....fa la la la la-la, la-la la la la! After naming my last post "Ziggy The Good Boy" he had to let me down a bagful by huffing the other night when I went out. I had V and B round for pre pub (lic bar) drinks. The NF got home from work before we headed out and I skipped out the door without so much as a hint of guilt as Ziggy had company. I was informed on Sunday afternoon that Ziggy was not pleased by my departure and sulked behind the sofa and wouldn't let the NF console him. Aw well, he was good for a while.

Last week when I had the nieces over I kept asking the youngest did she need her nappy changed as it smelt suspiciously like she did. She told me she was just doing farts. I asked a couple of more times to be sure but every time she insisted she was just doing farts. It was time to take them home and I told Z about my suspicions and, lo and behold, my suspicions were correct. We were then informed that the particular kind of farts se had been doing were brown farts. A week or so later and their mummy had taken the girls out for a pleasant walk and some fresh air when she bumped into someone she sort of knew. At this precise moment in time the youngest was running around and squatting, pretending to do brown farts and the eldest was yelling "BROWN FARTS" repeatedly at the top of her voice. I think this just proves that toilet humour will never go out of fashion.

Tomorrow is my 32nd birthday. I have finally reached the age where celebration just doesn't seem important. I saw my unsurprising birthday party for my 30th as my last real hoo ha before I turn 50. I love parties but they take so much effort to organise. Impromptu gatherings are the way forward. I am looking forward to something though and that's my birthday present from my mum, which will be a lens for my DSLR. I can't wait to get trigger happy. Ziggy will be the most photographed dog in Ireland.

Ziggy The Good Boy

It's been a very productive couple of weeks. I've applied for the next stage of the counselling course and I know exactly where I want to go. There were times during the winter that I had really given up hope. There were also times when I knew I just had to wade through the mire and wait for the good times to roll. There were snatches of happiness when my dog filled my heart with joy just by watching him run through the grass and my nieces squeezed out smiles from me with kisses and hugs. And those things, along with the love and support of my wee mammy, helped me to wade through the mire. 'Cause otherwise I really would have given up. Last year just happened to me. I had no control over where my life was going. I hadn't learnt how to take control. They say everyone comes into your life for a reason and I believe that. I can get frustrated when I know there's a lesson to be learned and I don't know what it is. Then it's like a weight off my shoulders when I finally see it.

Oh I wish I didn't have to work tomorrow. It's one of those pleasant sunny evenings and I would just love to crack open a few ciders, play guitar and wake up tomorrow with nothing to do but spend some money. It's pay day tomorrow and it'll be the first time in months that I can afford to spend it on doing nice things for myself. That's the whole reason why we work after all. Now that my finances are in order I am less stressed and more able to focus on the joys of life. The simple pleasures. Like getting my ipod filled with loads of bouncy songs for the summer. This whole time I thought that I didn't have a lead to charge my Nikon Coolpix but looking through my drawers with a clear head made me realise I had a lead to charge it on the laptop. It's been there this whole time but i haven't had the wit to see it.

We had a very pleasant night in the tree house. I forgot the marshmallows to toast on the fire but we were warm, drunk and happy. Judy and Jess seemed a bit unsettled, like they were suffering from altitude sickness. Ziggy, who is well used to living on the top level of a flat, lay in the sofa and slept like a baby. Ziigy has welcomed the new flatmate with open paws. That devil dog I had to contend with for several months has now settled into a fine beast of a dog. I always knew he'd come good. He is by no means perfect but he is a lot less rascally and he's learning what his boundaries are. He is obsessed with a baby calf that's been born at Nellybert's. It keeps him from scunging the roads I suppose.

Traybaking

Peaks and troughs. That's what my life is like. Feast or famine. Too much time or too little. Lots of sunshine or complete darkness. And cycles. Bicycles and flycycles. A month ago I couldn't get enough hours at work. Now, everyday, I want to finsih early and it never happens. Since money isn't as big a worry I want to enjoy some of my free time.

Today I had two lovely girls over to help me make fifteens. I'd probably be a domestic goddess if I ever followed a recipe. I just look at it once and by the time I get round to cooking I have forgotten that I should be weighing and measuring things out. I also failed to take into consideration that if something goes wrong in the baking process I only have two small children to assist me. Between supervising the eldest while she cut up marshmallows and the youngest while she tried to lick marshmallows I fell into the trap of using too much condensed milk and, having four sticky hands covered in mixture and two very small clean hands of no use atall because they were preoccupied with marshmallows, I had to really ponder how I was going to rectify the situation. All was well, mostly because the fifteen's didn't have to be perfect it was more important to enjoy the company of my nieces.

