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!
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, January 27, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, January 17, 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
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 ;)
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 ;)
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
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.
- 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.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 08, 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, January 04, 2014
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!
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!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, December 23, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
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.
"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.
Friday, December 20, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
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.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
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.
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.
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