What I didn't tell the girls was that there was another packet of marshmallows sneaked away. The Lovely Mel is home for a visit and we'll be lighting the stove in the tree house and toasting a few marshmallows tonight.

Isolation

The Mighty Boosh is one them comedy shows that takes a while to grow on you but once it does you're sucked in. It's silly. Very silly, which is why I like it. I've chosen to share this song because I'm out of isolation now. I wasn't contagious, just hibernating through winter.

I've been seeing folk aplenty and it's great. Jakers the Joker came round last Wednesday night. I fed him and he gave me cider. It was mutually beneficial. On Saturday night I went out for drinks with the NF (new flatmate). I left Ziggy at home and only suffered mild separation anxiety. I caught up with a lot of mates I hadn't seen since the last time I was out (which was February so I'm not quite the hermit I thought I was) and Ziggy had managed not to destroy anything in my absence. On Tuesday I met up with MM for coffee and felt all the better for seeing him. On Tuesday night I went to a wrok mate's wedding party. On Wednesday night N came round and I chatted the hind legs off him and, last night, I had a visit from V and B who are are cool chicks who share my enthusiasm for adventures and treasure hunts, and trees.

So it's been a busy week of both work and play. Just the way I like it to be, despite work being very annoying. I have worked in shops for a number of years now and I've grown sick of parents using me as a way to make their children behave. They say things like, "If you don't be good that lady will tell the police". I don't like to be used as an accessory in their attempts to control their children. It's only a minor irritation though. One day I will say, "Don't worry, I won't tell the police. Children are allowed to have fun in shops"

Oh (No) Balls

I learned that going to a supermarket passes as a school trip these days. It's called "From Farm To Fork". I imagine they take them to a farm to show them the animals, eggs, milk, wheat, corn, etc and then they take them to the supermarket to see the food being sold. They probably leave out the visit to the abottoir where the animals get slaughtered and the visit to the factories where they process the food so much they have a cheek to actually call it food. Which is a shame, if you ask me, 'cause that's where the real education lies.

Last week I came home from my course to learn that Ziggy had visited my sister in work. I was a little perplexed as to how he managed this considering he'd been four miles away from Z's workplace. At first I thought he'd walked it. And I guess I might have been guilty of thinking that he, somehow, magically knew where Z worked and had purposely gone to visit her. I know he's clever but I think that was a stretch too far. No, he'd taken a dander down the busy road and some kind person picked him up and took him to the dog warden. I have the Twits next door to thank for putting in that noise complaint about him and prompting me to get him micro-chipped and licenced. The dog warden put two and two together and let my sister know that Ziggy was there. Apparently he could have been re-homed 10 times over. Not if they knew the rascality that lay behind that fluffy face. My poor mum was frantic with worry but he'd never strayed before so it was unexpected.

He's cost himself his balls though. Getting him neutred should, hopefully, put the scunging out of him. We've lost enough beloved pets on that busy road. We have an extensive pet cemetry. And a tree house. And a back lane that leads to woods. I am starting to get one of my fanciful notions. Nellybert's would make a perfect set for a horror movie, or a haunted house tour. The real thrill of the night, of course, would be getting a peek up into the attic to catch a glimpse of the dreaded Squashy Face Tomato Man.

The Twits, My Bin And The Coal Shed

About a month ago I realised my bin was missing. When my bin goes missing, or gets moved to strange places, I quite often suspect it has something to do with the Twits who live next door. They are well into their 60's yet they partake in childish antics like leaving empty coke cans and milk containers on the door step. Their feud with me started not long after K moved in and ended, coincidentally, when he left. But I still suspected they had something to do with my missing bin and so I peered over the wall into their backyard. They had two bins and one of them did, in fact, have my number on it. I knew it wasn't my bin though as it was only half the size although I did think it gave me an excuse to knock on their door and quiz them about the whereabouts of my bin. I could see Mr. Twit sitting in his living room watching tv.

Despite knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell I received no answer. I returned to the back of the house and looked over the wall again. I was in luck, Mrs. Twit was sweeping out the coal shed. I shouted out to her,

Hello Mrs. Twit

She shuffled behind the open door of the coal shed. I tried again.

Excuse Mrs. Twit, I was just wondering about my bin

Still no answer. I laughed out loud

Mrs. Twit I know you're there, I can see you

But still she refused to crawl out from behind the coal shed door. I sighed. I waited another few seconds. I hit jackpot. Mr. Twit was on his way out to the backyard, unaware of me sitting on the wall, and shouted out something to Mrs. Twit, who was still hiding and probably would have stayed hiding until dusk. I asked him if he knew anything about my missing bin and I asked him why he had a bin with my door number on it.

Well let me tell you....

And he proceeded to tell me that if he so happened to want to leave two bins, on occasion, the bin men would refuse to lift two bins with the same number. He then went on to tell me that my missing bin had something to do with the foreigners and that they'd been burning bins out down alleyway. He'd, of course, seen this with his own eyes. By this stage Mrs Twit had come out of hiding and continued to sweep the coal shed. Mr. Twit told me it was all to do with...well, then he done this strange gesture with his fingers and his arm and I said,

What? Drugs?

Ssssshhh! Exactly.....great weather we're having

So what was I to do about my missing bin? Take another one Mr. Twit said. He said it was a regular occurrence. So I took someone elses bin and have been feeling guilty ever since.

The Second Time Round

I'm nearly sure there's some kind of blogger loop hole which makes it ok to recycle a blog post if it's more than 5 years old. I've had this blog for 9 years now. Wow! In those 9 years I have had 3 different boyfriends, 7 different different jobs, and 4 different homes. I've been to Thailand, Holland, New York, Mexico, Ecuador, Peru and Madrid. I've lost 3 pet rats. I went to the zoo as much as I could. I made buns. I had weird dreams. I ate a lot of sweets. I experienced a lot of love. Here's the recycled blog post from way back when:

A Wee Story

There was a young lass called Eliza. She decided she would make some special butter and with that special butter she would make some buns. She asked her stepfather Barnardo how to make the special butter. He told her, a wee bit o' this and a wee bit o' that and boil it all together. Eliza followed his instructions closely but what Barnardo had failed to tell her was that if she used a plastic spatula to stir the butter the spatula would melt. Whoops! But it was only a little bit and Eliza decided to continue making her special butter. And very well it turned out too.

When the butter was ready Eliza started to make the buns. She had made sure she had all the ingredients she needed. Barnardo had advised her, when making the buns, to use half of the special butter and half normal butter. But when it came to it Eliza had realised she'd used all the butter to make special butter. Oh dear!

She carried on regardless. The mixture was made, the buns were baking and Barnardo took to licking the bowl with great relish. They all agreed that the buns would be very tasty. When they were ready Barnardo didn't want any as he was already sat in a special bun stupour. Eliza's mum had one and Eliza had one and some crumbs and some more crumbs. Then Eliza wrote this wee story about her special butter.

Hyena Hannah Heina

I did six days in total with no sugar. Then I binged like a mo fo on ice cream and chocolate. Sugar really is a drug. Not even a particularly good one but a very addictive one. I did have cider on Wednesday night so my body never really got a full week's detox. Oh well, I'm back on the wagon now so we'll see how it goes.

My reasons for quitting sugar are aplenty. I consume far too much and then don't feel like eating proper food. I struggle to maintain a healthy weight and so I need to make a conscious effort to improve my diet. Quitting sugar is also a form of transferrance. It is probably easier for me to think about giving up sugar at the minute than it is to think about giving up smoking. But I need to feel that I have some form of control over my life so I choose to exercise my will power in this way.

I had been feeling much more positive and hopeful about things but my mood took a nose dive and I'm struggling to keep the black dog at bay. Things in general are definitely better. I acknowledge that. I have a prospective flat mate and more things to occupy my mind but there's still a bit of sadness to be worked through yet. I just wish it was all out my system already. Because I'm really starting to remember what it's like to have fun and I think I'd like to experience some of that again. I feel my sense of humour kicking in and I just want to hang out and laugh with folk. Speaking of folk, there's nowt as queer as them and a work colleague was telling me today about his mother in law who re-papered her living room but couldn't be bothered to remove the paintings from the wall and so she just papered over them. And, when painting the bedroom she didn't bother moving the bed from the wall she just painted around it, sure who'll see it anyway?, she said. I just love stories like these.

I'm inspired to write a list of my top ten most favouritist things EVER. This ain't gonna be easy:

1. Laughing
2. Trees
3. Nuzzling
4. Animals
5. Climbing
6. Photography
7. Writing
8. Music/Singing/Dancing
9. Agape
10. Parties

This wasn't in any particular order and it was tough because I have so many favourite things but everything else kind of branches off from these main things. I have to say though, laughing is definitely top of the list. A world without laughter would be very bleak indeed.

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.